Hunters Unlucky Part 15

"Well, he had to have gone somewhere," said Sharmel. "You're sure that there wasn't another exit from the cave?"

"Not that I could see. Of course I couldn't get all the way inside... But the foal looked miserable all afternoon. I think that if he knew another way out, he would have used it."

"Not if he was smart," murmured Roup. "Smart would pretend that he had no escape, wait until the clutter was complacent and mostly asleep, and then slip out the alternate exit. He'd be long gone by the time you started looking."

Ariand drooped. He said nothing.

Halvery snorted. "It's a foal, Roup, not a fox. And not a cunning ferryshaft with years of experience, either. Ariand, you had the longest s.h.i.+ft. You probably went to sleep!"

Ariand raised his head. He didn't look at Halvery. He looked at Arcove.

He thinks he might lose his clutter over this, thought Roup. After losing that fight with Treace...he's wondering whether Arcove really wants five officers. Roup glanced at Arcove.

Ariand had been the last officer added during the war. He hadn't fought for the position. He came to us and said that he could drain the lake. Roup could still remember the gleam in Ariand's eyes then-little bigger than a half-grown cub. Arcove gave him the cats to try. Afterward, they were his.

Arcove stretched-a disarming gesture. Ariand relaxed a fraction. "Well, this raid has at least provided us with useful information," said Arcove. "I wanted to know whether the entire herd is in revolt. From what you say, they are not."

"I disagree," said Treace. "They have broken faith by not killing the foal. This must be punished."

Arcove's tail twitched. "Perhaps, but that is not the same as revolt." Treace opened his mouth again, but Arcove spoke first. "If they were in revolt, they would have torn Ariand's hunting party to pieces. Do you really think that ten cats could defend themselves against the entire ferryshaft herd? They allow our culls because they have submitted to our rules. They fear us. Beware the day they don't."

Treace grumbled something about cowards.

Arcove continued. "As I suspected, the foal was inspired by his success to try again. On the first occasion, he may have been merely running for his life. There is no rule against doing such a thing. However, no such excuse can be made for this second occasion. He is now in clear defiance of the treaty. However..."

"However," said Halvery with a grunt, "he's our problem not theirs."

"Correct," said Arcove. "As long as Charder and the herd elders aren't helping him, they're under no obligation to a.s.sist us. The day we can't take care of a problem like this is the day we are no longer frightening enough to rule them. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a murmur of a.s.sent.

Treace looked thoughtful. "You're not even going to talk to Charder?"

Arcove smiled. "Oh, I'll talk to him. If he's involved, I'll know, but I suspect he isn't. Did you get the information I requested?"

Treace stood up a little straighter. He was an exceedingly graceful animal with pale brown fur and sharp green eyes. "The foal's name is Storm." He paused. "I don't know why he called himself Vearil."

"I could hazard a guess," said Roup. "It's probably what the herd has been calling him. The ferryshaft put a lot of store by luck these days. Makes sense, when our culls are so random."

"Yes, but why would he call himself that?" asked Treace.

No one answered.

"He'll be three years old in spring," continued Treace.

Ariand looked surprised. "I would have guessed two."

"Lovely," grumbled Halvery. "Not only are we being bested by a foal; he's also a runt."

"His father was killed by a raiding party before Storm was born," continued Treace. "His mother's name is So-fet. She mated with another male, Dover, and had another foal, a female called Sauny. Storm has been on his own since his first winter. He made a bit of a name for himself by escaping from bigger ferryshaft foals who tried to take his kills. His friends are all low-ranking orphans."

Treace paused. "From what I gathered, none of the ferryshaft regard Storm and his family as very remarkable. The herd seems to hold him in disdain. He does not seem likely to attract followers."

A murmur of conversation went round the council circle. Roup turned to Treace. "How did you discover all that?"

"I caught a ferryshaft and told him that I would release him if he talked to me."

"And what did you do with him when you were finished?"

"Killed him, of course."

Arcove spoke over the babble. "I think you all realize that we must make an example of this foal while the herd still 'holds him in disdain.' If we kill him soon, he will be merely a cautionary tale. Who wants the next bite at this animal?"

"I do," purred Treace.

Almost as soon as Storm entered the tunnel, he smelled the water. He found it difficult to think of anything else, yet he forced himself to go slowly. The pa.s.sage widened and sloped steeply downward. Storm could hear the clip-clop echo of his own hooves. The echoes seemed terribly loud, and he wondered if the cats could hear them outside.

He could hear the water now, too. His mouth was so dry... Storm's eyes were beginning to adjust to the extreme gloom, and he could faintly see the outline of another opening to his right. He followed the sound of the water and peered inside. Somewhere below, an underground stream rushed by in the blackness.

Storm licked his lips. The stream sounded only a short distance away. The air in the new tunnel felt cool, but no breeze stirred his fur. This was not the way out.

But when will I get another chance to drink in peace? A whole day had pa.s.sed since he had had a drink, and he felt weak with thirst. Storm eased into the new pa.s.sage. It was narrower and angled sharply downhill. He stifled a surge of claustrophobia and continued.

Finally the tunnel opened up, and Storm found himself on the edge of what sounded like a large river. It rushed by in front of him, cutting its dark path through the stone to either side. Storm buried his face in the stream and gulped. Water had never tasted so sweet.

As he drank, he became conscious of a faint greenish glow somewhere deep in the stream. It gave just enough light for his adjusted eyes to discern the outlines of his surroundings. Storm was beginning to puzzle over this, when there was a splash directly in front of him and a head popped out of the water.

Storm gasped. Pale fur, huge blue eyes, something like a seal, but longer, uncoiling out of the water.

Storm jumped back as the telshee darted forward. In a panic, he turned and raced up the pa.s.sage. He heard a splash as the creature emerged from the water and the swish of its fur over stone.

Storm pounded out of the tunnel and started back the way he had come. I'll take my chances with the creasia. But he stopped before he had gone three steps. Storm blinked and stared in vain for the outline of the hole that led back to his rank little cave. He saw only a faintly glowing green ma.s.s strewn along the ground. He caught a glimmer of movement near the place where the hole should have been-white fur, gleaming eyes. They covered my entrance! Storm knew now what the strange scent must be. It was the scent of a telshee.

Storm ran in the only direction left to him-down the unknown pa.s.sage in the direction of the incoming breeze. All of the telshee stories that he had ever heard flooded his mind. He wondered how many telshees were in the tunnel. He wondered whether he would run headlong into smothering coils. He wondered whether death under creasia claws would have been quicker.

Then, suddenly, the tunnel curved sharply upward, and Storm burst out onto open ground. He did not stop running until he had reached a cliff trail-not a sheep trail, but it would have to do. He climbed until dawn, whereupon he lay down on the rocky path, exhausted. He shut his eyes to rest...just for a moment.

Chapter 5. Round 2: Treace.

When Storm opened his eyes again, it was midmorning-bright and cold and clear. He started to stand up, thought better of it, and lay back down. He didn't think he'd actually climbed very high last night. His whole body ached, and his head was pounding. He licked up the snow around him on the ground.

Cautiously, Storm crept to the edge of the path and peered over. As he'd suspected, he was low enough for a clear view of the mazes and the cave that had been his prison. To his delight, the cats were still guarding it. His amus.e.m.e.nt when they discovered his absence could only be matched by his satisfaction when they left, going south in great haste. "Run home," he murmured, "and tell everyone that you've lost again."

When they were gone, Storm made his way quickly down the trail. He caught a rat in its snowy runway among the rocks, and felt much better. He wondered what he should do next. Return to the herd? Find his clique? Try again to find his mother and Sauny?

As he was debating, he ran into the last person he expected to see-Pathar, foraging alone among the boulders. Storm stopped when he saw him. He almost ran away, but hesitated. Pathar raised his head, saw Storm, and smiled. "So that's why they left. I didn't think they looked happy."

Storm swallowed. He felt a ridiculous urge to run to Pathar and put his head against his teacher's shoulder, as he had when he was small. However, caution and dignity prevailed. "Do you want to kill me, Pathar?"

Pathar c.o.c.ked his head. "Why would I want that?"

"Some of the other elders do."

Pathar gave a shake of his head. "You've survived twice. You're the creasia's problem now. I think the elders will leave you alone."

"You didn't answer my question."

"No, Storm, I don't want to kill you."

"But you won't help me, either."

"What do you mean?"

"Has anyone ever escaped before, Pathar?" I need to know. I need to understand what I've gotten myself into.

Pathar took a deep breath. "Not in the last fourteen years."

"And before that?"

"Before that," said Pathar carefully, "we were not under creasia law. We were at war. We lost."

Storm grew very still. Pathar was actually telling him something new, probably something forbidden. "How long?" he blurted. "How long were we at war? Why did we lose?"

Pathar looked up at the blue sky. "I don't know how long, Storm. Maybe as long as there have been ferryshaft and creasia. When I was your age, we were winning. We used to cull them. Creasia are difficult to kill as adults, but as cubs, they are vulnerable. We would go into the forest every spring and kill as many cubs as we could find. We breed faster than they do, and we can eat almost anything, whereas they require meat. We should never have lost the advantage, but...Arcove is a clever leader. Now, he lets us survive, and that is the best we can hope for."

Storm felt as though a ray of light had fallen into a dark cave. For the first time, he glimpsed a past that affected him daily. "Why don't they just kill us all?" he whispered.

Pathar waved his tail. "The treaty was negotiated so that the ferryshaft would stop fighting. We were a desperate, starving lot, holed up in caves, but still dangerous. Annihilating us would have cost creasia lives that Arcove probably wanted to save. Now...well, he's always been one for keeping his promises. Arcove has not broken the treaty...yet."

Storm shook his head. "Why didn't you tell me everything before?"

Pathar surprised him with a full-bellied laugh. "Oh, I'm still not telling you everything, Storm. I've already told you enough to get myself killed or exiled if you repeat it. If you do repeat it...say that Ariand told you." He laughed again, more to himself, and trotted away.

He was already gone, when Storm thought, You know Ariand's name...

Feeling marginally safer because of Pathar's a.s.sessment, Storm started in the direction of the herd. He was not surprised to find Tollee and Tracer at the clique's sleeping spot. Tracer laughed out loud when he saw Storm. "Callaris owes me a rabbit."

Storm made a face. "You're betting on my survival?"

"Well, it's better than betting against it!"

Tollee looked almost angry. "Storm, why didn't you stay on the cliffs? You could have stayed on the cliffs!"

"And be an outcast from the herd? What kind of a life is that?"

"A longer life," she growled.

"How did you escape from the cave?" interrupted Tracer.

"You knew I was trapped in a cave?" asked Storm.

Tracer harrumphed. "Storm, everyone knew. It's not that far away. How did you get out?"

"I..." Storm hesitated. "I'd rather not say."

Tracer whined in protest, but Tollee was already talking again. "Kelsy offered to let all of us join his clique."

"Sort of," said Tracer.

"No 'sort of' about it," snapped Tollee. "He said that half of his clique members had gone off to be with mates last fall. He said there are only ten left-"

"Only," interrupted Tracer, "like that's a small number-"

"And we were welcome to hunt with them this winter," finished Tollee.

"Saying it that way didn't make it sound like joining, though," said Tracer. "It wasn't like he was trying to take the clique from Mylo, just...collaborate. You should have seen the look on Mylo's face, Storm. He had no idea what to say."

"I hope he said yes," said Storm.

"He's still thinking about it," said Tollee. "Storm, the creasia will be back."

"I know." He took a deep breath. "And before you say it, no, I wasn't thinking very clearly when I trapped myself in that cave. I'll plan better next time."

"I hope so," she said, "because I'm sure they will."

Storm did plan. He spent the next couple of days reviewing every cave and cliff trail in the area and especially the few sheep trails that he'd mastered. He left a rabbit in each of the two isolated cliff caves that he knew how to reach, and he made sure that snow was piled in the back for drinking.

As Pathar had predicted, no one bothered him. Most of the ferryshaft gave him a wide berth. They treated him as though creasia disfavor might be catching, but no one accosted him or attempted to harm him. Storm did not test their att.i.tude by walking into the center of the herd during the day, but on the second night, he did creep over to the place where he thought Sauny and So-fet were sleeping. So-fet was lying beside Dover, and Storm was afraid of waking his stepfather. Sauny, however, woke at his approach. She jumped up and might have squealed if Storm hadn't shushed her.

They moved away from the others a little, and Sauny whispered. "Storm, you're amazing! Everyone is talking about you!"

"Are they?" he asked uneasily.

"Yes, two of the females in my clique want to be your mates," she announced.

Storm had to stifle his laughter. Sauny's "clique" was composed of females less than one year old who had parents and were more friends than hunting partners.