36.

Pursuit SUGAR FOUND THE monster to be one of the easiest things she'd ever tracked. A stupid beast that could not navigate well enough in the darkness to avoid the branches. But when there was light enough to see, she realized that the branches being broken were not those that someone would accidentally step on and break, nor were they ones that would break easily as someone brushed past. No, they had been broken on purpose. She concluded River knew someone was following and had done this to leave a trail.

But Sugar now looked down at the spot where an immense rotted log had recently lain and was not so sure. Worms and grubs wriggled in the soil of the impression. This log had obviously been moved aside, but it was too large for River to do such a thing. Sugar attempted to push it, but could not move it an inch. How could River have moved it as she was carried along by that beast?

To Sugar's left rose a steep hill. On her right the ground descended to a cl.u.s.ter of hundred-foot bald cypress, their ma.s.sive knees rising out of the dark tea-water. A muskrat swam through a layer of duckweed farther out in the swamp.

She wondered if the creature had taken River into that mess.

Lilies, bog bean, and goat willow choked the far side. The place breathed with the croaking of frogs and stank of things rotting in the water. But she knew that it was full of far more than frogs and stink and sc.u.m. She'd find snakes, leeches, and snapping turtle there in abundance.

A chip of something small and dark fell from the cypress trees above. Sugar looked up and saw a handful of grayfans, large game fowl that fanned their tail feathers when threatened. They stood in the branches above, pecking for the cypress seeds. More dark chips fell and she realized it wasn't bark, but grayfan droppings.

She stepped aside in disgust and walked toward the swamp to see if perhaps the mud at the edges would show any footprints, but as she did so a crack sounded up the hill.

The creature had gone up the hill, not into the swamp, so she turned and followed the noise, glad to leave the stink and the rising mosquitoes.

A few paces later the tree cover gave way and a trail of footprints led through the dew-soaked undergrowth, clear as you please up the hill.

Sugar followed the trail back into the trees, always going up, finding scuffled leaves here and there or matted gra.s.s, until she came to a small stream. She stopped and looked about, then saw a footprint in the stream itself. She followed the stream uphill to a slight ridge of rock, crossed over, and found herself standing in front of the mouth of a cave, a cool breeze blowing out of the darkness and into her face. She immediately crouched and moved to one side so she did not darken the entrance with her silhouette.

She wondered if this was a natural cave or one made by the stone-wights. If it was one of the ancient ruins, did that mean this creature was connected with them? Many had been lost in the stone-wight ruins. All of Sugar's life she had been warned to stay clear of them, for who knew what dark thing waited within? But this is where the creature had taken Mother, and so this is where she would have to go. She looked down the hill. You'd have to be standing right where she was to even see this opening.

She now wished the monster had taken River to the swamp. At least there you could at least see what you were about. Here the creature might be only a dozen paces away, watching her from the darkness. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Sugar listened. She could hear nothing but the trickling water. She waited for a long time, but nothing stirred. The breeze meant this would be a long cave. It was quite possible that the monster's lair was hidden deep within.

She would have to go in, if only a small distance. Whoever she brought back here would want to know what lay just inside this entrance so they might avoid a pit or slope. Any information she could give them would keep them from charging in completely blind.

She edged toward the darkness and then crab-walked in and waited for her vision to adjust.

The ceiling of the cave trailed up and was lost in the darkness. The walls were narrow and tilted to one side, water oozing down their face.

Sugar moved farther in, away from the sound of the water outside and listened. She thought she heard voices, but then decided it was only the breeze or water. Rocks fell in the distance, the sound echoing along the cave walls. Moments later something splashed through the water. And then she realized it was moving, not away from her, but back toward her and the mouth of the cave.

She could not judge the distance well, but it sounded close.

Fear rose in her. She turned and scrabbled back, trying to keep a low profile. When she reached the mouth of the cave, whatever it was began to run.

Sugar ran out of the cave into the light and considered running back downhill to escape whatever it was coming at her from the inky darkness, but because running downhill was her first choice, she rejected it. It would expect her to run downhill; it would expect her to hide somewhere away from the cave, perhaps in the waters of the swamp. Moreover, the sound of her very footfalls would make her an easy mark.

No, she wouldn't run. She looked around for a place to hide close by and spotted one above the mouth of the cave behind an outcropping of rock. She didn't know if it was big enough to hide her, but it would have to do.

Quickly, carefully, she moved away from the mouth and climbed up the small ridge that ran along the brow of the cave.

Below her, just inside the mouth of the cave, something splashed through water.

She took one more careful step and slid behind the rock. But she didn't have time to lie down, for the beast burst into view below her. It took a number of steps then stopped, surveying the slope below.

The creature stood like a man of freakish proportions. Heavy-limbed, wide, maybe seven feet tall, with a small odd-shaped head. It was immense. She thought she saw an ear on the side of its head, but it was too ragged to tell exactly what it was. s.h.a.ggy gra.s.s grew in patches over the whole of its body. One patch along its back appeared to be green gra.s.s mixed with the small yellow flowers of creeping wood sorrel.

If the beast turned around and looked up, it would see her. But she didn't dare crouch, didn't dare make adjustments for fear of making even the smallest of sounds.

The creature moved slightly and made a hideous sound that froze her spine.

It moved again. Again came the awful sound, and Sugar realized it was the intake of breath. A loud horrid gasp like a man suffering from the black lung.

Was it trying to scent her?

The air about her was still, no morning updrafts or crosswinds. No down drafts. The breeze in the cave blew outward, and so the thing would not have smelled her in there. But that also meant the breeze might, at this very moment, be carrying the scent that pooled about her right to it.

A crack sounded from the woods below.

The creature turned to it.

Heartbeats pounded in her ears.

Then the thing moved, loping downhill in the direction of the sound, the gra.s.s about its body jolting with every stride.

Sugar realized she'd been holding her breath and gasped for air.

The creature bounded into the air, clearing a large tangle, and landed heavily on the other side. Two more strides, and then it was nothing but a flash through the trunks of the trees.

She gauged the distance it had covered in the few breaths since it had first moved. Never in her life could she have outrun it.

The rustling of a tree sounded from below, and she knew when it found nothing below, when it smelled her trail growing stale, it would come back.

Her legs shouted out for her to run, but she fought it. Sugar turned and carefully-oh, so carefully-began to ascend the hill. She would find her escape on the other side, or not at all.

Hunger backtracked for about a quarter of a mile along the trail he'd taken earlier and then stopped under a cl.u.s.ter of tall pines. He had seen nothing. Heard nothing but a bunch of noisy grayfans. He would find nothing along this trail. The scent had been stronger back at the cave. He turned and began to walk back, looking, listening for anything at all.

He came to the tree in which the grayfans sat. He searched the ground and then looked up. It didn't take long before he found it: one rotted branch hanging at a broken angle. Noisy birds cracking branches-that's what he'd chased after. Or maybe some deer. It could have been anything that had made the noise earlier, but it was not the person who had followed him.

He cursed himself, crouched down on all fours, and began to follow the scent more closely. It was a female that had followed him; he could smell that.

Back up the slope he went, making sure to check for trails of scent leading away from this one. But he found none. He stood at the mouth of the cave, and could smell her in there. Could he have run by her in his haste? He followed her trail in, but found it ended not far inside.

If he'd run by, then she had come back out, but she hadn't run downhill. No, Hunger examined the area around the mouth of the cave and found her scent clinging to the rock. He followed it up to a ridge just above the mouth of the cave and found a pool of her scent. She had stopped here. She could have been squatting right there when he'd run like a fool down the hill.

But it didn't matter. He had her scent and her trail. He would catch the wily thing and bring her back. He was the Mother's now; his family depended on it.

He felt good to have such a clear purpose. He felt as if a burden had been lifted. Serving the Mother wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Hunger followed the woman's trail, sometimes loping on two limbs, sometimes staying close to the ground on all fours. He followed her scent up over the crest of the hill and back down into the valley on the other side and to the banks of a marshy river.

She was smart, hoping he'd lose her scent on the water. But there were some parts of a person's scent that did not sink into the depths. Some of it hung in the very air. Oh, water made it harder to track. Sometimes it flowed away at great speeds erasing all traces of a trail, but not this sluggish river, this half-marsh. He got down on all fours and strode out into the water and smelled her on the surface. The scent was faint, but it was thick enough to follow.

Then he lost it. She had fallen or dived under and swam. He searched in widening circles around the area where he last smelled her, and in a short time found the scent again and followed it down river about fifty yard to the far bank.

Up on the land, her scent grew fresher and stronger with every step. He ran into the trees. Here, the dampness and the cover from the sun kept her trail together and made it as easy to follow her as a slow parade of cattle.

Her scent grew stronger and stronger until he broke from the woods upon a small farmstead.

Hunger paused to survey the area. A small herd of brown and white milk goats grazed in a pasture beyond a house, but there were no farmers out and about this morning. The female's scent was strong here. Exceedingly strong.

She was here.

He followed the female's trail to the barn and found the doors standing open. He strode inside and stopped. He smelled horse and hay and harness. He smelled her as if she were standing in front of him.

He had her, had her trapped in this barn like a mouse in a box.

Hunger closed the doors to the tidy barn behind him. There was one stall and a loft of hay. He looked in the stall and found it empty, which meant she'd buried herself in the hay in the loft.

He leapt to the loft and landed in a crouch, waiting for her to try to run by him. He waited. Nothing. He kicked through the hay, reached in to the deepest parts. But she wasn't there. He looked around, but there was nowhere else to hide!

Hunger cursed and walked back out and circled the barn. Only then did he realize what had happened. He breathed in deeply to smell it for sure. There had been a horse here-she'd taken the horse.

He walked out of the barn and followed the scent for a short distance. Yes, she'd taken the horse. He looked at the prints of the hooves. She had kicked it onto a trot. She was not galloping. Not that woman. She had shown herself too smart for that.

Hunger almost chased after her, but he stopped himself. He could match the speed of a horse, but not for long. He would fail along the way if he didn't replenish his Fire. He needed food.

He turned back to the farmhouse and pushed the door open, but he only found a table and an orange cat hiding under a chair, looking up at him in fear. An old couple must live here. He saw one pair of large, muddy, wooden clogs next to the door. Or maybe it wasn't a couple. Maybe it was just an old man and his cat. Either way, the house was empty.

He left the house and cat and went to the pasture. The brown and white goats scattered at his coming, but they were no match for his speed. He caught one whose horns had split into four curls, shucked it, and devoured both its Fire and soul. It was not enough, and he chased down three more, leaving their bodies lying on the chewed gra.s.s.

When he'd drained the last one and felt satisfied, he stood. The power surged in his limbs. The scent of the horse mixed with the female still lay thick along the road. The sun and wind would disperse it, but not before he caught her.

37.

Sleth TALEN HELD PERFECTLY still. The seconds stretched into minutes. Then the Shoka on the pine in front of them turned his attention back to the road.

Talen didn't dare take another step. He didn't even dare switch his bow to the other hand. Movement drew the eye. And even though it was still mostly dark, if he moved too quickly the two across the way would see him. He knew that because he could see them even now.

The problem was he and Legs had to move. Right now there was still enough darkness in the woods to obscure them. However, in a half an hour the morning would lighten most of the shadows and they would be standing there plain as day for anyone who just happened to take a gander in their direction.

In slow tiny increments, Talen reached back with one bare foot to feel the forest floor for a likely spot. He moved a twig aside with his toe and transferred his weight. He turned his head downwards so his voice wouldn't carry and whispered one word for every few heartbeats.

"Feel. Your. Way. Back," he whispered.

Legs reached back with his bare foot, found a spot. They moved in miniscule increments. Stopping, moving an inch, stopping, moving again.

A squirrel chittered off to the right. Sweat ran down Talen's back. A mosquito buzzed him. It landed on his cheek, a large smudge at the bottom of his vision. He moved an inch. Stopped. Move another. He felt the mosquito's pin p.r.i.c.k. He continued to move, pushed aside some dry leaves with his toe. Paused. Moved. The thief finished with his face and droned away with its stolen treasure.

This was taking too long. The morning light was coming too fast. He could see the two Shoka on the other side of the road now well enough to make out the colored bands on their arrows.

The hoofbeats of a galloping horse sounded along the road. The Shoka stood and moved forward to the edge of the tree line and looked up the road.

"Slowly," Talen said. He and Legs took another step.

A moment later a rider on a tan horse could be seen through the trunks of the trees. The three Shoka stepped out onto the road, bows and spears pointed at the horseman, another Shoka, wearing the green patterned sash of that clan. The man brought his horse to halt.

"Hoy," the man said.

The three Shoka must have recognized him, for they lowered their weapons.

"Keep moving," Talen whispered to Legs. They took another slow step, then another.

"Spread the word," the horseman said. "The hatchlings have been spotted. Prunes saw them with his own eyes."

"Where?" One of the Shoka asked.

The tan horse pulled on the reins, trying to get its head. "At the farm of Hogan the Koramite."

Wonderful, Talen thought. Just wonderful. He knew Prunes. The man had been one of those the Bailiff had brought with him to search the farm. Which meant the Bailiff must have posted a watch.

They should have thought of that. He and Nettle should have scouted the woods for those Fir-Noy armsmen if for nothing else.

There was an enormous beech with a trunk a few feet in diameter only a few paces away. If they could get behind that, it would hide them. "To your left," Talen whispered.

"There's worse," the rider said. "That monster from Whitecliff was with them. It killed Gid. Twisted him up like a rag. The Bailiff's calling a full muster. Everyone in the district will be standing guard over their families or going to Stag Home."

"There's another nine men down the trail," one of the Shoka said. "We've got dogs."

"Bring them or keep them with you. We've already sent out for five teams of hounds to follow trails in and out of that place. Now, if you please, I'm off to Lord Shim." Then he urged his mount into a gallop and thundered away.

Talen and Legs took another step towards the beech. They only had one more step to go.

The Shoka with the spear turned and sprinted back down the path he'd first arrived on, probably to spread the word to those nine other men.

Talen took the last step back then slid behind the fat beech and pulled Legs with him. He pressed his back flat up against the trunk and held his breath, shifting to make sure both of them were completely behind the tree. Legs stood up against him, his hair bushing Talen's chin.

Dogs, Talen thought. Not only did he have to escape with a blind boy in tow, but now he had dogs to deal with. Before noon today everyone in his Talen's family would be famous. And the Bailiff wouldn't give them an easy pa.s.s this time. Talen and his family had done more than make a fool of him. They'd stabbed him in the back. No, there would be no easy pa.s.s. He'd come with those ice cold eyes, and there would be no deliverance.