"We have other prey," Grimlish pointed out. "Let us be off."
The two hunters fell into pace behind the big orc. The trail was almost ridiculously easy to follow, for the female left a trickle of blood spoor. Drom envisioned the elf with a mixture of anticipation and awe. Now that would be a fine kill!
She was tall, with a wild tangle of black hair and eyes that blazed blue fire. Many of the Talons of Malar had fallen to her sword. Even when it must have been clear that all was lost, that death was certain, she had stood her ground. She might be fighting still, had not a male elf with silver hair and a hawk's wild eyes intervened. The male had cast a spell-a cloud of light and stinging dust that had sent the Talons reeling back. It had given the two elves time to escape, but it had not obscured their trail.
The trail of blood dwindled, but still the Talons followed. A smear of blood on a newly-leafed branch, an occasional deep indentation in the moss when the male's boots had trod. Usually, elves left little sign of their passing, but the male was still carrying the wounded female.
As the hunters walked, the large wolf followed, its silver-tipped fur reflecting the moonlight. Badger grew increasingly restive, but Grimlish would not permit the man to attack.
"The wolf is an omen," the big orc insisted. "Perhaps even a spirit guide."
Badger spat. "The wolf is a wolf. Who's to say it's not testing us?"
There was some wisdom in the human's words. Wolves often tested their prey, tracking them for long hours and making experimental forays, withdrawing if they deemed the task too dangerous. For a wolf, perhaps one of every fifty hunts begun ended in a kill.
"We are three, the wolf is one. Perhaps it is you who wishes to die an old man," Grimlish said coldly. The look of disdain he sent the human settled the matter, and reduced Badger to sullen silence.
They followed the trail deeper into the forest, to a fallen tree not far from a swift-running stream. The elves had stopped here, probably to staunch the tell-tale flow. There were no footprints leading away, which meant that the male was once against walking lightly. But the female was weakened now, and staggering. There were smears of blood on branches and vines, the marks a wounded elf might leave if pain made her careless.
She had not gone far. A hundred paces, no more, and she had fallen heavily into the underbrush-small, broken twigs shouted the story. There was more blood.
"Her wound opened," Drom murmured.
But Badger was not so sure. "Alone, the male might survive. To stay with the female means certain death. But is he cunning enough to know this, and ruthless enough to act upon this knowledge?"
"It would seem not," Grimlish said. The orc knelt nearby, brushing away some of the half-decayed autumn leaves to get to the spring-soft mud beneath. Pressed into it was a print of an elven boot. The male had shouldered his burden once again.
The trail led to a stream-a simple-minded ploy, one that had even inexperienced Drom snorting in derision. A few paces downstream, they found the trail's end. Beside the stream bed stood an ancient oak, its roots partially exposed by the eroding flow. Some of the soil had been hastily dug, then pressed back in.
Badger spat. "An elf cairn. We lost the female."
Drom was not so sure. He circled around the stream in search of the trail. It was there, but faint-the still-damp outline of an elven boot on an otherwise dry rock. "The sign continues here. Only one elf. But it could be that the other took to the trees. Perhaps the cairn is a trick. Perhaps they both live, and they plan to flank us, one to draw us into battle and one to attack by surprise. It is not the usual way of elves, but it would be a worthy plan."
He was about to say more, but the approach of their silvery shadow stunned him into silence. Cautiously, ears back and belly to the ground, the wolf crept closer-so close that any of the three Talons could reach it with a kick. For the first time Drom noted the creature's prominent ribs, its submissive posture. The wolf was alone and hungry. Its mien was that of a supplicant, asking the more powerful members of the pack for permission to feed.
Drom backed away and gestured for the others to follow. The wolf, understanding that it would not be challenged for the meal it scented, began to dig at the roots.
"One elf," Grimlish concluded, turning away to follow the trail.
They tracked the male for hours. He was clever, moving from stream to land to tree and back, in a complex pattern that had the hunters circling back more than once. So they continued through the night, until the moon set and the first light of dawn began to creep through the forest.
The wolf rejoined them with the coming of light, its silvery muzzle still stained with the blood of its meal. Sated and content, he padded along behind them, as if he were fully a member of their pack and eager to share in the next kill. This seemed to amuse Badger, who said no more about taking its pelt.
To his surprise, Drom found that he himself was not so easily won. All his life he had admired the wolf, numbering foremost among its virtues the ability to adapt. He believed he understood the animal as well as any man or orc could, but this wolf's amber eyes held secrets Drom could not begin to fathom.
But then the trail ended, and there was no more time for such thoughts. The three Talons stared in astonishment at their quarry.
A lone elf stood in a forest clearing, ready for battle. But it was the female, not the silver-haired male. Her wounded arm had been tended and bound, and there was a fading scar on her forehead that had not been there the day before-evidence of powerful healing magic at work. She drew her sword and whistled it through the air, with a deft and dangerous skill that proclaimed louder than words her ability to stand and fight.
Badger swore as he drew his blade, the same long knife that had marked her as his prey. Dropping into a crouch, he began to circle, just beyond reach of her sword. He stalked and tested, lunging in from time to time to measure her reach, to observe the force and power of her attacks. The other Talons bided their time, letting the human tire the elfwoman. The wolf, also, stood watch, sitting on its haunches.
But Grimlish soon tired of this sport. He leveled his spear and charged. The elfwoman spun, bringing her sword down hard on the haft of the weapon. The force of her blow drove the spear's point downward, and it plunged deep into the forest floor. Grimlish could not halt his charge. The spear bent like a bow in his hands. He released it, an instant before it would have flung him up and over the elfwoman. The weapon sprang upright, quivering like a sapling in a gale. Grimlish fell back, but not before the female's sword scored a deep gash across his chest.
Badger darted in for the kill. With astonishing speed, the elf pivoted and kicked out. Her booted foot caught the man just below the ribs and bent him double. Before he could recover, she swept her sword into a powerful upward arc. Badger's bald, tattooed head went spinning off into the forest, and his headless body slumped to the sodden earth.
But in her triumph, the elfwoman ensured her defeat. The powerful blow opened her wound, and the bandage on her arm turned as deep a crimson as the tanned ears on Grimlish's trophy necklace. The wounded orc, scenting another victory, drew a pair of long knives and closed in, hissing at Drom to stand back and leave this kill to him.
Suddenly the orc jerked, his massive back arching and his arms thrown out wide. The morning light glinted from the jeweled hilt of the knife buried deep between his shoulder blades. The female stepped forward and drew her sword cleanly across Grimlish's throat.
Suddenly Drom understood the reason for his nagging uncertainty. He and his fellow hunters had been tricked.