Chapter One: A Difference of Opinion
The wind blowing in Kagur’s face smelled of rot. She started running, and the soft earth, boggy with the coming of summer, sucked at her feet. Her five companions ran as well.
Eovath soon pulled ahead of everyone else. Like her, the blue-skinned frost giant was still growing, but he was already taller than any human tribe member, with longer legs and a longer stride.
He slowed down, though, when the several bodies on the ground came into view. It was too late to help them, and prudent to advance with caution in case their killers were still lurking about.
They didn’t seem to be, though, which left Kagur free to inspect the corpses. The shredded flesh, glazed eyes, and flies that buzzed up into the air at her approach forced her to swallow away the stinging taste of bile.
Her squeamishness made her scowl. Like any Kellid warrior, she’d seen violent death before, and only one of the dead folk here had been a Blacklion like Eovath and herself. But they’d all become friendly since setting forth to hunt from a gathering of half a dozen tribes.
Borog straightened up from his examination of one of the corpses. A member of the Eagleclaw tribe, he was the oldest surviving member of the hunting party, with deep lines etched in his sun-bronzed face, pouches under his dark eyes, and white hairs speckling a close-cropped black beard. “Like the others,” he said.
They’d all heard tales of other hunters encountering the same grisly end. They just hadn’t let it deter them from roaming the prairie themselves. No true Kellid allowed fear to rule her, and even had it been otherwise, a tribe that didn’t hunt wouldn’t eat.
“Not all the others,” Eovath said. His adolescent voice broke on the second word, but even then it was as deep as most men’s.
Borog frowned. “How so?”
“The way I heard it,” the frost giant said, “the first band of hunters fell dead without a mark on them. It was the latter ones that were torn apart.”
The Eagleclaw warrior snorted. “And what does that tell you? That the first incident was something different than the slaughters that have happened since.”
“Maybe not,” Kagur said. Turning, she counted the corpses. “Supposedly, every band, including that first one, had one member carried off. And one of our own is missing: Dron.”
Those who try to protect Kagur would be
better off protecting themselves.
One of the other hunters hurriedly checked Kagur’s body count with the aid of a jabbing finger. Another touched the beaten silver good-luck charm hanging around her neck.
“All right,” Borog growled, “maybe the same thing did kill the first party. At this point, what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Kagur said. “What matters is picking up the trail.” Studying the ground, she prowled away from the corpses, and after a moment, her companions followed her lead.
She hoped it would be easy to find tracks in the mucky earth, and bent blades among the new grass, and in fact, it was only a short time before Eovath called out: “Here! The sign isn’t clear enough to tell what the killers are. But they came from the northeast and headed back that way, too.”
“Let’s see,” Borog said. He stalked to where Eovath was standing, squatted to study the sign, then grunted in a way that suggested he agreed with the giant’s reading.
“Let’s move out,” Kagur said, striding closer to the other two.
“No,” Borog replied. “Red Rune Canyon is northeast.”
Kagur blinked. That particular fact had momentarily eluded her. And while she’d only heard rumors about strange deaths on the tundra since the start of summer, she’d listened to tales about Red Rune Canyon her whole life. Every Kellid knew the place was cursed.
But in the present circumstances, that didn’t matter. “We have to rescue Dron.”
“Dron’s dead,” said Zorek, a lanky Eagleclaw of about Kagur’s age. Blood had trickled out of his sleeve to
The wind blowing in Kagur’s face smelled of rot. She started running, and the soft earth, boggy with the coming of summer, sucked at her feet. Her five companions ran as well.
Eovath soon pulled ahead of everyone else. Like her, the blue-skinned frost giant was still growing, but he was already taller than any human tribe member, with longer legs and a longer stride.
He slowed down, though, when the several bodies on the ground came into view. It was too late to help them, and prudent to advance with caution in case their killers were still lurking about.
They didn’t seem to be, though, which left Kagur free to inspect the corpses. The shredded flesh, glazed eyes, and flies that buzzed up into the air at her approach forced her to swallow away the stinging taste of bile.
Her squeamishness made her scowl. Like any Kellid warrior, she’d seen violent death before, and only one of the dead folk here had been a Blacklion like Eovath and herself. But they’d all become friendly since setting forth to hunt from a gathering of half a dozen tribes.
Borog straightened up from his examination of one of the corpses. A member of the Eagleclaw tribe, he was the oldest surviving member of the hunting party, with deep lines etched in his sun-bronzed face, pouches under his dark eyes, and white hairs speckling a close-cropped black beard. “Like the others,” he said.
They’d all heard tales of other hunters encountering the same grisly end. They just hadn’t let it deter them from roaming the prairie themselves. No true Kellid allowed fear to rule her, and even had it been otherwise, a tribe that didn’t hunt wouldn’t eat.
“Not all the others,” Eovath said. His adolescent voice broke on the second word, but even then it was as deep as most men’s.
Borog frowned. “How so?”
“The way I heard it,” the frost giant said, “the first band of hunters fell dead without a mark on them. It was the latter ones that were torn apart.”
The Eagleclaw warrior snorted. “And what does that tell you? That the first incident was something different than the slaughters that have happened since.”
“Maybe not,” Kagur said. Turning, she counted the corpses. “Supposedly, every band, including that first one, had one member carried off. And one of our own is missing: Dron.”
Those who try to protect Kagur would be
better off protecting themselves.
One of the other hunters hurriedly checked Kagur’s body count with the aid of a jabbing finger. Another touched the beaten silver good-luck charm hanging around her neck.
“All right,” Borog growled, “maybe the same thing did kill the first party. At this point, what does it matter?”
“It doesn’t,” Kagur said. “What matters is picking up the trail.” Studying the ground, she prowled away from the corpses, and after a moment, her companions followed her lead.
She hoped it would be easy to find tracks in the mucky earth, and bent blades among the new grass, and in fact, it was only a short time before Eovath called out: “Here! The sign isn’t clear enough to tell what the killers are. But they came from the northeast and headed back that way, too.”
“Let’s see,” Borog said. He stalked to where Eovath was standing, squatted to study the sign, then grunted in a way that suggested he agreed with the giant’s reading.
“Let’s move out,” Kagur said, striding closer to the other two.
“No,” Borog replied. “Red Rune Canyon is northeast.”
Kagur blinked. That particular fact had momentarily eluded her. And while she’d only heard rumors about strange deaths on the tundra since the start of summer, she’d listened to tales about Red Rune Canyon her whole life. Every Kellid knew the place was cursed.
But in the present circumstances, that didn’t matter. “We have to rescue Dron.”
“Dron’s dead,” said Zorek, a lanky Eagleclaw of about Kagur’s age. Blood had trickled out of his sleeve to
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