The mare struggled to obey Theodore’s uncompromising commands. Her breath was heavy and labored, and her eyes shone feverishly.
The dwarf who sat in front of the squire looked nervously up at him.
“She cannot keep the pace! You’re killing her!”
“I will not stop,” Theodore responded. “You saw what I saw! It is close.” He had never known true fear before-he knew that now. In his training he had been taught to master his emotions, and he had been good at it, too. But that was behind secure walls and in the company of others.
Out here the fear was pure, undiluted.
And he was afraid.
It had taken them an hour to retrieve the dwarf’s boxes, and they had placed all the adamant bars into a single iron box that they roped to the mare’s back.
Then they had made their way back to the road, where they had once more seen the crows flocking to the south.
“It’s the monster!” the dwarf said with grim certainty. “It’s struck again!”
They had ridden down the road without haste, Theodore conscious that the mare might need all her speed later on. But with every yard their nervousness grew.
Soon they found the hollow occupied by the bodies of the men in purple. It was daylight by then, and the mutilated corpses lay where the monster had slaughtered them in their sleep. On all bodies the carrion eaters had left their grim mark.
As they dismounted and examined the scene, the squire had felt sick, his body numbed and his face paled.
“We should leave here,” the dwarf whispered urgently.
“Whatever did this is gone, do you not think?” Theodore asked hopefully.
“No, squire, I do not think so,” his companion replied. “This thing is clever. These men were killed in their sleep.”
The mare whinnied, suddenly and fearfully. Theodore glanced about quickly, his hand instantly on his sword hilt. There was a change in the wind, and the birds had fallen silent.
“We should leave here now, squire!”
But Theodore was still uncertain.
“Look, squire!” the dwarf growled, reaching down into the earth. He held his clenched fist to Theodore and opened his hand. Lying in his palm were several golden coins. “These are the men who incited the others to burn my house! They took my gold and jewels, all of which are no doubt lying scattered about.” He eyed the nearby trees nervously. “You know the reputation of my race, squire-how we covet gold and precious metals. I am willing to leave all of it behind if it means we leave now. There is something unnatural here. Can’t you feel it on the wind?”
Theodore had indeed felt something. The world had gone quiet, as if nature was holding her breath as she stalked up behind them. He cast his eyes skyward to see if the carrion eaters were still circling. They were, but higher than they had been before, as if they waited for a powerful predator to take its fill first.
He strode hastily over to the mare, who had become increasingly skittish.
“Come on! It is close!” the dwarf said. Theodore mounted and hauled the dwarf up in front of him. The horse needed no urging to leave, and she found her own way back to the road at a smart trot, keeping her feet well despite the hidden roots that lay under the deep snowdrifts.
And when they were on the road, she had felt secure enough to pick up her pace, putting as much distance as she could between them and that blood-stained hollow.
“We do not stop until Falador!” Theodore cried to the dwarf as they looked anxiously at the nearby trees, both unable to shake off that horrible feeling-the sensation of being stalked.
“What if we meet any travellers? We must warn them!” the dwarf replied.
We will deal with that when we come to it, Theodore told himself. He whispered a quiet prayer to Saradomin to ensure that the road ahead would be empty, and that there would be nothing to slow them down.
He caught the scent on the morning wind, brought to him by the northern breeze. The smell excited him. It was more poignant than it had been in a long time, sweeter and more recent.
He had woken from his half-sleep salivating, the wet jewels of his hunger dampening the robe that he wore to conceal himself. As he raised his head to the early light, his bed still shaded amongst the warm pine needles that carpeted the forest floor, he noted that the birds had fallen silent. He cursed them. They were too quick for him to catch. The best he could do was to make them afraid, but their silence would alert others.
The scent grew as he left his bed, chasing it through the forest toward the west, toward the road a mile away. Once, he lost it as the wind changed and he stood absolutely still, distending his feral nostrils and breathing in deeply. Within seconds he picked it up again, continuing his journey at a lope.
He heard them before he saw them, and he recognised the scent of the dwarf. He could hear them talking in the hollow where he had stood only hours before, the sweet smell of human blood still dominant over all others.
It only made him salivate more, his long red tongue lolling from his mouth, curling itself in anticipation. He had gorged himself on the body of the guard he had slain, but it was not a meal he had enjoyed. Adult men were too sinewy for his taste. Maidens and fat children were more his appetite.
He watched as they mounted the horse, observing as the fair-haired man cast his eyes woefully about the carnage, looking sorry to leave the dead untended. It was on him that the scent was strongest, and yet his quarry was not present.
For months he had trailed the scent of his prey and only now-as he had indulged himself to dangerous levels that would surely attract the attention of armed hunters-had he come so near his goal.
Patience, he told himself as the mare left the clearing. You will find him. He is near.
His red eyes glinted in the morning light. Knowledge was what he needed now. Who was this young squire who carried the scent of his prey? He would follow them wherever they were headed and keep hidden.