Oath Breaker (4 page)

"Why?"
he demanded. "I was worried about him. And you--you didn't seem to care."
That made him even angrier. "Of course I care! How could I not care about Wolf?" Behind Fin-Kedinn, Wolf dropped his ears and doubtfully wagged his tail. Remorse broke over Torak. What was wrong with him? Wolf had bounded so joyfully into camp, proudly telling Torak how he'd left the trail of the Bitten One as 43
soon as he'd heard his call. He'd been bewildered when Torak lost his temper. He had no idea what he'd done wrong.
Torak sank to his knees and grunt-whined. Wolf raced toward him. Torak buried his face in his scruff.
Sorry.
Wolf licked his ear.
I know.
"What's wrong with me?" murmured Torak.
Fin-Kedinn, who'd ignored his outburst, told him to go and fetch water. Renn simply glared.
Torak grabbed the waterskin and ran to the shallows.

They'd spent the night and next morning heading up the Elk River, pausing only for brief rests, and were now close to the rapids where the Widewater and the Blackwater crashed together. Twice they'd met hunters who'd seen a big man heading upstream.

 

He's getting away, thought Torak. Slumping onto a log, he glowered at the river.

 

It was a blustery day and the Forest was at odds with itself. An abandoned elk bellowed mournfully. In the dead reeds on the other side, two hares battered each other with their forepaws.

 

Torak caught the scent of woodsmoke and an appetizing sizzle of flatcakes. He was hungry, but he couldn't join the others. He felt cut off from them, as if he were trapped behind a wall: unseen, but tough as midwinter ice. Saeunn's prophecy about his foster father haunted him. What if Renn was right, and Thiazzi was

44
setting a trap? What if he, Torak, was leading Fin-Kedinn to his death?
And yet--he had no choice but to go on.
Wolf padded down the bank and dropped a stick at Torak's feet as a present.
Torak picked it up and turned it in his fingers.
You're sad,
said Wolf with a twitch of one ear.
Why?
The pale-pelt who smells offish-dog,
Torak said in wolf talk.
Not-Breath. Killed by the Bitten One.
Wolf rubbed his flank against Torak's shoulder, and Torak leaned against him, feeling his solid, furry warmth.

You hunt the Bitten One,
said Wolf.
Yes,
said Torak.
Because he is bad? Because he killed my pack-brother.
Wolf watched a damselfly skim the water.
And when the Bitten One is Not-Breath--does the pale-pelt breathe again? No,
said Torak.

 

Wolf tilted his head and looked at Torak, his amber eyes puzzled.
Then--why?

 

Because, Torak wanted to tell him, I have to avenge Bale. But he didn't know how to say that in wolf talk, and even if he could, he didn't think Wolf would understand. Maybe wolves didn't seek revenge.

Side by side, they sat watching the midges darting over the brown water. Torak caught the flicker of a
45
trout and followed it deeper.

He'd always known there were differences between him and Wolf; but Wolf couldn't seem to grasp that. At times it made Wolf frustrated, especially when Torak couldn't do everything a real wolf could. Thinking of this made Torak sad, and vaguely uneasy.

He looked around to find that Wolf had gone, and clouds had darkened the sky. Someone stood in the reeds on the other side of the river, staring at him. It was Bale.

Water ran soundlessly from his jerkin. Seaweed clotted his streaming hair. His face had a greenish underwater pallor, and his eyes were dark as bruises. Angry. Accusing.

Torak tried to cry out. He couldn't. His tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Bale raised one dripping arm and pointed at him. His lips moved. No sound came, but his meaning was clear.
Your fault.
"Torak?"
The spell broke. Torak jerked around.
"I've been calling you!" said Renn, standing behind him, looking cross.
Bale was gone. Across the river, dead reeds creaked in the breeze.
"What's wrong?" said Renn.
"N-nothing," he faltered.
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"Nothing?
You're as gray as ash." He shook his head. He couldn't bring himself to tell her.
She gave a small, hurt shrug. "Well. I saved you a flatcake." She held it out, wrapped in a dock leaf to keep warm. "You can eat it as we go." From the canoe, Renn watched Wolf running between the trees: now lifting his muzzle to catch the scent, now snuffling in the brush.

Too many times, he'd found the places where the Oak Mage had stopped to eat or camp. Thiazzi seemed in no hurry to reach the Deep Forest, and this worried Renn, although she hadn't mentioned it to the others. Fin-Kedinn was preoccupied, while Torak ...

She wished he would turn and talk to her. He sat in front, his back straight and unyielding as he searched the banks for signs of Thiazzi. Angrily, she dug in her paddle. He didn't care about anything except finding the Oak Mage. He didn't even care that Fin-Kedinn was in danger. At last they reached the rapids, and went ashore to carry the canoes around them. Wolf was already trotting purposefully up the Blackwater. "How far to the Deep Forest?" asked Torak as they set down the second canoe.
"A day," said the Raven Leader, "maybe more."
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Torak ground his teeth. "If he reaches it, we'll never find him."
"We might," said Fin-Kedinn. "He's taking his time."
"I wish we knew why," said Renn. "Maybe it
is
a trap. And even if it isn't, he'll soon know he's being hunted."

Fin-Kedinn nodded, but did not reply. All day he'd been distant and uncommunicative, and every so often he narrowed his eyes, as if the Blackwater revived memories that cut too deep.

 

Renn didn't like it, either. She didn't know this river, as Fin-Kedinn had never led the Ravens to camp on its banks, but she thought it was well named. It was shadowed by dank trees, and so murky that she couldn't see the bottom. When she leaned over, it gave off a sour smell of rotting leaves.

Once they had the canoes in the water again, she insisted on sitting in front. She was sick of staring at Torak's back, wondering what he was thinking. No doubt it was about finding Thiazzi. Although what, she wondered, would he do if he did? Clan law forbade killing a man without warning, so he'd have to challenge the Oak Mage to a fight. Her mind shied away from that. Torak was strong and quite good at fighting, but he wasn't yet fifteen summers old. How could he challenge the strongest man in the Forest?

"Renn?" he said, making her jump.
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She twisted around.
"When someone's asleep, can you tell if they're dreaming? I mean, by watching them?"
She stared at him. His mouth was set, and he avoided her gaze. "If you're dreaming," she told him, "your eyes move. That's what Saeunn says." He nodded. "If you see me dreaming, will you wake me up?"
"Why? Torak, what did you see?"
He shook his head. He was like a wolf; if he didn't want to do something, it was impossible to make him.
She tried anyway. "What
is
it? Why can't you tell me?"

He opened his mouth, and for a moment she thought he would. Then his eyes widened and he grabbed her hood, yanking her down so hard that she bashed her temple on the rim of the canoe.

"Ow!" she yelled. "What are you--"
"Fin-Kedinn, get down!" shouted Torak at the same time.

As Renn struggled to right herself, something hissed over her head. She saw Fin-Kedinn reach for his knife and slash; she saw Wolf yelp as if stung by a hornet and leap into the air. She saw a line as thin as a thread of gossamer snap and trail harmlessly in the water.

There was a breathless silence. Renn sat up, rubbing her temple. Torak steered the canoe into midstream and
49
caught the end of the line. "It was taut as a bowstring," he said.
He didn't need to say more. Canoes powering toward a strong line of sinew stretched between trees on opposite banks. At head height. Renn's hand went to her neck. If Torak hadn't pulled her down, it would have cut her throat.
"He knows he's being hunted," said Fin-Kedinn, bringing his canoe alongside theirs.
"But--maybe he doesn't know it's Torak," said Renn.
"Why do you say that?" said Torak.
"If he knew it was you," she said, "would he risk killing you? He wants your power."

"Maybe, maybe not," said Fin-Kedinn. "Thiazzi is arrogant. Above all things, he believes in his own strength. And he has the fire-opal. He may not think he needs the power of the spirit walker. And if that's right," he added, "it means he doesn't care who he kills."

 

50
SIX
The sinew had cut across Wolfs foreleg. It was scarcely bleeding and he wasn't in pain, but Torak insisted on rubbing in a salve of yarrow leaves in marrowfat which he made Renn produce from her medicine pouch.

"He'll only lick it off," she told him, and Wolf immediately did. Torak didn't care. It made him feel a bit better, even if it didn't do much for Wolf.

He'd nearly missed that sinew. What if he had, and Renn or Fin-Kedinn had suffered for his mistake? The mere thought made his belly turn over. It only takes one mistake, just one, and you've got to live with the

51 consequences for the rest of your life. Squatting on the bank, he mashed a handful of wet soapwort to a green froth and washed his hands. He glanced up to find Fin-Kedinn watching him. They were alone. Wolf was drinking in the shallows, and Renn was already in the canoe. Fin-Kedinn emptied the waterskin over Torak's hands. "Don't worry about me," he said. "But I do," said Torak. "Saeunn meant what she said."
The Raven Leader shrugged. "Omens. You can't live your life by what
might
happen." He shouldered the waterskin. "Let's go."

They followed Wolf up the Blackwater until long into the night, then slept under the canoes, and headed off before dawn. As the afternoon wore on, the Forest closed in. Wakeful spruce thronged the banks, dripping with beard-moss, and even the trees not yet in leaf were vigilant. Last autumn's oak leaves rattled in the wind, and ash buds glinted like tiny black spears.

At last, the hills bordering the Deep Forest rose into view. Torak had reached them two summers before, but then he'd been farther north. Here they were steeper, stonier: sheer walls of gray rock, hacked and slashed as if by a giant axe. The hammering cries of black grouse echoed like falling stones.

As the light began to fail, Wolf leaped into the river
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and swam across. Once on the north bank, he gave himself a good shake and set off. Then he doubled back, snuffing the mud.

They edged into the shallows, and Torak got out to examine the mess of tracks. No wonder Wolf was puzzled: they were almost unreadable, as a boar had recently taken a wallow.

"This isn't only Thiazzi," said Torak. "See that heel print? It's not as heavy, and the weight's more to the inside of the foot."
"So someone was with him?" said Renn.
He chewed his thumbnail. "No. Thiazzi's tracks are darker, and a beetle crawled over the other's but not over his. Whoever it was, they came before." Wolf had smelled something. Leaving the canoes, they went after him, into a gully cut by a stream feeding into the Blackwater.
Twenty paces up, Torak stopped.
The footprint shouted at him from the mud. Bold, mocking.
Here I am.
Thiazzi stamping his mark for all to see.
"The Oak Mage," said Fin-Kedinn.

It told Torak a lot more than that. A single footprint is a landscape which can tell a whole story if you know how to read it. Torak did. And before leaving the Seal Island, he'd studied Thiazzi's tracks till he knew every detail.

He found more. He made the gully reveal its secrets.
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"He left his dugout in the shallows," he said at last, "then climbed up here. He was carrying something heavy on his left shoulder, maybe his axe. Then he retraced his steps, got into his dugout, paddled away." He clenched his fists. "He's well fed and rested, moving fast. He's enjoying this."

"But why come here?" said Renn, looking about her.
"I don't like it," said Fin-Kedinn. "Remember that sinew. Let's go back to the boats."
"No," said Torak. "I want to know what he was doing."
Fin-Kedinn sighed. "Don't get too far ahead."
Warily, they advanced: Torak and Wolf first, then Renn, with Fin-Kedinn at the rear.
The trees thinned, and Torak clambered between massive, tumbled boulders, while Wolf bounded lightly ahead. The trail veered to the right. The trees ended.

Torak found himself on a huge, desolate hill of bare rock. A hundred paces above, the crown was streaked black, as if by fire. Before him, the slope was a chaos of fallen trees thrown there by a flood, with boulders jutting through like broken teeth. Below, the Blackwater coiled around the base of the hill and disappeared between two towering rocks that leaned crazily toward each other. Beyond these great stone jaws rose the looming oaks and jagged spruce of the Deep Forest.

Wolf pricked his ears.
Uff!
he barked softly.
54 Torak followed his gaze. Under the willows overhanging the river, he saw the flash of a paddle. Wolf bounded down the slope. Torak ran after him, nearly losing his footing as a tree trunk shifted under his boot. "Torak!" Renn whispered behind him. "Slow down!" warned Fin-Kedinn. Torak ignored them. He couldn't let his quarry escape now.
Suddenly there he was, not fifty paces away: driving the dugout with long, powerful strokes toward the Deep Forest.

Wobbling and lurching over the fallen trees, Torak pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bow. He no longer heard the others. All he heard was the splash of Thiazzi's paddle, all he saw was that long russet hair lifting in the breeze. He forgot clan law, he forgot everything except the need for revenge. A log rolled beneath him. Something snagged his ankle. He kicked himself free. Behind him, a loud snap. He glanced around. In one frozen heartbeat he took in the trip line lashed to the trigger log, its end sharpened to a point and smeared with mud to hide the fresh-cut wood.

The hill of logs began to move.
You fool. Another trap.
Then the logs were crashing toward him and he was yelling a warning to the others and leaping for the nearest 55

boulder, flinging himself into the tiny hollow beneath it; and logs were bouncing over him, smashing into the river, sending up plumes of water. Huddled under his boulder, Torak heard laughter echo from hill to hill. He pictured Thiazzi's dugout sweeping between the great stone jaws, disappearing into the Deep Forest. Then the whole hillside was giving way, and Fin-Kedinn was shouting, "Renn!