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running with raiders, as Hishn picked up the song on both sides of the river.
One of the songs was different. Which one? Dion wondered absently. Ah,
the one across the Phye: there was less bitter betrayal there now, less
frustrated sorrow. The hunger that underlay the other emotions had not
weakened, and Dion wondered when the wolves would eat. It was
dangerous to run so long without food. That they hunted still, there could be
no doubt. But, she thought, now that the refugees were no longer on the
trail, perhaps they would turn to deer instead.
Wolfwalker, they howled.
She heard them this time, pleased that they had allowed her to listen. They
sang her name into their pack, and she stumbled against the wolves at her
side. The protectiveness of Hishn versus the hunger of the other wolves; the
tolerant strength of Yoshi against the bitterness of the pack& How could
she sing with those wolves? She did not even understand their howl. Her
hands tangled in Hishn s scruff, and her lips pulled back from her teeth
unconsciously.
Yes, they welcomed her. Sing with us, Wolfwalker.
You honor me, she returned through Hishn. Then the wind cut across
beneath her dripping jerkin and froze her skin. She closed her mind again to
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all but the gray shadows at her side.
Behind her, Aranur struggled with the weight of his burden as the
unconscious body shuddered with the cold. His wet clothes pressed against
his shoulders and chest, rasping rawly on his skin. The laces of his jerkin
brushed across the gemstone in his sternum, catching and tugging at his
shirt.
Watching Dion stumble ahead of him, Aranur cursed silently. If only he had
a carrier bird, he could contact their camp, have his uncle Gamon meet
them on the trail. If there were more wolfwalkers, he could send word
through the pack that help was needed. He snorted sourly. If he could talk
to the moons& Dion was too exhausted to control the link through Hishn.
Even if the wolf would listen to him, she would be caught up in Dion s
aches so that she would not think in words, but more primitive images,
which would gain him nothing.
The body in his arms shuddered again, and a sudden warmth seeped
through his jerkin. He smelled something acrid.
It was not shivering he had felt. The man was dead.
He dropped the body as if burned, the shivers catching his body and
shaking it. He had been carrying a dead man. The release of the elder s
bladder had sent the hot urine onto his jerkin, and he winced at the faint
fumes. He steadied himself. He had carried dead men before. There was no
less honor in this man s death because he had died in flight the running
had been to save the children, not himself. Aranur steeled himself, bent, and
rearranged the elder s limbs. He stared at the bony face, the scraggly gray
stubble, the hollows of the cheeks. At least the man had not died in a
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raider s fire. At least he had died in Ariye.
Ahead, Dion felt Aranur s presence fade. She glanced back dully, to see
him catching up at a jog. His face was pinched, grim, and she wished she
had the strength to ask him why. He merely touched her shoulder in
passing, striding past to sling two of the smallest children into his arms
instead.
With the two youngest off the trail, the pace quickened. At first, he told
himself that the heat of the trail would warm them. But he saw, glancing
back, that they had no reserves to sweat out. Gods, what he would give for
even two riding beasts. Making a decision quickly, he changed direction,
pushing them off the trail toward a place where the broadleaves grew.
Dion watched their path change. Warmth Aranur was taking them to the
broadleaf meadow. But even if they stopped to warm themselves, the plants
would not be enough. These people were too chilled. They had run too
long. Already three of the children had fevers raging in their bodies. By the
time Gamon or the others knew something was wrong, they could lose
several to death. Her mind clearing with purpose, she tightened her grip in
Hishn s fur. Gray One, she whispered. Can you call the pack? There are
so many here, running the ridges above us. Will they help us, lend us
strength?
Wolfwalker, you are of the pack. Hishn s tone was joyful. You howl with
them. They run as you wish.
Dion struggled to concentrate. We need riding beasts, Hishn warm
clothes for the children. And food. Could a Gray One go to the camp?
Speak to Gamon?
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Hishn growled low in her throat, and the song in Dion s head changed. A
driving beat entered the rhythm. An urgency fed into their song. Yes, the
pack answered. Wolfwalker, they called.
You honor me, she managed.
We run, we hunt with you.
Gray Ones, I Her relief was palpable. I am grateful, she said simply.
Her answer was a tide of gray that swept down from the ridge. She did not
have to see them: their silent howls rang in her head, passed on through
Hishn so that she would understand their song. A single wolf dropped out
on the trail, speeding east, toward the camp.
And then there were gray shadows sweeping through the forest, and one of
the refugees cried out. Someone screamed. Dion cried out for them to be
calm. Aranur turned. He saw the wolf pack flashing through the trees. Dion
must have called them. He cursed her timing even as he blessed her
thought. She would have sent one ahead to the camp, to warn them of the
refugees coming. But the refugees were already scattering. Terrified, their
shrieks warned each other of the hunt, of the raiders.
No! Aranur lunged, grabbing a boy and one of the women. Hauling them
back to the trail, he shouted again. They are here to help. They run free in
Ariye not with the raiders.
Stay, Dion cried out. They are friends
It was Tomi who ended the panic. The boy jumped up on a stump and
screamed, halting the fleeing bodies. Hear me! He waved his arms.
Don t run. They are not raider-spawn. I ve seen them. The Gray Ones are
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