“And … when,” the wolf choked out the words in Common. Her tongue stuck, and it was a moment before Karleah could straighten it.
The boy lightly stroked Karleah’s fur and then said, “It was either yesterday or the day before when I tried the spell again. You know how you asked me to try my failed spells several times a day?”
The old wolf nodded, and Karleah’s mind drifted for a moment. It had been terrifying to discover at the dragon’s lair that much of her spell-casting ability had been drawn away, and even more frightening that it hadn’t returned by the time they’d reached the castle. The discovery of Dayin’s inability to cast the only two spells he knew—producing doves or roses from thin air—had somewhat mollified Karleah. She’d begun to fear she’d grown too old for spell-casting.
In the sanctity of her valley, Karleah’s ability to change into a wolf was the first power to return, as though its magic was somehow more deeply rooted in her being than the memorized spells she had lost. The return of that one ability almost made up for the loss of most of her other magical powers. Unable to teach Dayin anything other than the rudiments of magic, she concentrated on teaching him how to change into an animal, a power that could only be learned for a single animal. The wolf shook her head. Why the boy had chosen a rabbit to be the only animal he could transform into, she didn’t know. Her wolf half reminded her that Dayin’s choice had its advantages, and Karleah recalled the taste of rabbit hair. She whined a little.
“Well, I tried and tried and tried,” Dayin answered. “And one day it just worked.” The boys face went blank with concentration, and then he threw up his hands a second time, this time clapping them. A shower of rose petals of all colors rained down on the boy and the wolf.
“Impressive,” the wolf said low.
Dayin shook his head. “I never get this spell right. I did this for Jo back in Flinn’s cabin. Wanted whole flowers but all I got then was petals, too.” He distractedly rubbed his arm.
The wolf, attracted by the boys movement, instinctively sniffed at the inside of Dayin’s elbow. Her lips curled back, and her cold nose nudged the boy, searching for his other elbow. Dayin, brow furrowing, let her sniff his other arm. Through her golden eyes Karleah saw for the first time the tiny, circular scars marking the boy’s skin, scars several years old. Her sensitive wolf’s nose quivered at the strange, lingering odor of the inner elbow’s skin. The she-wolf growled and backed away, the hairs on her shoulders standing on end.
“Karleah?” Dayin cried. “What’s wrong?”
“Dress,” the wolf said. “Return … home, now.” The black she-wolf turned and slipped away into the long-needled pines surrounding her. There was not even a whisper of noise to mark her passing.
The wolf loped through the trees populating Karleah’s valley. She wandered her territorial range, stopping now and then to leave her scent. She had to work off a little of the terrible excitement that had gripped her at the sight of the boy’s scars. An answer to what had stolen her magic was beginning to fall into place, to congeal in her mind, but she was still missing some vital clue to complete the explanation. The she-wolf whined in impatience as she continued her roaming. The answer was there, if she could only find it! Finally, footsore and weary—forgetful of the hunger that had gripped her—she headed back into the valley that sheltered her home.
Her wolf paws rustled through the evergreen vail vine, a creeping plant that provided Karleah’s valley with its first line of defense. Would-be trespassers were caught by the tenacious vines, which telepathically transmitted images of the captives’ lives to Karleah. Flinn, Jo, Braddoc, and Dayin had all entered her valley last winter. Even in winter the vines had yielded complete information of everyone—except Jo, whose blood had been tainted by that of the abelaat. The wolf growled low, sensing a piece of her puzzle before her.
The old wolf stopped, scratched her ear, and yawned. Think! The answer’s here, she admonished herself. Jo had been bitten by an abelaat, a beast from another world. Karleah mused. There was a certain advantage to living through such an attack: the poison in the creature’s saliva rendered the person immune to most forms of scrying or other magical detection. The vail vines hadn’t registered Jo’s presence because, to them, she wasn’t even there.
Knowing she was on the verge of discovering the final clue, Karleah moved on, her paws rustling through the vines. She stopped suddenly. Her wolf brows wrinkled in a semblance of a human frown. The vines, she thought, why, the vines told me nothing of Dayin, either!
The wolf leaped forward, intent on reaching home. She entered the thick grove of pines that surrounded her cabin. The web of magic she had long ago spun in these woods still remained strong, enfolding her house in otherworldly shrouds of darkness and silence. As she plunged into the magically warded woods, the spells took effect; Karleah was suddenly lost in a world without sight or sound. As often as she had passed through this enchanted grove, Karleah was still troubled and dizzied by the black silence. She sympathized with first-time visitors to her home. Only through long practice could she now cut straight through the grove to her cottage without getting trapped by the magicks; those who stumbled into the woods uninvited wandered about in endless, panicked circles, unable to find a way out. Some few, truly despicable folk, had actually starved in that small woodland.
The old she-wolf emerged from the inky region of the pines into a bright, sunlit glade. There her home stood, a cottage built of stone with a thatched roof and two tiny windows. The door was open and waiting in welcome.
Karleah willed herself to shapechange. Her arms and legs grew longer, the wolf hair dropping to the forest floor and disappearing with a slight snap. Her tail disappeared. Her muzzle shortened while simultaneously her head grew rounder and took on a human cast. She took a step forward on what had been her forepaws, and almost fell over. Karleah looked down at her human hands and frowned. “I hate when that happens,” she grumbled.
Beside the door, she had left her shapeless gray shift, which was ornamented with basswood twigs. She pulled it over her ancient, shriveled body, then picked up the staff she’d left behind as well. She never worried about the possibility of it coming to harm in her valley. There were wards aplenty to keep out those who might lust after such a staff of power. “Not that anyone’d want you now,” Karleah grumbled aloud to the staff, “since you seem virtually useless.” She ran her fingers across the smooth wood, noticing that only a few faint runes remained on the aged surface of the staff.
Dayin came and stood in the doorway. He looked at the wizardess, expecting her to repeat the comment she’d made almost every day since returning to the valley. She didn’t disappoint him.
“Look at this!” she croaked, holding out the beautifully carved oak staff. It was appointed with plain bronze bands, which bound its ends. Dayin moved closer, hoping to see that some of the thin runes had reappeared in the staff’s wood, but fearing that more had disappeared. Karleah had quite a number of spells stored thus in the staff—or she had before escaping Verdilith’s lair.
“Look at this!” she said again, waving the staff. “It barely radiates any magic! It’s still drained! If you’ve gotten your spells back, you’d think my staff would’ve, too!” The old woman complained bitterly.
“How about your personal spells?” Dayin asked. He took Karleah’s arm and helped her enter the small cabin, The old woman leaned her staff against the rough-hewn table that stood to the left of the door and snatched up a charm that lay on a bench beside it. Plodding distractedly forward, she sat down in her rocker, the only comfortable piece of furniture in the cramped confines, and set her feet on another bench. The fire had fallen to embers in the fireplace, but the room was plenty warm. The old wizardess’s eyes traced longingly over the pots, jars, and pouches that cluttered the mantle, and the sheaves of herbs dried hanging from the rafters overhead.