Fessran rubbed against Thakur, still shivering with rage. She spat and showed her fangs at the marauders. She turned to Orange-Eyes, who was wiping his muzzle on the soaked pelt of his kill, and said, “Thanks, youngster. Those teeth of yours are good in a fight.”
The Un-Named One looked at Fessran. His eyes were oddly wary. She didn’t seem to notice.
She knows he killed the bristlemanes, Thakur thought to himself. She didn’t see how he killed them.
“Are you injured, herding teacher?”
It took Thakur an instant to respond to Orange-Eyes’s question. “They chewed my tail, but nothing else.”
Hoarse brays and shrill barks came through the sound of the rain. “There are more of those belly-biters after the dapplebacks,” Fessran growled. “Come on!”
Together, the three of them bounded toward the noise.
The rain lightened, and Thakur could see further ahead. The rest of the bristlemanes had cut into the dappleback herd, trying to separate out an old mare and her late-birthed colt. Her coat was grizzled and her feet worn. Thakur knew the herders had marked the pair for culling, for the colt was sickly. So had the bristlemanes.
They ringed the mare and her offspring, forcing them away from the flock. She fought fiercely to regain it, lashing out with her hind feet. One marauder staggered away with its jaw broken and flopping loose. The others dodged her kicks and began to drive the colt down the meadow, nipping at its hocks. They broke into a fast lope, forcing the young dappleback to canter.
From the opposite direction came Ratha and the Firekeepers with newly lit torches in their jaws, but they were too far away and the pack was gathering speed.
Thakur lengthened his stride until he was alongside the bristlemanes. He saw Orange-Eyes and Fessran pacing him on the other side, across the backs of the bristlemanes. Encircled by the pack, the dappleback mare and her colt veered from side to side, trying to break through the ring of their captors. The mare’s sides heaved and her breath came in heavy grunts. Lather flew from her neck and her eyes rolled.
Thakur felt the breath burn in his chest as he panted. He knew he could outrun the bristlemanes over short distances, but they could travel far keeping this pace. They had already settled into a ground-eating lope that would soon weary the pursuing Firekeepers. If the pack got away with these dapplebacks, they would run the pair until they were exhausted, then harass and nip at the horses until they pulled them down.
He clamped his teeth together and put all his remaining strength into one last sprint. He glanced back to see an ugly muzzle open its jaws behind his tail. He raced ahead, lengthening his lead, knowing he would need every bit of the distance.
He bounced to a stop, kicked himself into the air, spun around and hurled himself broadside into the chest of the pack leader. The impact drove the breath from his lungs. With a choked howl, the bristlemane tumbled, and Thakur felt the animal shudder repeatedly as more of the pack piled into it. He clawed his way up through a confused mass of thrashing bodies and snapping muzzles. He heard shrill cries as the rest of the animals scattered in confusion.
With a triumphant whinny, the old mare sailed over his head and galloped away from the writhing heap of bristlemanes. The colt followed. From the corner of his eye Thakur saw the Un-Named One yank a bristlemane away by its tail and seize another. He didn’t bother to kill them but just thrust them aside as he and Fessran opened a path for Thakur. The herding teacher dragged his forepaw loose and thrust it at Fessran. He yelped in pain as she fastened her jaws on his leg and hauled him out of the fray.
Thakur caught the gleam of fire on wet pelts and knew the Firekeepers had encircled the bristlemane pack. Now that the rain was stopping, the torches remained lit. The bristlemanes huddled together in the center, their ears flattened, their howls turning to whines. Several Firekeepers brought unlit sticks that had been chewed to a point and sharpened in the flame.
The bristlemanes climbed over and around each other to escape the vengeful creature that surrounded them. A Firekeeper thrust a brand at a trapped animal and it retreated until it backed into the others and could go no further. Its cries became faster and shriller until they became a terrified wail. It crouched and shuddered, trying to bury its face in its flank.
Something made Thakur glance at Orange-Eyes, who stood just outside the circle of torchbearers. The silvercoat’s eyes narrowed and his lips drew back in a half-snarl. It was not the same expression as the Firekeepers wore. Their eyes blazed with vengeance-hunger and a sudden, eager cruelty. Orange-Eyes was looking, not at the frightened bristlemanes, but at those of the clan who brandished fire at them.
Thakur remembered that the Un-Named One had also faced the Red Tongue’s wrath. He came alongside the silvercoat and softly said, “The mare and colt are still loose. We should help the herders find them.”
Orange-Eyes’s gaze remained fixed on the scene. A change came over his eyes. Their color grew more intense, and it was not just the firelight on his face.
“The Red Tongue is powerful creature,” he said softly to himself.
“The mare,” said Thakur, nudging the Un-Named One’s shoulder.
“Yes, herding teacher.” Orange-Eyes blinked, lowered his head and followed.
They found the mare’s scent trail, still strong in the wet grass. Thakur looked back once to see the flames rise and fall. Firekeepers lunged with pointed sticks in their jaws. Yapping and snarling, the frenzied animals charged the ring of torchbearers. One Firekeeper lost his brand and fell back. The cornered bristlemanes attacked again. Yowls mingled with shrill yelps as they broke through the circle, throwing their tormentors aside.
Before either Thakur or Orange-Eyes could whirl around, the pack had fled away into the night. Recovering themselves, the torchbearers gave chase, the flames tossing on their brands. Orange-Eyes leaped to join them, but they had gone and their cries had already begun to fade.
Thakur let his muscles relax. “Come back,” he called to the silvercoat. “Let the Firekeepers chase them.”
Orange-Eyes hesitated, looking after the disappearing glow of the torches. He muttered something to himself that the herding teacher couldn’t hear.
“Are you going to help me track those dapplebacks or not?” Thakur felt his patience going. Orange-Eyes started and swung around, the strange expression still in his eyes. It was half resentment and half something else ... Thakur didn’t know what. A hunger, perhaps. A hunger that would not be sated by meat.
Chapter Four
Ratha halted the pursuit at the far end of the meadow. She slowed, panting, the cries of the escaping bristlemanes still in her ears. Behind her, the torchbearers’ growls mingled with the angry snap of the Red Tongue. She shared their fever; the urge to hunt the enemy down with fang and fire.
Terror had given the bristlemanes the speed to outrun the Firekeepers. Their pack-mates lay dead in the meadow and Ratha knew that those who lived bore scars on their memories as well as their hides that would forbid them from again setting foot on clan ground.
She heard a muffled snarl and the sound of a body being dragged and shaken. She turned to see one of the Firekeepers mauling another dead bristlemane. The long tongue hung out of the stiff black jaws and flopped around with each angry jerk he gave the body.
Ratha watched, letting the sight feed her hunger for vengeance. “Enough!” she cried suddenly. The Firekeeper released the corpse and backed away. She waited, studying the eyes that shone back at her with reflected torchlight, their glow softened only by a fine mist of rain. “Enough,” she said again in a low voice. “The herd is safe and the enemy gone. Firekeepers, return with me and rekindle the dead fires.”