Doomstalker (24 page)

Approaching the Plenthzo Valley, they happened upon a packstead that had been occupied till only a few hours before. “Some of them have changed their ways,” Grauel observed.

It was obvious the place had been abandoned hurriedly. “They do know where we are and what we are doing,” Marika said. She frowned at the sky for no reason she understood. And without consulting Arhdwehr — who was plundering deserted food stores — she ordered a half dozen huntresses into the surrounding woods to look for signs of watchers.

Arhdwehr was very angry when she learned what Marika had done. But she restrained her temper. Though just a week into the venture, she realized already that the savages with whom she traveled responded far better to the savage silth pup than they did to her. Too strong a confrontation might not be wise.

Marika had sent those huntresses that Grauel felt were the best. So she believed them when they returned and reported that the party was not being stalked by nomad scouts.

“They must have their own silth with them,” she told Grauel and Barlog. “So they sense us coming in time to scatter.”

“That many silth?” Barlog countered. “If there were that many, they would fight us. Anyway, sheer chance ought to put more of them into our path.” The only encounters thus far had been two with lone huntresses out seeking game. Those the Akard huntresses had destroyed without difficulty or requiring help from the silth.

While searching for the best food stores, Arhdwehr made a discovery. She told the others, “I know how they are doing it. Staying out of our way.” But she would not explain.

Marika poked around. She found nothing. But intuition and Arhdwehr’s behavior made her suspect it came down to something like the devices Braydic used to communicate with Maksche.

Which might explain how the packstead had been warned. But how had the reporter known where the hunting party was?

Ever so gently, so it would seem to be Arhdwehr’s idea, Marika suggested that the party might spend a day or two inside that packstead, resting. It had been a hard trail up from Akard. Arhdwehr adopted the idea. Her point won, Marika collected Grauel and Barlog. “Did you find any of the herbs and roots I told you to watch for?”

“Everything but the grubs,” Grauel replied. She was baffled. Almost from her first contact with them after their arrival at Akard, Marika had had them gathering odds and ends from the woods whenever they left the fortress.

She replied, “I did not think we would find any of those. It is far too early yet. And too cold. Even the summers have become so cool that they have become rare. However...” With a gesture of triumph she produced a small sealed earthenware jar she had brought from the fortress. “I brought some along. I found them the summer we went to the Rift. Find me a pot. And something I can use as a cutting board.”

They settled apart from the others — which drew no attention because it was their custom already — and Marika went to work. “I hope my memory is good. I only saw this done once, when Bhlase made the poison for our spears and arrows.”

“Poison?” Barlog looked faintly distressed.

“I am not without a certain low, foul cunning,” Marika said lightly. “I have been gathering the ingredients for years, waiting for this chance. Do you object?”

“Not with the thought,” Grauel said. “They deserve no better. They are vermin. You exterminate vermin.” Her hatred spoke strongly. “But poison? That is the recourse of a treacherous male.”

Barlog objected, too. Eyes narrow, she said, “Why do I think you will make poison here where none will know what you do, and test it on those none will object to seeing perish, and someday I will find myself wondering at the unexplainable death of someone back at the packfast?”

Marika did not respond.

The huntresses exchanged looks. They understood, though they did not want to do so. Barlog could not conceal her disgust. Perhaps, Marika thought, she would now discover if they were the creatures of the senior.

They continued to object. Poison was not the way of a huntress. Nor even of the Wise. The way of a stinking silth, maybe. But only the worst of that witch breed...

They said nothing, though. And Marika ignored their silent censure.

She cooked the poison down with the utmost care. And just before the hunting party departed the packstead — where everything had been left much as found, at her insistence — she put three quarters of the poison into those nomad food stores she thought likely to see use soon.

The hunting party crossed the Plenthzo and continued on eastward for three nights. Then, after day’s camp had been set, Marika told Grauel and Barlog, “It is time to return and examine our handiwork.”

Grauel scowled. Barlog said, “Do not spread the blame upon us, pup. You played the male’s poison game.”

They were very irked, those two, but they did not refuse to accompany her.

They traveled more quickly as a threesome with a specific destination and no need to watch for prey. They returned to the packstead the second evening after leaving camp.

The nomads had not been forewarned of their approach. Marika filed that fact for future consideration. Then she crouched outside the stockade and ducked through her loophole, went inside the packstead.

As she had guessed from evidence seen on site, the packstead was home to a very large number of nomads. More than two hundred adults. But now half those were dead or in the throes of a terrible stomach disorder. And there were no silth there to contest with her.

She did what she believed had to be done, without remorse or second thoughts. But dealing with so many was more difficult than she had anticipated. The invaders realized the nature of the attack within seconds and responded by counterattacking. They very nearly got to her before she succeeded in terrorizing them into scattering.

Then it was over. And she was chagrined. She had managed to destroy no more than fifteen.

Grauel and Barlog, ever taciturn, were quieter than usual on the return trail as they pursued the main party. Marika pretended to be unaware of their continued displeasure. She said, “We were able to get close without difficulty. I wonder why. Two possibilities suggest themselves. The fact that we were a small party and the fact that we came by day. Which do you suppose it might have been? Or might it have been a combination of the two?”

Neither Grauel nor Barlog cared to sustain her speculations. She let them drop. And once they reached the site of the camp they had deserted, she bothered them no more, for from then on they were too busy tracking.

II

Arhdwehr flew into a rage. “You will not do that again, ever, pup! Do you understand? You will not go off on your own. If you had found more trouble than you could handle, there would have been no hope for you. No help. I had no idea where to look for you.”

“If I had gotten into more trouble than I could handle, all your problems would have been solved for you,” Marika countered. Her tone was such that Arhdwehr understood immediately exactly what she was implying. For a moment the older silth looked abashed, which was a happening so rare Marika savored it and decided she would treasure it.

Arhdwehr controlled herself. After a time, in a reasonable tone, she asked, “Have you decided how it was that you were able to approach them undetected?”

Marika shared her speculations.

“We will experiment. There must be other such packsteads. We will seek them out. We will pass them by if they are abandoned, then we will turn back and strike swiftly a few days later. We will try it with small parties, approaching both by day and by night.”

Arhdwehr assumed that a large circle around the hunting party was alert to the presence of the hunting party. Given the nomad propensity for evasion, she felt safe scattering scouts widely in search of packsteads occupied by nomads.

Marika was pleased. “She has a temper,” she told Grauel. “But she is flexible.”

Still sullen, the huntress replied, “I admit it is seldom one sees that in a silth sister.”

Marika was irked at the way her two packmates had distanced themselves, but she said nothing. They would have to learn flexibility themselves. Without coaching, which they would resist, if only because they were older and believed that gave them certain rights.

The huntresses discovered that a packstead could not be approached in large numbers by day, or even in small numbers by night. But by day twos and threes could close in and remain undiscovered till it was too late for the nomads.

The far-toucher reported the news to Akard. The sisters at the fortress passed the word to the other parties in the field, none of which had had much luck.

“They have their means of communication,” Marika mused one evening. “They will figure it out and respond. Probably by abandoning their packsteads altogether. Which means we must begin considering ways to hunt them down once they revert to old ways.”

Arhdwehr said, “That will be easier, if more work. Being on the move will rob them of much of their communications capacity.” She would not expand upon that when Marika asked questions.

“They are weird, that is why,” Grauel said when Marika later wondered why most silth refused to discuss some subjects with her. “Everything is a secret with them. Ask them what color the sky is and they will not tell you.”

The daytime sneaking worked well for several weeks. The hills south of the Hainlin were spotted heavily by packsteads taken over by the nomads. The party fell far behind its planned schedule. Then a turn back found a packstead still empty. And the next packstead located had been abandoned a week.

Arhdwehr tightened the party up, not wanting to be too scattered if hostiles appeared. She expected the nomads to become less passive. She, though, seemed to be increasingly disaffected, muttering imprecations upon the silth of Maksche. Marika did not understand. And, of course, Arhdwehr would not explain.

III

The hunting party had given up hope of catching any more nomads unaware. They were headed toward the Hainlin, hoping for better hunting on the northward leg. Arhdwehr was pleased with what had been accomplished, though she would have liked even longer strings of trophy ears. Marika had begun to believe the entire hunt was an exercise in futility. She suspected that a score of nomads were escaping for each one even located, let alone destroyed. And Akard’s strength was being sapped.

Out west of the fortress the nomads were fighting back.

There had to be a better way.

The far-toucher wakened suddenly in the middle of the day, when the party was just a day’s travel south of the east fork. She squeaked, “A touch! Pain. A sister... just west of us. They are being attacked. She is the only silth left alive.”

Marika stared at the far-toucher, who seemed panicky and confused. Then she felt the touch, too. It was a strong one, driven by the agony of a wound. She felt the direction. “Up!” she snarled. “Everybody up. Weapons only. Leave your packs.” She snatched her bow and javelin. Grauel and Barlog did likewise, questioning nothing, though they had many questions. Marika trotted toward the source of pain.

Two thirds of the huntresses did not so much as glance at Arhdwehr for approval. The others scarcely delayed long enough to see the older silth begin to fall into a rage.

It had been coming from the beginning. Marika had not seen it, but Grauel and Barlog had and had spoken with most of the huntresses. Marika realized there was, and would be, a problem only after she had done the thing.

Grauel admonished her softly as they ran through the forest. “You must learn to reflect on the consequences of your actions, pup,” the huntress said. “You could have done that politely and let Arhdwehr claim it as her own idea.”

Marika did not argue. Grauel was right. She had not thought. And because she had not taken a few seconds there might be trouble. Certainly, what sympathy she had won from Arhdwehr was now dead.

Silth were extremely jealous of their prerogatives.

The party under attack was just five miles away. An easy run for huntresses. Half an hour. But half an hour was too long.

Forty-seven multilated bodies in Akard dress lay scattered through the woods. Twice that many nomads lay with them, many twisted in that way they did after silth magic touched their hearts. Marika stared at the massacred, filled with a hard anger.

“They know we are close,” Grauel said. “They fled without their dead.” She knelt. “Mercy-slew their most badly wounded.”

“Which way did they go?”

Grauel pointed. Marika looked to Arhdwehr, deferring this time. The older silth’s lips pulled back in a snarl of promise. “How long ago did they run?”

Grauel replied, “Ten minutes at most.”

The far-toucher said, “We left our things. We could lose them.”

Marika gave her a fierce look. And, to her surprise, Arhdwehr did the same. The older silth said, “Marika, you and your friends take the point.” To Grauel, she added, “Point out individual trails if they start scattering.”

Everyone fell silent, froze. A far tak-tak-takking echoed up the valley along which the nomads had fled. Then came several sounds like far, muted thunder.

“What in the All?” Arhdwehr exploded angrily. “Go! But slow down after the first mile.”

Marika leapt down the trail a step behind Grauel. Barlog panted at her heels. The others came behind, making no effort to keep quiet. The rustle of brush would be heard by no one above that ferocious uproar ahead.

The sound swelled quickly. After a mile Grauel slowed as instructed. Marika guessed the noise’s source to be a half mile farther along. Grauel trotted another five hundred yards, then suddenly stabbed sideways with her spear and cut into the brush, headed uphill. Marika followed. Three minutes later Grauel halted. The hunting party piled up behind Marika.

The hillside gave a good view of a fire burn where tree trunks lay strewn like a pup’s pick-up sticks. It was an old burn, with most of the black weathered away. Several hundred nomads crouched or lay behind the fallen trees. The tak-tak-takking noise came from a slope beyond the nomads.