• • •
They covered another six miles by nightfall but Wise Bear permitted no rest, hounding them on with impatient wafts of his bone-staff and tirades in his own language, unintelligible clicks and grunts that nevertheless conveyed the clear message that to linger meant death. Although cold enough to freeze misted breath, the air was calm now, barely touched by a breeze, the sky clear and bright with stars and the occasional flurry of Grishak’s Breath. The atmosphere took on such a depth of silence that, when it came, the sound was enough to make Vaelin lift his hands to his already covered ears.
It was more a boom than a crack, a tremor thrumming the ice beneath his feet and making Scar rear in alarm. The entire company was forced to halt as the other horses gave shrill whinnies and sought to break free of their masters’ grip. The booming crack went on unabated, the sound at first seeming to surround them on all sides but soon becoming concentrated on the westward floe they had just traversed, Vaelin’s eyes picking out a curtain of shattered ice rising from the surface and moving from north to south so fast his eye couldn’t track its course.
The sound ended without warning, leaving a vast but brief silence soon filled by a great grinding, almost beastlike in its intensity; as if the ice itself were groaning in pain. Another tremor shook the ice, this time with enough force to tip many from their feet, the surface beneath rising and falling in a great heave as the grinding faded. About a half mile to the west a fog of displaced snow and ice had risen, lingering for long enough to make Vaelin wonder if what he looked upon might be some trick of the eye; could the ice really be moving?
As the fog faded, the truth of it became clear; a huge expanse of ice was adrift, snow trailing from its jagged flanks as it detached from the main body and began a southward voyage. It must have measured at least five miles across, a newborn island where they would have undoubtedly perished as it bore them away.
• • •
Kiral woke him whilst the sky was still dark, shaking him from Dahrena’s slumbering embrace with insistent shoves. “My song is dark,” she said. “Something to the north.”
He followed her to the northern flank of the camp where they found Alturk kneeling amidst a broad patch of red-stained ice, gloved hands tracing the marks left by a brief but furious struggle. Vaelin had enough tracking skill to discern the meaning of the surrounding marks, the amount of blood and the furrows leading away into the blackness beyond the firelight. “How many were taken?” he asked.
“One, and his pony.” Alturk, rose to his full height, heavy brows knitted in mingled anger and puzzlement. “These marks I do not know.”
Vaelin looked down at the impressions left in the snow: a paw print, large enough for a black bear but not a brown.
“Not a bear,” Kiral said, tracing an outline around one of the marks with the tip of her hunting knife. She rose to unsling her bow. “My song will find it soon enough.”
“No.” She turned at the sound of Wise Bear’s voice, the shaman striding closer to prod at the bloodied prints with his staff. “Sent to leave a trail so you would follow.”
“Something hunts us,” Alturk said.
Wise Bear said something in his own language, mouth twisting in disgust as if the words stained his tongue. He caught Vaelin’s enquiring gaze and provided a terse translation, “Cat People.”
• • •
“I hoped they had all perished.” Dahrena sat close to the fire, extra furs heaped on her shoulders, clasping hands with Cara and Lorkan. “They were so few in number after the battle.”
Vaelin resisted the impulse to ask her to forget this; shared strength or not, her gift always exacted a heavy toll and the prospect of once again confronting the Ice Horde no doubt stirred ugly memories. She saw his concern and gave a reassuring smile. “A short flight only. Wise Bear assures me they can’t be far.”
She closed her eyes, body stiffening and her face taking on the expressionless mask that indicated she had flown free, Cara and Kiral both issuing a gasp at the sensation. “She takes much,” Kiral said with a grimace.
“What is this?”
Vaelin glanced up to find Alturk at his side, gazing at Dahrena with deep suspicion. Like all the Lonak his distrust of the Dark was obvious, but so far he was the only one who dared enquire as to its nature.
“She seeks our hunter,” Vaelin told him.
The Tahlessa paced back and forth as Dahrena continued to sit immobile, his face betraying the only sign of fear Vaelin had yet seen in him. “There are Gifted among your people,” he said, nodding at Kiral. “She serves the Mahlessa, as you do.”
“As she should, for such things are only for the Mahlessa to know. Children like her are taken to the Mountain. If not they grow to be varnish, or worse.”
“What happens to them at the Mountain?”
Alturk shrugged. “Some come back, some do not.”
Vaelin returned his gaze to Dahrena, recalling her tale of the wolf and the men who had come to lay waste to her village. It took her away, before she could journey to the Mountain. Was it saving her from death or from something worse?
Dahrena’s face spasmed and she uttered a harsh groan, slumping forward, prevented from falling into the fire by Kiral and Cara who gently guided her onto her back. She shuddered for a while as her body returned to warmth, finally getting to her feet, a deep frown betraying barely controlled pain. “A rock,” she said. “Jutting from the ice five miles to the north-west. Only one man, but many cats. I think he sensed me. And I don’t think he liked it.”
Wise Bear’s staff thumped hard onto the ice, his ancient face twisting as he voiced a name in his own language. Iron Claw seemed to sense his master’s fury and lumbered to his side with an inquisitive growl.
“You know who we face?” Vaelin asked him.
“Cat People shaman,” Wise Bear said. “The one who set them to war. Cat People named him Shadowed Path. Bear People called him No Eyes.”
• • •
The Sentar adopted a battle formation as they moved towards the north-west, stringing out in a loose but cohesive skirmish line for a hundred paces on either side of the company, the Gifted in the centre leading the horses and ponies. Orven’s company brought up the rear, marching with swords drawn under orders to keep a constant watch on all approaches. Vaelin took the lead alongside Alturk and Wise Bear, Kiral trailing a little behind with an arrow notched to her bow. Iron Claw was out ahead, moving at a sedate run with an occasional pause to sniff the air.
Vaelin was struck by the abrupt change in Wise Bear; but for his creased face, all signs of age seemed to have vanished and he moved with a steady, unfaltering stride, bone-staff gripped tight and eyes locked on Iron Claw. He knew the expression well, a man intent on revenge.
Iron Claw halted and Wise Bear raised his staff bringing the company to a stop. The bear swayed from side to side, voicing a low rumble of disquiet as it eyed the ice ahead. It was different from the usual flat expanse, the surface raised in places to form jagged abstract shapes wreathed in a low-hanging mist. In the distance Vaelin could see the dim grey spike of the rock Dahrena had described, stabbing at the clear sky like a misshapen dagger.
“Good place for ambush,” Alturk commented, eyes tracking over the fractured ice-scape.
Wise Bear strode to Iron Claw’s side and took a two-handed hold of his staff, raising it above his head and standing immobile. He uttered no sound but Kiral’s sudden gasp indicated he had sent a message by different means. Vaelin saw the huntress’s gaze darken somewhat as she stared at the old man, her eyes betraying an even greater depth of awe, along with a clear sense of dread that caused Vaelin to wonder what grim notes rose from her song.
Wise Bear lowered his staff, expression unchanged as he stood, waiting.
It was only the space of a few seconds before an answer rose from the jagged ice, a cacophony of hissing, feral howls, a sound he had only heard from one beast before, but now there were many. He unslung his own bow as Kiral moved quickly to Wise Bear’s side. Vaelin shrugged free of his heaviest furs and moved to the shaman’s left, arrow notched, eyes scanning for the slightest movement.
“There!” Kiral shouted, her bow coming up but Vaelin was faster, his shaft flying free in an instant, streaking towards a silver-grey shape that had leapt into sight from behind a jagged ice pillar. It bounded on for a few strides then tumbled to the snow, lying still.
Wise Bear gave a harsh grunt and started forward, Iron Claw loping in his path. “We should wait,” Vaelin told him. “There are more.”
Wise Bear ignored him and kept on, betraying no reaction at all when a dozen more war-cats appeared out of the ice and charged towards him at full pelt. Vaelin judged them as roughly the same size as Snowdance but of much leaner appearance, their fur patchy and far more ragged, and their eyes . . . Snowdance was fearsome but he had never seen her eyes shine with such malevolent intent.
He put an arrow into the cat directly to his front as Kiral claimed two more in quick succession. The Sentar’s bows also thrummed into life, more cats falling to the swarm of arrows, but leaving six still charging at Wise Bear, too fast for any archer to claim.
The lead cat, larger and even more ragged in appearance than its companions, leapt at Iron Claw, fangs bared and eyes blazing with an unnervingly knowing hatred. The great bear’s claw caught it in midair before it could land a bite, sending it sprawling. It scrabbled on the ice, gathering itself then leaping once more, its wailing hiss enough to pain the ears. This time Iron Claw made sure of the kill, both arms closing on the cat as it sought to latch its fangs onto his throat, ribs breaking with audible cracks as it was borne to the ice and the bear stamped down, his shoulders rising and falling in rapid hammerblows until the beast lay in a broken and bloody ruin.