Wolfsbane

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FINIS

  Praise for the Mercy Thompson novels

  BONE CROSSED

  “[The] rousing fourth adventure for kick-ass werecoyote auto mechanic Mercedes Thompson.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Mercy is not just another cookie-cutter tough-chick urban fantasy heroine; she’s got a lot of style and substance and an intriguing backstory. Series fans will appreciate the resolution of some ongoing plotlines, and the romantic tension is strong.”

  —Library Journal

  “[Mercy is] one of the best of the kick-ass heroine crop.”

  —Locus

  IRON KISSED

  “An increasingly excellent series . . . Iron Kissed has all the elements I’ve come to expect in a Patricia Briggs novel: sharp, perceptive characterization, nonstop action, and a levelheaded attention to detail and location. I love these books.”

  —Charlaine Harris, #1 New York Times bestselling author

  BLOOD BOUND

  “Once again, Briggs has written a full-bore action adventure with heart . . . Be prepared to read [it] in one sitting, because once you get going, there is no good place to stop until tomorrow.”

  —SFRevu

  “Plenty of action and intriguing characters keep this fun. In the increasingly crowded field of kick-ass supernatural heroines, Mercy stands out as one of the best.”

  —Locus

  MOON CALLED

  “An excellent read with plenty of twists and turns. Her strong and complex characters kept me entertained from its deceptively innocent beginning to its can’t-put-it-down end. Thoroughly satisfying, it left me wanting more.”

  —Kim Harrison, New York Times bestselling author

  “Patricia Briggs always enchants her readers. With Moon Called she weaves her magic on every page to take us into a new and dazzling world of werewolves, shapeshifters, witches, and vampires. Expect to be spellbound.”

  —Lynn Viehl, New York Times bestselling author

  Praise for the other novels of Patricia Briggs

  DRAGON BLOOD

  “It goes without saying, I suppose, that I’m looking forward to seeing what else Patricia Briggs does. If Dragon Blood is any indication, then she is an inventive, engaging writer whose talent for combining magic of all kinds—from spells to love—with fantastic characters should certainly win her a huge following and a place on many bookshelves.”

  —SF Site

  DRAGON BONES

  “I enjoyed Dragon Bones . . . This is an enjoyable, well-written book, with enough plot twists and turns to keep the reader’s attention. This book is sure to appeal to lovers of fantasy.”

  —The Green Man Review

  “[Briggs] possesses the all-too-rare ability to make you fall hopelessly in love with her characters . . . It’s good stuff all the way . . . You find yourself carried away by the charm of the story and the way Briggs tells it.”

  —Crescent Blues

  THE HOB’S BARGAIN

  “This is a ‘Beauty and the Beast’ story but unlike any I’ve ever read. Ms. Briggs blends adventure, romance, and innovative fantasy with a deft hand. [I] highly recommend this one to all my readers.”

  —S. L. Viehl, national bestselling author

  “[A] fun fantasy romance . . . There’s plenty of action, with battles against raiders and magical creatures, a bard who isn’t what he appears, and an evil mage—but there’s also plenty of humor and some sweet moments of mischief and romance.”

  —Locus

  “Briggs has a good ear for dialogue and pace, and a marked talent for drawing complex characterizations . . . If you’re looking to while away some time with a good story full of magic and wonder, you might find it worthwhile to accept The Hob’s Bargain.”

  —Rambles.net

  “It is easy to like Patricia Briggs’s novels. Her books are perfect for a Friday evening or a late Saturday afternoon when you don’t want to have to work to enjoy your reading. Her books are clever, engaging, fast-moving, and with plots that manage to be thought-provoking without being heavy-handed. A warning, however—make sure you don’t start the dinner cooking or the lawn watering before you curl up with one of her books, because you’ll end up with a burnt dinner and a soggy lawn and an enjoyable few hours lost in another world.”

  —Romantic Science Fiction & Fantasy

  WHEN DEMONS WALK

  “An interesting cross between a murder mystery, romance, and fantasy . . . There are enough twists and turns in the plot to keep most readers’ interest.”

  —VOYA

  “Patricia Briggs proves herself a rare talent as she devises a clever mystery with appealing characters in a fantasy setting . . . top-notch reading fare.”

  —Romantic Times

  Titles by Patricia Briggs

  The Mercy Thompson Novels

  MOON CALLED

  BLOOD BOUND

  IRON KISSED

  BONE CROSSED

  SILVER BORNE

  The Alpha and Omega Novels

  ON THE PROWL

  (with Eileen Wilks, Karen Chance, and Sunny)

  CRY WOLF

  HUNTING GROUND

  MASQUES

  WOLFSBANE

  STEAL THE DRAGON

  WHEN DEMONS WALK

  THE HOB’S BARGAIN

  DRAGON BONES

  DRAGON BLOOD

  RAVEN’S SHADOW

  RAVEN’S STRIKE

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

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  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  WOLFSBANE

  An Ace Book / published by arrangement with Hurog, Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Ace mass-market edition / November 2010

  Copyright © 2010 by Hurog, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley
Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  eISBN : 978-1-101-44522-8

  ACE

  Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

  a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Which, not being a part of the story, may be skipped

  I wrote Wolfsbane in between When Demons Walk and The Hob’s Bargain.

  Careerwise, it was a dumb thing to do, and I knew it. Masques had been out of print for a couple of years by that point, and I was aware that its sales figures were abysmal and no one in his right mind would reprint it. My editor, Laura Anne Gilman, had left Ace for Roc (which at the time was owned by a different publishing company). After she left, Ace politely declined publishing When Demons Walk, for several very good reasons. First, the editor who had liked my work was gone. Second, my sales record was not good. Masques had failed. Steal the Dragon had done all right, but it’d had a terrific cover by Royo. I was pretty sure that, at least for the time being, my career as a writer was over. So I wrote the book I wanted to write.

  I had lived with Wolf in my head since I was in fifth or sixth grade . . . maybe since I first read The Black Stallion by Walter Farley and recognized the pull of the powerful, dangerous creature who loves only one person. By the time I’d written three books, I knew that I had a lot to learn—and that I had learned a lot about writing since I wrote Masques. I still consider The Hob’s Bargain my first professional work. It was the first book I wrote that turned out exactly as I’d envisioned it, the first one that I wrote from craft rather than instinct. I wanted to take those new skills and turn my hand to giving Wolf and Aralorn a story more worthy of them.

  Wolfsbane was the result. Eventually, somewhat to our mutual surprise, Ace bought When Demons Walk, The Hob’s Bargain, and the first book that really sold well for us, Dragon Bones. Wolfsbane stayed on my shelves, and every once in a while I thought a little wistfully about it. I admit, believing that this day of publication would never come, I borrowed things from Wolfsbane for other stories—you might see them. You might even pick up on a few that I haven’t noticed.

  So here, for your enjoyment, is a book from early in my career that has never seen the light of day—and without you, dear readers, would still be moldering on a floppy disk somewhere. I hope you have as much fun with it as I have.

  BEST WISHES,

  PATRICIA BRIGGS

  SOMEWHERE IN THE DESERT OF EASTERN WASHINGTON

  ONE

  A winterwill cried out twice.

  There was nothing untoward about that. The winterwill—a smallish, gray-gold lark—was one of the few birds that did not migrate south in the winter.

  Aralorn didn’t shift her gaze from the snow-laden trail before her, but she watched her mount’s ears flicker as he broke through a drift of snow.

  Winterwills were both common and loud . . . but it had called out just at the moment when she took the left-hand fork in the path she followed. The snow thinned for a bit, so she nudged Sheen off the trail on the uphill side. Sure enough, a winterwill called out three times and twice more when she returned to the trail again. Sheen snorted and shook his head, jangling his bit.

  “Plague it,” muttered Aralorn.

  The path broke through the trees and leveled a little as the trees cleared away on either side. She shifted her weight, and her horses stopped. On a lead line, the roan, her secondary mount, stood docilely, but Sheen threw up his head and pitched his ears forward.

  “Good lords of the forest,” called Aralorn, “I have urgent business to attend. I beg leave to pay toll that I might pass unmolested through here.”

  She could almost feel the chagrin that descended upon the brigands still under the cover of the trees around her. At long last, a man stepped out. His clothing was neatly patched, and Aralorn was reminded in some indefinable way of the carefully mended cottage where she’d purchased her cheese not a half-hour ride from here. The hood of his undyed cloak was pulled up, and his face was further disguised by a winter scarf wound about his chin and nose.

  “You don’t have the appearance of a Trader,” commented the man gruffly. “How is it you presume to take advantage of their pact with us?”

  Before she’d seen the man, she’d had a story ready. Aralorn always had a story ready. But the man’s appearance changed her plans.

  Though his clothes were worn, his boots were good-quality royal issue, and there was confidence in the manner in which he rested his hand on his short sword. He’d been an army man at some time. If he’d been in the Rethian army, he’d know her father. Truth would have a better chance with him than any falsehood.

  “I have several close friends among the Traders,” she said. “But as you say, there is no treaty between you and me; you have no reason to grant me passage.”

  “The treaty’s existence is a closely guarded secret,” he said. “One that many would kill to protect.”

  She smiled at him gently, ignoring his threat. “I’ve passed for Trader before, and I could have this time as well. But when I saw you for an army man, I thought the truth would work as well—I only lie when I have to.”

  She surprised a laugh out of him though his hand didn’t move from his sword hilt. “All right then, Mistress, tell me this truth of yours.”

  “I am Aralorn, mercenary of Sianim. My father is dead,” she said. Her voice wobbled unexpectedly—disconcerting her momentarily. She wasn’t used to its doing anything she hadn’t intended. “The Lyon of Lambshold. If you delay me more than a few hours, I will miss his funeral.”

  “I haven’t heard any such news. I know the Lyon,” stated the bandit with suspicion. “You don’t look like him.”

  Aralorn rolled her eyes. “I know that. I am his eldest daughter by a peasant woman.” At the growing tension in her voice, Sheen began fretting.

  His attention drawn to the horse, the bandit leader stiffened and drew in his breath, holding up a hand to silence her. He walked slowly around him, then nodded abruptly. “I believe you. Your stallion could be the double of the one cut down under the Lyon at the battle of Valner Pass.”

  “His sire died at Valner Pass,” agreed Aralorn, “fourteen years ago.”

  The bandit produced a faded strip of green ribbon and caught Sheen’s bit, tying the thin cloth to the shank of the curb. “This will get you past my men. Don’t remove it until you come to the Wayfarer’s Inn—do you know it?”

  Aralorn nodded, started to turn her horses, and then stopped. “Tell your wife she makes excellent cheese—and take my advice: Don’t let her patch your thieving clothes with the same cloth as her apron. I might not be the only one to notice it.”

  Startled, the bandit looked at the yellow-and-green weave that covered his right knee.

  Softly, Aralorn continued. “It is a hard thing for a woman alone to raise children to adulthood.”

  She could tell that he was reconsidering his decision not to kill her, something he wouldn’t have done if she’d kept her mouth closed; but she could clearly remember the walnut brown eyes of the toddler who held on to his mother’s brightly colored apron. He wouldn’t fare well in the world without a father to protect him from harm, and Aralorn had a weakness for children.

  “You are a smart man, sir,” she said. “If I had wanted to have you caught, it would have made more sense for me to go to Lord Larmouth, whose province this is, and tell him what I saw—than for me to warn you.”

  Slowly, his hand moved away from the small sword, but Aralorn could hear a nearby creaking that told her that someone held a nocked bow. “I will tell her.”

  She nudged Sheen with her knees and left the bandit behind.

  She crossed the first mountain pass late that night, and the second and last pass before
Lambshold the following afternoon.

  The snow was heavier as she traveled northward. Aralorn switched horses often, but Sheen still took the brunt of the work since he was better suited for breaking through the crusted, knee-deep drifts. Gradually, as new light dawned over the edge of the pass, the mountain trail began to move downward, and the snow lessened. Aralorn swayed wearily in the saddle. It was less than a two-hour ride to Lambshold, but she and the horses were going to need rest before then.

  The road passed by another small village with an inn. Aralorn dismounted and led her exhausted horses to the stableyard.

  If the hostler was surprised at the arrival of a guest in the morning, he gave no sign of it. Nor did he argue when Aralorn gave him the lead to the roan and began the task of grooming Sheen on her own. The warhorse was not so fierce that a stableboy could not have groomed him, but it was her habit to perform the task herself when she was troubled. Before she stored her tack, she untied the scrap of ribbon from Sheen’s bit. She left the horses dozing comfortably and entered the inn through the stable door.