Chapter 10 – Led by the Dog...
Gareth and Asguard faced the dim, fog-shrouded morning alone.
The task before them demanded a keen war dog and master. Their challenge demanded total concentration, and Wren, and all of the sentries that would follow her vermillion robes, would only distract Asguard from his a difficult task. The gray snow lay deep upon the ground, and Asguard needed no more scents, no more tracks, to turn his attention away from the trail his master prayed he might first find and then follow.
Gareth smiled as he pat Asguard and stretched his widest smile to shield the anxiety he felt churning his stomach. He had spent the night's final hours following Markus's manifestation combing through the Stonebrook keep for any article – for any shred of clothing, for any discarded toy, for any forgotten keepsake – that might still hold the slightest trace of Markus. He had searched for any article that might have provided Asguard with something close to a scent from which the war dog might start his search. Gareth failed to find a thing. His family had discarded, burned or obliterated any trace of that Stonebrook son whose gray eyes time had twisted into a pair of golden orbs no longer recognized by the stone kings. Markus had been expunged from the Stonebrook line. All trace of his memory had been destroyed.
Gareth sighed. Asguard had only the fog and the snow to guide him.
The fog had continued to thicken during the night, so that the morning sun burned feebly in the sky. The temperature continued to fall, so that Asguard's fur, and Gareth's bristling beard, did little to soothe the bite inflicted by the chill's teeth. The gray snow rose to Gareth's knees, and it would be taxing for him and Asguard to travel far for how the snow would cling to paws and boots to make each step heavy. The world continued to turn darker and colder. Gareth recognized how it became increasingly more difficult to distinguish night from day.
Gareth saw that the world shifted and became more welcoming to the ancient ones Markus prepared to summon.
Gareth stepped behind Asguard and dropped the dog's leash. Anticipating a command, Asguard stood at quiet attention.
“Search.”
Asguard lowered his nose and sniffed at the gray snow. Given no article to hint what he searched for, the war dog circled in confusion. He strayed far to the left and right, trying to locate an unnatural scent. He found nothing and returned to Gareth with lowered ears conveying his puzzlement.
Gareth knelt next to his dog and scratched his ears. “Good, boy. Good, Asguard. Search.”
Gareth prayed to the Maker that all those cold mornings he spent setting tracks of venison or mutton across snow, dust and mud would return results. Training a war dog in the practice of tracking required more patience than either the obedience or protection work conducted upon the training field. Gareth believed only the war dogs with the most balanced, most focused temperaments excelled in tracking. Developing that keen balance meant many mornings invested in laying down scent trails for a war dog's practice. War dogs who were effective trackers developed their scent through repetition. Nothing taxed handlers more than the training of tracking. Handlers could not afford to lose their temper at any time during the process, for the war dog who was always worried about punishment from his master would hardly have the concentration required to search out difficult scents. A handler needed to encourage his dog even when the animal missed the trail, had to accept that many more mornings in the cold and damp would be required so that the war dog would have the practice needed to learn how to effectively follow faint scents over very long trails.
Gareth hoped he had spent enough of those early and dark mornings with Asguard to give his black war dog a hope to find what his master prayed he might in that fog and snow. None of Gareth's dogs possessed a sharper temperament better suited for tracking than favored Asguard. The best dog for the purpose was at his side, and Gareth would have to remain faithful that he had provided Asguard enough tracks of venison and mutton to make the war dog's nose as keen as the challenge demanded.
Encouraged by the assurance in his master's tone, Asguard trotted next to Gareth's side. Asguard's confidence did not wane. The war dog remained eager to please his handler.
“Search, Asguard.”
Asguard's nose returned to the snow. Gareth walked slowly behind Asguard as the war dog swayed his head and trotted ahead. Gareth remained silent and still while his war dog worked. He did his best to ignore the cold seeping through his boots and gloves. He had recognized how Asguard had smelled Markus during the night, and Gareth prayed that his Asguard, his kennel's strongest tracker, would find a trace of the brother whose dark magics turned day into night with such cold, thick strands of mist.
Suddenly, Asguard stopped and pulled his nose out of the snow. His nostrils flared, and Gareth smiled when Asguard snorted at the air.
“Search, Asguard.”
Gareth's words spurred the dog's confidence. Asguard found the scent lingering in the air. The war dog pointed his nostrils upwards and away from the snow before trotting forward in pursuit of the smell. Asguard turned and twisted through the swirling fog. The cold intensified as the hours passed as Gareth followed Asguard's twists and turns. The fog continued to thicken, and the afternoon appeared no different than the dark morning. Markus prepared the world for the return of terrible powers. Markus made the world dark and cold so those risen from the crypt could more easily conquer a world empty of sunlight and warmth.
The heavy snow grabbed at Gareth's steps as he hustled to keep up with Asguard. The scent grew stronger. Asguard didn't hesitate to enter the low tunnel discovered dug through the earthen berm separating keep grounds from the village. Gareth's eyes squinted to follow his war dog through the dark. His hands reached out to feel the dark tunnel's walls, and he shuddered to imagine what bone fingers cut that passage through the earth.
The tunnel opened upon the village's outskirts. Asguard's focus never wavered as the villagers waved at their new king and his mighty, black war dog. Asguard occasionally double-backed as buildings and walls obstructed the scent's trail. But Asguard did not fail to rediscover the scent as he navigated through the outer, village streets.
Gareth smiled. Asguard's attention was complete. Gareth's dedication to his dog's training payed rewards. Even old Ebon would have been impressed by Asguard's tracking skill.
The fog choked the air when Asguard and Gareth passed through the village's last gate and entered the wilderness. Gareth relied completely upon whatever sense of direction Asguard's nose provided them. Gareth could hardly see his black war dog working the ground in front of him. Howls of predatory animals and the flutters of large wings randomly broke the silence that enveloped them. Gareth scolded his imagination for thinking such sounds anything other than those of beasts who hungered in the cold wilderness. Gareth cursed at his imagination for drifting to thoughts of ghouls breaking through the hard, cold earth. He did not know if Markus watched for wilderness intruders through the eyes of winged, skeletal sentries. Should he have given more thought to what he would do if Asguard truly did find Markus's lair? Would Markus have prepared a bone army to greet the stone king and black war dog? Gareth cursed himself. He should have placed more confidence in Asguard. He should have done more to prepare for what Asguard would certainly find in the fog.
Asguard's pace slowed. The war dog neither barked nor whimpered. Asguard kept silent, aware that the wilderness demanded stealth. The dog waited for Gareth to reach his side, waited for his handler to see what his canine smell found shrouded in fog and mist.
Gareth arrived at the base of an earthen mound when he reached his dog's side. The fog had hidden the view of the stone stairs ascending the mound until Gareth nearly stood on top of the first step. Asguard climbed the mound at Gareth's side. They arrived at a portal cut into the side of the great hill. Gareth recognized it as an entrance to one of the land's ancient barrows, which farmers and huntsmen told dotted the wilderness. The barrows were built by those chieftains who had preceded the Stonebrooks, crypts f
or those who ruled in a time before the gray-eyed line of kings delivered the rule of law to tame a savage realm, a time not far after the ancient ones had been buried. The barrow was a relic of lost time.
Asguard stood silent at his master's side. Gareth did not doubt that Asguard found Markus's lair.
Gareth took a breath and entered the barrow's darkness. He did his best to quiet his mind of the rumors he had heard as a child of the barrows from the huntsmen and grandmothers. His courage needed him to ignore tales of curses and of shambling shadows, of cruel fairies and of serpents warned to reside beneath wilderness burial mounds.
Gareth arrived with his black war dog to confront a brother, and he could not allow stories to weaken his hand.
So Gareth strode deeper into the earth and walked into the stone halls buried beneath the mound. Strange symbols of swirls and lines decorated the walls on either side of him, characters of the dark magics that chilled and darkened the land.
Gareth gripped his ax as forcefully as the three fingers remaining on his strong, right hand might, and stepped deeper into the dark barrow.
Asguard did not hesitate to follow.
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Kennel, Kingdom and Crown Page 14
