Harad nodded. “I thought I heard something from the north,” he said. “Sounded like a scream. Very faint, very distant.”
Askari had heard nothing. “There are some Jiamads behind us now. However, they are searching for someone, and it is unlikely to be us. We should be able to avoid them if we move east.”
Skilgannon leapt lightly to the ground beside them. “I heard a shout, or a scream,” he said. “I couldn’t place the direction.”
“North,” said Harad.
“I’m not sure it was human. It was cut off too soon. Did you hear it?” he asked Askari. She was annoyed that she had not. The scramble down the tree had been too hurried, and the swishing of the branches must have obscured the sound. She shook her head.
“Did you want to investigate it?” she asked. “Such a plan would seem foolish to me.”
“I agree,” said Skilgannon, “but we have a problem. Harad is looking for a friend. She may be back in the town—or she may be out here. If that scream was human then it suggests there are people in the high woods. Any one of them might know what happened to either Charis or Landis Khan. You lead off, Askari,” he said. “We’ll follow. Do not get too far ahead.” Askari pulled her bow clear and set off toward the north at a lope, ducking under low branches and zigzagging through the undergrowth. Skilgannon and Harad followed. They had run for almost half a mile before another scream sounded. It was a high, trembling cry, full of agony. Askari slowed in her run and angled toward the east and a stand of trees. Skilgannon and Harad moved up behind her as she scaled a small rise, then crouched down in the undergrowth at the top. Beyond it was a wide, rock-strewn hollow. There were three bodies splayed out on the ground, and five Jiamads and a human officer were kneeling beside a fourth man. His arm had been severed above the elbow, the limb lying some ten feet away, seeping blood to the grass. The officer had applied a clumsy tourniquet, but not to save the man’s life. Merely to keep him alive during questioning.
“Where did they go?” asked the officer. The dying man swore at him, and spat blood toward the officer’s face. A Jiamad plunged a knife into the man’s leg, twisting the blade. The man’s scream was high pitched and ended in a gurgling cry.
“I’ve had enough of this,” said Harad, heaving himself to his feet.
“I agree,” said Skilgannon, his voice cold. Together they walked out into the open. Skilgannon raised his right hand and drew the Sword of Day. With his left he took hold of the jutting lower hilt and drew the Sword of Night.
Two of the Jiamads swung around, hearing their approach. The beasts came to their feet with incredible speed and charged, iron-studded clubs raised. Skilgannon darted to the left, the Sword of Day slashing out and down, slicing through the fur of the first beast’s throat, slashing the skin and severing the jugular. In the same movement he spun on his heel, the Sword of Night plunging through the second beast’s leather breastplate and skewering the heart. Harad leapt at the remaining three. Snaga hammered into the skull of one Jiamad, the glittering blades splitting the bone and exiting at the dead beast’s mouth. Another Jiamad fell, a black-feathered shaft buried in its eye socket. The last of the Jiamads hurled itself at Harad. The giant logger leapt to meet it, ducking under the swinging club and plunging Snaga’s twin points into its belly. The Jiamad’s golden eyes bulged as the cold steel ripped through its breastplate. It let out a fearful howl and staggered back. Harad wrenched Snaga clear. The beast lurched forward. Harad, unable to bring the ax to bear, struck it in the snout with a straight left. Two fangs snapped off under the impact. Dazed now, the creature half turned. Snaga clove through its neck.
The officer of the Eternal was alone now. He was young and fair haired, his features handsome. But his hands were covered with the blood of a tortured man.
“Who are you looking for?” asked Skilgannon as the man drew his army saber.
“I’ll tell you nothing, you renegade!”
“I believe you. Which makes you useless to me.”
Skilgannon stepped in swiftly, blocked a clumsy lunge, and nearly decapitated the young man. Even before the body had hit the ground Skilgannon was kneeling beside the prisoner.
“I . . . enjoyed . . . that,” said the man, blood on his lips.
Harad moved to the other side of the wounded man. “Lie still, Lathar. We’ll try to stem the bleeding,” he said.
“Don’t! They’ve ruined my legs and . . . bitten off my . . . arm. Wouldn’t . . . want to live . . . even if I could. Killed my brothers, too.”
“Who were they looking for?” asked Skilgannon.
“The old blind lord and . . . the girl who . . . brings your food, Harad. Saw them yesterday. With a Jem. One of ours. Should have gone with them.” Lathar closed his eyes and went still. Askari, who had walked over to join the men, thought he had died. Then he opened his eyes again. “That’s some ax,” he said. “I’d like to say it was worth it, just . . . to see you cut the bastards down. Damned well wasn’t, though.”
Skilgannon untied the tourniquet over the stump of the logger’s left arm. Blood immediately began to flow. “Which way did they go?” he asked.
“North. Damned acorns and oaks trees,” said Lathar, his voice fading. “Can’t get it out . . . of my . . . head.”
“Nor me,” said Harad. Reaching out, he stroked the hair back from Lathar’s brow. The logger’s breath rattled in his throat. Then there was silence.
“A friend of yours?” asked Askari.
“No. Could have been, though,” Harad told her, ruefully.
“We need to go,” said Skilgannon. “The scent of the blood will carry far. There will be beasts swarming over this hollow in no time.”
Even as he spoke there came the sound of howls to the south and east.
S tavut did not sleep through the long night. He sat quietly away from the villagers, seeking to summon to the surface all that he knew of hunting. This did not take long. At no time in his life had Stavut ever hunted, and he knew nothing of the movements of deer, elk, or any other wild meat-bearing creature. Yet with the dawn, he would be leading a party of carnivorous Jiamads out into the wilderness. His stomach tightened, and he spent some time berating himself.
He tried to avoid staring at the sleeping beasts. Even in repose they were massive and terrifying. If they couldn’t hunt, how in the Seven Hells could he help them?
“You know, Tinker,” Alahir had once said, “if I were to put my shield in your mouth it would still rattle.”
In the darkness of this frightening night Stavut had to accept the truth of the remark. He had a fast mind, and all too often he would speak his thoughts without due consideration of the consequences. The brilliance of the instant plan to stop the Jiamads from killing his horses could not be denied. In the short term it had saved the day. In the longer term it was likely to cost him dearly. He could imagine only too well the consequences of being out in the wild lands with a group of hungry Jiamads, and no meat.
Stavut wished that Askari was close by. She knew how to hunt. She could have advised him. The huntress had talked of deer, but, truth to tell, he had not really listened. He had sat staring at her exquisite face and body, doing his utmost to picture her without any clothes.
Which he began to do now.
“Are you a complete idiot?” he asked himself. “Now is not the time.”
All he could remember was that Askari would find a hide and wait. She talked of bringing down a deer with a single killing shot, so that panic would not affect the tenderness of the meat. Stavut couldn’t remember why a panicked deer would taste any less tender.
He recalled far more of what she had told him about wolves. Everyone knew they hunted in packs, but Stavut had never realized how complex was the planning. Since wolves did not possess the stamina and speed of a stag they would split into groups, forming a large circle miles wide. Then the first group would rush at the stag. It would run, and they would chase, driving it toward the second group. Just as the first attackers were tiring, th
e second would pick up the chase, herding the stag inexorably toward a third group. Meanwhile the first hunters would lope off to a prearranged position, resting and regrouping their strength. Eventually this teamwork would see the exhausted stag seeking out a spot on high ground in which to make its last stand. By the time it arrived there all the wolves would have gathered for the kill.
Stavut had found it all fascinating.
Of course it wasn’t helpful now. There were only seven Jiamads. He could hardly separate them into packs, forming circles in the hills.
At any other time Stavut would have found the problem facing the Jiamads to be an interesting one. Here they were, huge and powerful, and yet with no hunting skills. Most were at least part wolf. One would have thought they would have retained enough memory to know how to hunt. Hell, they had hunted Stavut and Askari with a fair degree of skill. That, he realized, had not been too difficult. Their prey was slow moving and had gone to ground in a series of caves. Out in the open the speed of the deer would give it a great advantage.
Several hours passed. In the end Stavut moved over to where the villagers slept and nudged Kinyon awake. The big man sat up and ran his thick fingers through his sandy hair. “I was having a good dream,” he complained.
“Lucky you. What can you tell me about hunting?”
“I never was any good at it,” said Kinyon, reaching for a water canteen and drinking deeply. “Too impatient. That’s why I took up cooking.”
“Good. Perhaps we can teach the Jiamads to cook pies.”
Kinyon rolled from his blankets. “Let us dwell on the positives, Stavi. The Jiamads are strong and fast, and they can scent the deer.”
“But they can’t catch them.”
“A drawback, I’ll admit,” said Kinyon. They talked for some time, but then the big man began to yawn, and Stavut let him return to his blankets. The merchant strolled out from the campsite and walked up the hillside, sitting down on a jutting rock.
Whatever plan he came up with would have to be simple, and rely on scent and strength.
And luck, he realized.
11
D awn was approaching as he returned to the campsite. Shakul was waiting for him, the other beasts hunkered down close by. “Hunt deer now?” asked Shakul.
“Absolutely. This may take time, and you will have to be patient.”
The red-garbed merchant then walked from the campsite, the small troop of Jiamads filing after him. The wind was from the north, so Stavut headed in that direction, moving up toward higher ground. When they were some half mile from the camp he paused and called Shakul to him. “Can you scent deer?” he asked.
Shakul’s great, dark head tilted up, his nostrils quivering. “Yes.” He pointed northwest toward a group of wooded hills.
“Good,” said Stavut. “Now we need to find a deer trail, downwind of their position.”
The Jiamads stood around him, unmoving. Shakul loomed above him. “We hunt now.”
“How many deer have you caught so far?” asked Stavut.
“No deer. We hunt now!”
Momentarily Stavut’s fear of the creatures vanished, replaced by annoyance. “You will do as I tell you—or there will be no deer. I am the Hunter. I am a great hunter. I have killed more deer than . . . than there are stars in the sky.” Several of the beasts looked up at the clear blue heavens. “No, not now,” said Stavut. “At night. Than there are stars in the sky at night. First we find a deer trail. Downwind. So they won’t scent you. Then we begin the hunt.”
Shakul’s head twisted to one side and jerked. Finally, after a long silence, he said: “Downwind, yes.”
“Good,” said Stavut. “Let’s go.” For the next hour they walked around the base of the high hill below the stand of trees where Shakul said there were deer. They found three trails. At the third Stavut called Shakul to him. “Now we are going to have to pick the best of your Jiamads, and set them the task of chasing the deer.”
“Deer too fast.”
“Exactly. But we are going to chase them toward us. One Jiamad must climb this trail and get behind the deer so they pick up his scent. Another must climb the far trail. They must pick up his scent also. Then the deer should run down the third trail toward where the rest of us will be waiting. Because the wind will be in our faces, the deer will not scent us. As they come out of the trees we rush them, and bring one down.”
“How?” asked Shakul.
“Right, we’ll take this more slowly,” said Stavut, sitting down on a flat rock. “We need two of your troop, one to go up the first trail, the other to go up the second trail. They need to get behind the deer so that the deer scent them and start to run. You, me, and the others will be hidden at the foot of the third trail. The deer will run toward us. As they come close we rush out and kill one.”
“Again.”
Twice more Stavut explained the simple plan. Shakul squatted down, eyes closed, his head jerking from side to side. He gave a low growl. “Not there,” he said, at last.
“What is not there?”
“Pack. Third trail. Not there.”
“Why won’t we be there?” asked Stavut, patiently.
“Long walk. All the deer will have run away.”
For a moment Stavut had no clue at all what the beast was talking about. Then it dawned on him. Shakul was right. If a Jiamad ran up the hill and scared the deer, they would instantly run. It would take around half an hour to traverse the hill and take up positions. It would take longer for the Jiamad who was to rush in from the second trail to get into position.
“Good,” said Stavut. “I was wondering how long it would take you to grasp the flaw in the plan. You have done well. Now, here’s the second part. The first Jiamad waits at the foot of the trail, and we send the second around to the other trail. Then we return to the killing ground. Once we are in position we’ll . . . Howl! Yes, that’s it. You can howl. Once. The Jiamad on the first trail can . . . er, howl back. So can the other one. Then we’ll know everyone is in position and the . . . the hunt can begin.”
“Again.”
“Again? The rock I’m sitting on has heard enough to hunt deer.”
“Rock?”
“Never mind. We’ll go over it again. Then we pick the two brightest Jiamads to follow the plan. Having said that, I do appreciate that brightest might be the wrong word. You have anyone clever, sharp, quick witted?”
“No.”
“The surprise is overwhelming. Right, let’s go over it again.” It seemed to Stavut that several days passed by as he sat with Shakul, but finally the huge Jiamad nodded.
“Good,” he said.
It took even longer to explain the plan to the others. Stavut listened as they spoke to one other, and struggled to follow the guttural growls and grunts that interspersed the conversation. One Jiamad sat silently. He was leaner and shorter than the others, his head more elongated, his eyes wider set. His fur was a mottled gray-brown. Finally he spoke. The long tongue lolled, the words slurring, and Stavut could not quite grasp the point he was trying to make. Shakul translated. “Grava says howls will frighten deer.”
“Good,” said Stavut. “Excellent point. Well done. It doesn’t matter about our two . . . scouts frightening the deer. That’s what we want. I shall whistle when we are in position, and the two scouts will then howl.”
“Whistle?” queried Shakul.
Stavut placed two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle. “Like that!”
“Ah, good,” said Shakul.
“I think Grava should be one of the scouts.”
“Yes, Grava. He will run the deer toward us. I will be other scout.”
Stavut tensed. That would leave him with five Jiamads he did not know. “I think you should be with the killing party,” he said, swiftly.
“No, I go.”
Stavut sensed there was no point arguing with the creature. “Fine,” he said. “Just remember, get behind the deer and then charge at them. Force them down
the third trail. Some will get away, but we’ll probably catch one. Well . . . maybe not the first time. We’ll see.”
Without another word Shakul loped off toward the far side of the wooded hill. Grava climbed a little way up the deer trail then squatted down. With a sigh Stavut set off toward the third trail, five Jiamads moving silently behind him. As he walked he thought of all the things that could go wrong. The deer could have another trail. They might not keep to a trail, but scatter through the trees. What the hell did he know about deer anyway? His spirits sank with every step back to the killing ground. The brush was thick around the base of the hill, and he ordered the Jiamads to hide themselves. “Be ready!” he said. “You’ll need to be quick.”
The Jiamads spread out, then crouched down in the brush. Stavut wandered over to a fallen tree and sat down with his back to it. “This is a stupid plan, and you are an idiot,” he told himself. Then he realized he had forgotten to signal Shakul and Grava. Standing up, he sent out a piercing whistle. It was answered by a howl to the north, and then another.
“Get ready!” he shouted, then hunkered down behind the fallen tree.
A whole series of bloodcurdling howls erupted from the hill. Stavut waited. A deer suddenly came into sight, bounding over the trail and veering away far to the left of the Jiamads. Then another leapt a low bush and escaped. Stavut swore. Just then seven deer, led by a tall stag, came bursting into view just above where the Jiamads were hidden. The beasts leapt from their hiding places and charged. Two deer swerved away, but the stag went down, its throat ripped open by sharp talons. Two other deer were down. A fourth swung away and tried to run back up the hillside. Shakul came into sight, moving with terrifying speed, and leapt upon the deer’s back, bearing it to the ground. His jaws closed on the hapless creature’s neck, snapping the spine. Stavut stood, rooted with shock. During the past few hours his fears of the huge beasts had subsided. But now he witnessed their full terrifying power, saw their faces contorted by bloodlust, witnessed the ghastly wounds that had ripped the life from the deer.