And we followed the trail for perhaps two hours. Where the woods thinned, I cast anxious glances to the left, to see if the sky —whereof small patches could be discerned among the leaves— had yet begun to lighten in the east. The sky, however, showed naught but the slowly wheeling fields of stars, and since the moon was new we should not see it more that night. Besides the breathing of the men and the occasional swish of a leaf or crack of a twig, the only sounds were the buzz and click of night insects, and sometimes the rustle of some small wild beast, fleeing through the brush.
Once we all halted and froze at a distant coughing sound. After a time, one of the rangers said: “Panther!” We moved on, as if panthers were of no concern to us. And in truth they were not, for a panther hunts singly and would never attack four grown men. Picts are something else.
Presently Hakon signaled us to halt. And as we stood listening, faint sounds —not those of wild beasts— came to our ears. There was a meager mutter or murmur, barely audible, like the first sounds of an approaching thunderstorm, which a man feels with his bones as much as with his ears. And by straining our eyes, now sharpened to more than their usual keenness by our long immersion in darkness, we could see faint ruddy glows through the tree-trunks.
Now we left the trail and stalked through the woods to the left of it, moving with more stealth than speed. We went bent double, slipping from the cover of a bush to the shadow of a tree and then to a bush again.
Soon we heard the guttural voices of Picts, and Hakon again held up his hand for caution. Then we saw them. Three Picts stood or sat in a group on the trail.
They had been posted as sentinels but were not taking their duties much to heart. They were playing a game with chips of wood, tossing them into the air to see which chips fell bark side up. The Picts murmured, laughed, and now and then cast playful boasts and threats at each other, much as other men would do to relieve boredom.
I wormed to where Hakon lay and breathed: “Shall we attack?”
“Nay,” he replied. “They’d whoop and bring the whole encampment about our ears. I will listen to see if I can pick up news, and then we will go on.”
He remained where he was, one ear cocked toward the Picts. And I listened, too; but my knowledge of the Pictish tongue was mere smattering. While I could catch an occasional word, there were not enough of these to string together in a meaningful statement. I thought, however, that I caught the name “Valerian,” at least what I took to be our renegade lord’s name as mangled by a Pictish tongue.
Hakon listened for a while longer, then nodded to himself in a satisfied way and signed us to follow him. And we began to move again toward the glow of the campfires, when an appalling sound made us start back. Coming from our left, it was a hoarse, screaming roar, as if some giant blew a trumpet fouled with spittle.
Then came a great crashing as the source of the sound made off. And I caught a glimpse of it …one of those beasts of the elephant kind whereof I have spoken, as tall as two tall men, one atop the other. Its two long tusks, nearly straight, reached almost to the ground, and I think it bore a coat of short hair, but that was impossible to determine by starlight in so short a glimpse. I am told that they sleep standing up, as horses often do, and no doubt this one had been awakened from its midnight slumber by our sound and scent.
I have never heard of one of these beasts straying so far east, near the borders of the Westermarck; and thus Hakon and I are the only men in the Westermarck to claim to have seen a Pictish elephant alive.
The results of the encounter were, however, disastrous to us. In his surprise, Hakon backed into the ranger behind him, who in turn leaped back and bumped the second ranger with such force that the latter went sprawling. I escaped a similar overthrow only by an agile bound. Al this leaping and bumping and falling aroused the Picts, and the next thing I knew was the twang of Hakon’s bow as he loosed at the first one.
I turned to see the three of them bounding toward us, leaping the bushes like deer, flourishing their weapons, and barking commands and exhortations. Hakon’s shaft caught one fairly in the throat, but the other two were instantly upon us.
One hurled a short javelin and reached for his hatchet.
I snatched at my quiver but, ere I could notch an arrow, one of the Picts was already too close. So I swung my bow in both hands against the side of the Pict’s head. As the savage reeled from the blow, I dropped the bow and went for the Gunderman’s sword. And as I closed with the Pict, I blocked a blow of his hatchet with my left arm while sinking the short blade into his vitals with a long, low thrust. Still the fellow fought. When another thrust failed to bring him down, I aimed a cut at his neck that half severed it. And down he went at last.
Panting, I looked about to see that only Hakon and I remained on our feet. Hakon was wrenching his heavy axe out of the skull of the other Pict. Of our rangers, one lay dead with his skull split by the Picts hatchet, while the other sat with his back against a tree, gripping the shaft of the javelin, the head of which was buried in his belly.
Hakon cursed under his breath. The whole fight had taken scarce a dozen heartbeats, yet three Picts and two rangers were dead or mortally wounded. Our only bit of good fortune was that the Picts had attacked so suddenly that none had given a war-whoop.
There had been some guttural exclamations; but the Picts in the camp had doubtless heard the scream of the elephant, known it for what it was, and attributed the subsequent sounds of fight to the crashing retreat of the beast. At any rate, none came to investigate.
Hakon whispered: “There are only two of us left, and each must do what he can though it cost him his life. We must slay Valerian and the Wizard. The Picts said that Valerian had gone to Ghost Swamp to consult with the Wizard of the Swamp and the chiefs of the various tribes. He has left most of his men in camp with the Picts. Let us circle the encampment and strike the trail that leads thence to the swamp. You shall lie in wait beside the trail and, if Valerian comes along it, slay him. I will go into the swamp itself and seek to slay the Wizard, and Valerian, too, if I catch him.”
“Friend Hakon,” I protested, “you are taking most of the peril upon yourself. As an officer, your life is worth more to our people than mine. I am no more cowardly than most men; let me invade the swamp while you watch by the trail.”
For to enter the swamp was plainly the more perilous of the two tasks, since a man faced not only the hazard of the Picts but also those of swamp-demons, alligators, and unseen bog-holes.
“Nay,” said Hakon. “I have seen this swamp before, and you have not.” And when I would have argued, he silenced me by reminding me that he was in command.
Then quoth the wounded ranger in a weak, gasping voice: “Leave me not to fall into the hands of the Picts! When they find these bodies, they will be in a fury for revenge.”
“We cannot carry you …” began Hakon, but the ranger said:
“Nay, I meant that not. I am done for, with this spear in my guts. Give me a quick death ere you go!”
So Hakon drew his knife and quickly cut his comrade’s throat, while I turned my eyes away. The hard necessities of warfare sometimes go against the grain; but it had been no mercy to leave the man for the savages to torture.
It soon appeared that the Picts had planned to go directly from the council at Ghost Swamp to the attack on Schondara. In the camp, hundreds of warriors lay snoring on rude beds of boughs or under hastily built huts and lean-tos, while dying campfires sent up lazy coils of blue smoke. No women or children were in sight, showing that this was a war party and not a simple tribal assembly.