“From skates,” Dangyon said softly.
Talon bit back an oath. They all suspected the wolves. It did not help that one of the Gray Ones was close by. Talon could smell the damp, musk scent even through his headache. Either the wolves had made him more sensitive overall just by being near him, or he was still linked to the packsong.
Quickly, they stripped and bedded down the dnu. To keep the beasts from moving, they hobbled the dnu’s noses to their feet. “It might save a few,” Talon told them. They threw the saddles and saddlebags in a circle on the treated cloths that would keep the beetles away. Then they threw down their bedding to add a layer of protection for themselves. “Four meters or more apart,” Talon ordered. “Without the moons, we stand a chance of going completely unnoticed.”
No one had to ask why he ordered the distance between them. If they were too close to one another when the skates descended and any one of them panicked, anything close to that one man would be torn apart alive. The death throes would draw the swarm like mudsuckers to a thrashing fish.
Rakdi glanced at the distance between his place and Weed’s, then at the scattered, sloppy layout. “Well, there’s one advantage to leaving a camp trace like this. Any venge following us would think twice after seeing this slop. They’ll think the lot of us had the worst gas a lepa ever passed.”
“That,” Weed agreed, “or beetle breath.” He eyed Rakdi’s sleeping bag and then Dangyon’s, then surreptitiously moved his closer to the brush so that some vines overhung his bedding. On the other side of the clearing, Oroan ran a stick under a log to dislodge night spiders, then threw her bedding beneath it.
“There’s room for three under that log,” Ki said. There was a tinge of envy in his voice.
Mal nodded. “If she trusted anyone else—or if they trusted her—to share it.”
Oroan glanced around the cluttered clearing, met their challenging gazes, and finally nodded to Talon. “I’ll share with him.”
Weed’s voice was almost dry. “Now that’s thinking ahead. Choose the man who suffers from tremors when you’re trying to hide from skates.” There was a sharpness to his voice that Talon didn’t recognize, and it took him seconds to realize that it was fear. He turned and stared at the man. It was unexpected, that fear, for Weed had ridden for years as a raider, and had seen a hundred battles. Talon didn’t realize that he stretched into the faint packsong in his mind, but he suddenly smelled the sweat of the other man and knew he was right, that it was fear that charged Weed. Not fear of battle or swords or men, but fear of . . . wildlife. Of facing beasts. Of being eaten alive. It was a fear that made him impossibly fierce in the forest, while he was merely good on a raid.
Weed met his eyes, clenched his jaw, and turned silently to his bedroll.
Oroan looked from Weed to Talon. “We all take a chance with him sooner or later,” she said mildly to the others. “For me, it might as well be now.”
Talon turned back to the lean woman. It was trust, he realized—loyalty of a sort that she was offering. He moved toward her. “Do you realize what you are saying?” he murmured.
She studied him for a long moment, then gave a single, short, almost imperceptible nod.
Talon turned away, snagged his bedding from the ground, and tossed it to the woman. The raider caught the loose bundle and spread his sleeping bag cursorily, two meters away from hers, at the other end of the log.
Roc watched the two and cursed under her breath. She was not gentle in arranging her sleeping bag between the roots of a massive tree. Her face was tight as she crawled, half sitting, into her sleeping bag. “They might miss us completely,” she said sharply. “They might not even swarm.”
“And the moons might not rise, and the dawn might not come.” Dangyon glanced at the sky, then got into his blanket roll.
“Your back is exposed,” Talon murmured.
“Always is,” the man returned. “Comes of being twice the man that you are.”
Talon smiled grimly. He looked around to make sure everyone else was down. “If they are coming, they will be coming soon.”
“And if they don’t?” It was Roc.
“Then we will have a cold and uncomfortable evening.” Talon looked over the sloppy clearing and nodded in satisfaction. The raiders were scattered; the dnu were down between the trunks of the blackheart trees, outside the rough circle of men. If one dnu panicked, it would pull the swarm down onto it, but the feeding frenzy that would result would also break the dnu’s bonds. It would bolt and take the swarm with it. The rest of the dnu might survive.
He moved quickly to his sleeping bag and burrowed in, rolling up against the log so that the ground protected his side and the log his back. He pulled up the bag until just his ears and eyes were clear. He sensed more than heard something nearby and remained still with difficulty. A moment later, a muzzle pushed toward his face.
Leader. Gray Faren whuffed against his forehead.
He shifted so that he could see her. Their gazes met. There was the shock of deep, intimate contact. His vision doubled; his arms seemed to grow fur. The packsong was suddenly real. Lupine and human voices crawled in the back of his head.
Run. Hunger . . . Do you see it? Feel the hunt. Dust. Hard dirt under the paws. Where are you?
He broke out in a sweat and shuddered. On the other side of him, Oroan heard the rustling and murmured, “Don’t make me regret my decision.”
He struggled to control his breathing. A soft rustling spread through the canopy. It was faint, like a light wind, but Talon was not fooled, and he knew the others had heard it. Minutes passed, and another light rushing sound rustled through the leaves. Small shapes flitted through the sky, and tiny voles leaped from tree to tree.
Gray Faren stared into his eyes. Leader. Danger.
I know.
Find, protect. Wolfwalker. She pulled his own voice out of the packsong.
There was a sense of distance, and Talon shook his head imperceptibly. Through Faren, he saw through other wolf eyes. He watched with Gray Ursh as the wolves paused and looked back at the portons, which rose in a startled cloud from the far side of the lake. The narrow birds skimmed out over the waters. Their massed shadow was echoed in the lake like a claw, and Talon clenched his left fist. They are coming, he called urgently to the wolves.
Leader, they sent back.
Run, he shouted to them.
Gray Faren jerked, but his hand shot out and dug into her scruff. Not you. You’re too close. You must stay and be still as stone.
She snarled, and in the clearing someone breathed, “Wolves.”
In the distance, the portons reached the far side of the lake and scattered through the trees. Small sprits screamed at the sense of danger and darted into the upper canopy. Rodents flashed to their dens. A hint of movement beyond the lake caught wolf eyes. The hint became a wave, and the wave a hand of darkness. Fingers of movement spread through the trees.
Talon caught his breath. Run, he shouted into the gray. Run like wind—like fire.
The gray swelled back with urgency and fear. It was not at the birds; the wolves sensed what had started the portons swarming. “Run,” he whispered.
From one side, Sojourn breathed, “What is it?”
He strengthened his voice so that the others could hear. “The portons just swarmed. One arm of the swarm is coming this way.” Heartbeats pounded. A heavier rustling shook the forest. Small animals bolted through the clearing. A cloud of tree sprits fled en masse. To the north, larger animals thudded by. Vines dragged as something became caught and grunted frantically to tear free.
There was an answering rustle as the raiders instinctively burrowed down farther in their blankets. Fetal positions, genitals guarded, arms over their necks and faces.
Talon felt his limbs twitch with the urgency of the wolves. The Gray Ones were running east in front of the swarm, and behind the portons was the rustling he had heard twice before. The rustling became a subtle hissing in lupine ears, and Talon
kept his gray eyes on the yellow gaze of Gray Faren. Through her, he could feel the surge of adrenaline in the other wolves as the portons flew overhead. When the flock passed the fleeing Gray Ones, Talon shouted into the packsong. Stop! Drop to the ground.
Half the wolves froze for an instant. The others kept on running. Stop, he shouted again. The danger is in movement. Lie down. Keep still. But his voice was like a stab at the packsong, and the wolves did not understand.
He tried to project stillness. Gray Faren growled beside him. Danger. Death.
In moving, he snarled back. Keep still. The skates will pass them if they do not move. But they must, for moons’ sake, keep still.
They must breathe.
“Gods,” he cursed under his breath. She was right. The wolves had been running, and a panting wolf would be a flashing beacon to the skates.
Dion clenched her fists. In the packsong, the danger was distant and faint, but it was too familiar. Lepa, which had swarmed out over Still Meadow and had torn her son from her arms. Skates, which swarmed out over the lake and chased down the pack of wolves. She tried to reach into the gray, but her memories, thickened by those of the wolves, almost blinded her. Caves, she cried out. You have to reach the caves.
Rhom stiffened. Gamon, trudging behind him, halted instantly. Both men froze, listening to the sky, peering across the bright moon streaks of sand, Rhom, because he felt the tension, Gamon because he read it in the younger man.
Something reached through the gray to Talon, a memory or a voice. Yes, he said to himself. There was a place—ten years ago he had been there. A series of caves lined the base of a ridge. They were old lepa caves, and only a few rodents would use them, but the wolves could fit inside. One kay. One kay, he repeated in his mind. Gray Faren snarled softly.
He forced himself to calm his thoughts. They roiled with humanness, and he knew the wild wolves would not accept it. He formed an image with difficulty and projected it into the gray. There was a hesitation; then Faren’s voice joined his, and he felt the packsong agree. Their direction barely changed, but they ran with desperate purpose. The line of caves, the base of the ridge—the wolves tore through the brush.
The gray voices swelled. Wolfwalkerwolfwalkerwolfwalker . . . The worry in the packsong was thick. There was more than one pack running now. Talon smelled wolf musk and the raw sap of broken branches.
The rustling grew, and Talon knew suddenly that the sound was in his ears, not the wolves’.
For an instant, the forest became eerily silent.
“They are here,” he breathed to the others.
XXX
Talon Drovic neVolen
Moving when you know it will kill you;
Staying still when you know you will perish;
The pain of the moment to gain the future;
Silence when you know you must shout;
Your living self given into another man;
Absolute surrender.
—Answer to the fifth Riddle of the Ages
A hundred meters away, the forest crawled with movement. Gray Faren twitched with the instinct to run, and Talon hauled her close by her scruff. She nearly bit off his wrist. Keep still! he ordered sharply. He forced her head under his arm so that he protected her face, breaking the link between them. She trembled with the force of his voice. No matter what happens, keep still. He knew she could hear him. He curled as much as possible and ducked his head against hers, throwing his other arm around them.
Danger. Trapped. Heartbeat. Fear. Gray Faren’s voice was a snarl. Her jaw pressed against his neck. Her breath was hot on his flesh. It suddenly occurred to him that having a wild wolf at his throat was not, perhaps, the best positioning.
They came with a shushing sound.
At first, it was barely a breeze. Like a cat’s paw across the water, the front of the wave rippled through leaves. Gray Faren jerked with the instinct to run. Talon’s fist savagely clenched her fur. Remain still, he snarled. Stay with me. Stay alive.
The gray wolf flattened in fear.
“Talon,” Oroan breathed.
“Trust me,” he snapped, barely audibly. “And keep quiet.”
Branches whipped in the canopy. He sensed movement overhead. To his left, a dnu snorted and shifted. Instantly the air seemed charged. There was a violent sound in the trees; then the skates dove like arrows. The dnu screamed as teeth bit into its flesh. It was covered by skates in seconds. Panicked, the riding beast struggled against the hobbles. The movement incensed the skates. They swarmed over the camp, biting and clawing anything on which they landed. Dnu screamed. One broke free as the skates chewed through rope as well as flesh. It managed to lurch to its feet and bolt away, its sides covered in dark shapes that writhed and tore at its flesh. Other dnu jerked and thrashed. Blood spattered as the skates hit an artery. Talon saw it in his mind as a line of red heat.
A six-legged skate brushed over his arm, its flattened back spread out to clench its prey. Talon blocked off his mind. It clung for a second to tear at his sleeve, then leaped away. The skate that landed after it bit him. Savage little teeth tore into his flesh. He cried out in his mind. Wolves howled. A swarm flooded through his thoughts. Black skies, black ground, black blood was in his mind. Bodies and debris strewn in the grass, the heart-grinding wait while the swarm cleared the skies—the lupine memories beat at him like lepa. Some distant part of him recognized the meadow as if he had ridden through it, some other part latched onto those thoughts like an anchor.
Leader! Gray Faren howled.
Silence, he snapped viciously back. He locked his body in place and forced himself not to move.
The skate emitted a high-pitched whine and leapt away. The one after that bit down harder.
Dion froze. Pain burst in her arm. She couldn’t move, couldn’t throw back the sleeping bag, couldn’t breathe.
Rhom stiffened midstep. His hand clutched his left arm.
Gamon’s throat worked to force out the hoarse word. “Rhom?”
Rhom couldn’t answer.
Talon bit back at the pack with the pain in his mind and the control it took to remain still. Around him—in his mind— wolves flattened and crawled under logs. Some made it to the caves and huddled in the back against rough stone, their noses clogged with the old odors of the lepa. The trees writhed. The skates flooded past overhead. Wolves froze with the force of his will.
Here, there—he could not see the danger. His mind was clouded with shafts of pain, with voices, with lupine gray. He clenched the wolf and stayed pinched beneath the log. A skate chewed on his leg—he could feel the claws pricking his flesh. It abandoned him so abruptly that cold air seemed to bite in its place. Another used his shoulder for a jumping-off point, while the one after it clung to his hip.
Only one dnu was still screaming, and its voice choked as the skates tore its throat.
Still. Remain still. Keep still. Still as stone. The words were a litany. He held his breath as another skate explored the wound in his leg. Held it as one landed like a slap on his head. Six legs dug into his scalp as it lunged away, and Talon took a careful, shallow breath. Cold. Like ice. No stone. No pain. A skate landed on Gray Faren, and Talon forced his mind to the wolf’s.
Still, he commanded. Like earth. Like stone.
The skate leaped away. Then there were only the sounds of the six-legged skates feeding on the dnu: Sloppy tearing sounds, raw strips of flesh dragged through humus, a thud where a head hit the ground. Talon breathed with imperceptible breaths.
The rustling grew overhead again. Another breath, and another. Gray Faren howled without cease in his mind, and he no longer bothered to hush her. Five breaths, ten—and the forest shook with movement. Then it swept away.
He lay for long moments, listening to the receding wave. A dnu gasped as it bled out on the ground. His blood throbbed out over his arm. He did not move to stanch it. Nearby, a branch whipped with the passing of the last skate. The raiders remained still and silent.
Tal
on breathed. Twice, ten times, and ten times that. His ears strained through the wolves, and he knew that the other Gray Ones were on the edge of the swarm. Minutes passed, and through Faren, he felt the last of the skates. Only then did he raise his head. He glanced around counting dnu, closed his mind to the blood and meat smells, and eyed the canopy. He released Gray Faren, and she scrambled away. She glared balefully at him before fleeing.
Slowly, he eased out from beneath the log, then to a sitting position. Nothing swung back toward the clearing. “Clear,” he said softly.
“Is that it?” Oroan’s voice was muffled.
Talon glanced after the wolf. “There is no other movement.”
Dion took a ragged breath. Her fists were still clenched, the right around the left. She could still feel the talons that had torn her back, her legs, hips, arms. Could still feel the savage bite of teeth in her right arm, and knew that that had not been memory. It was someone else’s pain in the packsong, not hers from months ago. It was both familiar and strange. He’d had the strength of will to keep from moving as it happened. Her own limbs shuddered as she unfroze from the force of his Call. Then the voices faded, the gray fog subtly smoothed again.
The wolfwalker stared out at the sky and felt her eyes begin to burn. For a moment, she didn’t understand. Then the tears blinded her. She rubbed at her hand and whispered the name of her mate. The packsong echoed the sound, but it didn’t reach far enough to the moons to bring back what she had lost. It had been a swarm that had torn her body, killed her son. Had she been able to reach the caves, as the hunter had just directed the wolves to safety, her son would not have died. Her fault, she knew. She had not been fast enough to outrun the swarm of birdbeast lepa, had not had enough strength to hurl her child inside the cave to safety, had not had enough power to fight the lepa. She almost raged with power now. It steeled something in her to know that.
Silver Moons, Black Steel Page 31
