Havok and the other two destriers had quietly flanked the warriors during the conversation, and now all faced upslope, ears pricked forward.
After a moment’s hesitation, Delum shrugged and, crouching, set off into the woods. Karsa followed.
The slope grew steeper after a score of paces. There was no path, and fallen tree trunks made traverse difficult and slow, though thick swaths of damp moss made the passage of the two Teblor warriors virtually noiseless. They reached a flatter shelf perhaps fifteen paces wide and ten deep, a high crack-riven cliff opposite. A few trees leaned against the rock, grey with death. Delum scanned the cliff side, then made to move towards a narrow, dirt-filled crevasse near the left end of the cliff that served as a game trail, but Karsa restrained him with a hand.
He leaned close. ‘How far ahead?’
‘Fifty heartbeats. We’ve still time to make this climb-’
‘No. We position ourselves here. Take that ledge to the right and have your knives ready.’
With baffled expression, Delum did as he was told. The ledge was halfway up the cliffside. Within moments he was in place.
Karsa moved towards the game trail. A dead pine had fallen from above, taking the same path in its descent, coming to rest half a pace to the trail’s left. Karsa reached it and gave the trunk a nudge. The wood was still sound. He quickly climbed it, then, feet resting on branches, he twisted round until he faced the flat expanse of shelf, the game trail now almost within arm’s reach to his left, the bole and cliff at his back.
Then he waited. He could not see Delum from his position unless he leaned forward, which might well pull the tree away from the cliffside, taking him with it in a loud, probably damaging fall. He would have to trust, therefore, that Delum would grasp what he intended, and act accordingly when the time came.
A skitter of stones down the trail.
The dogs had begun the descent.
Karsa drew a slow, deep breath and held it.
The pack’s leader would not be the first. Most likely the second, a safe beat or two behind the scout.
The first dog scrambled past Karsa’s position in a scatter of stones, twigs and dirt, its momentum taking it a half-dozen paces out onto the flat shelf, where it paused, nose lifting to test the air. Hackles rising, it moved cautiously towards the shelf’s edge.
Another dog came down the trail, a larger beast, this one kicking up more detritus than the first. As its scarred head and shoulders came into view, Karsa knew that he had found the pack’s leader.