Eventually they came to a place where they were forced to scramble up a steep incline to a higher plateau. At the top Dardok paused, and Kit, puffing from the climb, joined the hunters as they stood gazing down into the gorge now far below. Kit thought they were looking at the river, but upon joining them, saw that Dardok had spotted a herd of the shaggy, long-horned bison that usually roamed the reaches of the higher forests. The beasts were moving slowly and laboriously along the river, forging through the snow. Kit experienced a visceral thrill at the sight and caught something of the band’s instinctive urge to go after good meat on the hoof.
They watched for a moment as the dozen or so brown, humpbacked creatures ambled along; then Dardok, turning his head this way and that and sniffing deeply, gave out a little grunt. Kit followed his example and caught the merest whiff of a sharp sour scent on the air; the others murmured softly, having also recognised the smell. Kit looked to the Big Hunter for an explanation, and Dardok extended his finger and pointed to a stony outcrop across the gorge a little above the riverbed. Squinting his eyes against the white, Kit made out the pale grey muscular form of an animal he recognised as canine-a beast easily two times the size of a normal wolf: a dire wolf.
The creature was watching the bison herd traversing the valley and, no doubt, licking its chops. Dardok pointed again, and Kit saw another, slightly smaller wolf watching from a stone ledge below them. Clearly, the predators were tracking the bison, stalking the herd and awaiting a chance to make a kill.
Silently as shadows, the hunters edged away from the overlook and moved on. The river valley, which had been bending ever farther westward, now began swinging away to the south. The ground continued to rise, and the woodland closed around them, becoming a tangle of brush and close-grown trees with no clear path through. Progress slowed to a laborious crawl. The party strung out single file, and Kit, falling farther and farther behind, had begun to fear he would lose sight of his companions when Dardok suddenly came to a halt. The hunters quickly gathered around him, and Kit hurried forward to see what had happened. He found them all squatting in the snow, transfixed by something they saw there.
Peering over the head of the nearest hunter, Kit saw the tracks of a large and heavy animal in the snow. “Bear?” he asked, then remembered to use their word for the animal. “Gan-gor?” He held the image of a large black bear in his mind.
Dardok gave a forceful snort, which Kit had learned to interpret as a negative. The Big Hunter spread his fingers and placed them in one of the imprints. Then he raised his hand and made a clawed paw. “Kar-ka,” he said aloud.
Kit had never heard the word before. “Karka,” he repeated.
Dardok uttered a grunt of satisfaction and pointed to the line of tracks-first one, then the next. Then, with the tip of his spear, the Big Hunter indicated a long slash between two of the tracks and made a flourish with the flat of his hand. The action was so expressive Kit could not fail to understand: a beast walking, its tail sweeping the snow now and then.
Again Dardok pointed to the tracks. “Kar-ka.”
Into Kit’s mind came the image of a great shaggy animal the size of a small cow, but with a huge head supported by a huge neck and muscular shoulders. It had a short mane that wreathed its jaws and ran down its sloping back in the form of a ridge of spiky dark fur. Kit knew instantly what it was; he had seen one before: in another time, in another place, at the end of a chain. It was a cave cat, older brother to the beast the Burley Men called “Baby.”
“Karka,” breathed Kit.
With his broad hand Dardok swept the print away, then rose and resumed the trek. They soon came to a place where the river gorge made a wide, arcing curve, bending around to the north. The valley below widened and flattened out, and the cliff top on which they walked began to descend to meet it, falling to within thirty metres or so of the riverbank. A little farther on, Dardok found a trail and led the party down to the valley floor; he halted there to take a good sniff of the wind and, satisfied there were no predators lurking about, led them around the arc of the river to a massive wall of pale limestone. He stopped again and gazed around, scanning the rocks and cliffs above as well as the riverbanks, then moved cautiously towards the wall.
It was only as they neared this curtain of stone rising sheer from the valley floor that Kit saw the hole-an empty oval a few metres in radius and not more than three metres off the valley floor: the entrance to a cave. A tumble of rocks lined the base of the wall, and Dardok moved towards them, slowing as he came to stand below the hole in the wall. Kit felt a shiver of awareness, and the party instantly contracted into a tight knot. Scanning the area, he saw what had drawn the others’ attention. On the rocks below the hole were more tracks, identical to those they had seen on the bluffs above. Kit stared at the tracks in the snow and then smelled the sharp animal pong. An image came into his mind: a great slab-sided dark beast with massive forequarters, powerful haunches, and a shaggy, brindled coat: karka.
The wooden vessel containing the embers was pressed into Kit’s hands, and Dardok turned to the others. In his head Kit heard the brief flutter of thoughts as they passed among the hunters and, though he could not understand what he heard, he glanced up to where they were looking and saw the big cat standing in the entrance to the hole; it was watching them, its huge yellow eyes narrowed, its ears flattened to its enormous head.
Instinctively Kit stepped backwards.
Then everything seemed to happen all at once. The great cat sprang from the mouth of the cave, forelegs outstretched, scimitar claws extended. The hunters scattered, darting away in every direction.
Kit turned to flee, slipped in the snow, and went down, losing his grip on the ember-bearing vessel. The cave lion landed on the rocks below the cave mouth, its head whipping first one way and then the other as it determined which of the many victims provided the nearest, easiest kill. It saw Kit floundering in the snow and crouched, gathering itself to pounce. The huge head lowered as the immense body contracted, muscles bulging-a coil tightening before release-and Kit swam backwards through the snow, kicking his legs, his arms windmilling.
The cave lion leapt. A slight lift of its chest, and the creature was in the air. In the same moment Dardok darted to Kit’s side. With a grace born of endless practise, Big Hunter’s massive arm drew back. The spear point came up and, with only the merest pause, flashed forward. Dardok’s shoulders and torso followed as he delivered the full weight of his body behind the throw. The rude weapon sliced the air in a tight arc and struck home.
With the sound of an open-fisted slap, the shaft buried its razor-sharp flinthead between the ribs of the enormous cat just behind the front legs. Ears flat, baleful eyes glaring, its great mouth open in a snarl of pain and rage, karka spun to confront the attack. A second missile was already in the air-a blur of motion that ended as the spear sprouted from the beast’s thick neck.
The lion swiped at the missile and succeeded in dislodging the shaft. It gathered itself to pounce, but Dardok gave out a cry, and hunters advanced on the run, darting in behind their spears to stab and jab before darting away again-first one side and then the other, keeping the angry animal off balance and confused.