Norton, Andre - Novel 42 by The Monster's Legacy (v1.0)

Author:The Monster's Legacy (v1.0) [Legacy, The Monster's]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

12

“What of the wolfheads?" It would be long before Sarita forgot— if ever— what she had seen in the meadow.

"Men can be fought," he replied grimly. "There are few among those sulkers who have ranger knowledge of this land. They also may no longer look to Sanghail for leadership. He has used them for his purpose—they have looted the valley. He has his own men to provide for. If they grow bold, then he may turn to hunting them—and show no mercy.

"In the past the earl put himself to the trouble of aiding at least three outlaws I know of— men who were forced into the wild by ill fortune. I wonder if those can now be counted among his enemies?"

They turned to packing. Valoris, excited by the chance of again riding Lopear, asked constant questions which Sarita, busy helping Rhys secure packs, answered as best she could.

They had what extra clothing she could bundle small enough, pouches of jerky and dried fruit, and some of the meal. But it was impossible to take all she knew they should have.

Rhys worked three bows into the ties of the packs, with two quivers full of arrows to join them.

The day's midpoint had been reached before their preparations were finished. Two leather bottles of water were slung over Lopear just in front of Valoris' perch, and Berry submitted to a neck rope, but there was a wild rush to secure the kid. Rhys knotted closed the latch of the lodge door.

For a time the going was easy, for they used a trail hunters had taken for several seasons. It was Sarita's task to see to the small caravan while Rhys scouted ahead.

She had learned something of tracking and the earth here was marked only by the slot of buck and, once, a broad pad fringed at one end with indentations of claws. Rhys identified that as the print of a curven cat—a creature which would flee men rather than attack.

The dusk that always hangs beneath the trees deepened. They must find a camping place soon. That thought had no more crossed her mind than Rhys appeared to wave them on. She could hear the murmur of water and they came out on the edge of a stream of some width. Did Rhys expect them to cross that?

No, for as he stood waiting them, he motioned westward. Through the green she could see the gray shapes of moss-mottled rocks —another of those cages? But certainly they had not come as far as the second she had seen marked on the map.

These did not form a circle, rather a triangle, and within was a pavement of sorts —stones roughly fitted together. At the far point was a firepit in the crude flooring. There was room within for them and the animals both, but after they had unloaded the donkeys, Rhys let them and the goats out to graze.

"What is this place?" Sarita busied herself with their food supplies.

Rhys shook his head. "Who knows? It is another of the Old Places.

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