The Eye of the Hunter (31 page)

Riatha smiled, taking another bite, while heating her dagger blade above the tiny flame; she then took up some snow and held it against the metal, and melt ran down the warm steel, dripping from the tip into the open waterskin. Faeril stood and made her way into the pines to relieve herself. When the damman came back, Riatha said, “Nay. Thy efforts were not entirely without reward, for ’twas when I went to see what had sprung the trap that I did espy the tannik bush along the way.”

“Did you see what tripped the snare?”

“I found traces of a vole. She came under the snow to take the bait. The noose snapped upward above her.”

Faeril shook her head. “Clever vole.” The damman then took a bite of the root, and her face twisted into a grimace, her eyes squeezed nearly shut, her lips clamped into a tight, thin line. Still, after a moment she began to chew, swallowing at last.
“Whoo!”
she exclaimed. “Bitter is right.” She took another bite.

“Say,” she remarked, working her words around the acrid taste, “you did not waken me for my turn at watch!”

The Elfess held the dagger blade in the flame. “Thou didst need thy sleep, wee one, and I can rest and yet keep watch.”

Faeril knew that Riatha referred to the talent inborn to Elvenkind wherein they could rest their minds in gentle memories, benefitting from such meditation nearly as much as if they had slept. Yet Faeril knew that even Elves must take true sleep eventually, for peaceful contemplation alone did not serve all the needs of body and mind and soul.

Riatha and Faeril each ate their entire share of the tart root, for they knew not what the coming events of this day would call upon them to do, but they did know that hunger-weakened warriors could not sustain a prolonged effort. Too, they gambled that they had the skills to obtain more food along the way.

Riatha at last finished her replenishment of the water-skins, handing Faeril’s back to her. “Let us be gone, wee one. Day is upon the land and the
Rûpt
will have gone to ground.”

Again they set forth, following the wide trail down slope. An hour or more did they travel thus, the terrain gradually falling. The spare forest around them gradually thickened, arctic pine for the most part, though here and there grew whin and other low piney shrubs. All along the way Faeril blazed a trail for Gwylly and Aravan to eventually follow—and Urus, too, should he live. Riatha also paused now and again to forage for foodstuff alongside the trail. She gathered pine nuts from the few cones she could yet find on the trees; too, she discovered another tannik bush, and with her ice axe harvested the root; last, she collected some yellow lichen growing on the underside of a rock overhang, scraping it free with her dagger. At one point an arctic hare sprang up practically underfoot, startling both damman and Elfess, but before Faeril recovered enough to draw a knife, the hare was gone. “Garn, Riatha! There went our supper.”

But never were these pauses long, for the trail of the
Spaunen
drew them ever onward.

At one place where Riatha stopped to gather cones and pry open the scales and collect more of the small nuts. Faeril softly asked, “Tell me, Dara, why did the Foul Folk not defile Urus when they were at the glacier? I mean, he was helpless and all. They could have dug him free, as we did, and made certain that he was dead. So why did they leave him undisturbed?”

Riatha shook her head. “I know not why, Faeril. Mayhap they did not despoil him because he was still in the ice, for only as we drew nigh did the quake strip away the outer most cover—though thou art correct in that the
Rûpt
could have drawn him forth. Mayhap they thought him dead. Mayhap if they did find Stoke, he commanded them to leave Urus be, though I think that Stoke would gladly have murdered Urus had he known. Mayhap their prime aim was to get Stoke to safety. Mayhap they could not abide the golden light of the aspergillum.” Riatha took up the cloth onto which she had shaken loose the pine nuts, tying it with a cord. “There are too many imponderables, Faeril, and likely we will never know.”

At another stop, this time to rest, Faeril examined the long-lost silver knife that Gwylly had discovered in the hollow. It was identical to its mate in her bandolier. She handed the blade to the Elfess. “Riatha, it is said that this knife is made of silver, and I have always believed so; yet
look, it is not tarnished though it has lain in a glacier for a thousand years. How can this be?”

Riatha turned the knife over and again in her hands. “It is Drimmen work, Faeril—Dwarven made. How they forge such I cannot say, yet this I do know: silver this is, and pure, yet in its forging lies a long-held secret of the Drimma.” Riatha handed the knife back to the damman.

Faeril sheathed the blade and drew its mate. “Well, I don’t believe that the other one tarnishes either, though I’m not at all sure that it has ever been given a chance to do so—it seems to me as if we polished it every day. I suppose by now it should have been rubbed to a nubbin, but I can’t see any wear on it at all.” Faeril glanced at Riatha. The Elfess shrugged. Faeril resheathed this blade, too. “I know, Riatha, I know—another Dwarven secret, neh?”

* * *

It was late mid-morn when they came to the canyon, the land slowly dropping down between sheer walls. The track they followed plunged down and in. Onward paced the two, following the footprints in the snow. A mile or more they went, the canyon walls sheer above them, rising some two or three hundred feet overhead, the slot growing narrower until it was but forty or fifty feet wide. Ahead, they could see that the ravine flared outward, and soon they came unto an open area, roughly circular, perhaps three hundred feet across, the hemming vertical walls raddled up and down and roundabout with crevices and holes. Opposite the way in, it appeared the canyon continued onward, exiting through another narrow slot, spanned by a snow bridge high above. Whether or not this way led outward and into the mountains beyond, they could not see—for all they knew, it could be a dead end.

“’Ware, Faeril,” hissed Riatha. “Here I ween is Stoke’s bolt-hole.”

Cautiously in the daylight, they followed the tracks inward. These led to the center of the amphitheater, and there the two could see that the snow had been tramped down in a wide area, as if the
Rûpt
had milled about. From this central point, tracks led outward in all directions unto the sheer walls ringed ’round, going into various shadowed cracks and dark crannies and black holes. None led onward into the slot under the snow bridge.

“Now we can see just how many
Spaunen
are in this
band,” breathed Riatha. “Thou count the tracks on thy side, separating Vulg from others, and I will count them on this side. But ’ware, step not on the untrod snow, for we would not leave our scent where it can be found by Vulg when darkness falls.”

Staying within the large beaten-down area, Faeril counted the number of individual trails that she could see heading for the wall. Riatha did the same. Then they traded sides and counted again. Their tallies were consistent: the Rūcks and Hlōks totalled twenty-seven, the Vulgs thirteen. Neither Elfess nor damman espied what could clearly be identified as Stoke’s tracks—although as Riatha pointed out, any one of the Vulgs’ trails could be his, were he in that form. Faeril suggested that if Stoke were in fact impaired, he might have been carried by Rūcks or Hlōks, perhaps even on a litter, though no evidence of this was seen.

Riatha scanned the rim overhead. “Let us backtrack, hiding our scent among the traces left by the
Spaunen
band. When we can safely do so, we will circle to the west wall above and, when night falls, see what we can see.”

Faeril removed her glove and wetted a finger, holding it up. A chill breeze swirled within the arena. “What if the wind is such that our scent will be borne down from the west wall? Can we cross over the snow bridge and take station on the east wall? The span must be sturdy to exist in this shaking land.”

Riatha shook her head, glancing up at the white arch. “Nay, Faeril, though thy words ring true, still snow bridges are treacherous, even for one of thy slightness; only when there is no other acceptable choice should they be tried. If the wind is against us, we will backtrack and come at the east wall in the same manner that we now assay the west.”

Faeril nodded. “If we do this, we need to change the markers, too, so that Gwylly and Aravan avoid the canyon and find our true trail.”

“Aye,” agreed Riatha, and the two started back the way they had come.

Moving swiftly, Riatha and Faeril hiked up the trail some three miles or so, pausing now and again to notch through each of the blazed trail signs pointing into the ravine.

At last the Elfess found what she was seeking: an expanse of bare stone rising steeply. As Faeril blazed a new sign, Riatha loosened the small grappling hook from her belt and
fixed a line to it. Casting the hook and setting it, up from the trail she and the damman ascended. From atop the stone, Riatha looked back down. “There. If
Rûpt
should find our trail this night, then that should give them a riddle to read.”

Faeril’s heart leapt into her throat. “Oh, Riatha. Should they find our trail, then it will lead them back to the glacier—back to the tracks of Gwylly and Aravan…and Urus.”

Riatha stood long in thought. “Mayhap, yet there has always been the danger that Vulgs will find their scent, just as they found the four of us last night. Too, the
Rûpt
may stumble across any of our tracks, including those of Aravan and your beloved Gwylly. The
Spaunen
of certain know that we are in the region, even though they abandoned their search for us yesternight—to aid Stoke, we deem.

“But heed: they would have forsaken their pursuit of us regardless as soon as day drew nigh, else they would suffer the Withering Death. I judge that where we stand is some twenty miles from where Stoke was found, and they were hard-pressed to reach yon bolt-hole ere light of day. Even so, though it is a distance back to where we were, there is a chance they may return to the glacier to hunt us again—yet I deem it unlikely they will do so.”

Riatha glanced at the Sun, now nearing the noontide. “Rest thy heart, Faeril, for even now our loved ones must be at the monastery. I know of no better place to be, should Foul Folk come upon them.”

Even though the Elfess seemed confident, still the damman wished that there were some way to make certain that her buccaran was safe. “Is it always like this in times of peril, Riatha? I mean, I am so afraid for my Gwylly.”

Riatha squatted and loosed the grapnel and began coiling the line. “Aye, wee one. ’Tis always so. Yet list—thy loved one afar has the same concern of thee, and thou must take all honorable precaution to guard thyself for his sake, just as he must do for thee. Thou and he can do little else. He knows this, as dost thou. Take comfort in this knowledge, as well as in the knowledge that he is with steadfast companions, just as art thou.”

Faeril threw her arms about the Elfess and kissed her on the cheek, receiving an embrace in return. Then Riatha
stood and hung the hook and line on her belt. “Let us away.”

* * *

As the Sun set, Faeril and Riatha were in place atop the bluff above the circular amphitheater in the canyon below. Before taking up their places, Riatha had marked the direction of the wind, and they had positioned themselves as well as they could to avoid their scent wafting into the canyon. They had carefully brushed away the snow and loose rock at this place so that none would inadvertently fall from their own movement there on the rim, alerting the foe. To their left was the canyon the
Spaunen
had followed into the arena below. To their right, the canyon continued onward, sloping downhill, the walls of the hemming bluffs diminishing as well as receding, the ravine widening and becoming shallower until it was no more, having merged with the broad valley beyond. Be-ringing the entire rim of the arena stood the sparse forest of arctic pines, the trees marching away unto the mountain slopes on either side, covering the width and length of the canted vale.

Darkness fell, and with it came the sound of Foul Folk. Riatha and Faeril eased themselves belly down and peered over the rim. The arena below was deep in shadow, yet Waerling and Elven eyes could just make out the floor of the amphitheater. And as they watched, torch-light flickered from many of the splits and cracks and holes below. Dark shapes emerged, bearing burning brands, fluttering shadows cast against the snow. Vulgs and maggot-folk there were—Rūcks or Hlōks or both—and they milled about in the center, speaking their guttural tongue. At last a small band broke away, Vulgs in the lead, running south, into the canyon beyond. A short moment later, another band formed, and this one went north. Yet some Vulgs and others remained behind, and these disappeared back into their holes.

Hours passed with no activity. The Eye of the Hunter scored the sky, and the Moon overhead shone down into the pit. Then there came a great hubbub from the south, and again Riatha and Faeril lay belly down at the rim. Even as they watched, Vulgs, Rūcks, and Hlōks came marching in through the slot, and they bore a slain deer with them. Vulgs yawled, and answers echoed out from the splits and cracks of the stone walls. Rūcks and such emerged from
within, and the deer carcass was hacked into meaty chunks,
Spaunen
squabbling over choice parts. Of a sudden there came a howl from on high, and all quarrelling stopped. All eyes swung toward the east wall, and there, halfway up, in the ebon mouth of a cavern, there was a shadow of movement, but no form could be discerned, for no light shone therein.

There came a Vulg-like snarling, and the band below gathered up the rendered carcass and trooped to the east wall and within.

Riatha sucked in her breath and clenched her fist, but otherwise made no move, for there was no way in which she could bring a weapon to bear upon the shadow opposite.

Beside her, Faeril looked across at the dark arch, her heart racing in her breast. She could not even tell the shape of the shadow, yet she had no doubt who it was. And she found that she held a silver dagger in her hand; when she had drawn the weapon, she could not say.