The Wolves of Gryning: Chapter 9
Chapter 9: A Cruel Trick
That Nashil loved her, Valdigt knew. It had been apparent from almost the first moment they met, and though that had been only a few weeks ago, the days they'd spent together were joyous. Passion came swiftly - so swiftly they had not even left Gryning before the messenger girl had admitted her feelings. Valdigt had been more than a little surprised that she felt the same. After her last duel with Besegrare, when she'd secured her place on his task force, she had lain panting and sore in Nashil's guest chamber. There she eased her weary limbs, and on their journey the next morning they had walked beside each other and talked of everything from sea to sky. They talked about Inthil, and how the city had been bustling with life.
"It was just getting back on its feet," Nashil said. "Under Molokhn we suffered, and as a group we amounted to very little. A little more time and we could have been as big a trading port as Brand! That was going to be hard though, even with that tyrant gone. Sonder never did want to help either - that's what happens when you hole yourself up in a mountain, I suppose. But we would have made it. We were just starting to get along..."
Nashil clipped her voice and looked down. She never wore boots - they got in her way too much, made running difficult. But the pads on her paws were thick, and years of running had made them thicker. She watched the imprints they made in the ground, and saw the little clouds of dust that blew up and the little clusters of pine needles that scattered with every step.
"Inthil is gone," she said.
Valdigt matched her step for step, her heavy boots thumping. The dust settled on her greaves and the pine needles crunched beneath her. She reached down and touched the hilt of her blade, staring straight ahead into the horizon.
"I will kill him," Valdigt said. "The sorcerer. I'll bring you his head."
"And what of my safety? You remember what he told me, about the mark of death."
"Damn that mark. You'll be in no danger when I've killed him."
Nashil smiled but said nothing. From the head of the troop, Besegrare glanced back, looking for a glimpse of her. Valdigt saw him and she frowned. Was this going to be a problem? If the king was really in love with her, as she suspected - as she feared - what could she tell him?
The truth, Valdigt thought, gritting her teeth. I will tell him that she loves me.
She didn't think of herself as the kind of person to lie, and she thought Nashil might have been too unassuming to realize Besegrare's intentions. No, when the time came, she would stand before her king and she would tell him the truth. He was understanding. That was what they always said about him. An understanding king, they said, and full of compassion. That's why Nashil had come in the first place, hadn't she? Because he was sympathetic to the suffering of his people? Surely a beast like that could be bargained with.
She never got the chance. Not right away, at least. That night they all convened around their fire, and Valdigt noticed a grim worry on the king's face. He stared into the heart of the flames and waited, unmoving. The night drifted and time seemed unending. Stars did not move so much as they floated across the surface of the nightsky. Valdigt shifted, made herself comfortable beside the fire; beside her, Tanda, Irda, and Nashil all sat or stretched, and meager meals were shared. They waited patiently for the silence to break. It never did. Occasionally Valdigt would sneak a furtive glance in Besegrare's direction, but he never moved. The bonfire burned until it was embers, until the air began to pale with the presence of morning. And then, stiff with the night of stillness, Besegrare rose. He addressed nobeast in particular, but spoke in the direction of the still smoldering embers.
"I have a very important task," he said. They looked at him, every eye turned towards him, and his gaze met none of theirs. His silence had been a pause, not a question, so nobeast ventured a reply. Besegrare opened his mouth, shut it, opened it again.
"Queen Silva, in Brand. She'll need to know. Doubtless the fiend will move to the Southern Kingdoms once he's had his fill of the North. She should be warned - in case we fail to apprehend our foe."
Besegrare looked up finally, up at the faces of his beasts, and they reflected the same grim worry he'd worn plain across his face all night. He turned wearily to Valdigt.
"Valdigt... You are the only beast I can trust with this task. Will you help me?"
She froze, stunned. Had she heard right?
"I'm no messenger," she said. "Are you sure you want me?"
"Let me go," Nashil piped up. "I'm much quicker. I'm a courier, trained to do this. I can deliver your message and be back in no time."
Valdigt glared at her. She was right, of course. If any of them would be able to take their message, it would be the trained messenger. But she couldn't bear her leaving, and now the girl had volunteered. Then again... Valdigt thought. This might put her out of harm's way...
But Besegrare was blinded by jealousy. He spoke very calmly, in a cool tone of voice that betrayed none of the emotion roiling inside of him.
"No, not you. What if you should encounter our sorcerer? Valdigt is far stronger. She is the only beast who compares to me in both skill and strength. Against her, our foe would stand no chance. She will be the one to deliver my message."
"Oh please, don't send her away!" Nashil pleaded. But Valdigt said nothing. Loyalty was the way of the wolves, and she would not break her loyalty now. She knew that wherever the king commanded her to go, she would go. It was as simple as that.
"Everybody, let's break down camp. We'll walk with the light."
The king said nothing else, and vanished into the copse of trees behind them. The beasts of the guard wasted no time in packing things up, and while Tanda and Irda scrambled to help, Nashil came running up to her lover.
"You're not really thinking of going, are you?" she said.
"I'll talk to him, see what he says. But I don't think it's going to do much good."
"I could run that message twice as fast as you could. It doesn't make sense."
"I don't think this is about speed."
"You might be right. But there is no ordinance against my loving you, or you loving me. Do you really think that the king wants me?"
"More than anything. He told me himself."
That last part was only half-true. She hadn't heard it from him, but she'd seen the way he looked at her.
"Likely he hopes to marry you," Valdigt said. "Long before I can return from Brand. The city is a long way away, even by ship."
"And I suppose I have no say in the matter? What if I won't marry him? Hmm? What then?"
"You have whatever say you want. Besegrare's a great listener. He'll hear you all night and all morning and until the world stops spinning. But he is the king, and the final say is his. You must remember that his word is always rule. And I fear he cannot control his own impulses."
Valdigt kissed her on the head and ruffled her fur, then followed into the slim opening between trees into which Besegrare had vanished. She found him leaning against a heavy oak trunk. The sign of the oak was the symbol of Gryning, and he wore it on his breastplate and on his ring. All the guards bore it on their armor, some on their shields, some on their breastplates. His crown was a twisted tangle of silver roots that he wore ringed about his brow. Valdigt made note of these things.
"The mighty oak," Besegrare said, running his hands across its surface. "It symbolizes strength, and growth. You have no idea how much strength it takes to rule these kingdoms. It is no easy task."
"No doubt it is the hardest thing a beast can do," Valdigt said.
"Do not hate me, Val. Surely you understand the need for this task."
"I think I understand."
"But you said nothing about hate. You must know I'm not trying to foster hate."
"I cannot hate you. Not after you killed that tyrant."
Valdigt looked down, her hands clenched tightly. The sun was beginning to rise and a pink like seafoam appeared, fuzzy between the trees, light dappling across them both.
"No. I cannot hate you."
"You will still go?"
"Where you send me, I will follow."
The king stepped once towards her and fixed his eyes on hers. His were deep, and impenetrable. A million different emotions lived in those eyes, and not one of them was good. Valdigt was filled with a sorrow of her own, and stepped away from him.
"It's not fair," she said. "What you're doing."
But Besegrare just turned and put his hands once more against the oak. His mind was troubled. He still had no clue about the truth of Nashil's episode, and he was preoccupied with thoughts of what it could have meant. Why should she be speaking the Ancient Tongue, and what of those words Irda had heard? Those words of kings, and dying? He had been troubled by that, yes, but more than that he had been troubled by Val, whose very presence he now saw as an impediment to his happiness. Besegrare felt shame but he kept his hands on the tree and his head bent low and he made no sign of speaking.
In the light of dawn, Valdigt said one final goodbye to her beloved, then disappeared into the trees towards Brand.
The extent of Besegrare's treachery was great. Even today, years hence, it is remembered, and used as caution. Remember Old King Bes, they say. Even the wise wolf errs. When he sent Valdigt away, Besegrare revealed a total lack of compassion or mercy. In that moment he spared no thought for anybeast but himself. Nashil did her best to look stoic, but it wasn't long before she felt the weight of that absence. It festered in a dark place inside of herself, and like raging waters behind a dam. And when she could not hold it in any longer, she found herself weeping at her bedroll, stifling her cries in the night with a piece of cloth from Valdigt's cloak.
The king sometimes heard her, and came to her side. He sat down next to her and touched her shoulder.
"I want nothing to do with you," she said.
"You don't mean that," he replied.
"I do. I do and I'm going to move if you won't leave me alone."
Reluctantly, he stood and moved to the other side of the camp. All night long she watched him and all night long he stayed put. They marched in the morning, and every night after that she was visited by the king. Every night was the same - she would lie quiet and aside from the others, and she would cover her face in the cloak and cry. And every night Besegrare would come and sit next to her. Sometimes he reached out and stroked her and sometimes she let him. Other nights she snarled and swiped and sent him brooding to the other side of the camp. Until one night, she sat up and reached her arms around the king.
"Is this what you want?" she said. "It's not real. There's no affection in this embrace. I hate you, but still you come here every night. This isn't really what you want."
He reached out and returned her embrace, and held her, even when she spoke vile curses in his ears. Laughing evilly, she whispered songs of disgust to him, and sometimes cried bitter tears. She grew deeper and deeper in her own distress, and the little piece of cloak gradually began to lose its smell. It had smelled of that she-wolf she loved, that strong smell like smoke and the wind. As it lost its potency, she became more and more familiar with the sweet smell of the king, who smelled like mist and moonlight. She began more and more to forget Val's embrace, and knew only Besegrare's supple, firm grip. She forgot the taste of her lover's kiss, and learned the kiss of this traitor who held her. To her dismay, she found that she began to look forward to the nighttimes, to the times when her king crept to her side and bent down to kiss her.
"I really do hate you," she insisted. "For the cruel trick you've played, of making me love again. I won't say that I love you, only that I feel the stirring of love inside a heart that felt dead. You've not earned my love, and never will. But I still feel it, and for that I hate you even more."
So she didn't love him - what of it? It made her kisses no less real if the love behind it was fake, a facsimile of something real. She still held her arms open to him every night. As a matter of fact, it was she who had begun coming to his side more and more often of late.
He'd done it as a test. After nearly a week of visiting her, night after night, he suddenly stopped. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing, so he would sound asleep, and he waited. After only a few minutes, he heard her soft footfalls and smelled her own sweet scent beside him. Besegrare believed her when she said she hated him. But all of her hate could not undo the trap of love she had fallen into. Real or not, she felt her heart torn in two. There could never be enough for both of them.