* * *
The moons coursed through the sky, Tiwaz swiftly, Nothos so slowly that his phase seemed to change but little from day to day, Elleb and Math in between. Gerin paid them close heed for two reasons: to gauge the time when the four moons would come full in the space of three days, and to see how many days Aragis the Archer had left to fulfill the promise his envoys had made.
Golden Math was two days past first quarter when word came to Fox Keep that the monsters had attacked a village near the southern boundary of Gerin's holding. Cursing under his breath—why wouldn't things ever hold still long enough for him to catch his breath?—he readied a force of chariotry and set out to sweep the countryside. He had no great hope of sweeping it clean, but refused to sit idly by and let the creatures hold the initiative.
The sweep actually went better than he'd expected. His warriors caught three monsters feeding on a cow they'd dragged down in the middle of a meadow close by the road. With joyous whoops, they sent their chariots jouncing over the grass to cut the monsters off from the safety of the woods. The creatures were slow to flee, too, staying at the carcass for a last couple of mouthfuls of meat before they tried to get away. Thanks to that, the Fox's men were able to bring them all down with no loss to themselves.
One of the monsters still tried to crawl toward the woods despite having taken enough arrows to give it the aspect of a hedgehog. Van got down from the car he shared with Gerin and smashed in its head with his mace. Then he and some of the other men began the gory business of reclaiming shafts from the bodies of the creatures.
Raffo turned to Gerin and said, "Here's another way keeping the trees well back from the side of the road did you a good turn, lord prince. If you'd let them grow up close, as other barons do, those stinking things might have made good their escape."
"That's true," Gerin said. "After a while, you sometimes get to wonder whether something's more trouble than it's worth, but when you see the work you've spent pay for itself, it reminds you that you might have known what you were doing all along."
The war party reached the ravaged village a little before sunset. The serfs there had fought back as well as they could; they'd lost a man, two women, and some livestock, but they'd also managed to kill a monster. Gerin sent his troopers out on a short foray into the forest surrounding the village, ordering them to be back in the open before night took them. That was one command he was sure they'd obey—no one wanted to meet the ghosts away from blood and fire.
A deadfall of branches and sticks caught the Fox's eye. "There's a likely place," he said, pointing.
Van and Raffo both nodded. "Aye, you're right," Van added, and probed the brush with his spear.
With a scream, a monster burst out and hurled itself at him. He held it off with his shield, though its charge forced him back two steps. Among them, he and Gerin and Raffo made short work of the creature. "Female," Gerin noted.
"Aye, so it was. Mean enough, all the same," Van said, sounding embarrassed at having to give ground. He sighed. "They're all mean enough, and to spare."
Inside the deadfall, something yowled—two somethings, by the sound. Gerin stared in dismay at Van. "It had cubs," he said, as if accusing his friend.
"Aye," the outlander answered, and then, after a moment, "No reason we should be surprised, I suppose. The creatures must have been having cubs for the gods only know how long, down in their caves. They'll have kept right on doing it now that they're aboveground. This one will have been pregnant before she got aboveground, come to that."
"So she will," Gerin said. The outlander was right, of course, but that didn't take away the startlement. The Fox dug into the deadfall, scattering brush in all directions. After a moment, Van and Raffo pitched in to help.
They soon uncovered the monster cubs. Gerin stared at them in dismay. They looked like nothing so much as ugly, hairy babies. "What are you going to do with them?" Raffo asked, gulping a little. Oddly, that made Gerin feel a little easier: the driver didn't have the stomach just to kill them, either.
Van did. "Get rid of them," he said. "You know what they turn into."
"I don't know what to do," the Fox answered slowly. "Aye, I know what they turn into, but I'm still not sure how smart the monsters are. If they learn I'm slaying their cubs out of hand and understand that, it'll just make them worse foes of mine than they are already."
"Honh!" Van said, a noise of deep discontent. "How could they be?"
"I don't know, and I don't want to find out."
"Well, what will you do?" Van asked scornfully. "Take 'em home and make pets of 'em?"
"Why not? We have Fand back at Fox Keep. . . ." Gerin murmured. Actually, the idea tempted him, tweaking his curiosity. If you raised a monster among men, what would you get? A monster? A pet, as Van had said? Something not too far removed from an ugly, hairy man, or, for that matter, an ugly, hairy woman? If he'd had fewer things to worry about, if he'd had more leisure, if he hadn't been certain all his vassals would scream even louder than Van had, he might have tried the experiment. As it was— "I know what we'll do."
"What's that, lord?" Raffo asked.
"Nothing," Gerin said. "Nothing at all. We killed the female in battle—well and good. We won't—we can't—take the cubs back to Castle Fox. You're right about that, Van. But I won't just slaughter them, either. I'll leave them here. Maybe beasts will get them, or maybe, if the monsters do have something in the way of family feeling, they'll take them and raise them up. I'll leave that in the hands of the gods."
He hadn't asked whether Van or Raffo approved. Now he looked to see if they did. Raffo nodded. Van still seemed unhappy, but finally said, "You have a way of looking for the middle road, Fox. I suppose you found it here. Let's go back."
When they returned to the village, they found the other chariot crews had also had good luck. They'd killed two monsters, the only serious injury they'd taken being to Parol Chickpea, who'd just recovered from his bitten buttock. Now he was gray-faced, and had a bloody rag wrapped around his left hand—he'd lost two fingers from it.
"How did that happen?" Gerin asked. "His shield should have protected him there. He's right-handed, so he doesn't have that hand out in the open the way I do."
"Just bad luck," Drago the Bear answered. "The monster he was fighting gave a good yank at his shield, and it broke away from the handgrip and lashing. Then the thing sprang at him, and he stuck out his arm to keep from getting its teeth in his neck instead. I hope he heals; he's lost a lot of blood."
Gerin made unhappy clucking noises. "Aye, he's a good fighter, and a long way from the worst of men." He kicked at the dirt, feeling useless. "Would that the gods had never let this plague of monsters loose on us. Every warrior, every serf even, we lose is one we can't replace."
"That's all true, lord, but the creatures are here, and we have to fend 'em off as best we can," Drago said. Gerin wished he could muster that same stolid acceptance for things he couldn't help.
* * *
The warriors started back toward the main road at dawn the next day. They left Parol Chickpea behind; he'd taken a fever, and was in no condition to spend a day in the chariot. "We'll do the best we can for him, lord prince," the village headman promised. With that Gerin had to be content. The serfs' herbs and potions were as likely to help Parol as any of the fancier doctoring techniques that came from south of the High Kirs. Unfortunately, they were also as likely not to help.