Winter Wren

hen her heart had slowed the only sound was the crunch of crusted snow and the hypnotic rhythm of each stride. Her eyes ached and the warnings of a teacher were remembered. Snow blindness, yes, the glare of snow could do strange things. The pale cast of the sky blended with the white of the horizon making her head buzz with vertigo. How long had she been running? She peered over her shoulder and saw nothing but the bleak landscape. Blood no longer marked her path. She was battered but whole.

She stopped, put her hands over her aching eyes and wiped the ice from her mask. Far up the slope, beyond where a thicket of aspen stood with ghost white branches, were her companions. Surely they were frozen and buried by snow by now. She didn’t want to think too hard about it. The things up there probably didn’t eat flesh; their interest was purely in torment. They had lost interest in her because of Galyew and his antics. She remembered that last moment as she ran: the creatures surrounding him, the glow of his spells lighting the canyon red.

She gazed back up the slope. She could plainly see her meandering trail in the snow. Anything that wanted to find her could easily follow it, yet nothing moved - only the crackle of the wind in the ice driven pines. She needed shelter and she needed it now. She walked towards the trees in a daze, bent and looked down into an icy well around a trunk and saw dry needles and leaves. She dropped her pack into the hole and then slid after it into the hiding place. She pulled her guild cloak and a few yards of cloth from her pack and tried to wrap herself warmly. A stray thought of the furs she had sold for a song and a bit of food haunted her for a moment; the guild cloak was a flimsy thing meant for little more than heraldry and the cloth only good for a summer dress.

She should find a place to make a fire. Master had always talked of fire and shelter. She had shelter but a fire in this well of ice would surely make it wet and worse in the cold. She shifted in the cloth and looked up at the dark underside of the pine’s branches. No, she wasn’t leaving. It was safe and peaceful. A ranger could die a proper death here far from the ruin of Ascalon. She breathed the cold air and lay back, stretching her sore legs out until she was comfortable.

She stared at her worn old boots, studied the slash in the shin guard that went through leather, flesh and to the bone. It throbbed as she looked at it reminding her in its direness of lessons she had skipped. Master had tried to show her how to make certain potions, but she had gone fishing with Kalou instead. Kalou…Kalou who was dead on the ice. She’d seen him fall sword in hand, his blood brilliant upon the snow. Like holly berries she had thought only no birds would pluck them and only Grenth would find joy in their beauty. When he had fallen she had let her bow drop and heard the shout to run. Mage’s fire had raged around her but the beasts had snarled and wheezed like demented children, unperturbed by magic. She had fled blindly and lost her bearings.

She must have drifted asleep. She felt something warm on her face and then the smell. It was the stench of hot carrion breath, familiar to her from a family shepherd dog. She cracked an eye open; a pair of yellow eyes gazed back. It was a big animal, blurry and indistinct in the twilight. She tried to move or make a sound but she was stiff and her voice came out as a low moan. The creature finally came into focus as a wolf. A big white-grey wolf, thin and winter worn. Surely it had found her trail, smelled the blood of her wound. She worked a hand free and reached in a palsy of cold towards the dagger on her belt. Her unfeeling hand slipped on the hilt and hit the ground.

“Nice wolf.” She managed to croak. The beast sat on its haunches and stared cooly at her, obviously unimpressed. After awhile it flicked an ear in a gesture of boredom and lay down, steam rising from its long muzzle, eyes still watchful. A chill wind rose making the branches above them crack and sing. The wolf curled into a ball, set its plumed tail over its nose and closed its eyes. All she could think was ‘he looks so warm’.

“Wolf. Hey wolf.” She said, unsure how to address a wolf. Her master had been good at rearing strider birds. He certainly had never said much about wolves other than he knew ‘old so and so’ who had tamed a wolf. The beast opened one eye and peered over its tail with an expression that was almost annoyance. She then understood that this tree well was his usual sleeping spot – he was not going to kill her, just sleep through the long winter night. Around the wolf was a perfect bowl of leaf litter. Flicking her gaze around the well she saw other leafy basins where yet other wolves had slept. How typical! She had outrun certain death to find certain death while sleeping in a wolves’ den. She never had been the brightest student.

Sure enough, as light began to fade and the temperature fell, another silvery form stole into the sheltered well, then a pair and a fifth one dark as coal. They all noticed her with a sniff, but none made a move to harm her. It seemed they had eaten or were very set on sleeping. Bitterly she thought they were just saving the messy effort and struggle of killing her: dinner would serve itself after a few hours of the deepening cold. They milled around and scooped out new nests, warm breath rising in a drift of mist as they wriggled into position. She watched them enviously, shivering and numb against the tree. Her head ached and a knot of icy pain had settled in her chest, making it increasingly hard to breathe. In the gathering darkness it occurred to her that she didn’t want to die. She had succeeded in nothing. How could she face Kalou in the underworld and tell him she’d died a coward hiding in a wolf’s den?

"So cold." She said in an effort to ask for help. The first wolf’s eyes glowed from its resting place its ears forward listening to her. She swallowed, trying to think of words, the old words her master had known. What were the words? It had been years ago when she had a home and a mentor. The emerald forests, the open flowery meadows, long ago. She had tamed a little brown wren. It was just a few words, she tried to concentrate. The only memory that came was the acid stench of the foul lake that had flooded their home. This recalled the sight of bloated bodies on a black tide. She choked and felt a tear run down her face. “Please.”

The wolf rose, sniffed her face and licked the tear away. She clenched her eyes shut and waited for a bite from its powerful jaws, for the creature to give her a shake, to break her neck. Yet it laid beside her and laid its huge head across her lap. She relaxed and pushed a little closer to the warm bulk of the animal. It grunted and repositioned itself a little over her body. She closed her eyes and thought of home again and a jumble of memories greeted her. She had smelled honeysuckle on the day she’d entered the gates of Ascalon the beautiful. Bird song and boar tracks, the winding trail of Foible’s Fair and windfall apples warm from the sun. Days when the worst worry had been worms in the corn field. A boy whispered a secret into her ear. A smile of recognition twitched her lips and she slept forgetful of grief.

“Dale!” The voice was distant. She opened her eyes and breathed in the fug of five wolf bodies in the cramped well. They were all around her, piled up in a furry mass. She saw they were all awake, their sinuous forms taut as they listened…it was this tension that had woken her.

“Dale, by the accursed one, where are you?” She recognized Galyew’s reedy voice. She pushed up against the trunk and at once the wolves peeled away, their bodies whirling in the blue green depth of the well. The one that had saved her from the cold gave a sharp bark and all five scrambled up the icy wall and in a moment vanished.

“Galyew!” She called back. She heard him running now, recognized his stuttering and ponderous footfalls. Soon he stood at the top of the well and sighed loudly with relief as he looked down at her.

“Thought for sure you were dead.” He prodded his staff at the edge and shrugged. “You look alright…why don’t you climb up here? Not proper for a man of my years to be climbing around like a goat.”

She rose stiffly and managed a semblance of grace while scaling the slick surface that the wolves had cleared so easily. Galyew hugged her and then tutted when he saw her torn armor and the bloody stains. He brushed off the leaf litter, picked pine needles from her tawny hair and seemed, overall, to be making sure she was in one piece.

“Come on, shouldn’t be far now.” He muttered. “We’ll get some help at the pass to recover the others.”

“How did you survive?” She asked, noticing how little touched he was. His gaudy clothes were meticulously clean and the little pouches of herbs and other exotic things that made him stink like hell’s marketplace were perfectly ordered on his belt.

“I have my ways, but you were the only one I could save. I failed the rest of the company.” As he spoke he surveyed her again with a strange expression. Was it regret, sadness or worry? She found herself wondering if he worried what she would say about his guiding ability.

They started walking down the slope, Galyew saying nothing, prodding ahead with his black staff, gray hair fluttering in the breeze. Dale followed him at a stolid limp, glancing at the trees and icy nooks for any sign of the wolf. As she trailed behind the muttering old mage, she came to a stop and listened. Somewhere in a nearby pine a tiny voice rose. At first the song was nothing but a harsh chirp, but then it bubbled and rose with an exultant melody. A wren was singing his voice fierce and unconquered by winter’s wrath. She did not know what the bird said but the lost words came back to her, reclaimed from the smoothering tar and dust of Ascalon.

Dale let herself smile and felt hope lift her tired limbs. From a journey of despair could come friendship and after all she had not been abandoned. She whispered the words. The wolf stalked from the icy forest and came so quietly to her side that Galyew did not even pause. They walked silently together as the day brightened and the defiant song of the wren faded on the wind.

* * * *

They arrived at the camp not long after noon. She saw the sullen forms of refugees huddled in blankets, their feet wrapped in rags against the bitter cold. Someone had spitted a pig and its fat cracked over a fire, filling the camp with the rank odor of burning hair and lard. She wrinkled her nose as she followed Galyew across the trampled field to a group of men. They were gathered around wagons and busily preparing bales and barrels of goods. Galyew rattled off a few strange words and then pointed at her, said few other words. One of the foreigners looked at her, his dark eyes narrowed in something very near hostility. He spat out a few unpleasant words.

“What does he say?” She turned to Galyew and saw he was bristling.

“Beken is angry that I waived your fee for services rendered as a guard. I hadn’t collected from the other people in the group…so I’ve no money.” Galyew shrugged. “They could have told me about the ice imps.”

“I have some money – what do they want?” Dale had been studying the group as Galyew had spoken, and had come to the conclusion that they looked the type of people who expected timely payment. She had also noted their matching cloaks and badges; a large and powerful guild most likely, though she did not recognize the sword and briar symbol. A small guild could not field an entire caravan along with soldiers and drovers. She decided that she would not be wearing her emblem around them since already she did not trust them.

“Three hundred.” The man said in a thick accent. “You pay?”

She stared at him with her mouth stupidly open for a moment. She had paid into the party’s pool for food, blankets and cook gear. That had taken most of her funds. She reached down to her purse and felt the half dozen coins, a bit of hard cheese and a spool of thread and grimaced. The warrior shifted in his blackened armor impatiently and crossed his arms.

“I can give you five gold.”

“Look little doll. Little ranger girl from Ascalon.” He said the last word like it was a curse. “There is no way in the five hells that you provided any service to Galyew here…except perhaps as a pretty ornament – a bit of old man’s fantasy perhaps? You going to pay us what is owed, or not?”

“No need to insult my client.” Galyew pounded his staff on the ground, lifting a few dramatic sparks that made half of the loitering group step back. “You know that I am good for a loan. You needn’t trouble Dale here…I will talk to the Xunlai.”

“So what about the rest of the group? Are we getting help? If we can get a priest then we can get a proper burial... ” Dale began.

“They are dead.” Galyew interrupted. “We’ll have to leave them.”

“But you said we would recover them…”

“I know how you feel about your friends, but one must move on with these things.”

“But...Calou…he…I promised…I asked him to come.”

“Are you still with me, Dale? Forget your boy. You either come with me, or go back to Ascalon and fight charr with the soldiers and die. No one will look out for you back home, a weak thing like you.”

“I…but…they are up there and we could get them back.” She frowned at him, shocked and hurt that he would abandon them to scavengers. Tradition was certain about the fate of wandering and unmourned spirits; they would haunt the place of their death for eternity. Galyew was telling her to forget. Yet he was the only person here she knew. He was her link back to Ascalon, a friend of her master and also the only person who seemed willing to protect her. She doubted she could find her own way home. She wiped a hand across tear filled eyes and sniffled.

“Oh Dale! Even your own master would not go up there! Show some good sense. If we don’t go with Beken and his gang, we’ll need to go with the Prince’s party and word is that he’s a marked man. It will be more dangerous.”

“Beken seems like scum.”

“You merely mistrust his appearance.” Galyew shrugged, glancing back at Beken to see if he had heard Dale’s insult, but the man had moved away. “Anyways you look cold and people are staring at that animal that is following you. I’ll take you to the camp and get someone to look at your wounds.”

She followed him with her head bowed; she could indeed see people looking at the wolf. No one looked particularly happy to see it. After a short walk outside of the camp, they came to a clearing among the boulders. A cluster of tents was set up and she saw more goods piled up in a chaotic mass. She nearly tripped over a bundle of rusty swords bound together with sinews. Galyew took her shoulder and propelled her into a tent before she could really look at what the rest of the bundles were.

“Get in there. I’ve got business to attend to.” He frowned as the wolf followed her. It appeared that he would block it with his staff, but the wolf bared its teeth and slinked between them. Galyew gestured at a cot. “There’s a sack with some clean clothes in there – get out of that armor and I will bring a monk in a few minutes. We’ll be here a couple days, I suggest you stay in here as Beken seems to have taken a dislike to you.”

She watched him leave before pulling the tent flap closed and rifling through the bag. It contained a surprisingly large number of clothes. There were men’s and women’s clothes, all worn, but laundered and clean. She eschewed the dresses and selected a plain set of trousers and tunic. She had just finished dressing when she heard someone trip over the goods outside.

“Hey, I am looking for Dale…you in one of these tents?” The voice was young and bouyant. She rose and opened the tent flap. The monk was wrapped in huge fur lined cloak, looking small and vulnerable in its bulky embrace. He entered the tent, his amber eyes taking in the way she stood. His hands clasped hers and he smiled like a sun beam. She felt a sudden affection for him. “I’m Dale.”

“I gathered that. I am Edesil Claris.” He undid a golden hasp, shrugged off the cloak and stretched languidly. “Your master says you got some wounds on your legs.”

“He’s not my master.” Given their recent disagreement she wasn’t even sure she would even call him a friend.

“He said you were in his employ.” Edesil knelt at her feet after she sat, he rolled up the legs of her trousers. His hands probed and she winced wishing he would just say the prayers and have done with it.

“Ah this isn’t bad. No infection or anything else.” He said a few words and a soft blue glow lit the tent for a moment. She felt coolness in her limbs and a sudden relaxation; she hadn’t realized just how much pain there had been. “Now you just need to eat and sleep – nothing I can do for that.”

“You coming with Galyew and Beken?”

Edesil shook his head. “Now that is something no amount of money would buy.”

“How is that?”

“Bad people.” Edesil sat back on the floor, reached back for the fur cloak and wrapped it around himself again. “Of course your ‘master’ told me not to talk to you. He’s a powerful man, but I respect him not at all, knowing what he is.”

“And what is he?”

“A brigand. Some say a murderer.” Edesil replied. “But his coin is the same as an honest man’s and at least you may travel with your heart wary.”

“How is he a murderer?”

“Open your eyes.” He glanced back at the open tent flap and stood up clumsily in the too-large cloak. “I need to go, my party will be moving on before the storm gets here.”

He gave her a stiff nod of farewell, his bright eyes shadowed and somehow shuttered against her. When she rose to follow him and continue the conversion, his expression became hard. He glared at her and suddenly she was on the cot and unable to move. When next she was able to even think, he was gone and the cold wind blowing through the tent flap. Dale closed the tent flap, shaking her now throbbing head. She glanced around and saw that the wolf was asleep under the cot – he had not bothered to even confront the monk.

“Great protection you are.” She huffed. The wolf opened one eye and gaped his mouth in a canine grin. She flopped down on the cot and gathered the blankets around her. She was very tired and it was hard what to make of what Edesil had said. Surely the monk was wrong. Why would her own master have dealings with Galyew if he was a murderer? Surely the old ranger would know the heart of his own friends. She dozed off with those thoughts and had several bad dreams.

Three days passed in which Galyew brought her meals and told her to keep quiet. She watched Beken’s gang slowly sort through the piles of merchandise outside the tent. They cleaned, polished and packed objects of every kind into crates. Galyew was there as well, overseeing the work and snapping orders. She didn’t see Beken anywhere and was relieved. She was bored though and feeling much better. The wolf was also restive – their short and necessary trips outside limited to a stand of fir trees nearby. It was afternoon and she saw that Galyew was gone and just a couple of the men were there sorting through leather hides. She slipped past, back out to the main camp. She had a few coins and wondered if she could replace the bow she had dropped as she ran. Perhaps someone would take mercy on her and give her something decent.

She told the wolf it could wander off to the woods if it wanted. She kept talking but it seemed to take arm motions and a lot of talking to get him to leave. She watched his lithe form vanish beneath the trees and wondered if he would come back. She slinked along alert for Beken or Galyew, but saw neither of them. She slipped across the camp, past tents and softly talking groups of travelers. She saw a trader and his worn old cart. In front of him a stack of beaten looking weapons. She glanced across the table and felt a chill as her eyes fell on one unique item.

She’d seen it last at the chest of one of her companions. It was a leather pouch worked with blue glass beads. It held the tooth of a bear, a woven braid of a centaur’s mane and a red arrowhead. Her name was Alanu. She was a mage from the academy, straight and strong, able to use a sword as well as the fire of her spells. One night Alanu had shown her each item in the pouch, describing how she received each of them. She reached towards the pouch.

“Thirty coins for that pretty thing.”

“Can I look at it?”

The trader shrugged. “Certainly.”

She picked it up and opened the flap. There was a single coarse piece of hair that might have been from a centaur, but nothing else.

“Who did you buy this from? When you got it did it have anything in it? There was an arrowhead and a centaur braid and a bear’s tooth.”

“Well, I don’t name my sellers – that only leads to trouble and old Sanura he just likes business and business only and yes it came with a few trinkets. Worth more apart than together.” Sanura grinned at his own cleverness.

“Do you still have them?”

“Oh no. The arrowhead the seller kept after I told him the price. Much a shame – it would have sold well. I sold the braid to a warrior and the bear’s tooth I put on a string and some ranger bought that as a charm. So all I got is the pouch and no one seems to recognize the value of the beads on it…perhaps I should tear off the beads….”

“No!”

“Well then, fifteen as I said.” Sanura stretched out a leathery hand.

“This belonged to my friend.”

“I charge more for sentimentality, so don’t you go thinking tears will get what you want.” Sanura pulled the pouch out of her hands. “More dead people than I care to mention out there in the passes. Let the living make a living.”

She held back all emotions, trying not to give the merchant the pleasure of her tears. “Then tell me, when did you get the pouch?”

“Yesterday.” Sanura still had his hand over the pouch. “Now if you are as broke as you look, I suggest you leave before I introduce you to my brothers.”

She followed the shrug of his shoulders to a pair of large men who lurked nearby. They were armor clad and smiled with all the toothy warmth of hungry charr. She nodded at Sanura and stalked back to the camp. The sight of Akanu’s pouch gave her a sudden hope that perhaps they were alive.

She wandered the camp for an hour, listening for familiar voices, but she was afraid to question anyone else for fear word would get back to Beken or Galyew. She saw nobody she knew. Dale’s hope faded as well for she knew that Akanu would never willingly part with the pouch; they may be trinkets to a warrior and a ranger, but for her they were part of her powers. The red arrowhead most of all: it was crafted from the translucent beak of a phoenix and an exponent of fire.

She trailed back to the tent. She saw Galyew at the other end of the group’s camp supervising what appeared the sorting of a new stack of goods. She tried to duck back into the tent, but he had seen her and he strode towards her, bright robes billowing like angry flames.

“Dale!” He growled.

“Hey.” She said innocently, doing her best to look the naive girl.

“Where your wolf get off to? And what do you think you’re doing out in the camp?”

“I was bored.” She said in an ‘I’m a helpless girl’ voice. “Just wanted to see about getting a new bow.”

“Beken’s got a crate full. Why didn’t you just ask me?” Galyew sighed. “Well he didn’t see you wandering around, so luckily we are neither of us in trouble. You stay here in the tent like I told you. Now, again, tell me where the wolf is?”

“I told him to go. He needed to get something to eat.” Dale said, this time with absolute honesty. Galyew nodded.

“Yes, of course. Just try to keep that thing under wraps – Beken thinks it’s a devil or a familiar or something and it is going to spy on him. He’s a little…little undereducated about these things, but more than capable of doing harm.” Galyew tried to give her an affectionate look at that came out more as a grimace. He tried to touch her arm, but she ducked away from him. “It's just going to be a day more, then we will travel with Beken for a few days and then I’ll have you in Kryta safe and sound and with Master Kouric. Then you needn’t worry, but you need to listen to me now for your own safety.”

She obeyed and sat in the tent. She occupied herself by repairing the many holes in her armor, now washed and cleaned by one of Beken’s lackeys. In a few hours it was serviceable enough to wear, even though she found that certain stains and burns had remained. Dale put the armor aside and lit the small oil lamp near her cot. Night was falling and the storm Edesil had spoken of was beginning to howl through the mountains. She saw the tent flap flutter for a moment and the wolf entered. It met her gaze for a moment and then slinked beneath the cot. She heard him belch a few times beneath her and the room filled with an odor redolent of carrion.

“Ah so you found something to eat.” She was about to reach down and touch the wolf when it began to growl softly. Its muzzle poked out from between a flap of blankets. It would have been humorous if not for the rising rumble of hostility. The tent shuddered for a moment and Galyew entered with Beken.

“See the wolf is still here.” Galyew said. Dale met his eyes and saw the barely concealed relief there. Beken glared at the wolf and the wolf continued snarling from his hiding place.

“Kill it.” Beken snapped at Galyew. “It’s a tool of evil. One of my men saw it sniffing around…and they saw your girlfriend walking around the camp. I don’t need spies.”

Dale leapt off of the cot. “You will do no such thing!”

Beken gave her a cool look and in a sudden fluid motion drew a dagger. She felt it slice through the cloth of her tunic. Its edge pressed on her belly; Beken grabbed her hair in a handful and twisted her head back. Galyew stepped back, said and did nothing. “I’ll kill you too if it suits me.”

“Let go of me!” She gasped fighting back her terror. Beken slid the blade up to her chest. She could see his cruel grin as she struggled against him and grew still when the edge ground against her collarbone and made a deep gash. He pulled back on her head and forced her to the ground, kicked her side as she fell. She saw the blur of the wolf, its silver hide aglow in the lamp light. Its jaws snapped around Beken’s right arm; there was a crack of teeth on armor. The wolf lunged forward again driving the warrior back in a fury of teeth and muscle.

Galyew raised up his hands and gathered fire over the wolf as it continued its attack. Dale saw him, and with a sob dove at the mage’s legs, bringing him to the floor. A backwash of flames swept around her and she smelled burned hair. Behind her the wolf yelped, she spun on her heels and prepared to protect herself. Galyew kicked her and sent her headlong then knelt on her back so she could not rise. The wolf gave another cry of pain. She could see blood on his grizzled hide and Beken was closing with his sword drawn.

“Go!” She said to the wolf. “Leave me now.”

The wolf did not look at her, but it was clear he understood. He bounded out of the tent and vanished into the night. Galyew dragged her away from Beken, who seemed more than ready to kill the next thing that moved. The warrior did not move for a few moments, but his anger was palpable in the brief silence.

“If I ever see that animal again, I will kill both of you. Since Galyew seems set on having you along, I would suggest that you not even look at me until we are in Kryta.” He seethed. “If he had the sense he’d see you are nothing but witchery and trouble.”

“I didn’t do…”

“Dale, be quiet.” Galyew squeezed her arm. Beken was looking at his damaged arm, running a finger across the marks of the wolf’s fangs. The warrior gave her a dark glance before leaving.