A hunter who'd died to feed the wolf's hunger.
An old peddler night-caught in the forest, hardly recognizable as human when he'd been found.
A child, a little boy screaming now as it had when, three years ago, the wolf had torn him from his bed. Or was that Guarinn's own voice screaming, his own throat torn with the violence of terror as the child's had been by the wolf's fangs?
Then came a howling, a long, aching sound of abandonment. The wolf. Or a friend forsaken. Or an innocent dying.
Guarinn,you've failed me, failed them all! Hands clawed at his face, dug and tore at his throat, leaving bits of their own flesh and grave-mold behind to foul his beard and hair.
Faithless friend! You stink of their blood, Guarinn Hammerfell!
Guarinn cried out in terror, couldn't tell his own voice from theirs, no longer knew who accused — they or him. The ice-mist filled up his lungs, stopped his breath, suffocating him.
Murderer! Guarinn child-killer! Guarinn -
"Guarinn! Breathe! Come on, breathe!"
Roulant shook his friend till his teeth rattled, shook him harder still, but to no effect. Roulant'd heard but one choking gasp of terror, just as he was entering the forest, and he'd known that whatever chance-found charm was keeping him safe and sane outside the ruin wasn't working for Guarinn. The dwarf was trapped, unable to move, even to breathe, while mind and soul were adrift in the cold country of nightmare.
"Guarinn," Roulant shouted, fearful. Perhaps Una was safe because the Spoiler's trap was meant to harm no one but those who bound by the curse. Perhaps Roulant was safe because he left the ruin to find Una, not to end the curse. But Guarinn must have left the ruin with plans to kill the wolf. That's what sprung the Spoiler's trap, Roulant thought.
"Guarinn!" he cried again, gathering his friend close, holding him. "We've got to find Una! I need you to help me. Please, Guarinn! Come back and help me…"
A breath, just a small one.
"Guarinn — help me find Una. We must find Una!"
The dwarf drew another breath, no steadier, but deeper. Roulant held him hard, forced him to look nowhere but into his eyes. "Listen — LISTEN! Don't think about anything else but this: We have to find Una. Don't even think about why. We're here for no reason but to find Una. Do you understand?"
Guarinn swallowed hard.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes," Guarinn said hoarsely. "What next?"
Roulant thought as he helped his friend to his feet.
The wolf woke to pain and hunger. He was not frightened by the pain, knowing he could transcend it. He was afraid of hunger. Wolves worship only one god, and the god's name is Hunger.
He'd found shelter quickly after he'd fled his attackers, a soft nest of old leaves beneath a rock outcropping. There, downwind of his enemies so he could smell them if they pursued, he'd licked clean the shallow cuts on his belly and legs, the deeper one on his shoulder. He'd gnawed off the trailing end of the rope, for that frightened him nearly as much as hunger. It had more than once snagged in bushes to choke him as he'd fled. He'd gotten most of it, wearing only the noose now, a foul-smelling collar. Free and safe, he'd curled tight against the cold — sleeping lightly, dreaming of thirst and hunger as a thin veil of clouds came from the east to hide the stars.
Now the shadows had softer edges and the darkness was deeper. The wind told him that water was no great distance away — clean and cold by the smell; by the sound, no more than a streamlet. It would be enough to provide thirst's ease. And there was another scent, not close yet, only faintly woven into night, but the wolf knew it — human-scent, burnt meat and smoke and old skins; sweat and the light, sweet odor of flesh; running beneath that, the warm smell of blood; over it all, the tang of fear, sharp and enticing on the cold night air. He'd seen this young female not long ago, and he had the mark of her steel fang on him. Hers was the least of his wounds, for she'd been distracted by fear and not very strong.
With his lean god for company, the wolf rose stiffly from his warm nest.
Una knelt to examine the dark blot marking the faded earth of the deer trail, and by the thin light of the moons saw that it was no more than shadow. Cold wind blew steadily from the east, carried the smell of a morning snow. Una shivered and got to her feet. She'd not seen a blood-mark or the imprints of the wolf's limping passage for some time now, but the last real sign had been along this game-trail, a path no more than a faint, wandering line to show where deer passed between high-reaching trees in their foraging. Lacking a better choice, Una continued along the path.
The wolf had not proven as easy to track as she'd thought, and now she wondered whether she'd ever find him. She wondered, too, whether it would turn out that the beast found her, or was even now stalking behind. She tried not to think about that. All she needed was a clear shot. She'd put plenty of arrows through the straw-butt, she could put an arrow through a wolf. She could free Thorne. She could free them all. But she had little confidence ruling her thoughts, and so, her attention was focused behind her rather than in front when the deer trail ended abruptly at the muddy verge of a shallow stream.
Una and the wolf saw each other at the same moment, and she knew — as prey knows in its bones — that she might have time to nock an arrow to string, but she wasn't going to have time to let the bolt fly.
Guarinn tried to maintain a narrow focus, to shut down all thinking and track like an animal, using only sight and scent and hearing. He measured his success by the nearness of dead voices. At best, the haunting dead were never wholly gone, only banished to a distance he could endure. The protection Roulant had shown him was working, but only just. How fast would the Spoiler's trap catch them if they came upon the wolf?
Soft — a whisper shivering across the night — Guarinn heard the rattle of brush. He stopped, keeping his hands fisted and well away from the axe in his belt while he waited to hear the sound again.
"The wind," Roulant said, low.
Guarinn didn't think so. That one soft rattle had been a discordant note. When the sound came again, Guarinn knew it wasn't wind-crafted. Nor was it soft now. Something was running through the brush.
"It's Una!" Roulant cried and bolted past Guarinn.
She wasn't alone. Like a dark echo, something else came crashing through the brush behind her.
Fleet, eyes huge as a hunted doe's, Una burst through the brush, frantically trying to nock arrow to bow as she ran. She was having little luck, and even at a distance Guarinn saw her hands shaking, fumbling uselessly at shaft and string.
"Una," Roulant shouted. "Here!"
Seeing them for the first time, she redoubled her speed. Relief and joy and — last — panic marked her face when her foot turned on a stone and she fell hard to the ground, the breath blasted from her, and the bow flung from her hand.
Guarinn saw the wolf first. The sight of it — eyes redly blazing, fangs gleaming — triggered instinct. In the very moment the wolf leaped, the dwarf snatched his throwing axe from his belt — and tumbled over the edge of nightmare.
The wolf smelled fear and loved it — the scent of easy prey. He sensed no threat in the smaller male, standing motionless; nor was the young female — struggling for breath, fighting to rise from the ground — any danger. These he could ignore for now. But the third, the bigger male… from him came the fiery scent of a packdefender. He was the danger and the threat.
The wolf hurtled past Una. Choking on the sudden, cold rush of air, she heard the impact of bodies — the wolf snarling and Roulant's grunt of shock and pain.