THE HOUND LOOKED at the bear. She had never seen him so curled into himself before. All because of the reminder of the wild man.
George leaned over Marit, then put a hand to her belly.
She whispered to him.
The hound thought of her own child, forever lost to her.
It was the way of the forest, a new generation rising to replace the old. Until the cold death had come.
Turning back, the hound caught sight of a flash of anger in the eyes of the blond boy. Suddenly he threw himself at George screaming, “Let the unmagic take you!” He kicked and punched at George until the bear pulled him off.
“I have protected you,” said the prince. “Taught you. Fed you. Why would you attack me now?”
The boy spat out blood, uncowed. “You think I should be grateful?” he shouted at George. “That I should bow down to you as my prince in magic as well as kingdom?
“You do what you do for your own sake. You call us to this ‘magic school’ of yours so that you can make us your servants, harness our power to yours. You think that I cannot see through your schemes? I am not as stupid as they are.” He waved behind him at the other humans, who flinched at his words.
“Why do you think there are so few of us here? A handful. That is not a hundredth of those who have the magic in a ten-mile circle around the castle, let alone in the whole kingdom. We all know what my father knew—that you will take what you can from us and leave us to die at the stake.”
George opened his mouth as if to contradict the boy, then stopped himself. “Ah, that was your father,” he said, his face going pale. “I am sorry for what happened to him. Truly I am. I wish I could have helped him.”
Marit whispered, “No,” as if she had done some evil herself.
The hound did not understand this human guilt the two felt, which stopped them from taking action against the boy.
He should be silenced, and permanently, whatever had happened to his father. He was a threat to Prince George, and his magic and kingdom.
But no one stopped his tirade. “You could have judged him clean. You could have admitted to your animal magic then. But you turned your back on him and then listened to him cry out for help as he died in agony. And you waited to tell the truth about yourself until it was useful for you.
“I say that if this unmagic is a threat to you, well and good. Fight it alone. As my father said when he was burned, Prince George is no prince of ours. I will not be ruled by him. Not now and not ever!” He shook a fist and looked at the others.
The woman who had been burned spoke hoarsely. “Prince—” she began, then stopped. She looked back at the boy. “What do you say?” she demanded harshly.
“I…was a child,” said George, eyes wet with tears. “I have regretted it all my life. I thought I would make up for it now.”
The woman turned away from him.
The hound bristled at the disloyalty of what she had thought of as the prince’s pack. They could fight him to show their anger. But to turn away was not houndlike at all.
Then the man with the tattoos came closer to George and the hound waited a moment too long, thinking that this was the way it should be done. A nip, a growl, and then all would be right again.
George held out a hand.
And was stabbed in the stomach with a knife that flickered out faster than the hound could follow. She thought as George stifled a cry how unfair it was that his own had used a weapon against him that he could not defend against—and without warning!
Humans!
The bear, stunned, stumbled forward and let loose the boy, who scrambled to his feet and laughed aloud. “To war!” he called. “We will bring down his kingdom and all those who hate magic in it. We are few, but we are strong!”
The hound leaped at the tattooed man, but he was already out of her immediate range.
She would have followed, but George called out, “Stop! They are my subjects. If anyone has failed, it is I who have not done enough to save—” He clutched at his stomach and his mouth made the last word soundlessly.
The hound could smell the flow of deep blood. Marit wept at his side, tore off her own jacket, and pressed it into the wound.
“You must get home, to the palace physician,” she said urgently.
“If he doesn’t also wish me dead,” said George, a hint of a bitter smile on his lips.
“You idiot! Sometimes I could wish you dead myself,” said Marit. She looked up at the bear and the hound as she helped George back toward the castle.
“I wish you well fighting the unmagic,” she said. “But I cannot pledge any help to you now.”
The hound barked her understanding. Prince George would defend magic on another front.
The bear and the hound would have to find the wild man, to see if he could help.
She looked at the bear, thinking how difficult it must be for him to face the man who had taken his human life from him.
Nonetheless, he found a branch and scratched in the ground with it.
The hound saw that he had drawn mountains and an arrow pointing north—to the wild man.