Part 24 (2/2)

Bodalen felt his unease growing. Everything in this valley seemed unnatural. Sweat rolled down his back. He glanced at Gracus, noting the beads of perspiration on his brow. 'Is it just fear, or is it hotter here?' he asked the warrior.

'It's hotter,' answered Gracus. 'But that's often the way with mountain valleys.'

'Not this hot, surely?'

'Let's get to the castle,' said Gracus.

A horse screamed and reared, unseating the rider. Instantly a host of rat-like creatures swarmed from the long gra.s.s, leaping on the man, covering him in a blanket of grey striped fur. Blood spouted from a score of wounds. Gracus swore and kicked his horse into a gallop, Bodalen following him.

No one even looked back.

The ruined gates of the castle loomed before them and the ten remaining riders galloped into the courtyard beyond. This too was uneven, but showed no cracks, nor breaks in the marble. Bodalen swung down from the saddle and ran to a rampart stair, climbing swiftly to the crooked battlements.

Out on the valley floor all was still, save for the writhing, grey fur mounds where once had been horse and man.

'We can't stay here!' said Bodalen, as Gracus joined him at the battlements.

'The master has ordered it. That is an end to the matter.'

'What were those things?'

'I don't know. Some kind of small cat, perhaps.'

'Cats don't hunt like that,' insisted Bodalen.

'Rats! Cats! What difference does it make? The master says to hide here and kill Kesa Khan.

That we will do.'

'But what if there are creatures like that living below the castle? What then, Gracus?'

'We will die,' answered the warrior, with a grim smile. 'So let us hope there are none.'

Waylander lay flat, he and Scar part-covered by his cloak, reversed now so that the sheepskin lining merged with the snow around him. His right arm was stretched out over the dog and he stroked the broad head. 'Stay silent, boy,' he whispered. 'Our lives depend on it.' No more than sixty paces back down the trail seven Sathuli warriojs were examining tracks in the snow. The gash in Waylander's leg was healing fast, but the wound in his upper left arm nagged at him. They had almost surprised him two days before, laying an ambush in a narrow pa.s.s. Four Sathuli had died in the attack, a fifth left mortally wounded, his lifeblood gus.h.i.+ng from a tear in the great artery at the groin. Scar had killed two, but had it not been for a sudden change in the direction of the wind which alerted the hound, Waylander would now be dead. As it was his arm ached, the wound constantly leaking blood. It was too far back for him to st.i.tch the tear, and too close to the shoulder joint to bandage. A low rumbling growl began in Scar's throat, but he patted the dog, whispering soothing words.

The seven Sathuli were trying to make sense of the tracks leading up the hill. Waylander knew what they were thinking. The human footprints were leading north, but the tracks of the hound went both up and down the hill. The Sathuli were confused. At the top of the slope the trail narrowed, a huge boulder by the trees making an ideal hiding-place. Not one of the warriors wanted to walk that slope, fearing a hidden crossbowman. Waylander could not hear their arguments, but he saw two of them gesticulating, pointing to the east. Waylander had taken a chance, moving carefully up the slope, then retracing his steps, walking backwards, placing his feet in the tracks he had made during the climb. Then he had lifted Scar, hurling the yelping hound into a snow drift to the left of the trail. A long branch overhung the slope here and Waylander had leapt to grasp it, moving hand over hand until he dropped to the ground by the trunk. Then, the huge hound beside him, he had hunkered down to wait for the Sathuli.

He was cold and wet. Reversing the cloak made him almost invisible in the snow, but it also countered the heat-retaining qualities of the sheepskin and he began to s.h.i.+ver.

The Sathuli concluded their discussions. Three men moved up the slope, two heading to the right of the trail and two to the left.

Waylander winced as he pulled his crossbow into position, the wound in his arm seeping fresh blood. Silently he eased himself back, moving behind a snow-covered screen of bushes, then traversing the slope and climbing to where several fallen trees had created a latticed wall on the hillside. Scar padded behind him, tongue lolling from his ma.s.sive jaws.

The two Sathuli came in sight. Both carried short hunting bows, arrows notched. Waylander laid his hand on Scar's shoulder, gently pus.h.i.+ng him down. 'Quiet now!'

The white-robed warriors drew alongside the tree wall. Waylander rose, arm extended. The first bolt flew, punching through the leading warrior's temple. He dropped without a sound. The second swung, dropped his bow and drew his tulwar.

'Face me like a man, blade to blade!' he demanded.

'No,' replied Waylander. The second bolt slashed through the man's robe, cleaving into his heart.

His mouth opened. The tulwar dropped from his hand. He took two tottering steps towards Waylander, then pitched to his face in the snow.

Retrieving his bolts Waylander stripped the white robes from the first corpse and the burnoose from the second. Within moments he became a Sathuli warrior. Scar padded out and stood before him, head c.o.c.ked to one side, nostrils quivering. 'It is still me,' said the man, kneeling down and extending his hand. Scar edged cautiously forward, sniffing at the outstretched fingers. Satisfied, the hound sat back on its haunches. Waylander patted its head.

Time to move,' said the man. Reloading the crossbow he carefully traversed the slope.

By now the other hunters would have found where the tracks stopped, and they would be regrouping, rethinking their strategy. Then it would become apparent that two of their number were missing, and they would know Waylander was behind them. They would have two choices: wait for him to come to them, or continue the hunt.

Waylander had fought the Sathuli before, both as a soldier leading troops, and as a lone traveller.

They were a patient people, yet also ruthless and courageous. But he did not think they would wait for him. Trusting in the advantage of numbers they would set out to find their missing companions and then follow his tracks. Therefore, since he could not disguise his trail, he would have to render it useless to them.

Reaching the top of the slope he moved silently into the snow-shrouded pine wood. There were few sounds here, the gentle sighing of the mountain breeze, the occasional groaning of a branch weighed down with snow. Drawing in a deep breath he let it out slowly then rose, moving back towards the east in a wide circle until he came to the high point of the slope above where he had earlier lain in wait for the two Sathuli. Kneeling behind a boulder he gazed down to where the bodies lay. The corpses were still there, but had been turned to their backs, arms folded across their chest, their tulwars in their hands.

'Wait here, Scar,' he told the dog and moved to the edge of the slope. The hound trotted after him. Twice more he tried to make the dog obey. At last he gave up. 'You need training, you ugly wh.o.r.eson!'

Carefully Waylander made his way down to the tree wall until he came to the tracks he had made not an hour before. They were overlaid now by the footprints of the hunters. Waylander smiled. The tracks now formed a great ring, with no beginning and no end. Calling the hound to him he knelt and, with a groan, lifted Scar to his shoulder. 'You are a troublesome ally, boy!' he said. Hauling himself to the tree wall he inched his way back along it, clambering down by the base of the largest fallen tree, where the snow-covered roots clawed uselessly at the sky. Here, his tracks hidden by thick bushes, he climbed back to the crest of the slope and settled down to wait.

It was nearing dusk when the first of the trackers came into sight. Waylander hunkered down behind a boulder and waited until he heard the men slithering down the slope. At the bottom, by the bodies, they began to argue among themselves. He could not follow the debate, but at least one of the men used the Sathuli word for circle. They were angry and tired, and one sat down on the tree wall, flinging down his bow.

Waylander watched them dispa.s.sionately. Once more they had two choices: either continue to follow the circle towards the south, or retrace their steps back up the slope. If they moved south he would chance the open valleys to Gothir lands.

If north he would have to kill them.

They talked on for almost an hour. The light was beginning to fail. The warrior who had flung down his bow cleared away a section of snow and built a fire. The others hunkered down around it.

Once the flames were high they added wet pine needles to the blaze, a thick, oily smoke rising to the darkening sky.

Waylander cursed and eased back from the crest. They're calling for more help,' he told the uncomprehending hound. 'But from where - north or south? Or both?' Scar c.o.c.ked his head and licked at Waylander's hand. 'We'll have to run for it, boy, and take our chances.'

Rising, he moved silently towards the south, the hound beside him.

'It makes no sense,' said Asten, his voice trembling despite his attempts to remain calm. Karnak chuckled and thumped the angry General on the shoulder. 'You worry too much, old lad. Look, the Gothir are ready to invade as soon as the Ventrians land. They are not going to risk attacking Delnoch - they've made a deal with the Sathuli Lord. Well, I can make deals too. And if we stop the Gothir then we can use all our forces against the Ventrians and crush them in a single battle.'

'That's all well and good, Karnak, but why does it have to be you that rides into Sathuli lands?

It's madness!'

'Galen a.s.sures me we have safe conduct.'

'Pah!' sneered Asten. 'I wouldn't believe that walking snake if he told me the sun s.h.i.+nes in the summer-time. Why can't you see it?'

'See what?' countered Karnak. 'See that you and he are not exactly bosom friends? It matters nothing. You are a fine leader of men, while his talent for duplicity and deceit is invaluable. I don't need my officers to like one another, Asten, but you carry your dislike to extremes that affect your judgement.'

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