David Gemmell - Bloodstone

When Meredith climbed down from the wagon, Jeremiah had a pot of stew upon the fire and was stirring it with a wooden spoon. 'Thought I saw a Wolver,' said the old man, 'over there in the trees.' Meredith squinted, but could see nothing save the breeze flickering over the top of the grass, causing the stems to imitate the actions of waves upon an ocean.

From the distance came an eerie howling. 'Do you have a gun?' asked Meredith.

'Nope. Gave it to Malcolm. Said I'd pick it up when next we met.'

Meredith sat down and extended his fingers to the blaze. Camped in the open there was little heat to be felt, for the breeze dispersed it swiftly. Normally they would have found a sheltered place to set the fire, against a rock or even a fallen tree. But the oxen were tired, and there was good grass here.

'I don't suppose we'll need a weapon,' said Meredith. 'I have never heard of a single instance of Wolvers attacking humans.'

'What will you do, Doctor, when. .?' Jeremiah stumbled to silence, unable to finish the sentence.

'When she dies?' Meredith rubbed his hand over his face. His eyes were tired, his heart heavy. 'I shall leave the Wanderers, Jeremiah. I'll find a little town that has no doctor, and I'll settle there. I only joined you to be close to Isis. You?'

'Oh, I'll keep travelling. I like to see new land, fresh scenery. I love to bathe in forgotten streams, and watch the sun rise over un-named mountains.'

A silver-grey form moved out from the grass and stood, unnoticed, some twenty yards from the wagon.

Meredith was the first to see the Wolver and he tapped Jeremiah on the shoulder. The old man looked up. 'Come join us, little friend,' he said.

The Wolver hesitated, then loped forward to squat by the fire. 'I am Pakia,' it said, head tilting to one side, long tongue lolling from its mouth.

'Welcome, Pakia,' said Jeremiah. 'Are you hungry? The stew is almost ready.'

'No hunger. But very frightened.'

Jeremiah chuckled. 'You have nothing to fear from us. I am Jeremiah, and this is my friend, Doctor Meredith. We do not hunt your people.'

'I fear you not,' said the Wolver. 'Where do you go?'

'Pilgrim's Valley,' answered the old man.

The Wolver shook her head vehemently. 'No go there. Much evil. Much death. All dead.'

'A plague?' asked Meredith. Pakia tilted her head, her eyes questioning the word. 'A great sickness?'

'Not sickness. The blood beasts come, kill everyone. I smell them now,' she added, lifting her long snout mto the air. 'Far way, but coming closer. You have guns?'

'No,' said Meredith.

'Then you will die,' said Pakia, 'and my Beth will die.'

'Who is Beth?' asked Jeremiah.

'Good friend. Farms land south of here. You go to her, she has guns. Maybe then you live. She live.'

Pakia stood and loped away without another word. 'Curious creature,' said Meredith. 'Was it a male or female?'

'Female,' said Jeremiah, 'and she was jumpy. I've travelled these lands for years, and I know of no blood beasts. Maybe she meant lions, or bears. I shouldn't have given Malcolm my rifle.'

'What do you think we should do?'

Jeremiah shrugged. 'We'll finish the stew and then head for the farm.' The howling came again and Jeremiah shivered. 'Let's forget the stew,' he said.

Beth McAdam was dozing when Toby Harris tapped lightly on the door-frame. She came awake instantly and rubbed her eyes. 'Been a long day, Tobe,' she said.

The workman doffed his cap and grinned. 'There's still some old bulls up in the thickets. Take a sight of work to move 'em out.'

Beth stretched her back and rose. Toby Harris had arrived two weeks before, on a worn-out horse that was in better condition than he was. A small wiry man, with a stoop, he had worked as a miner in Purity, a horse-breaker on 'a ranch near Unity, and had been a sailor for four years before that. On an impulse he had decided to ride into what used to be termed the wild lands and make his fortune. When he had arrived at Beth McAdam's farm he was out of food, out of Barta coin, and just about out of luck. Beth had taken an instant liking to the little man; he had a cheeky grin that took years from his weather-beaten face, and bright blue eyes that sparkled with humour.

Tobe ran a hand through his thinning black hair. 'I seen a wagon heading this way,' he said.'Wanderers, most like. Guess they'll stop by and beg a little food.'

'How many?' asked Beth.

'One wagon, all bright painted. Ox-drawn. Two men riding it.'

'Let's hope one of them's a tinker. I've some pots that need repairing, and some knives that are long overdue for a sharpening. Tell them they're welcome to camp in the south meadow — there's a good stream there.'

Tobe nodded and backed out of the door as Beth took a long, deep breath. With winter coming she had needed a good workman. Her few cattle had wandered high into the hills, deep into the thickets and the woods. Driving them out was at least a four-man job, but Tobe worked as hard as any three workmen she had employed before. Samuel used to help, but he now spent all of his time in the settlement, studying to be a Crusader. Beth sighed, they couldn't meet now without harsh words.

‘I raised him too hard,' she said aloud.

Tobe reappeared. 'Begging your pardon, Frey McAdam, but there's a rider coming. Two to be precise.

Riding double on an old mule. I think one of them's ill — or drunk.'

Beth nodded, then moved to the mantel, lifting down the old rifle. Levering a shell into the breech, she stepped out into the fading light. The riders were coming down from the mountains, and even from here she could see the sweat-streaked flanks of the mule. In the waning light she could just make out a white beard on one of the riders; the other looked familiar, but his head and upper body were bent low across the mule's neck, the old man holding him steady. The mule pounded up and the old man slid from its back, turning to support his companion. Beth saw that it was Josiah Broome and, laying the rifle aside, she ran forward to help.

'He's been shot,' said white-beard.

'Tobe!' yelled Beth. The wiry workman came forward, and together they lowered the wounded man.

Broome was unconscious, his face pale, the gleam of fever sweat on his brow. 'Get him to my room,'

said Beth, leaving the two men to carry Broome into the house.

'Pick up your rifle, Frey McAdam,' said white-beard. There's killers close by.'

They laid Broome in Beth's wide bed and covered him with a thick blanket. White-beard moved outside.

'What killers?' she asked.

'The most terrible creatures you'll ever see,' he told her. 'Huge Wolvers. Right about now they'll be moving in on Pilgrim's Valley. I hope the Crusaders there are good, steady men.'

'Wolvers would never attack anyone,' said Beth suspiciously.

‘I agree with you, but these aren't just Wolvers. Is that rifle fully loaded?'

'Be pretty useless if it wasn't!' she snapped. The old man was tall and commanding, but there was about him an unconscious arrogance that needled Beth McAdam. If there were such beasts as he described, she'd certainly never seen one and she'd lived near Pilgrim's Valley for twenty years. 'How did Josiah get his wound?' she asked, changing the subject.

'Shot down in his home. They killed Daniel Cade too.'

The Prophet? My God! Why?'

The same reason Bull Kovac was killed. Broome was going to give Oath for you.'

That makes no sense,' she said. 'What difference could it make?'

This is rich land, Frey McAdam. Saul has taken to gathering such land to himself, through Jacob Moon and his men. I should have seen what was happening. But I had other, more pressing, problems on my mind. I'll deal with Saul — if we survive what is coming.'

'You'll deal with Saul. By what right?'