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  Praise for The Firekeeper Saga

  “This engrossing tale of feral myth and royal intrigue from Lindskold offers plenty of action as well as fascinating anthropological detail on the social behavior of wolves. A beautiful and complex book.”

  —Publisher’s Weekly on Through Wolf’s Eyes

  “The ultimate fairy tale. Captivating and well-told.”

  —VOYA on Through Wolf’s Eyes

  “Draws its greatest strength from its feral heroine, whose animal sensibilities lend a unique perspective to the foibles of human society. Rich details and intriguing sensibilities make this fantasy series a good choice.”

  —Library Journal on Wolf’s Head, Wolf’s Heart

  “Highly enjoyable. A marvelous opportunity to see the peculiarities of human society through the eyes of intelligent beasts. Lindskold’s wild and wonderful magic thrives in this volume.”

  —Booklist on Wolf’s Head, Wolf’s Heart

  “In Lindskold’s exciting third installment of her wolf-girl fantasy saga, Firekeeper finds herself deeply entangled in the politics and intrigues of her high-born human relations and even more so in the fight for survival of her alternate family, the Royal Beasts of the forest.”

  —Publisher’s Weekly on The Dragon of Despair

  “Firekeeper’s dual citizenship in beast and human worlds makes her a perfect liaison…in this seamless continuation”

  —Booklist on The Dragon of Despair

  “Firekeeper hits her stride in the exhilarating fourth book…An increase in pace and greater character depth… give this exciting book an edge”

  —Publisher’s Weekly (starred review)

  “Watching Firekeeper learn about humanity and still maintain her identity as a wolf makes for compelling reading. Intricately plotted and written, Lindskold’s latest creates an utterly fascinating world that readers can lose themselves in.”

  —Romantic Times on Wolf Captured

  “Thrilling. The intriguing plot makes for a quick and enjoyable read.”

  —Publisher’s Weekly on Wolf Hunting

  “Lindskold hones her world-building skills in this latest entry in her Firekeeper Saga, populating it with credible characters moving through an action-packed plot.”

  —VOYA on Wolf Hunting

  “Intricately plotted, A thought-provoking tale of magic and politics, enlivened by Firekeeper’s wry and wolfish point-of-view.”

  —Publisher’s Weekly on Wolf’s Blood

  “Lindskold explores the philosophical question, ‘What is love?’… Firekeeper has matured in mind and body throughout this fantasy epic, gaining understanding of her complex world’s operation. Lindskold does a solid job of world-building, offering thought-provoking questions to underpin this well-paced chronicle”

  —VOYA on Wolf’s Blood

  Obsidian Tiger Books

  WOLF’S SEARCH

  Copyright © 2019 by Jane Lindskold

  Cover Art by Julie Bell

  Obsidian Tiger Books, Albuquerque, New Mexico

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover & interior design and formatting by:

  www.emtippettsbookdesigns.com

  Other Books by

  The Artemis Awakening Series

  Artemis Awakening

  Artemis Invaded

  The Firekeeper Series

  Through Wolf’s Eyes

  Wolf’s Head, Wolf’s Heart

  The Dragon of Despair

  Wolf Captured

  Wolf Hunting

  Wolf’s Blood

  The Breaking the Wall Series

  Thirteen Orphans

  Nine Gates

  Five Odd Honors

  The Athanor Series

  Changer

  Changer’s Daughter (aka Legends Walking)

  Captain Ah-Lee Short Stories

  Endpoint Insurance

  Winner Takes Trouble

  Here to There

  Star Messenger (the box set of all three short stories)

  Stand Alone Novels

  The Buried Pyramid

  Child of a Rainless Year

  Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls

  Marks of Our Brothers

  The Pipes of Orpheus

  Chronomaster

  Smoke and Mirrors

  When the Gods are Silent

  Asphodel

  With Roger Zelazny

  Donnerjack

  Lord Demon

  With David Weber

  Fire Season

  Treecat Wars

  Nonfiction

  Wanderings on Writing

  To Jim: There aren’t enough words to say how much I appreciate you.

  To all those who let me know that Firekeeper and her world have touched them in some way.

  Acknowledgements

  I’m a solitary writer, but that doesn’t mean that there aren’t many who help and encourage me along the way. I’d like to give a nod to a few members of my writerly pack.

  As I was shaping the setting, Kathy Hedges chatted with me about stars and planets.

  My husband, Jim, encouraged me to write this book, listened to peculiar comments along the way, then, when the manuscript was complete, was my first reader. He also read the manuscript again, later on. Repeated proofing is an indication of true devotion.

  My secret beta-readers—Julie Bartel and Paul Dellinger—caught everything from typos to incongruities, while assuring me that this was a worthwhile novel at a time when I was too close to it to be sure. Sally Gwylan not only read and marked the manuscript, but also partook in long discussions about extremely arcane punctuation lore. To all of you, may your red pens never run dry!

  Artist Julie Bell gave me permission to use her painting “Andre” for the cover.

  My cat, Keladry, spent countless hours on my desk. My friends Scot and Jane Noel reminded me that hope alone is reason to attempt the improbable. Pati Nagle and Joan Saberhagen made me ask a question I didn’t think could possibly have “yes” for an answer.

  Emily Mah Tippetts and her team at E.M. Tippetts Book Design shepherded the book through production.

  Finally, thanks to all of you who gave me the hope that, if I told this story, there would be those who would want to read it.

  I

  THE STARS WERE all wrong. That was the first thing Firekeeper noticed, even before she realized that the sky was night-dark. As she did, her right hand moved to where her Fang was sheathed. Her left drifted to rest in the thick fur of the enormous wolf standing beside her.

  “What does your nose tell you, sweet hunter?”

  “We are alone here but for the small wild things,” came Blind Seer’s reply. “Tell the others they may come forth, but to keep their lights low, lest they alert a potential threat. I will scout a little further and learn what I can.”

  “I will tell them. You be careful.”

  When the wolf ghosted away, Firekeeper did not turn her back on the alien darkness, but instead paced backward. At the same moment that her bare feet touched smooth tile rather than the roughness of the fieldstone pavement, her eyes became aware of a faint glow illuminating her surroundings and, with it, the scent of burning lamp oil. Although Firekeeper would have been the first to group herself with nose-dead humankind, she also detected two different human odors: one bright and anxious, the other wildly excited. But it was not to either of these humans that Firekeeper addressed her first words, but to a small falcon who perched nearby.

  “Farborn, I cannot promise there are no owls or bats without. Even so, I would be grateful if you would go forth and take
high watch in one of the nearby trees. Blind Seer is checking our surroundings, but he will not see all you could from above.”

  A nearly noiseless unfolding of wings, a motion of air, gave her Farborn’s reply.

  When the falcon had glided out through the door, Firekeeper addressed the humans. “Laria, Arasan, come forth, but keep your light low, only to guide your feet.”

  “Anyone out there, Firekeeper?” Laria’s young voice was taut with tension. Nonetheless, her footsteps were steady as she moved to join the wolf-woman. In coloration, Laria was a lighter, more golden version of Firekeeper’s own brown on brown. Her skin’s hue, which she had inherited from her mother, was the color of ripe wheat. Her thick, straight hair was a light brown that bleached to a passable gold under summer sunlight. Now, with spring not even a moon old, it was definitely brown. Her eyes were a medium brown and often, as now, looked worried and frightened. At something like fourteen, Laria had not reached her full height, but it was doubtful she would be either tall or short. Firekeeper liked how Laria often braided colorful ribbons into her hair. Today’s were the dark purple of wet violets.

  Firekeeper put a reassuring hand on the younger woman’s arm. “No one near, Laria, but for field mice and other such little night people. No scent of fires, old or new, nor of humans in company. Even so, we must take care that light not speak of us to those who may be far distant or upwind of what we could scent from the entrance to this place.”

  “Very sensible,” came a second voice, male and dryly ironical. “That must have been Blind Seer’s idea.”

  The speaker was a handsome man with thick, dark-brown hair, brown eyes, and skin that was naturally tanned. He was old enough that time had left lines between his heavy, dark brows, and probably around his mouth as well, although the close-cropped beard and mustache he wore effectively concealed these. Faint traces of grey in his beard provided their own indication of age. He possessed a strong, stocky build that contrasted oddly with his long-fingered, sensitive hands.

  Knowing she was being goaded, Firekeeper didn’t bother replying. Another speaker, using the same man’s voice, although it somehow became more musical, spoke in her defense.

  “Firekeeper is as wolf-sensible as Blind Seer. I, for one, would not have her otherwise. “

  Six moonspans passing had been enough for Firekeeper to grow accustomed to the idea that two men lived in the one body. The Meddler—a spirit whose body was long dead—had been given a chance to live again by taking up residence within the body of the then-dying Arasan. The price had been that the Meddler use his particular magics to save the life of Arasan’s body. If the Meddler did so, then he would have a body in which he could reside, and Arasan would have a chance to continue living.

  Initially, as far as anyone could tell, the Meddler alone had tenanted the body but then, some moonspans ago, Arasan had begun to make himself known. The fact that Arasan was able to do so was taken by many as verification of the Meddler’s claim that reinhabiting a physical body had greatly reduced his ability to tap what had once been formidable magical powers. Firekeeper reserved the right to doubt.

  Despite the fact that she longed to run to Blind Seer’s side, Firekeeper kept her steps measured as she guided Laria and Arasan from the building into the night. The humans who paced behind her were soft-shod and, even in what for them was near darkness, they moved well. Firekeeper approved.

  Once they were outside, light from a waning crescent moon augmented that of the alien stars. Firekeeper held up her left hand, signaling for the following humans to wait, and scanned the shadows. Eventually she found one that resolved into Farborn. The merlin was perched on a lower limb of a wind-twisted tree where his outline was obscured by the branches and trunk. Had she not known he might be there, Firekeeper could have missed him.

  “Blind Seer?”

  “Running the perimeter of the hill. I overflew his trail first, but came back to tell you that he was going to make a second, slower pass. He wanted to learn if old scents would add to our knowledge.”

  Trying to hide her relief at learning her partner was safe, Firekeeper repeated the gist of Farborn’s report to the two humans. Then she hunkered down, studied the skies, and composed herself to wait.

  As he ran, Blind Seer swallowed a sharp pang of guilt, for he knew that what had brought them to this place where the stars were all wrong was him—him and his needs.

  Over a year before, the blue-eyed wolf had been forced to accept that not only did he possess a magical talent, but that the force which rested within him was the ability to shape with his will what humans termed “mana” or “magical energy.” Humans usually used rotes and rituals to achieve this shaping, termed the art “spellcasting,” and considered the art one that set the user apart even within the already exclusive company of those who possessed an affinity for magic.

  Speculation threatened to distract him, so Blind Seer shook his head as he might have done to dislodge a fly from his nose, then dropped his head to catch the fainter, older scents. He concentrated on the feel of the grass bending beneath his pads, reminded himself to be alert to his surroundings. Once he would have had no need to remind himself. Remaining alert to his surroundings was not only natural and ordinary—it would have been unthinkable to do otherwise. Literally, unthinkable. Blind Seer had not needed to think, to concentrate. He had been one with his surroundings as only a peak predator must be—alert because for most creatures he possessed fear’s form, and must slink beneath that until the moment came to howl forth and hunt.

  But during the cycles of seasons since he had left his birthlands at Firekeeper’s side, Blind Seer had been changing. Initially, this change had been generated by the need to learn human languages: first Pellish, then New Kelvinese, then Liglimosh, since then bits and pieces of others. The Beasts shared one language, although that one had dialects that served the needs of each sort of Beast. What need had a raven to know the special terms elk and deer used for the plants they ate? What need had a land-bound creature to learn the specialized terms for flight?

  Humans, though, oh, humans! Lacking one language, they struggled to use sounds augmented by a few gestures to convey information that the Beasts shared by use of sound and scent, by the cant of ears and tail, by how fur or feathers rose and fell, as well as through other postures, only a few of which humans seemed in the least aware of.

  And with each collection of sounds they used, the humans reshaped their world. Even when words were considered equal—as in what the Liglimom called “junjal” and the Pellish called “water”—there were a host of extra meanings, small and large, that came with the word. When the sound sought to embrace a concept—such as “yari” or “wise”—then did the hunt for true understanding become tangled with complexities, so tangled that Blind Seer, fluent now in three human languages, able to comprehend at least key terms in several more—marveled that humans ever understood each other.

  But languages and all they implied had only been the beginning of Blind Seer’s many changes. All these changes had seemed as nothing when he had accepted, then embraced, that he was not merely a magically talented hunter, perhaps with a gift for divining water or always finding his way home, but a spellcaster of great power. None other than the Meddler—a being who just might be what the humans of Liglim called a “god,” and who at the very least was a sorcerer of no little power—said that Blind Seer might be the greatest spellcaster alive in the world today.

  This might well be true, although Blind Seer was the last of their company who would trust what the Meddler said, at least not without carefully sniffing about to find what the just-might-be-a-god’s motivations for saying such a thing might be. The Meddler had his own agenda, no matter how meek he had been of late. Of that the wolf was certain.

  Blind Seer wondered whether the Meddler’s praise was as great as everyone seemed to think, since magical power had been choked off by the curse now commonly referred to as querinalo. For many years only talents had lingere
d, and these remained rare and few. Eventually, the curse had weakened, permitting the first generation of spellcasters since the coming of querinalo. Yet the ways that magical power was most commonly shaped by humans were unacceptable to Blind Seer. He dreaded that the use of blood magic might pervert his predator soul into something far more monstrous.

  So Blind Seer—and his Firekeeper beside him—had been hunting since the conclusion of the war for the Nexus Islands for alternatives. Time and again they had been disappointed, but even those disappointments had not been useless. In rumor and story, they had sniffed out the faintest of trails. This faint trail was what had led them here to this place of strange stars. Would here they find what they sought or would once again they return, tail draggled down, hungry from the hunt?

  Firekeeper heard Laria shift uneasily from one foot to the other. “Why is it night?” the young woman asked, the softness of her voice not hiding her tension. “It was morning when we left the Nexus Islands. Did the gate take us through time as well as through space?”

  “In a fashion,” came the reply.

  From the pacing of the words, more than from pitch or tone, Firekeeper knew the speaker was Arasan, not the Meddler. The Meddler would have enjoyed maintaining an aura of mystery, then being coaxed to yield his knowledge. By contrast, Arasan could be almost too chatty.

  “Remember your lessons in geography?” Arasan asked, the melodious notes in his voice growing as he turned storyteller. “How the world is a great sphere turning in the void?”

  A small noise from Laria acknowledged that she did remember. Another sound might have been the Meddler trying to add a comment and being choked back.