Two of the Jiamads swung round, 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 flashing 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, the glittering blades splitting the bone and exiting at the dead beast’s mouth. Another fell, a black-feathered shaft buried in its eye socket. The last of the Jiamads hurled himself 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 axe 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. 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 sabre.
‘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 near 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 and 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 axe,’ 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 oak 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 sadly.
‘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.
Stavut 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. It 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 his 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 towards the second group. Just as the first attackers were tiring, the second would pick up the chase, herding the stag inexorably towards 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, but 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 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.