Hunters Unlucky Part 16

"Maybe they should wait and see whether I'm around in four years." He tried to say it jokingly, but Sauny's eyes grew instantly worried.

"Please be careful, brother."

"I will. I just wanted you and mother to know that I'm alright."

"We know," said Sauny. "It's what everyone talks about."

"They don't talk to me," said Storm. No one talks to me except the ones I've saved.

"They're just scared," said Sauny. "They'll see. When the creasia can't kill you, they'll see. You're the smartest, fastest, bravest ferryshaft there ever was, Storm."

Storm laid his head briefly across her shoulders. "Go on back now, little sister. I'll come again. Tell Mother I was here, but don't tell Dover."

The cats arrived three days later. They came around noon, but their behavior was unprecedented. They trotted around the edges of the herd, pus.h.i.+ng the entire ma.s.s of animals together on the edge of the plain. They did not cut out a single group, nor did they charge. They circled, eyes scanning every ferryshaft.

The frightened, confused animals pressed together, those on the edges struggling to reach the center. Storm was not among them, as he'd been staying away from the herd. However, he did not wish to miss the creasia's next appearance, and so he was close enough to hear the screams, the pounding of running hooves, and the confused shouting when the raid began.

Storm approached cautiously, peered from behind a rock on the edge of the mazes. The creasia were behaving oddly. He wondered what it meant, and at the same time, he began to plan the chase that must follow. His heartbeat quickened, and he took slow, measured breaths. Any moment, he would leap out and draw them. Any moment...

A pale brown cat sprang lightly onto a rock, the others still pacing around the edges of the herd. "Where is he?" demanded the cat. Storm could tell that he was deliberately altering his speech so that ferryshaft could more easily understand. The cat spoke again, this time in a roar, "Where is he?!"

The herd had gone still. No one moved. No one said a word. The lead creasia leapt from the boulder and stalked into the cl.u.s.tered ferryshaft. They parted before him like water around a rock in a swift stream. Storm found himself thinking how easily they could have killed him if they had stampeded at that moment.

"Don't pretend you don't know who I'm talking about!" shouted the glaring cat. "If you bring the law-breaker to me, I will kill him, and you can all leave this place unharmed. If you do not bring him to me, thirty of your yearling foals will die!"

"The terms of the treaty prohibit hunting and killing of selected individuals, Treace."

Everyone looked in the direction of the speaker. Charder stood alone. He'd walked away from the rest of the herd, ignoring the pacing cats.

Storm was shocked and fascinated. This was not at all how he'd imagined the next raid.

For a moment, the cat, Treace, seemed startled, but his answer came readily enough. "The individual we speak of has violated the treaty and is therefore no longer under its protection. If you fail to produce him, neither are you."

Charder sniffed. "Such a thing has never been part of treaty law. The violation itself is questionable. The animal we speak of has run from you-hardly a violation."

"He howled!" snarled Treace.

"A minor offense," said Charder coolly. "He does not seem to be howling now."

The cat advanced, stiff-legged and bristling towards Charder, but the herd leader held his ground. Storm was impressed. He'd always imagined Charder to be a beaten coward where cats were concerned.

"You have no right to demand anything of us until agreed upon in formal conference," continued Charder as though Treace didn't look ready to kill him, "nor do you have the right to violate the treaty until formal exception is made. If you intend to cull, please do so. You are confusing my herd."

Storm held his breath as he watched the strange stand-off. Then Treace turned away. Storm thought that Charder had won until he saw the murderous expression on the cat's face. "Oh, we'll cull," he growled.

Treace leapt forward, caught a surprised adult by the back of the head, and crunched into its skull. Ferryshaft screamed and fled in all directions. The cats ran among them, maiming and killing. They made no attempt to encircle a group, but attacked every animal they could reach.

Storm gaped. This is my fault. He took a running leap and topped the boulder. "Here I am! Come and get me, you cowards!" He thought about howling, but saved his breath. He was shaken by what he'd just seen and wanted as much distance between himself and Treace as he could manage.

Unlike the chase with Ariand, Storm had no sense of what the cats might be doing behind him. They called to each other only rarely. Storm laid a twisted trail that he'd planned in advance-along a frozen stream that confused his scent, through narrow places in the rocks, and into one tunnel where the cats could not follow and would be forced to search for the exit without the aid of his scent to guide them.

Storm did all this, even though he already knew where he was going. He wanted to lead the creasia away from the ferryshaft herd first. He couldn't prevent them from returning to kill, but he could at least make it less convenient.

At no point in the chase did he feel truly pressured. My practice has made a difference, he thought, but a mental image of the leader's furious eyes made him feel cold.

Storm decided that he was done leading them about. He reached the cliffs and started up a trail he'd selected days ago. It wound steeply up and over jagged red rock, and he was soon panting hard. He was tempted to look back, but mastered the urge. As long as their claws aren't in my spine, I'm winning. In fact, he felt confident that he had quite a lead. Soon, he would reach the point where the sheep trail left the main path, and then he would leave them behind completely.

Storm struggled up a particularly steep section, urging himself on in spite of flagging muscles. Almost there. He topped the rise, a cry of triumph building in his throat...and skidded to a stop. Twenty lengths ahead, the familiar thread of the sheep trail wound enticingly away to freedom and safety. Between Storm and the sheep trail, however, lay Treace.

Chapter 6. A Lecture.

Storm's heart did a sickening flop. He wheeled to start back the way he had come.

"Storm!" The use of his name brought him up short. He glanced over his shoulder.

Treace had not moved. He stretched and rose slowly. "You're a remarkable foal, Storm. I'd like to talk to you-no tricks, just talk."

Storm hesitated. This was something new.

Treace took a step toward him. Storm took a step back. The foal was just beyond pouncing distance. Treace smiled. "This is a parley, not an execution. Sit."

Storm lowered his back end a little, but not enough to touch the stone.

Treace laughed. "That looks uncomfortable. Can you talk or do you only howl?" His voice was patient and friendly. Storm wondered if this could really be the same creature who had threatened Charder and mauled a ferryshaft so recently.

"What do you want to say?" asked Storm. He wondered if he could catch Treace enough off his guard to rush under his pounce. He'd done something like that with Ariand. At the same time, he wondered if the cat really wanted to talk and what he could possibly say that would matter.

"You've impressed us," said Treace. "Charder has grown old and foolish. We're looking for a new ferryshaft to put in charge of the herd. That's why Charder was arguing with me earlier. He's afraid that if we find you, we'll replace him. That's how we pick the new leaders, you know-the brave ones who challenge us."

Storm stared at Treace. "I don't believe you."

The cat flicked his tail. "We wouldn't expect you to-not immediately. But think about it, Storm. You could renegotiate the treaty-perhaps bargain for us to kill fewer ferryshaft. If you keep running away, we'll just kill you, but if you come with me...we'll tell you all kinds of things. I'm sure you've wondered about the war, about the treaty, how and why we conduct our raids..."

Storm knew the cat was lying, but he couldn't help but listen. Even the lies told him things he hadn't known. They have rules about how they raid? Those rules are negotiated?

Storm realized suddenly that Treace had edged forward, muscles tensing. Storm backed away quickly. "You think I'd believe that after watching what you did to those ferryshaft this morning?"

Treace gave a soft, nasty chuckle. "Wait until you see what I'm going to do to you."

Storm whirled and started to gallop back down the path, but he stopped after only a short distance. From this vantage, he could see much of the twisted trail below, including the rest of the creasia, well over halfway up and closing.

"Too late," said Treace softly.

Storm turned to the cat again, fearful of taking his eyes off him for too long. Treace stood with his head low, eyes narrow, edging forward.

Storm's stomach churned, and he felt light-headed. He couldn't breathe. I can't go in either direction. I can't get past him. I can't... All he could think about was the crunch of a ferryshaft's skull, the scream as the animal expired.

I won't die that way. I won't.

Storm glanced up: a sheer, gravelly wall with no footholds. He looked down. The cliff dropped away in a descent that was steep, but not sheer. I might make it...if I don't stumble.

He jumped.

If Storm had looked back, he would have seen Treace thudding to the ground almost on his tail. Treace peered over the precipice, growling. He had hoped to break the foal's legs and carry him back to Leeshwood alive. It might not impress Arcove, but the sight would certainly impress half the cats in every clutter. They would see the ferryshaft whom Sharmel and Ariand had been unable to catch, easily captured by Treace, and dying slowly on display.

It was a regrettable loss. However, Treace felt certain that he had succeeded in a broader sense. The foal couldn't possibly survive such a fall.

Treace watched as Storm dug in his heels, knee-deep in sliding rocks. The gray tail lashed wildly. Once he tripped, and Treace thought it was over, but then Storm righted himself. Treace's clutter arrived, but no one said anything. They could see well enough.

Finally, Storm reached the truly dangerous part. Fewer loose rocks interfered with his movements, but the descent was far steeper. Treace saw him jump amid a sea of slithering stones, and then he was lost to sight over the sheer drop.

All the cats ran back and forth, craning their necks to see, but it was no use. We'll have to go to the bottom to find his body, thought Treace. Then, impossibly, a streak of dust shot away from the cliff and, with it, a flash of silver-gray.

"You threatened them? All of them?" Arcove's stare was icy.

Treace looked angry, too. "They have broken faith and must be punished. If we can't catch the foal, perhaps his own race-"

"Treace," growled Arcove, "by your actions, you have admitted to the entire herd that we feel threatened by this foal. Before you spoke to them, they weren't sure. Now, they are."

Treace sputtered. "I hardly think that our cull will leave them feeling triumphant-"

"Secondly," continued Arcove, "a threat of that nature produces one of two results: either they turn on him, or they rally around him. I am not prepared to risk the second possibility at this point, as improbable as it may seem."

"They'll never-!"

"And thirdly, Treace, Charder is right. We cannot violate treaty stipulations at whim. Your breach was more severe than anything this foal has done."

"What are you afraid of?" spat Treace. "The ferryshaft? That race of talking sheep? Just because they gave you a b.l.o.o.d.y nose a generation ago..."

Arcove rose, and Treace's voice faded. All around the council circle, officers were staring at him. Arcove took a step closer, legs stiff, hackles raised. "Who is in charge here, Treace?"

For an instant, Treace's eyes locked with Arcove's. Then his gaze dropped. "You are."

"For a moment I wasn't sure."

Treace said nothing and kept his eyes down. After a pause, Arcove continued. "I understand your reasoning, councilor. I know what you were trying to do, but you lack experience. Ferryshaft are not talking sheep. In the future, you will break treaty code only at my direct orders. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

An awkward pause. Finally, Sharmel spoke. "Arcove, can I try again?"

Arcove looked surprised. "You've already chased him once, Sharmel."

"I know, but I didn't understand the situation, and my clutter completely ignored my orders."

Arcove thought he understood. Ariand was the lowest ranking officer. Treace was next. They were taking turns at this problem by order of rank, and Sharmel wanted his correct position. "Go ahead. But don't threaten the herd."

Roup spoke. "I recommend not making a cull at all until you catch Storm."

Halvery rolled his eyes. "Here we go again."

Roup flicked his tail. "No, this is social logic." He looked at Sharmel. "If you begin to make a cull and the foal appears, you must chase him. The ferryshaft he saves will feel grat.i.tude. Even if you return and make a new cull, the ferryshaft from the first cull will survive, and their loyalties will s.h.i.+ft. In addition, those in the new cull may be inspired to follow Storm's example." He hesitated. "Besides, it sounds to me that Treace has performed a cull that will be sufficient for some time."

Even Halvery had to admit that this made sense.

"No cull, then," said Sharmel. "And I think I'll wait a bit, if that's acceptable." He glanced at Arcove. "We've been coming every few days. The foal is on edge. I'm sure he's planning his next escape even as we speak. I'd like to give him some time to get complacent."

"That's reasonable," said Arcove. "It'll give me time to sort out the mess Treace has created with Charder."

Chapter 7. Threats and Apologies.

It was as mild a winter as the island had seen in a decade. At no point did the snow entirely cover the ground, and the toughest bushes and gra.s.ses continued to peek through. Animals that were normally dormant came out of hiding. Rabbits and rock rats thrived, and so did the ferryshaft herd.

Charder reflected, as he browsed among the rocks at dusk, that not even the orphan cliques were likely to lose any members this winter. He doubted that a single ferryshaft had been reduced to covert cannibalism. A good year-or it should have been, if not for the creasia's recent alarming behavior.

Charder was not surprised when a shadow fell across his back, the outline of the head and ears towering above him. His heartbeat quickened, as it always did, but he didn't look up or turn around. "Are we at war, Arcove?"

"You tell me."

Charder raised his head and turned. Arcove didn't look like he planned to kill anyone. He appeared relaxed, but Charder could tell that he was watching minutely. "I came to apologize for the conduct of one of my officers."

Be careful, thought Charder. Be very careful. He allowed some anger to creep into his voice. "Treace threatened the herd. He asked for a specific individual. He culled without counting. His clutter left injured animals. Do you even know how many they killed?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

"Eighteen. Half of them died slowly over the following day. This is not how we agreed on culls."