Jermayan didn't mean any of the hounds.
'He was only protecting his flock,' Kellen answered, not sure the words were true even as he spoke them. He handed the mule's lead-rope up to Jermayan, who made it fast to Valdien's saddle once more.
'Was he? He had a very odd way of doing it, to be sure,' the Elven Knight answered angrily. 'Come to that, wolfhounds such as those are more likely to savage a flock than to guard it; they are hunters, plain and simple. I wonder whether there was a flock at all, or whether he was set to watch for us, and lull us off our guard.'
'By running out of cover and shouting at us?' Kellen asked doubtfully. Still, it was possible. The shepherd had been quick enough to set the dogs on them—and Jermayan was right—they looked nothing like the kind of flock guards Kellen had seen in Merryvale.
'Come on,' Shalkan said pragmatically. 'The sooner we go on, the sooner we can stop.'
THEY moved on at the pace that the mule set, which was even slower than before; she was having trouble with the trail, and it was clear that her wounds were hurting her. The hilltops were bare and rocky, and between them were narrow ravines filled with all manner of brambles. The trouble was, you had to go down one hill to get to the top of the next. At the bottom of one such gully they found a stream where they could pause to rest and eat and tend to the mule's injuries, but they didn't linger for very long. Where there had been one attack, there could be another, and all of them knew that whether their attackers were hill-bandits or agents of Shadow Mountain, if the attack succeeded, they would be just as dead.
They rode on, into a cold wind out of the north that howled among the peaks like a damned soul and ate away the faintest trace of warmth.
IT would be dark soon, and they'd reached an unspoken agreement that the next little valley, if it was at all suitable, would be where they would spend the night. Camping on one of the hilltops in the constant wind would be impossible—or miserable at the very least. At least down in the ravine they'd be out of the wind, and warmer.
But they'd barely dismounted when Valdien began behaving skittishly, fretting and shaking his head nervously.
'Trouble,' Shalkan said briefly, his nostrils flaring. 'I smell something—odd—'
Kellen drew his sword with a metallic grating sound. He cast his eyes to the left, the right. Down here out of the wind it was quiet, and hard to see much in the heavy undergrowth, but Kellen saw no sign of any trouble. He glanced at Jermayan. The Elven Knight had his bow ready, an arrow nocked, but from his puzzled expression, he saw as little reason for alarm as Kellen.
Even the mule had sensed something wrong now. She was grunting and pulling at her lead-rope, ears laid- back.
'Anything?' Jermayan asked tersely.
Kellen shook his head, and concentrated, trying to invoke the battle-trance. Even to Othersight, the ravine seemed deserted, nothing but shadows moving within the branches as the wind above in the tops of the hills stirred the withered leaves down below.
'I could try a spell…' he began, feeling as if he should be whispering.
Suddenly there was a crashing through the underbrush and a pale rush of movement. Before Kellen could react, Jermayan had drawn his bow and fired several arrows in an action too fast for Kellen to see.
There was an unearthly scream, and a crashing as something fell to earth and began to thrash wildly. Shalkan whirled, and charged, head down, his horn glinting wickedly. He plunged it into the creature, once; the beast convulsed, and was still.
By the time Kellen joined him, it was over, and the unicorn was shaking his head, flicking his horn clean.
'What is that?' Kellen asked, looking down at the body, still outstretched and twisted sideways in its final convulsion.
It was twice the size of the dogs that had attacked them earlier today. Kellen had seen lynxes in the public zoo in Armethalieh, but those were small animals, little bigger than a large house cat.
This was like a lynx grown to giant size. It had long dappled silvery fur, and jutting from its upper jaw, two enormous fangs as long as his hand.
'An ice-tiger,' Jermayan said, kneeling beside the body to retrieve his arrows. 'Odd that it should be here. They are creatures of the high hills and mountains, rarely venturing this far south.'
'Especially this early in the year,' Shalkan said, returning from cleaning his horn in the earth. 'And very odd for it to be attacking us at all. Look at it, Jermayan. A healthy young male, no broken fangs, no injuries… it should be attacking its natural prey, not an oddly assorted group of travelers like us. They don't like to be anywhere within leagues of humans or Elves or Centaurs either; they're terribly shy.'
