Glen Cook - Doomstalker

"The rage came upon me also. I wanted to feel hot blood upon my paws."

Marika stared up that slope whence the strange sounds had come. "What was that, Arhdwehr?"

The elder silth shrugged.

"Males," Marika said. "I sensed that much. And you must know. Why is it hidden?"

Arhdwehr's gaze followed hers. "There are rules, pup. There are laws." To the huntresses, most of whom had survived, she said, "Forget the ears. This day's work is not done." She started toward the source of the mysterious sounds, traveling in a squat, darting from one log to another.

The huntresses all looked to Marika. Even the far-toucher hesitated. Marika could not help being both flattered and dismayed. She waved them forward.

"You made the move," Grauel whispered.

"What move?" Instead of hurrying after Arhdwehr, she took time to examine her surroundings.

"As strength goes."

Marika slipped a finger into a hole something had drilled through four inches of hard word. She stared at the torn bodies lying near the site of the explosion she had witnessed. "No, Grauel. It was not that. I just did what needed doing without thinking about the politics." That was a word that existed only in the silth secret languages. "What could have done this?"

"Maybe you will find out if you are there when she catches whoever it is she is chasing."

Marika scowled.

Grauel was amused, but only briefly. She surveyed the carnage. "Who would have thought this could occur in this world? And for what, Marika?"

Barlog was studying the corpses nearby, trying to read pack fetishes and having no luck. Few of the dead even wore them. She rolled a corpse, knelt, pulled something from its chest. She presented it to Marika a moment later.

It was a blood-encrusted, curved fragment of metal. Marika examined it briefly, tossed it aside. "I don't know. We'd better catch up."

The run was long and hard. Marika sensed the males in front in a tight group of twenty, loping along at a steady, ground-devouring pace. They seemed to know exactly where they were going and what they were doing. And that a band of huntresses was on their trail. They increased their pace whenever Arhdwehr increased hers.

"Who would have thought it?" Grauel gasped. "That males could run us into the ground."

"We ran six miles before they started," Barlog countered.

"Save your breath," Marika snapped.

They moved up through the party till Marika was running at Arhdwehr's heels. She was young and strong, but the pace told. Why were they doing this?

Someone farther back said, "We will catch them after dark."

Arhdwehr tossed back one black look and increased her pace. Marika had to admire the silth. She was showing exceptional endurance for one who led a sedentary life. Marika started a warning. "Mistress ... "

Arhdwehr held up. "I sense it," she gasped.

They had crested a ridge. The valley beyond reeked of many meth. All male meth.

Silth senses were not needed to detect the presence of meth, though. Smoke tainted the air, a smoke filled with the aromas of cooking and trash burning. There was another smell, too, an unfamiliar, penetrating, acrid scent that brought water into Marika's nose.

A flurry of activity broke out below, out of sight. There was a series of soft, rising whines that, one after another, in less than a minute began fading into the distance.

Arhdwehr cursed and sprang downhill at a dead run. She trailed an anger as great as any Marika had managed to inspire.

More whines faded away.

Marika charged after the older silth. Moments later Arhdwehr broke into a clearing, a dozen steps ahead. With a howl she launched her javelin. Marika broke cover just as the missile flashed into the darkness between two trees a hundred feet away. The gray curve of something big disappeared in that same instant, behind a swirl of dust and flying needles. The javelin did it no harm.

Marika gagged and gasped. She needed air desperately. But that male camp was choked with the foul smell that had stung her nose on the ridge. She fought for breath while she surveyed the clearing.

"Khronen!"

At least twenty males-tradermales-sat around a camp-fire to one side, all gazing at the huntresses. They appeared to be cooking and pursuing other mundane chores. Among them was the tradermale Khronen.

Grauel and Barlog recognized him, too. They followed as Marika stalked toward the males-none of whom bothered to rise or even to cease performing whatever tasks they had at paw. Marika noted the presence of a lot of metal, all of it pointed or edged.

Khronen rose. His eyes narrowed. "Do I know you, young sister?"

Marika glanced at Arhdwehr, who had gone to reclaim her javelin. Marika sensed the swift movement of males pulling away far beyond the elder silth. "Yes," she replied. "Or, say, you knew me when I was something else. What is this? What are you doing here?"

"Preparing our evening meal. We would invite you to join us, but I do not think we have enough to guest so many."

"So? Grauel. How many tradermale-made weapons have you seen these past two months?"

"I have not kept count. Too many."

"Look around. Perhaps we have found the source."

Grauel's teeth appeared in a snarl of anger and surprise. The thought had not occurred to her.

Barlog said, "Let me, Marika." Her tone suggested a strong emotional need.

"All right. You stay, Grauel."

Something flashed across Khronen's features when Barlog spoke. He had recognized her voice, perhaps. He said, "You have not answered my question directly."

"I will ask, male. You will answer."

Twenty-some pairs of eyes turned toward Marika. And she very nearly backed away, startled by the smoldering emotion she saw there.

"You think, perhaps, that we are some of your tame packstead chattels?" Khronen asked. "Ah. The costume distracted me. I know you now. Yes. Very much the image of your dam. Even in your arrogance." He looked over her shoulder. Marika sensed that Arhdwehr had come up behind her. But she did not look back.

A hard-eyed male near Khronen said, "And at such a young age, too. Pity." His gaze never left her face.

All those eyes continued to bore into her.

It was a moment of crisis, she knew. A moment when the wrong word could cause a lot of trouble. Khronen was right. These were not the sort of males to which she was accustomed. She sensed that they would as soon battle her as be polite. That there was no awe of her in them, either because she was female or because she was silth.

What sort of male did not fear silth?

Barlog returned. "This is the only blade I found." Other than those close to male paws, of course.

Marika took it. "Grauel, give me one of those we captured." One was in her paw in a moment. She examined both blades, shrugged, presented both to Arhdwehr. Arhdwehr scarcely glanced at them.

"Not the same maker. Pup, suppose you take this opportunity to restrain your natural exuberance and allow one with a more diplomatic nature to handle communication?" She stepped past Marika, passed both weapons to Khronen, who was the oldest of the males. Some were little older than Marika. In fact, many had the look of upper Ponath refugees.

Grauel whispered, "That was well-done."

"What?" Marika asked.

"She saved you from trouble, salvaged your pride, and put you in your place with a single sentence. Well-done, indeed."

Marika had not seen that in it. But when she glanced around she saw that the other huntresses had read it that way. Instead of being irked, though, she was relieved to be out of the confrontation with Khronen.

She stepped up behind Arhdwehr, who had settled to the earth facing Khronen. The tradermale had seated himself, too. He barely glanced at the blades before passing them to the tradermale on his right. That one had not shifted his eyes to Arhdwehr. His gaze, frankly curious, bored into Marika as though trying to unmask her secret heart. There was an air of strength about him that made Marika suspect he was as important here as was Khronen.