Part 15 (1/2)

Distance was his best hope. Duncan pressed for speed, das.h.i.+ng through the waist-high gra.s.s, and all the while his senses focused backwards, listening for pursuit.

The hounds erupted in a wild chorus of yelps, likely caused by the diverging scents. Duncan kept running, praying to all the G.o.ds that the hounds followed the original trail.

Whips cracked and men yelled commands. The hounds bayed and the horses resumed the hunt.

Duncan kept running, kept listening. The wild baying gradually receded. The h.e.l.lhounds followed the seventh soldier but he'd only gained a short reprieve. He changed strides to a long, loping run, scanning the horizon, seeking for some advantage.

Running at a steady rhythm, he glided through the gra.s.slands, but the pace began to take its toll. Sweat beaded his brow and his side began to ache, but Duncan could not afford to slow. He tightened his grip on his longbow, always listening for the sounds of pursuit.

A cold breeze blew from the north. The wind's smell changed from dry gra.s.s to the rich loam of turned soil. Farmland...the steppes must give way to tilled farms. And where there were farms, there were people, a way to hide, a chance to lose his scent in a tangle of humanity. He turned north, running into the wind, hope in his stride.

Behind him, the tenor of the hunt changed. The h.e.l.lhounds howled, coming in his direction. The trap was finally sprung.

Ahead and to the right, something broke the flatness of the steppes. A low round structure, a hut made of stones with a sod roof. Drawn to the first sign of humanity, Duncan changed course. Breathing deep, he tasted the wind. The rich scent of loamy soil grew stronger...but he could find no trace of smoke or fire. Reaching for more speed, he ran through the waist-high gra.s.s till he burst into open farmland, the fields lying fallow for the winter.

The baying of the hounds grew louder, a relentless growl followed by an implacable gallop.

Duncan ran to the hut and put his shoulder to the oak door. The door flew inward without resistance, banging hard against the stone wall. Cold ashes and the stink of fear filled the doorway. Nocking an arrow, he stepped into the darkness.

A m.u.f.fled cry came from the far wall. A man sat huddled in rags, a swaddled babe clutched tight in his arms. ”Don't hurt me!”

Duncan eased the tension on his bow. ”Who are you? What is this place?”

”No one.” The man shook his head, his words laced with defeat. ”Nothing.”

Anger boiled into Duncan, he had no time for despair. ”Answer me. Who are you?”

”A runner.” He hugged the babe close. ”My wife died in childbirth. I promised her the babe would know a better life. So I ran, stopping here for the night.”

”Running to where?”

”Anywhere...away...south” The man kept his back against the wall.

Duncan pressed the question. ”Are there any villages nearby?”

”A what?” His voice wavered. ”Nothing here but the Citadel and the Pit.”

The words struck like a death knell. No place to hide, no place to tangle his scent, no way to outrun the h.e.l.lhounds...just a final battle.

The man stepped forward. ”Are you from beyond the wall?” A glimmer of hope crept into his voice.

”Yes.”

A wild howl ripped through the night.

”The Mordant's hounds!” Fear s.h.i.+vered through the man's words. ”No one escapes those beasts.”

Duncan stared at the man, knowing he'd led soldiers to his hiding place...but perhaps his bow could save two lives. ”You'd best run.” Duncan ushered him toward the door. ”Run hard. I'll hold them off with my bow.” They stepped from the hut and found the night filled with a wild clamor. The hunt drew near. The man trembled, holding the child so tight it whimpered. Duncan gripped his shoulder. ”Run hard and find a better life.”

”Luck be with you, stranger.” The man bowed low and then sped south.

”And with you.” Duncan turned and surveyed the hut. Inside was nothing but a trap...but the roof might provide a vantage point. He climbed the wall to the top, testing the sod before he stepped on it, grateful when it held his weight. He moved to the center, impaling his arrows upright in the gra.s.sy mound. Twenty-six arrows, their iridescent eyes defying the dark. He wondered if he'd ever see the Deep Green again.

He nocked an arrow and stared toward the south. The gra.s.sy rooftop provided his best view of the hunters. Six h.e.l.lhounds carved furrows in the deep gra.s.s. Running straight as arrows, they howled for the kill. A troop of thirty soldiers galloped further behind, spears bristling toward the sky. Too many, but he'd make them pay dearly for his life. He raised his bow to the heavens, screaming his defiance. ”I am Duncan Treloch, a ranger of the Deep Green, and I will not yield.”

As if in answer, a bolt of lightning seared the sky.

The hounds loosed a twisted howl, a deep-throated baying.

Thinking of Kath, he whispered her words. ”Make every arrow count.” Focusing on the nearest hound, he drew the great bow to a deadly curve. Leading the beast by three lengths, he unleashed the longbow's power. An arrow sang into the night. Without waiting, he chose a new target. Draw and release, he sent three more arrows toward the h.e.l.lhounds.

The first arrow struck true. A peel of pain erupted from the hunters. The leading h.e.l.lhound yelped, rolling into a keening ball of mottled fur. Two more h.e.l.lhounds dropped in their tracks...but the reaction of the rest chilled Duncan to the bone. Falling silent, the hounds scattered, abandoning their straight-arrow rush. Slinking to the ground, they disappeared into the deep gra.s.s, hard to see and harder to antic.i.p.ate...as if the d.a.m.n beasts knew how to thwart an archer.

Trumpets blared. Galloping hors.e.m.e.n drew near. The trap was nearly closed. Time was running out.

Duncan raised his bow, sending three arrows arching toward the hors.e.m.e.n, hoping to slow their advance.

A low snarl came from his left.

Duncan whirled, an arrow nocked.

A h.e.l.lhound broke from the gra.s.s, a tan and black fury streaking across the fallow field.

The arrow thwacked, catching the beast in the mouth. Howling in pain, it clawed at its own throat, disgorging a rush of blood.

Movement in the center, Duncan turned and released. The beast leaped to the left, showing an uncanny prescience, but the arrow found its flank. Gnas.h.i.+ng its teeth, the h.e.l.lhound lunged forward, dragging its rear leg, jaws slathering for revenge. If an animal could hate, this one did. Duncan spent another arrow, putting a shot in its right eye.

One h.e.l.lhound left.

Sweat rolled down Duncan's back.

The hors.e.m.e.n stopped at the edge of the fallow field, watching in silence, letting the h.e.l.lhound finish its task.

Duncan's muscles started to strain, keeping the great bow taut.

Lightning cracked the night.

A warning p.r.i.c.ked at his back. Duncan whirled, his bow at the ready.

Saber-toothed jaws lunged toward his face; the beast had gained the roof.

He got the shot off and stumbled backwards.

The arrow flew straight down the beast's maw. Teeth snapped shut in a fierce snarl. The beast plowed into Duncan, pounding against his chest. Knocked backwards, he s.h.i.+elded his face from the jaws. Beast and archer tumbled from the roof. The ground hit hard, stealing his breath. Something snapped and a rush of hot blood soaked his leathers. The beast pinned him to the ground, a smothering weight. Holding the saber-sharp teeth at bay, Duncan lay still, staring at the beast's lifeless eyes.

Gasping for breath, he rolled the heavy body away. Smeared with h.e.l.lhound blood, he struggled to stand, amazed to be alive.