Bearers of the Black Staff

The ground ahead had turned damp and spongy, the snowmelt trickling off the heights in dozens of tiny streams. The Gray Man studied the ground carefully as he went, seeking the tiny indicators of his quarry’s passing, finding them less quickly now, their presence faded with the changes in temperature and time’s passage. As he slipped silently through the trees, he could hear birds singing and tiny animals rushing about, and he knew that they would not be doing so if any sort of danger were present. He had not lost ground; he had simply failed to make it up. The creatures were traveling faster at this point, perhaps because they sensed the possibility of food. He increased his own pace, worried anew.

His worry turned quickly to fear. Not a quarter of a mile farther on, he encountered a set of fresh tracks intersecting with those he followed. They were so faint he almost missed them. He knelt to study the sign, making certain of what he was seeing. These new tracks belonged to humans. It wasn’t that the makers were trying to hide their passing; it was that they knew how to walk without leaving much to follow. They were experienced at keeping their passage hidden, and they had done so here out of habit. They had come up out of the valley, perhaps from Glensk Wood, two of them. They had found the tracks of the creatures, and now they were following them also.

He brushed at the two sets of tracks with his fingertips. The tracks of the intruders were more than a day old. The new tracks had been made less than three hours ago.

The Gray Man straightened as he rose, not liking what this meant. It was entirely possible the two from the valley had no idea what it was they were tracking. They may have had enough experience to suspect the nature of their quarry, but it was unlikely they knew of its origins. The best he could hope for now was that they appreciated the possibility of the danger they were facing so that they would be cautious in their efforts.

But he couldn’t assume anything. He could only hope.

He would have to reach them as quickly as possible if he was to save them.

He set out again, this time at a steady lope that covered the ground in long, sweeping strides.

Time was slipping away.





TWO




PANTERRA QU CROUCHED IN A THICK CLUSTER OF spruce at the edge of the snow line not two hundred feet from where the bodies lay sprawled and waited for his senses to tell him it was safe to approach. Shadows pooled across the killing ground, mingling with the bloodstains that had soaked into the half-frozen earth. He studied the bodies—or more correctly, what was left of the bodies—trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen dead people before; it was that he had never seen them so thoroughly dismembered.

He glanced through the trees at Prue, a wisp of darkness against the deep green of the woods, barely visible, even from so close. She could disappear in the blink of an eye when she chose, and no one could find her—not even him, not if she didn’t want him to. It was a trick he had never been able to master. Just now, she looked as if she wanted to disappear to some other place entirely. Her eyes were wide and frightened, waiting to see what he wanted her to do. He gave her a quick sign not to move until he called her out. He waited until he saw her nod, wanting to be sure she understood. She was only fifteen, still learning how to be a Tracker, and he was determined to be the teacher she needed. It didn’t matter that he was only two years her senior; he was still the one responsible for them both.

He turned his attention back to the bodies, waiting. Whatever had done such terrible damage might still be lurking about, and he wanted to be sure it had moved on before he revealed himself. He kept perfectly still for long minutes, watching the surrounding trees, especially higher up on the slope, where it appeared from the blood trail that the killers had gone. Kodens, maybe. Or a wolf pack at hunt. But nothing he could imagine seemed quite right.

Finally, giving Prue a quick glance and motioning once again for her to stay where she was, he stepped out into the open and advanced on the dead. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he approached and saw more clearly the extent of the damage that had been inflicted. Not only had the bodies been torn to pieces, but large parts were missing entirely. The bodies were so mutilated that he wasn’t even sure identification was possible. He kept switching his gaze from the dead to the upper slopes, still not sure it was safe.

When he stopped finally, he was right next to the remains. A hand and arm here, a foot there, a piece of a torso off to one side. Two bodies, he guessed. They might have fought hard to stay alive, but he didn’t think they’d ever had a chance. It looked as if they had been caught sleeping; there were blanket fragments scattered about, and the remnants of a fire pit were visible. They might have been dead almost before they knew what was happening.

He found himself hoping so.

He took a deep breath of the cold morning air to clear his head, then knelt for a closer look. His tracking skills took over instantly. He sorted through the remains more carefully now, more intensely. Two bodies, a man and a woman who had been wearing gear very much like his own. Were they Trackers? He tried to think if he knew of anyone who was missing. There were always Trackers patrolling the upper heights of the valley, always at least half a dozen at work.