The Dog Master (36 page)

“What is he doing?” Nix asked as Palloc's back retreated.

“He has a question for the hunt master,” his brother Vent replied.

Dog shrugged. “He is not a good tracker. We can do just as well without him.”

The men nodded and followed Dog, whose head was down, trying to see a sign of where Markus might have gone.

There were coniferous trees here, and the terrain was hilly. The pine needles on the ground were much like the color of rouge, the powder that could be used to turn things red. The men lost the trail, but pressed on anyway.

“If he came here, he found no game,” Dog remarked. “There is no grass.”

Nix nodded, then stopped. “What is that?” he asked.

The other two men halted, cocking their heads. They heard it again, a shrill, piercing noise, like a bird might make but unlike any bird they had ever heard. A whistle, answered by another eerie whistle from behind them.

“It is like the call of the elk during mating season,” Vent observed. And it was, indeed, a little like an elk. A novice like Markus might have thought he was on the trail of a herd of the big mammals, but there was a sharper quality to this sibilant trilling.

Another whistle from their man's side, and an answering one on the woman's side—piercing and different, two notes from one, three from the other, and then a long one from behind them.

Whatever was making the sound was getting closer.

The three Kindred men frowned at each other. It was as if they were surrounded by some unseen creatures. Dog peered around, but could see no movement.

The men reflexively tightened their grips on their spears. They were in a small clearing but the trees were thick all around them.

The whistles came even closer, and then with a sudden, single drawn out note, they went completely silent. The men waited.

“They must have left,” Vent noted. Nix nodded.

“But how? Are they birds and have flown off?”

Nobody knew. Dog scratched his head. “I wonder what they were,” he murmured.

And then he turned at a sudden motion, seeing men move silently out of the trees. Strange men, with faces smeared with charcoal and rouge so that their eyes appeared starkly white. Hideous, wild-looking men. Men carrying clubs.

Cohort.

 

FORTY-TWO

Palloc did not get very far when he thought better of his plan to return to the hunt. Urs would be angry with him for disobeying instructions, and probably intended for Palloc, as the senior man, to lead the search for Markus.

It had just been too much to bear. Dog evinced obvious but unstated contempt—clearly, he felt that he had somehow bested Palloc. Dog might be much taller, but Palloc was broad shouldered and in an actual fight might have easily defeated his adversary. In fact, he could imagine it, could practically feel his fist upon Dog's jaw, knocking the younger man senseless.

But they were not children and a fight was forbidden. Punishment might include banishment from the hunt, essentially turning Palloc into a woman. And Palloc had no doubt it would be
his
punishment, and not Dog's, even though it was all Dog's fault.

Bitterly, Palloc turned and went back the way from which he had come. Dog, Vent, and Nix were easy to track. He would advise the three hunters that he had spoken to the hunt master and returned. What was said was no one's business but his.

No, that made no sense: he could not have made it back to the hunt in so little time.

Scanning ahead, Palloc could see that the three men had entered a pine forest. On his woman's side, a tall hill bristled with deciduous trees. If he climbed a tree at the top of the hill, he could see into the pine forest and much of the surrounding countryside. If Markus was lost, wandering in circles, or injured, Palloc would spot him from up there. Palloc would be the hero. The hunt and the Kindred would admire his initiative and celebrate his success.

Palloc had not climbed a tree since he was a child, and he was startled at how difficult it was. His arms were soon trembling from the effort, and he dropped his spear when he had to make a panicked grab to keep from pitching headfirst onto the ground. He was right, though: from the crest, he could see far in every direction. Why did the stalkers never think to climb trees? Palloc decided that he would keep this idea to himself, so that when he was hunt master someday, his first command would be to climb the trees at the top of hills to spot for game, and everyone would agree he was a wise leader who should have been made hunt master long ago instead of Urs.

He could see into the pine forest, where Nix, Vent, and Dog had stopped and were standing around talking. Clearly, once Palloc left them, they became confused as to what they should do next.

A movement caught his eye, something darting from one tree to another. He frowned. It was dark and big and was now invisible. A bear? But no bear would behave like that, hiding behind a tree.

All the way on the other side of the pine forest, he saw two men, their movements not furtive, but out in the open. Palloc swallowed. They were not Kindred. The two strangers were looking at something on the ground, and after a time Palloc realized what it was: a human, lying motionless, its head a bloody mess. Palloc recognized the garments.

Markus.

Palloc turned to look at the other Kindred. “Nix!” he shouted. But he was too far away and the wind pushed his voice aside. He could see men flitting between the trees, eight of them, closing in on the Kindred hunters.

Cohort. They had to be Cohort.

And then they were right there. Palloc gasped as one of them stepped up to Dog and swung a club. Dog instinctively ducked, rolling away. Vent and Nix just stood watching him, transfixed, and did not see the men rushing up behind them. The Cohort hit both brothers with clubs simultaneously, viciously cracking them on their skulls. Vent went down, while Nix staggered and turned to face his attacker. Dog jabbed with his spear and managed to pierce the chest of his opponent, but then two of the Cohort closed on him and savagely beat him. Dog fell to his knees and they hit him in the head again and again. Nix was down now too, and the Cohort pounded at their skulls, which split and bled in the pine needles.

When they were done, the Cohort circled the dead Kindred. Their faces were blackened, which made it possible for Palloc to see their grins. The one Dog had stabbed still had the spear high in his chest, the end of it down on the ground. One of the Cohort reached out and snagged the spear and yanked it from the wounded man's chest, and he shouted angrily and the rest of them laughed.

Palloc clung to the tree, feeling sick. It had all happened so fast. Four Kindred hunters were dead. Dog, who he had held in his arms as a baby, slaughtered. And why? For what reason?

They were talking to each other, and then, to his horror, one of them said something and to a man they all turned and looked in Palloc's direction, finding him in the tree and staring at him.

They knew he was there.

Panting, Palloc scrambled down the tree, scraping his skin raw on the bark and not caring. The minute his feet hit the ground he snagged his spear and was stumbling and falling as he fled down the hill, running as fast as he could. Were they behind him, pursuing him? He did not dare look back. He ran, bushes ripping at his skin, heedless, and when he tripped and sprawled a sob broke from his lips.
No!
He was back up instantly. He was making so much noise he could not tell if his pursuers were close.

Palloc did not stop running until he burst into camp, the hunters leaping to their feet in alarm when they saw him.

He was trembling, coated with sweat, dizzy with lack of oxygen. Valid grabbed him, holding him up, while Palloc bent over and sucked in air. “What is it? What happened?” Valid demanded.

“Cohort,” Palloc panted.

Instantly the hunt was on alert, snatching up their spears and instinctively closing ranks into a tight circle. Urs seized Palloc's shoulders. “Palloc. Speak now. What are you saying?”

“Cohort. More than ten of them. They … they had Markus. They got Dog and Nix and Vent.”

“Got them?” Urs demanded. “What do you mean, ‘got them'?”

Palloc looked at the hunt master and the answer was in the misery written in his eyes.

“How did you get away?” Urs asked. “Why were you not with them? Why did you run?”

Every member of the hunt was staring. Palloc swallowed.

“If you had stayed with them, perhaps you could have fought off the attackers!” Urs accused.

“No!” Palloc shook his head wildly. “There were too many.”

“So you fled.”

“It was not like that! I had climbed a tree.”

“A tree?” Urs repeated incredulously. “Our hunters were under attack and you climbed a tree?”

“That is not what happened!”

“We should go. Perhaps they are still alive,” Valid urged.

“Right,” Urs decided. He turned away from Palloc in a move that spoke of utter contempt. “Be ready. Grat, you go to the back and watch for attackers from that direction.”

The hunt now acted as if Palloc were not standing there in their midst. Though he had barely escaped with his life, they had no feeling of relief, and had completely misconstrued events.

Yet only Palloc knew where to go, so Urs motioned for him to be up front with him. They started at a run, difficult for Palloc after his crazed dash all the way from the hill, but he kept up.

“They came from all sides,” Palloc panted.

“Just focus on where to go,” Urs snapped back.

Palloc saw the hill to his left. “This way,” he said, pointing, his eyes so full of bitterness they burned.

A trail of blood led off into the woods, but it was getting dark and Urs eventually called off their pursuit. They needed to get back to camp, much more easily defended than the strange territory they were on.

As they turned back, several of the Kindred raised their heads and stared off into the distance. They had heard something, something far, far away. Something strange.

Some sort of whistling.

*   *   *

Calli was combing the bushes for berries, hating harvesting the tiny, immature fruits before they were sweet and swollen with a full summer's ripening, but having no choice—sour and small as they were, they were food. The Kindred needed food.

When she heard the sound she was not sure, at first, what it was, but it came from the direction of camp and instantly alarmed her. Heart pounding, she abandoned her collection of berries and ran toward the noise.

Screaming.

She rushed into camp and saw that the hunt had returned. The screaming was coming from the women who, as usual, had gone to greet the men as they came back: women wailing in pain, falling to their knees, clutching their husbands. Several women were bent over Renne, who thrashed in the dirt.

“What is it?” Calli asked, joining the group. “What happened?” She saw her mother, and Coco shook her head, not knowing.

“Cohort,” someone said.

“Nix!” Renne screamed.

Calli understood, then, and the horror made her legs buckle. Bellu and her mother, Ador, were sagging against each other, sobbing. Urs stood nearby, grim.

Calli scanned the men. She saw Palloc, who appeared oddly wooden faced, watching the Kindred grieve with a curious lack of emotion on his face. Calli saw Mal approaching, looking bewildered and frightened, then swung back to find Dog.

Dog.

“Valid,” Calli gasped, her voice so weak with dread she could barely speak. “Where is Dog?”

Valid looked her in the eye, and she knew.

*   *   *

It fell to Mal to tell Lyra. She was coming up the path to the camp a few hours after the hunt had returned. Still in shock, Mal noticed she was gone, and he waited for her on the downstream path, where he had often seen her go.

“Lyra,” he called.

Things had not been left well between them when they last spoke, but her uneasiness fell from her face when she saw his expression, changing into something more like fear. “Mal, what is it?”

He tried to tell her, but his breathing became labored, and his lips trembled. “Dog,” he finally whispered.

Her eyes went wide. “What? Tell me!” she pleaded, clutching at him in panic.

“They were attacked by Cohort.”

And that was all that he needed to say.

They clung to each other, crying, her head on his shoulder. He wanted to be a man but the thought of losing Dog made him feel like running to his mother.
Dog dead.
It was impossible to understand it, to cope with it.

They did not see that they were being watched: Grat had come down the trail and spotted them, his mouth drawing a bitter line as he observed their embrace. From where he stood, despite the circumstances, it was not difficult to mistake their movements for passion. His face held a black rage to suppose that Mal, the crippled fire boy, had won the affections of Lyra.

He turned and walked away before either of them noticed him standing there.

*   *   *

One word repeated itself in Palloc's head: leadership. Very well, he would show his mother leadership. He went to Grat and suggested the two of them go hunting. Yes, the Kindred were convulsed in grief, and the hunt master had issued a strict edict against straying from camp lest the Cohort take more hunters, but they would draw great admiration if they showed courage, risking themselves for the good of all. Grat had eaten so many bugs his throat ached; he was not difficult to persuade.

Palloc and Grat did find prey, a den of weasels. The creatures were small and the meat was tough, but at least the Kindred would eat something. Palloc grinned fiercely. They would be heroes.

“Food!” Palloc shouted as they returned. People streamed into the communal area, the two hunters holding their kills aloft, beaming with pride. “Food!”

Coco and Calli accepted the small corpses listlessly and without thanks. Palloc frowned at his wife. Did she not understand what this meant to the tribe? She and her mother immediately set about skinning the animals, and Palloc was gratified to see that some children gathered to watch in greedy anticipation.