Jack Whyte - The Saxon Shore

I glanced forward again and he was right. There was a definite upward slope to the land ahead. I pulled my horse aside and waved him past me, telling him I would catch up later. Then I sat and watched my pitiful little parade as it trooped by me, offering a word or two to each rider in turn. There were eight of us left—ten, counting the herd boys—of the original group of fourteen, Lucanus had been the first to depart, as planned. Metellus was dead. Quintus with his broken leg and Prince Donuil had gone with Feargus and Logan. But we still had all the horses except the three that had been killed. Eight men, two stripling boys and twenty-seven horses. I cursed myself for my folly in bringing all of them across the sea. They were behaving placidly, nonetheless, and for the time being I had no great concern over them. When the last of my men had passed me, nodding wordlessly to my greeting, I fell in behind him, immediately aware of the beneficial effect twenty-six sets of hooves in single file had had on the ground underfoot, and there faced a dilemma: were I to pull aside now and attempt to overtake the entire train to regain the point, I should be risking my horse irresponsibly on the uneven ground. I decided to remain where I was for a time. And then, within a matter of moments, the man directly ahead of me changed his gait, kicking his horse to a trot, and as I followed him I saw the file ahead of him extending to my left. Dedalus, at the point, had evidently found and was now following a game trail that led along the bottom of the towering cliffs on our left.

Our pace picked up steadily as soon as we were all on the beaten path of the narrow track, and after a mile or so it quickened again as the main path widened after converging with yet another, that joined it from our right. I saw the junction as I drew level with it, and followed it idly backward for several paces with my eyes before suddenly reining in my horse and returning to look more closely. It was a deer track, but I had never seen deer tracks like those I gazed at now. Each hoofprint, clearly visible in the soft loam of the beaten pathway, looked as large as my horse's own, and yet the signs were undeniably those of a cloven-hoofed deer. The track itself, now that I looked at it more closely, was far broader than a mere game track should have been. Unable to doubt what I was looking at, I shook my head in wonder and then rode to catch up with the others, grappling with the outlandish idea of a deer as large and heavy as a cavalry horse. I had lagged behind about a hundred paces, and as I cantered to catch up I took note of the way the path had widened. I called to the last man ahead of me to warn him I wished to pass and was able to do so quite easily, so that my progress from the rear to the head of the column was swifter than I would have thought possible mere moments earlier. As I drew abreast of Dedalus, he glanced at me, his eyes crinkled.

"No roads in Eire, huh? This is almost as good as one of ours. Not as straight, and narrower, but serviceable enough."

"Aye, Ded, but have you thought to ask yourself what made it?"

I caught his glance from the corner of my eye. "What d'you mean? Deer made it."

"I know, but if the wolves and bears in this place are as big as the deer I hope we don't meet any."

He frowned at me, and then raised himself in his stirrups, peering forward at the ground between his horse's ears.

"By the Christus," he muttered, in a voice filled with awe. "I hadn't noticed! You're right. What kind of deer are these?"

"Very large deer, Ded. We can only hope they have deer-like natures and no horns."

The game path was clearly ancient. Saplings had grown up along its edges in many spots, sprung from seeds scattered in the dung of its users, and their leafy branches brushed against us on both sides as we rode in silence for a spell, travelling two abreast easily now at a steady lope on the gently rising gradient that showed no signs of coming to a crest. At one point, where a giant tree had fallen across the track long years before, the route switched sharply, following the enormous trunk for many paces before bending tightly again to pass beneath the bole that continued angling sharply upward to its torn-up base, where ancient roots more than four times the height of a mounted man reared far above us. Whatever its cause, the great tree's downfall had created a clearance, sweeping lesser trees to ruin in its wake, so that now the space around it was filled with light and lesser growth. Ded was looking back at the place where we had passed beneath the tree. We had had to duck our heads to do so, but only very slightly, which indicated to me that the animals who used the path required almost the same clearance as we did. Dedalus was evidently thinking the same thing, for I heard him mutter "Big deer!" again, beneath his breath. Now he looked up towards the blue sky visible above us.

"You know, Merlyn, it occurs to me that we might be enjoying unusual weather in this land of Donuil's."

"How so?"

Before answering, he leaned sideways from his saddle and grasped a trailing garland of moss, tugging it free of the branch from which it hung and holding it towards me. "This stuff. It requires moisture. Haven't you noticed how green everything is? And all the fungi? It must rain here all day, every day, seems to me . . . And if that's the case, it's going to be a whoreson to live here without rusting up solid, our weapons and armour and all."

He was right and I was on the point of agreeing with him when he jerked up his arm, holding it high and cutting me short. "Wait!" His eyes stared fixedly into the middle distance over my shoulder. "What was that?" The men behind us stopped, too, some of them having seen his upraised arm, but the noise of their movement masked whatever it might have been that had alerted Dedalus. I swung around to look where he was looking, my ears straining to hear anything beyond the sounds we made ourselves.

We waited, motionless, our senses on edge, even our horses seemingly spellbound. Nothing stirred. After long moments, Dedalus relaxed, blowing out his breath and settling back in his saddle. "There's nothing there, but I could have sworn I heard something."

I dismounted without speaking and he watched me as I pulled my bow stave from its fastenings beneath my saddle skirts.

"What are you doing?"

"Feeling vulnerable." I fished a bowstring out of my scrip and strung the bow, bracing it with my knee, then hung a quiver of arrows from my saddle horn before remounting.

Dedalus was smiling. "Not used to seeing you jumpy."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "It happens. Keeps me alive sometimes. If we have to leave this path for any reason, we'll have to do it slowly." I nodded towards the tangle of broken trees all around. "My arrows give me speed. It's being unprepared that's dangerous. Let's go."

He pulled on his reins and raised himself up in the stirrups. "All right," he announced. "False alarm, but keep your eyes and ears—"

His voice was drowned by a bellow of rage from very close by. Something came charging towards us from our left, against the base of the cliff. I saw the wild, surging movement of it, and had the immediate impression of low- slung, solid bulk and sorrel brownness before the creature came clearly into view, causing panic among our close-packed horses. It was a boar, massive and fuelled by rage, and it attacked in a terrible, weaving, impossibly swift charge, right into the middle of our column. The untended horses scattered, screaming in terror, from the rank, feral stink of the beast. Before I could even swing my mount around, the nightmare creature had caused death, scything wildly with the strength of its brutal neck and shoulders, its wicked, spiralled tusks slashing to right and left, ripping upwards into the soft bellies of two of the animals within moments of reaching them.