“Maybe,” Piran huffed. “They probably wouldn’t be worse.”
Blaine was as disappointed as the others in the conditions of their weapons, but he was not going to add fuel to Piran’s rant by saying so. It keeps making me wonder—is this all an elaborate ruse on Prokief’s part? Or just stupidity?
“They’re not going to expect us to go wandering around the forest, looking for wolves, are they?” Bickle asked with a nervous look toward the lightless tree line.
“If they’re smart, they’ll try to lure the wolves close to the edge of the trees,” Carl replied. “I’ve been on a couple of wolf hunts, back in my village. Once we go into the forest, the advantages all belong to the wolves. I don’t care how good your equipment is. That’s true even when you’re familiar with the forest, and we aren’t.”
“The guards have been on wolf hunts before,” Blaine reminded them.
“Some guards have been,” Carl replied. “We don’t know how much experience these guards have.”
They set up their camp quickly, building lean-tos from saplings near the forest’s edge and covering them with army canvas tarpaulins. Once they got close to the tree line, Blaine could make out the rough roads that led into the forest, likely from the logging teams who kept Velant and Edgeland provisioned with lumber.
“How about some lanterns?” Piran challenged.
Beak glared at him. “I’ve got a few in my pack,” he said, jerking his head toward the rucksack he carried over one shoulder. “Don’t want to use them if we can help it.”
Blaine had learned quickly that the ‘long dark’ as they called the six month period of polar night, was not pitch dark. Tonight, a luminous deep blue settled over everything. The snow- covered ground reflected some of the light, which along with the moonlight made it possible for them to see their way. Overhead, faint ribbons crossed the sky, ‘Spirit Lights’ the guards called the phenomena. The odd blue glow and the strange overhead lights gave the empty, cold land an eerie feel. Out here, the twilight was enough to see relatively well once their eyes adjusted. Inside the tree line, it would be darker. Blaine eyed the forest warily. It was not much of a stretch of the imagination to believe they were being watched.
Beak grabbed a canvas pack from the sledge. “Rowse, McFadden, Aiken, Twain. Grab your weapons and come with us,” he ordered as Knacker came to join him. “The rest of you are on the other team.”
The prisoners traded wary glances. It was clear to Blaine that they did not want to split up. On the other hand, eleven people were unlikely to sneak up on a pack of wolves. Small groups had the best chance of success. Let’s just hope we all come back out of the woods—with or without a wolf or two to show for it.
“What’s in the bag?” Piran asked quietly as they followed Beak down the rugged logging trail. Knacker brought up the rear, sword in hand. It was a reminder, as if they needed any, not to get out of hand.
“Bait,” Beak replied. “Half a fresh-killed deer. There’s a clearing not too far in. We’ll set up two blinds, and wait for the wolves.”
“We could wait a long time,” Blaine observed.
Beak shrugged. “Our men have hunted this section of forest pretty hard. Most of the deer are gone. If the wolves are still around, they aren’t finding easy pickings. They might be hungry enough to take a chance.”
“It’s not as dark as I thought it would be back here,” Blaine murmured. The trees were tall enough that there was little undergrowth, and enough of the large trees had been removed to thin the canopy, allowing the moonlight and blue twilight to permeate even here.
“We’re still close to the forest’s edge,” Piran murmured. “Deeper in, it’ll be a different story. We’ll need lanterns.”
“And we have them, if we need them,” Knacker replied. “Now shut up. Wolves have ears, you know.”
Beak led them to a clearing that had been logged clean. From the trees remaining, Blaine guessed it had been a stand of large, old growth. The light was better in the clearing, and now that their eyes were adjusted, Blaine could see reasonably well across the whole area. “Up here,” Beak indicated, keeping his voice just above a whisper. “We’ll have one blind here, and one over there,” he said, indicating a spot on the other side of the clearing. Both were on high ground with a good view of the area. Skeptical as Blaine was about the guards’ intentions, it appeared that Beak had scouted the area, and knew something about wolf hunting. “McFadden and Aiken stay here with me,” he said. “Rowse and Twain go to the other side.”
Piran’s expression made it clear that he disliked the order, but in a remarkable show of restraint, he managed not to snap out a response. Blaine had already prepared himself for the possibility that the guards might not want the two of them together, especially not two prisoners with the reputation for trouble he and Piran had acquired.
Blaine tried to remember what the hired men on his father’s lands said about going after the wolves that occasionally harried the livestock. He knew that wolves were smart, wily opponents, with smell and hearing at least equal to any dog. That meant the hunter had to be stealthier and more cunning than his prey, something easier said than done.
“Sit here,” Beak ordered, pointing to one side of a tree on a slight rise near the road. It was a scrubby tree, not worth logging, something to lean on while they waited. “Have your bows ready and your swords at hand,” he whispered. “Don’t move. Hope you two took a piss before we left camp; we might be here for a while,” he added with a malicious smile.
On the far side of the clearing, Blaine could make out Piran, Twain, and Knacker settling into a similar blind. There was little to camouflage either position save some tall dry grass, but that meant few obstacles to a clean shot. Beak walked into the middle of the clearing and emptied the partial deer carcass from his bag, then buried the bloody canvas beneath the snow some distance away. He cleaned his hands on the ice and returned to where Blaine and Aiken waited.
“So we just wait here for a hungry wolf?” Blaine murmured.
“We’ll give it a little time for our smell to fade,” Beak said, a note of pride in his hunting knowledge coloring his tone. “Then we’ll start. Aiken—you watch the bait. McFadden, keep watch in the opposite directions. I don’t want anything sneaking up on us from behind.”
They sat in silence for what seemed like forever. Blaine’s senses were on high alert, more attuned to the threat from the man seated near him than the fear of being mauled by a wild animal. He struggled not to fidget, but he was wary and restless. Staying still took all of his willpower. The forest, which had grown quiet during their entrance to the glade, began to rustle with the sounds of life.
Overhead, Blaine heard the scrabble of squirrels in the tree branches, and the beat of wings as an owl flew into the gloaming. Not too far away, a twig snapped. Leaves rustled. The forest was waking up, after its thrall at their arrival. And as cold and restless as Blaine felt, curiosity tugged at him to see what the forest held.
“Here we go,” Beak replied just above a whisper. He raised his right hand to his mouth, and pulled in his breath against the skin on the back. It made an awful squeal, like a dying rabbit. Which was exactly what it was supposed to sound like, Blaine imagined. Beak repeated the sound once, then stopped, and signaled for Blaine to stay still and quiet.
A few moments of silence passed. Then a howl rose on the cold night air. It sounded close, and despite himself, Blaine felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. Something deep inside him feared the dark forest and the wolves, caring nothing for the sword or the crossbow in his hands. The fear was old as time, older than reason. Primal. Out here, in a fair fight, the wolf won.
“A call,” Beak whispered, with a nod toward the blind where Piran and the other guards concealed themselves. Blaine nodded that he understood. The guards were luring the wolves with the simulated cries of their prey and competitors. The howl rose again, and once more, Blaine felt ice slither down his spine.
Beak gave a cu
rt nod. Now, we wait, Blaine interpreted.
Out here, they were far from the bells of Skalgerston Bay and the prison watchtower. Without the movement of the sun, there was only the course of the moon for Blaine to gauge time. Movement caught Blaine’s eye and he tensed. He had positioned his bow across his knee so that if a wolf appeared, he would need very little movement to strike, providing less opportunity to make a noise that might scare off their quarry. His finger was ready on the crossbow’s trigger when a fox loped into the clearing.
The fox stopped and sniffed the air, looking all around. Blaine and the others remained still as statues, not daring to breathe. The fox trotted up to the dead deer and began to feed. Blaine grimaced, impatient. Beak placed a hand on his arm and gave a warning shake of his head. Blaine let out a quiet breath and forced himself to relax.
After the fox had nearly sated himself on the kill, the animal raised his head warily, sniffed the air, then turned and ran off a different way. Blaine’s senses sharpened, and he scanned the clearing.
At first, he saw nothing but shadows. Then, one of the shadows eased forward. Fluid and beautiful, a large male wolf emerged, stepping warily into the clearing. Proud and powerfully built, the wolf was silver gray with darker markings. From its caution, Blaine guessed it had survived more than one season, meaning it was wary and clever.
The wolf advanced slowly on the bait, stopping every few feet to scent the air. Their blinds had been selected to be downwind as well as for visibility, and the wolf did not seem to find anything amiss. He raised his head and let out a blood-curdling howl to call the rest of his pack.
Zing. A crossbow bolt flew from beside him. Beak followed an instant later, and Blaine just after that. The first quarrel took the wolf through the front shoulder. The second missed, and Blaine’s shot caught the wolf in the hindquarters.
The dying wolf managed one strained cry before he toppled over. All around them, the pack fled.
Beak turned to Aiken with a murderous look on his face. “Aiken! You palsied goat! You worthless piece of shit! You shot too quickly and lost us the rest of the pack.”
Before Blaine could intervene, Beak swung a fist at Aiken, smashing the man’s nose and knocking Aiken to the ground. Beak’s fists flew, pounding Aiken, who tried and failed to block the blows.
“You’re going to kill him!” Blaine said, trying to grab Beak from behind and restrain him before the damage was done.
Beak threw him off. “Mind your own business, McFadden.”
Across the clearing, from the sound of it, Knacker was laying into Twain. Piran was having as little luck as Blaine deflecting the guard’s murderous temper.
Blaine tried to get between Beak and Aiken, taking the worst of the blows on his shoulders and back as he had done years ago to protect his younger brother and sister from their father. The trap, Blaine thought, remembering Kestel’s warning. Prokief knows what got me sent here. He probably knew of my father, heard about his rages. And he certainly knows that Piran and I don’t take well to the guards knocking heads together. We’re being set up—Aiken and Twain are the pawns in Prokeif’s game.
“Get out of my way!” Beak roared, giving Blaine a shove that sent him reeling. Blaine’s temper frayed, but he managed to remain in control, knowing that actually fighting the guard would land him in the Holes, or lose him his Ticket of Leave.
Blaine came up with an armful of loose snow and flung it in Beak’s face, distracting the guard. Aiken was bleeding from his nose and ears. His breath came in painful wheezes, and Blaine bet Beak had broken the man’s ribs.
“I’m going to rip you apart, McFadden!” Beak yelled.
Blaine backed out of his way. “Prokief’s not going to be pleased if you’ve got no wolves and dead prisoners. You’ll be the one in the Hole.” He stayed out of Beak’s range. Dodging a madman’s fists was an old game Blaine had mastered long ago. “You can’t fight the wolves yourself. They’ll be back. You really want to carry Aiken out along with the wolves we shoot?”
Beak glared at Blaine but did not lunge forward to attack. Piran and Knacker were shouting at each other, but they had not come to blows. Knacker reached down and grabbed Twain by the collar, pulling his limp, bloody form behind him like dead weight as they rejoined Blaine and Beak. From the glint in Piran’s eyes and the set of his jaw, Blaine knew his friend was only barely restraining his temper.
Knacker kicked at the savaged deer carcass. “Not much left. Won’t be much use to draw move wolves—assuming they’ll come after all this ruckus.”
“We’re not leaving without the wolves,” Beak replied.
“They won’t come back here,” Piran argued, his voice dangerously cold.
“Then we’ll go to them,” Knacker responded. “It’s a big forest. And they’ll be hungry smelling all this nice, fresh blood.”
“Maybe these two can still be useful,” Beak said, a cold smile touching the corner of his thin lips as he toed Aiken’s unconscious form. He looked to Blaine and Piran. “You want to keep them alive? You carry them. We’re going deeper into the forest to get those damn wolves.”
Blaine hefted Aiken into his arms. The battered prisoner groaned in pain at being moved, but did not regain consciousness. His face was badly swollen, and his lips were cut, dripping blood. For all I know, the damage is already done, Blaine thought. Twain doesn’t look in any better shape. The prisoner Piran carried was also unconscious, dead weight in his arms. A blood trail marked the snow, sure to attract predators of all kinds.
“Here,” Beak said, thrusting a dented lantern into Blaine’s hands. He lit it with a bit of steel and flint to make a spark, and used a piece of straw from his pocket to light the other two lamps he produced from his pack. “Mind you keep the shutters nearly closed,” he ordered. “Don’t want the wolves to spot the light.” Blaine noted that the lantern’s glass sides had been tinted with blue dye to dim the light. Even with the faint glow, Blaine stumbled often over roots hidden beneath the snow.
This section of the forest was old and mostly untouched. They had moved a distance from the forest’s edge, and here, the huge evergreens’ massive canopy would have made it dark beneath it even on a bright day. Thanks to the Long Dark, it was now almost as pitch black deep in the forest as it was inside the mines. Going farther under the circumstances was suicidal. The guards fear Prokief as much as the prisoners do, Blaine thought. Maybe even more than they fear the wolves.
“We’re going too far from the road,” Piran protested after they had walked another half a candlemark. “We can’t see this far in, like we could nearer the forest’s edge.”
“Shut up and walk,” Knacker snapped.
The forest had grown too quiet. Blaine was certain they were being watched. He wondered whether Beak and Knacker knew where they were going, or whether the guards were just so obsessed with the hunt that they had abandoned all caution.
“Stop here,” Knacker ordered after they had walked another half a candlemark. Their lanterns barely made out the clearing, a broader space among the trees.
“Put Aiken and Twain in the center,” Beak ordered. “They’re bloody enough, the wolves won’t have any trouble finding them.”
Piran rounded on Beak. “Are you serious? You mean to use them as bait?”
The guard’s grin was malicious. “Are you volunteering to take their place? Because frankly, I’d rather see you and McFadden out there.”
Blaine caught Piran’s eye and mouthed ‘trap’. Piran clamped his mouth shut, though his expression was easy to read. He walked beside Blaine toward the center of the clearing, carrying their two unconscious companions.
“You’re actually going to let them do it?” Piran growled.
“Until the wolves come,” Blaine replied. “Then we protect Aiken and Twain the best we can, and hope we shoot some of the wolves while we’re at it.”
“I’d rather shoot Beak,” Piran muttered.
“The feeling’s mutual. Remember—we’ve been set up. Pr
okief isn’t really after these two. It’s us he wants,” Blaine said under his breath as he laid Aiken down on the snow beside Twain.
Neither of the battered men stirred. Probably for the best, Blaine thought. As vicious as the beating they took had been, Aiken and Twain might not recover, even if Blaine and Piran managed to save them from the wolves.
If we knew they were beyond hope, we could slit their throats and end their misery. He had seen such things done in his time at Velant. When the guards took matters too far and recovery was impossible, it was the last kindness a prisoner’s friends could offer. Blaine considered the option and discarded it. We might be wrong. They might not be as bad as they look. I have enough blood on my hands without adding more.
“Hurry it up,” Knacker hissed. “Unless you want to be the bait yourselves.”
Blaine and Piran went back to the two blinds Knacker and Beak had set up, one on each side of the clearing. Blaine mentally calculated the distance between their hiding place and the injured men, figuring out how long it would take for him to cross the gap.
Better yet, we shoot the wolves before they get to the bait, Blaine thought. To Raka with what Beak and Knacker want. That gives us dead wolves and live prisoners—maybe.
They waited. Blaine wondered how they were expected to shoot wolves when they could barely see, since Beak had insisted they extinguish their lanterns except for one which he hid in a crevice in the rocks, with its shutters tightly closed. After several minutes, Blaine could make out shadows in the gloom, darker and lighter shades of gray. The temperature was dropping, and Blaine wondered whether Aiken and Twain might succumb to the cold before they bled to death. From what he could make out, neither man was moving.
Did it ever occur to Beak and Knacker—or to Prokief, since he’s the one who set up the trap—that all that blood makes bait out of all of us? Then again, maybe Prokief wanted rid of Beak and Knacker too, and they’re too dim to realize we’ve all been played for fools.
Cold Fury: King's Convicts III Page 6