Greyhawk Adventures: Master Wolf Part 5

Chapter 5.

MIKA FELT SO TERRIBLE the next morning, he could conceive of no danger greater than moving. Opening his eyes was sheer agony. He was afraid to turn his head for fear that it might fall off his neck. His mouth tasted like the bottom of a midden heap, and someone, probably Whituk, was beating a drum somewhere nearby. It pounded incessantly. Mika groaned. He thought he might die. He hoped that it would be soon. Suddenly, bright light flooded the room, cruelly lancing his brain like fire.

"Hush, Mika," said a soft voice that rumbled like boulders clas.h.i.+ng together. "Here, drink this. You'll feel better soon."

Groaning, trying to uncross his eyes, Mika crawled shakily into a seated position in front of the long dead fire. He took the carved wooden mug Celia handed him and allowed her to help him guide it to his rubbery lips. The first scalding sip flowed down his throat and Mika recognized the acrid taste of roanwood tea, a well-known remedy for the aftereffects of too much mandrake wine, one cure he was personally familiar with, although never could he remember feeling quite this dreadful. It seemed that he had slept where he had fallen, on the hard-packed earth floor of Enor's home.

TamTur groaned. His legs stiffened and twitched. He moaned again, a pitiful sound, one that Mika could sympathize with completely. "Celia, give Tam some, too," he whispered.

"Don't be silly, Mika. Wolves won't drink roan-wood tea. It tastes terrible," Celia said, c.o.c.king a well-rounded hip to one side and shaking out her ma.s.s of flowing hair. She had dressed quite carefully that morning, putting on her newest tunic of pale ivory doeskin, edged with velvety moleskin and hung with hundreds of tiny silver bells and turquoise beads, hoping to create an image that Mika would remember on the long journey.

"Please, Celia, don't argue, give him some," Mika groaned, burying his head in his hands and covering his ears to shut out the horrible jangling of the bells and beads.

Celia pouted but did as he directed, pouring a bowl full of the strong tea and placing it in front of the wolf. To her amazement, TamTur turned his head and began lapping the contents of the bowl from a rec.u.mbent position. Only when the bowl was empty did he rise, although somewhat shakily, and lean against Mika, his head hanging low and his tongue lolling from his mouth. The whites of his eyes were yellow, and even his whiskers seemed to hang limply from his muzzle.

"Oh, you're too awful. And that stupid wolf is just like you, doing everything you do! I don't know why I bother to care!" Celia cried, and turning, she stomped out of the room, leaving the miserable pair wincing at the noise of her steps.

One at a time they staggered from the building and made their way to the stream where they soaked their aching heads in the icy water and made extremely brief ablutions.

Squinting against the clear bright light of morning, Mika walked back into the center of camp and was handed a hot plate of food by an older woman who had seen many mornings after mandrake and knew that, although it often seemed like punishment, hot food eased the ravages of the drink.

Mika seated himself on a log worn smooth by many generations of Wolf Nomads, and gingerly swallowed the scrambled hawk eggs, fried loin of hart, and hunks of toasted mealybread.

The elder woman appeared at his side, took the empty plate from his hands and handed him a large mug filled with fragrant coffee ground from kara beans and heavily laced with honey and a hair of the wolf, a dollop of mandrake.

"You'll feel better soon, lad," she said kindly, and took herself away, sparing Mika the effort of speech.

And surprisingly enough, he did. Whistling for TamTur, who had slunk out of the forest and obviously did not share Mika's renewed interest in life, Mika made his way through the camp to the Far Fringe where the caravan was still quartered, guarded by a full complement of twenty men. The men were fully armed and alert, an unusual circ.u.mstance, for who would be fool enough to attack a Wolf Nomad camp?

Mika located the captain of the command and made his way to the man's side, delighted to find that it was Hornsbuck, a grizzled nomad with whom he had lifted many a cup.

Then, his step slowed as the strangeness of the situation struck him. If the caravan were truly in danger and truly important, why place Mika above Hornsbuck? Hornsbuck had long pa.s.sed his fortieth winter and had seen much combat. He was far senior to Mika in warfare, weaponry, and the command of men.

Mika began to suspect that he had been given command in t.i.tle only. Hornsbuck was really in charge and Mika had been fed the lie simply to ease him out of camp and avoid an unpleasant confrontation with Whituk.

Mika seriously considered turning around, taking a horse, and riding away, leaving everything and everyone behind. Starting new somewhere else.

But he did not own a horse, nor a saddle, nor did he have food or equipment for such a journey. The whole supporting the few. Enor's words rose up to confront him and he knew them to be true; he had not earned his place at the fire.

His detractors, those who had spoken against him, were undoubtedly waiting for him to fail, to allow some harm to befall the caravan. Well, he would surprise them! He would conduct himself in absolute propriety and deliver the caravan safely to Eru-Tovar. He would honor the memory of his father in the only way left open to him.

"We are ready to leave as soon as you give the word," Hornsbuck said in a neutral tone. "Unless you wish to check the supplies and the men personally."

"No, Hornsbuck. I'm certain that nothing is lacking if you are in charge," Mika said with a smile, determined not to offend the venerable warrior.

Hornsbuck's huge grey-blond mustache and beard twitched in surprise at the compliment, and his green eyes gave Mika an appraising glance. Then, bowing slightly from his thickened waist, he strode off on muscular legs, bowed from many years of life in the saddle.

Mika returned to camp to dress himself in the soft leather tunic, waist-high leggings and gloves that comprised the normal traveling gear. He left off the wolf-skull headpiece all of the others wore, in deference to his still-pounding head, which he now recognized was pounding of its own accord and not from any drumming of Wintuk's.

When he returned to the caravan, the men were mounted and ready to leave. Wolf banners hung from tall staffs and fluttered in the cool morning air. Wolves of all sizes and colors circled the horses of their human companions, yipping sharply and howling with excitement, anxious to be on their way.

The sharp-spined, grey stallion was as ornery as ever. As he mounted, the stallion whipped its blocky head around and attempted to nip his leg. Mika kicked it in the muzzle and pulled back sharply on the reins, causing the beast to rear up on its hind legs in an attempt to shake him from its back.

Mika clung expertly, hugging the ma.s.sive ribcage with his knees, determined to rid himself of the obstinate creature one of these days. Moving to the front of the caravan in a bone-jarring trot that amplified the pounding in his temples, he gave the signal to move out.

Reining in on a slight rise, with the grey high-stepping in place and champing at its bit, Mika watched with a critical eye as wagons, wolves, guards, and the heavily loaded supply wagon paraded before him.

As the last of them pa.s.sed, he turned to look back toward camp, thoughts of his father rising unbidden before him.

Enor and Celia broke free of the crowd of well-wishers and relatives who had gathered on the edge of the Far Fringe to see the caravan off and walked out to where he stood.

Mika was not pleased to see that Celia was accompanied by Matin the Pleasant, a tall, well-built, good-looking young Wolf Nomad who had his arm wrapped around her narrow waist in a conciliatory- and most proprietary-manner. Lurking over Celia's shoulder was Enor-oba, smirking with satisfaction. The smile on Celia's fair face was more ambiguous-hurtful and coy.

"Here," said Enor as he handed a leather pouch up to Mika. "This holds your father's spell book, magic scrolls, his healing herbs, and ungents. They were his personal property and as such belong to you now.

"You possess the basic knowledge necessary for healing which could come in useful if you run into trouble on the plains. And if you don't, you can always study.

"There's nothing to stop you from becoming a magic-user if that is what you wish. It's up to you, Mika. You can become as much ... or as little, as you choose.

"Some of us will be interested to see what you decide. Take care of yourself and the caravan. May the Great She Wolf guide your steps and bring you back safely."

Celia seemed more interested in tracing Mating jaw line than in saying good-bye, but her father turned to her and called her name sharply with a frown on his face.

"Oh, yes! Well, good-bye, Mika," Celia said prettily, her dimples creasing her rosy cheeks. "Try not to get yourself killed. And don't worry about me, I'm sure I'll be fine."

Matin said nothing, merely grinned at Mika and pulled Celia closer, causing her to giggle and protest laughingly.

Anger merged with suspicion as Mika glared down at Celia, noting the handsome tunic that showed her figure in all its soft curves. Had he only imagined the tears and concern?

It would serve her right if he got killed! Muttering to himself, he kicked the stallion hard and rode swiftly after the departing caravan, TamTur at his heels.

Chapter 6.

THE COLD, BRISK AIR of the plains was a welcome relief to Mika's throbbing head, and despite the ragged lope of the grey stallion, he soon shook off the last remaining effects of the mandrake. TamTur also seemed invigorated by the rush of cold air and took off to run at the side of a small, dun-colored female.

Mika smiled, urging the horse into a canter as he rode alongside the wagons, eyeing them in a speculative manner, inspecting each for potential problems. All seemed in good condition except the secret wagon. It still rode low to the ground, and its axle squeaked so loudly that Mika felt it must be heard in Yecha.

Holding his hand to his head, Mika swung his horse away from the wagon and made a note to implore the Guildsman to have some of its mysterious load transferred to another wagon and to grease the noisy axle. The same driver rode atop the high seat and glared at Mika in the same hostile manner, causing him to reflect that the man just might learn a few manners on the trip.

After a short mounted conference with Hornsbuck, they agreed to follow the usual trail, skirting the edge of the Burneal Forest to take advantage of the ample water, game, and firewood there.

The forest route would add several days and many miles to their journey. It would be far shorter to head directly across the plains, angling sharply toward Eru-Tovar. But there were disadvantages to such a route. Firstly, there was no water on the open plains, and while the mules might handle the shortage with few complaints, the horses would not, and heavy water bags would only slow them down.

Then, too, there were the brigands to consider. These men, desperate as they were to survive, generally avoided the forest, for they had few if any weapons and found it difficult to defend themselves against the many dangerous creatures that lived in the forest, not to mention the nomads themselves, who killed them on sight.

These dangerous men were often to be found on the plains, and so great were their thirst, hunger, and desire to live that they would attack caravans against even overwhelming odds.

All things considered, Hornsbuck suggested, and Mika was quick to agree, that there was little advantage to the direct route.

The first day went smoothly and they traveled more than twenty-five miles by nightfall. Drawing the wagons into a circle, mules and horses staked outside to give early warning in case of attack, they made camp.

A hunting party entered the forest and was lucky enough to encounter a large doe which they quickly brought down with a well-aimed sablewood arrow. As the meat roasted over the fire, Mika and Hornsbuck discussed the journey.

"If we are able to hold to this pace," Mika said thoughtfully, "we ought to make Eru-Tovar inside of twenty days."

"Something will go wrong," growled Hornsbuck, taking a deep swallow of the honeyed mead that he allowed himself at the end of each evening. "An axle will break or a mule will die or the provisions will spoil and we'll have to hunt. Something always goes wrong; you can count on it. Better figure twenty-five days at least."

"Nothing will go wrong," said a deep, firm voice from the shadows. "And it is most important that we arrive in Eru-Tovar no later than ten days hence. We've already wasted enough time while you practiced your barbaric rites, burying that witch doctor."

Mika started to rise, anger clouding his mind, but Hornsbuck's ma.s.sive hand closed over his shoulder and forced him to remain seated.

"That witch doctor," said Hornsbuck with controlled fury, "was a great healer, sir, and he died long before his time, thanks to a kobold who, may I remind you, was hidden in one of your wagons. He was also this lad's father."

"My apologies, sir," said the man as he moved into the circle of light cast by the firelight. It was the Guildsman.

"My words were ill-chosen out of concern for my schedule, which has been badly affected by the events since we left Yecha. It is most important that we arrive no later than the twelfth of Harvest Moon."

"But that is only ten days hence," Hornsbuck replied in a genial tone, still gripping Mika's shoulder firmly. "That is not possible."

"It is possible if you take a more direct route," insisted the Guildsman.

"Sir, that is a most dangerous path," said Mika, once more in control of his temper. "We deem it wiser to take the forest route, which will ensure the safe arrival of your cargo."

"I did not think that danger was an important issue with you Wolf Nomads," said the Guildsman. "I thought you cut your teeth on daggers and fought wild boars for sport."

"We are not afraid," Mika said stiffly, "but only a fool risks his skin when it is not necessary. We will travel as fast as possible and perhaps shave some time off our reckoning if there are no problems with the wagons."

"You will find nothing wrong with my wagons, my drivers, or my animals. And you forget, wolfman, that you are but the guard. I represent the Guild and have the final word on all matters. It is my decision that we take the direct route."

"You may represent the Guild, sir, but I am responsible for our lives, including yours, and I will choose my own path," Mika said hotly.

"I should have known that Wolf Nomads lack the courage of their cousins, the Tiger Nomads," sneered the Guildsman. "When I reach Eru-Tovar I will speak to the Guild and tell them of your cowardice. They will not take kindly to the late arrival of this valuable cargo. I will convince them that we have made a mistake in entrusting our caravans to your craven care. The time for treaty-making is almost upon us. I will see to it that we sign an exclusive arrangement with the Tiger Nomads. They are men and do not run weeping like women at the mere thought of danger."

Mika stared at the Guildsman, his thoughts in turmoil. No more than one night out and already he was faced with a terrible decision. Mika looked at Hornsbuck for guidance, hoping that the man would step in and take charge. But Hornsbuck merely twirled his beard between his fingers and stared at the ground.

Mika thought fast. Loss of the valuable Guild treaty was a powerful threat. Enor would not be pleased if Mika brought the caravan in safely but lost the treaty. It would hardly be a fitting tribute to the memory of his father. And it would scarcely win him a place at the fire.

Finally, he struck on what he considered to be his only option. "All right, Guildsman, we will take the overland route, but let it be known to all that it was by your directive. If we fare poorly, the blame will rest on your shoulders alone."

Hornsbuck sighed at Mika's words, but the Guildsman smiled coldly and, bowing in mock respect, retreated from the fire.

"Mika, lad, why did you fall for that old trick? Could you not see that he was prodding you, hoping to bruise your pride until he s.h.a.gged you into doing his bidding? Go after him. Tell him that we will stick to our original plan."

TamTur looked from one face to the other, sensing something was wrong. His large, intelligent hazel eyes reflected concern, and he stared after the Guilds-man and growled.

"No," said Mika, regretting his decision. "I must do as I said. We cannot afford trouble with the Guild. We will take the overland route. We will leave at dawn. We must make certain that all waterskins are filled and that the men ride armored and fully armed."

Hornsbuck nodded unenthusiastically and rose to give the new orders, a glance of contempt over his ma.s.sive shoulders indicating that the earlier camaraderie had cooled. Probably the man considered Mika a fool, but the Guildsman's threat to the caravan treaty could not be ignored.

"Great Mother Wolf, what have I gotten myself into?" Mika muttered, kneading his forehead with his fist. Then, unwilling to sit in the firelight, a clear target for the certain hostility of his men, he rose and stalked into the darkness that lurked on the far side of the wagons.

He roamed for an hour or longer in the forest, the fragrance of ferns, pines, and roanwood a soothing balm to his troubled mind. He paced the unfamiliar forest floor with little or no thought to the carnivores whose home it was, or to the savage, aboriginal humans, thought to be the remnants of the original Flannae Folk, who lived in the forest and attacked with deadly stealth.

TamTur was well trained and could be depended on to scent out all danger and prevent it before it occurred. It was a pity, though, Mika reflected, that the wolf could not monitor his wayward tongue as easily as he warded off physical risk.

One day, Mika's hasty words might place them into a situation that neither he nor Tam could handle. Once again, Mika resolved, albeit once again too late, to think before he spoke.

Chapter 7.

THEY BROKE CAMP well before dawn, hurriedly downing chunks of dry mealybread and mugs of steaming coffee.

The mood was sullen and tense as the men turned the caravan away from the shelter of the forest and headed out onto the open plains.

All day the party watched their back trail, and scouts rode before them and to either side, searching for threats that did not materialize. They were lucky, and as evening drew near, they found a large pool of clear water in a depression at the foot of a small hill covered with thick sweet gra.s.s. The loosely hobbled horses and mules drank deeply and ate their fill and, their bells tinkling pleasantly, settled down to graze through the night.

"The Great She Wolf, mother of us all, is guiding our steps," Mika ventured as he sat down next to Hornsbuck who was eating a peppery dish of beans and hart meat.

"One day. It's only one day. Don't be getting your hopes up. They're out there and they'll be on us in the flash of a wolf's tail as soon as they spot us. We're too rich a prize to pa.s.s up. Horses. Weapons. Armor. Goods. If you were stuck out here, wouldn't you risk all for a try at us? After all, what have they got to lose?" muttered Hornsbuck as he shoveled the hot mixture into his beard-shrouded mouth.

Wiping the bowl clean with a hunk of mealybread, Hornsbuck tossed the dripping piece into the air where it was caught adeptly by his wolf, a great grizzled male named RedTail, which bore an uncanny resemblance to the nomad.

RedTail's fur was heavy and thick, a strange shade of reddish blond that Mika had never seen in other wolves. His body was thick and muscular, almost stocky, with none of the long, lean grace normally found in wolves. His muzzle and ears were short and stubby and covered with a network of old scars. His bright green eyes followed Hornsbuck's every move, and Mika knew that the bond between them was great. Heaven help the mam who tried to hurt Hornsbuck!

"Too much open s.p.a.ce out here to suit me," Hornsbuck said. "Gives me the s.h.i.+vers."