Tara K. Harper - Wolfwalker 2 - Shadow Leader

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SHADOW

LEADER

Tara K. Harper

A Del Rey Book

BALLANTINE BOOKS • NEW YORK

A Del Rey Book

Published by Ballantine Books

right Conventions. Published in the United States of America by

Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York,

and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Lim-

ited, Toronto.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 91-91811

ISBN 0-345-37163-1

Printed in Canada

First Edition: May 1991

Cover Art by Edwin Herder

In memory of Brent E., who taught me how to finesse a

climb, and showed me that one of the greatest challenges is

that of facing your fears.

Chapter 1

In gray tones, speak the wolves;

The whisper of their hunt is soft.

But when the poison masa walks

Even the wolves flee the woods.

Aranur staggered to a stop and caught his breath. The

rustlings behind him grew louder, and the coils of the poison

masa were already creeping along the branches overhead. He

half straightened and threw a glance over his shoulder. If those

sucker vines got any thicker. . . With a curse under his breath,

he pulled his long knife from his belt—his sword would be

useless if he became tangled—and shoved himself away from

the tree. Longear's scouts could be on his trail even now, he

knew, but that was not what worried him—the masa was stirred

up enough to keep the scouts from his footprints for days. No,

it was the wolfwalker for whom he feared.

He broke into a jog. The hungry vines snaked through the

trees above him as he ran, and the feeder roots were as thick as

his wrist. Dion had never seen poison masa before. If she

stepped into a masa coil unknowing . . .

He ducked under a low branch and vaulted a rotten log,

slipping on the loose bark that scattered under his boots before

he caught himself again. He glanced around for signs of the

wolfwalker. Thank the moons he was close—cleanly cut stems

still oozed with fresh sap where Dion had sliced off the wild

herbs with her knife. But then the wind rose briefly, and a new

scent hit his nose. Fresh water. A lake? Or a stream hidden in

a gully he had not seen from the ridge? His knowledge of this

county's border was scant. If there was a pond here, there

would be clear bands of soil near the banks—and that would be

ripe hunting ground for the masa . . .

He doubled his pace, ignoring the branches that caught and

snapped on his mail as he ran. A deadfall leapt-up under his

feet, and he jumped it without thinking, sliding down on the

other side as the ground fell away in an unexpectedly steep

slope. The soft earth piled into his boots, and rotting sticks

stabbed his legs where the studded leather slid up to his hips.

He landed with a grunt, rolled, and came up running, the

humus scattering like chaff.

The ground became marshy, and the softness of the sweet

dirt gave way to mud. His feet drove deeply into the ground

with splucking sounds as he shoved his way through, one hand

holding the hilt of his sword so it did not catch on the brush,

the other in front of his face to ward off the branches that

stabbed at his eyes. Before him, a tiny hillock served as a

dike to the mountain runoff. He charged up it until his weight

collapsed one of the rodent tunnels that honeycombed the

dike and he slammed to the ground face first at the top of the

hill.

Wait.

He froze.

That voice—it was Gray Hishn, the wolf that ran with Dion,

the massive creature's tones husky in his mind. Watch, the

gray wolf said softly.

Motionless, Aranur caught his breath. What was going on?

Where was the wolf? And where was Dion? He glared across

the lake over the top of the dike, his narrowed gray eyes

stabbing each shrub that hung out over the silent water. He

could see no sign of the enemy scouts that patrolled the borders

in greater numbers than ever. But there—to the right—he lo-

cated the wolfwalker before spotting Gray Hishn hiding behind

her. The woman's worn, leather mail melted so well into the

brush that she was nearly invisible, but the silver headband,

which marked her as a healer, glinted dully in the sun. It gave -

away her position and turned Aranur's angry apprehension into

puzzled curiosity. He hardly noticed the chill where the mud

soaked his leggings. What was that fool woman doing now?

She looked frozen in place, like a statue, her hands out in front

of her as if she had been turned to stone in the middle of

clapping. Behind her, three small, neat piles of herbs testified

to the gathering she had done. He squinted, shifting silently to

a better position. But he could see no danger around her—and,

too, the wolf would not be lying in the brush behind Dion if she

sensed anything wrong—so what in the name of all nine moons

was going on?

Suddenly Dion let out a short, sharp yell and brought her

hands together with a clap that echoed across the water.

"By the gods—" Aranur almost jumped into the nearest tree

as the banks of the lake—on every side—erupted, and thou-

sands of startlingly green lizards leapt up from where they had

lain, perfectly hidden, in the mud of the shore. They were a full

meter tall on their hind legs; they ran like half-size men toward

the water and then, to his amazement, rushed out on the surface

of the lake as if it were a mirage and solid as the banks he stood

on. Frantically they sped toward the center of the lake in a

spattering thunder, tiny wakes cutting back from their webbed

feet and chopping up the water like a thousand knives. And

then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, they sank out of

sight. And then there was—nothing. Just the lake, the banks,

and the wolfwalker standing there with a foolish grin on her

face.

And she had the audacity to giggle. Aranur closed his mouth

with a snap and got to his feet, stalking down the dike. It did

not help that he slipped twice and caught himself only once. By

the time he reached Dion, who had already picked up her herbs

and motioned for the wolf to join her, he was wet, muddy,

humiliated, and coldly enraged. He wiped a last handful of

marsh mud from his scabbard and flung it on the shore.

"All right, Dion," he snapped. "What the hell was that all

about?"

The wolfwalker, her violet eyes sparkling, gestured toward

the lake. "Green tobi lizards. Did you see them take off for the

water? There must have been a thousand of them lying on the

shore."

"Dion," he said in a quietly dangerous voice, "why are you

out here alone this far from the trail?"

She looked at him then. "I was gathering herbs, Aranur. I

told my brother where I was going before I left."

He wiped another streak of mud from his scabbard. "Rhom

hardly knew you would be gone this long or this far."

She gave him an irritated look.

"Look, Dion, you weren't scouting trail, so no one knew

where to find you. It took me half an hour just to locate the spot

where you left the rocks back near the main path, and now I've

left traces there, as well. We're too close to the border of

Bilocctar, Dion. You don't realize what can happen."

"Gray Hishn's with me," she protested quietly. "She

sensed no danger—"

"That wolf doesn't know everything about these mountains,

and neither do you. What if these tobi lizards were venomous?

What if this little trick of yours drew the attention of a bad-

gerbear or worlag or one of Longear's men instead of me?"

"Aranur—"

"Gamon sighted a group of scouts barely an hour after you'd

gone."

In spite of her irritation, Dion was startled. "But we're still

two days from the border. And we've been a long time crossing

the mountains from the coast—they could not know where we

are yet.''

"I don't know how they did it, but they are in these hills just

as we are. And if they catch sight of us—or of you," he

reminded her sharply, "then all this—" he gestured at his

worn boots and stained leather mail. "—will be for nothing."

Dion was silent for a moment. "Hishn and I would not have

been seen," she said finally. "The Gray Ones are seen only

when they wish."

"Moonworms, Dion," Aranur exploded, "you're not a

wolf. You're a woman, and as easily seen as the rest of us."

He ran his fingers through his hair and forced his voice to be

calmer. "Look, Dion, if it were merely Zentsis's soldiers who

were after us, I might not be so concerned. But Longear's

men—like their master—are far more ruthless and cunning.

You're a good scout as long as you keep your mind on what

you're doing, but you get so caught up running around with

that wolf that you forget the dangers that could take others as

well as you." He gestured sharply. "You've got to stay closer

to the group. If you ran into trouble out here, we would not

even know it."

Dion gave him a strange look. "You might." She did not

explain, but instead turned on her heel and stalked back toward

one of the trails that led away from the lake.

"Dion—"

She did not turn. But the wolf, with a sly smile at Aranur,

trotted after her. With a flick of her tail, Hishn sneezed just as

she came even with Aranur so that he had to move his boot

from her path, as well.

"Dnu droppings," he muttered. "Dion, wait there," he

ordered. "I will go first. There is masa growing down here."

"I know," she said shortly. "I went around it."

But she paused for him to step in front of her on the path.

Hishn, also waiting, cocked her head at him and panted.

Aranur, still reeking with the mud of the marsh, glared at the

Gray One and snapped, "And wipe that grin off your face, you

gray-skinned mutt."

Dion touched his arm. "You didn't have to hurry so,

Aranur. We did scout the area before we came down to the

lake."

"Paths can change in a matter of minutes when there's masa

around, Dion." He ducked into the game trail the wolf had

indicated and catalogued at a glance the tracks that lay on the

path. Even though he was keeping his voice low, it still seemed

loud.

"What do you mean, 'paths can change'?"

"Masa walks. Haven't you ever heard that?"

"Yes, but it's not that thick here," she returned, brushing

her hair back from her face.

Aranur glanced over his shoulder at Dion. Her straight black

hair heightened the color in her cheeks, and her violet eyes, so

like those of the moon warriors of legends, were quick and

clear. She was slender, but tall enough to come up to his

shoulder. Tall enough, he reminded himself, to stand up to him

when she took issue with his words. He snorted, making his

way around a deadfall that blocked the trail, but as Dion slipped

silently after him, he nodded to himself in approval. In spite of

her slimness, she was strong and quick with her sword—

something that had surprised him until he learned to count on

it—and fought as well as any of the men who rode on his

venges back in Ramaj Ariye. An odd woman, he thought. One

who knew the woods as well as another woman would know

politics. Where most women were content to run the businesses

and act as elders to the councils, Dion preferred the forest and

the stark heights of the mountains. She would have been a

master healer in any city, but she chose instead to take her

healing skills to the tiny villages that perched on wispy cliffs

and the scattered towns that squatted in the remote valleys of

Randonnen. Not all wolfwalkers were healers, he knew, though

most of them had skills in that science. But this need to run the

ridges with the wolves—he wondered if all wolfwalkers were

like that.

The thought of the woods brought his mind back to the

masa, and, edging around a bush, he listened carefully for

sounds of creeping runners as the vines threaded their way

through the brush. The masa was closer now, but the trail

ahead seemed to be clear. He motioned for Dion to hurry.

"Masa does not grow in your county," he said in a low

voice, pausing to clear a branch from his own dark hair. "It's

the altitude. But we're only a hundred meters off sea level

here, and the masa grows thickly. Larger than I've seen it

before."

Dion looked down the path. "We had to go around two

major growth circles before Hishn found a clear path to the

herbs I wanted."

Aranur bit back an acid comment. "The problem is, Dion,

that the masa is large enough here to attack creatures our size

and bigger. Look, see that root over there?"

She nodded. "It's as thick as my forearm."

"I saw vines as thick as that gathering on that other game

trail."

"They were not there when I went by."

"That's what I mean. Masa walks." He scowled as the trail

faded out and left him facing a wall of brittle peatrees. Only

tiny paths led through the dense growth before them, and Ara-

nur pulled his sword from the sheath with a mutter and began

hacking his way through. "Each growth circle sends out feeder

roots along the ground," he said, grunting as he slashed

through a thick clump of blackwood stems. "At the same time,

the vines creep out over nearby trees before they kill the other

plants." He took two steps and bashed another wall of sticky

brush, "When the runners find a spot with clear space beneath

the branches, they coil up like snakes on the upper limbs. Then

they wait for the feeder roots to sense pressure and move-

ment. " He slipped between the thick shrubs and made his way

for another ten meters before he had to hack at the brush again

and stop, forced to clear his blade of the clinging growth after

just two more cuts. "Then, when an animal comes by that

weighs enough to tempt the plant, the vines drop, and kapow.

You're history." He paused for a moment and looked back.

"It's a good thing we're taking another trail back. By now, that

first path's a death trap."

"But how could the trail change so fast? Even if you took

your time, I went through barely twenty minutes before you

did."

"I didn't take my time," he said shortly. "Close to the lake,

I went through barely five minutes after you. It's like this,

Dion. If the feeder roots sense more motion in one direction

than another, the plant shifts its vines over there. You and the

wolf must have been pretty tempting fare."

Hishn cocked her head at the healer, and Dion paused, hear-

ing the gray voice easily in her head. "To the right," the

wolfwalker said. "Another trail opens up."

Aranur glanced back, then to the right. "How far?"

"Five meters, maybe more."

He cleared his blade, wiping the steel on his leggings and

shoving it back in his scabbard. Clambering over the peatrees,

he forced his way through the heavy bushes till the tangled

brush suddenly halted and he stepped abruptly out on a thin

trail, just as the wolf had said. But as he saw the tracks that

littered the path, he halted. Behind him, Dion froze. She waited

silently while he examined the tracks, but even at a glance he

could see that the largest tracks were old. The last predators on

that trail had been a band of beetlelike worlags that had passed

days before, and the marks of their long, insectoid claws had

already been partly filled with dust and caved in by the other

prints of rabbit and grouse. He motioned for Dion to join him.

"There are few animals using this path," he commented.

"And it is running in a fairly straight line toward camp."

But she hesitated and pointed along the trail. "All the large

animal tracks are old here, Aranur. Only the small ones are

new." She shook her head, and the Gray One bared her teeth

slowly.

"And masa walks," he said softly to himself.

"Would the masa let the small animals through so that larger

ones would follow?"

He shook his head slowly. "A trap like that implies intelli-

gence, Dion."

She chewed her lip, a vague uneasiness making her unwill-

ing to set foot on the path. "Let's think on this a moment,

Aranur. What if this masa is intelligent? It's not native—the

ancients brought it across the stars when they came. And they

did a great deal of crossbreeding before they developed the

plants we use today. They could have bred these vines the same

way."

He snorted. "For what purpose?"

She motioned, and the wolf snarled deep in her throat. "This

masa is an almost perfect barrier," Dion said softly. "Better

than the thornbush, since that cannot move or chase its prey. If

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SHADOWLEADERTaraK.HarperADelReyBookBALLANTINEBOOKS•NEWYORKADelReyBookPublishedbyBallantineBooksCopyright©1991byTaraK.HarperAllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCopy-rightConventions.PublishedintheUnitedStatesofAmericabyBallantineBooks,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork,andsimultaneousl...

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