B Ê. BADGERLOCK'S “OLD BLOOD TALES”
The wolf was not where I had left him. It rattled me, and I took some few moments convincing myself that I had not mistaken the spot. But there were the spatters of his blood where he had sprawled on last year's leaves, and here were the spatters in the dust where he had lapped water from my hands. He had been here and now he was not.
It is one thing to track two shod horses with riders. It is another to follow the spoor of a wolf over dry ground. Hehad left no trace of his passage, and I feared to reach out toward him. I followed the tracks of the horses, believing that he would have done the same. As I trailed them through the sundrenched hills, their tracks went down into a draw and crossed a small stream. They had stopped here to let the horses water. And there in the muddy bank was a wolf's pawprint atop the horse's hoofmark. So. He was tracking them.
Three hills later, I caught up with him. He knew I was coming. He did not pause to wait for me, but moved on. That gait caught my eyes. It was not his purposeful trot. He walked. Myblack was not especially pleased to approach the wolf, but she didn't fight me. As I drew closer, he stopped in the shelter of some trees and awaited me.
“I brought meat,” I told him as I dismounted.
I felt his awareness of me, but he sent no thought toward me. It was eerie. I took the meat out of my shirt and gave it to him. He gulped it down and then came to sit down beside me. I took the salve out of my pouch. He sighed and lay down.
The claw swipes down his belly were livid ridges of lacerated flesh, and hot to the touch. When I applied the salve, the pain became an edged thing between us. I was as gentle as I could be and still be thorough. He tolerated it, but not gladly. I sat for a time beside him, my hand resting on his ruff. He sniffed at the salve I had applied. Honey and bear grease, I told him. He licked the long scratch and I let him. His tongue would push the ointment deeper into the wound and do him no harm. Besides, there was no way I could have stopped him. He already knew that I would have to go back to Galekeep.
It would be wisest for me to keep following them, even if I don't go swiftly. The longer you are delayed, the colder the trail will be . Easier for you to come to me than to try to follow fading tracks .
There is no arguing with that. I gave no voice to my worries that he could neither hunt nor defend himself just now. He knew it, I knew it, and he had made his decision. I'll catch up with you as soon as I can. He knew that too, but I could not refrain from the promise.
My brother. Be careful what you dream tonight. won't seek to dream with them.
I fear they may seek you.
Apprehension smoked through my mind, but again there was nothing to say. I wished, vainly, that I had been brought up knowing more of the Wit. Perhaps if I had understood Old Blood better, I would know what I was dealing with now.
No. I think not. What you do, how you link to him, that is not just Skill. It is the crossing of your magic. You open the door with one and travel with the other. As when attacked us tin after he had bridged into you with Skill. His Skill made the bridge, but used my bond with you to run across it.
He had deliberately shared that thought with me, acknowledging a worry that had been growing in me for some time. Dogmagic, Justin had called my Wit, and told me that my use of the Skill stank of it. Verity had never complained of that. But Verity, I admitted unwillingly, shared my truncated education in the Skill. Perhaps he had not detected a staining of the Wit in my use of the Skill, or perhaps he had been too kind to ever rebuke me with it. Now I worried for my wolf. Do not follow them too closely. Try not to let them know that we track them.
What did you fear? That I would attack a cat and a boy on horseback? No. That battle belongs to you. I will trail this game; it is up to you to bring it to bay and down it.
His thought created unpleasant images in my mind all the way back to Galekeep. I had entered into this to track down a boy, runaway or perhaps kidnapped. Now I was facing not only a boy who did not wish to be returned to Buckkeep, but his confederates. How far would I go in my efforts to return him to the Queen, and what limits would he set in his determination to have his own way?
Would those with him have any constraints as to what they would do to keep him?
I knew Lord Golden was wise to continue our play. Much as I longed to drop all pretense and simply hunt down the Prince and drag him back to Buckkeep, could see the consequences of that. If the Bresingas were convinced that we pursued him, they would certainly get a warning to him. He would flee faster and hide deeper. Worse, they might directly interfere with our pursuit of him. I had no wish to meet with an untimely “accident” as we tracked Prince Dutiful. As matters stood, we could still hope to move secretly to regain the Prince and discreetly convey him back to Buckkeep. He had fled Galekeep at our arrival, yet not gone far at first. Now he was on the move again, but still had no reason to connect Lord Golden to any pursuit. If the Fool could pry us loose of Lady Bresinga's hospitality without arousing any suspicion, we could follow him unobtrusively and have a better chance of catching up with him.
