Book 1 - Doomstalker Read Online Free PDF

surreal. Its
so well known shapes became less substantial. For an instant she
saw what looked like ghosts, a pair of them, bright but almost
shapeless, drifting through the west wall as though that did not
exist. They bobbed about, and for a second Marika thought them like
curious pups. One began to drift her way as though aware of her
awareness. Then the terrible touch ended with the suddenness of a
dry stick breaking. The skewed vision departed with it. She saw no
ghosts anymore, though for an instant she thought she sensed a
feathery caress. She was not sure if it was upon her fur or her
mind.
    “They’re in trouble out there, Kublin. Bad
trouble.”
    “We’d better tell Pobuda.”
    “No. We can’t. She wouldn’t believe me. Or she
would want to know how I knew. And then
Pohsit . . . ” She could not explain the
exact nature of her fear. She was certain it was valid, that her
secret talents could cause her a great deal of grief.
    But Kublin did not demand an explanation. He knew her talents,
and he was intimate with fear. Its presence was explanation enough
for him.
    “I’m scared, Kublin. Scared for Dam.”
     
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II
    The scouting party returned long after nightfall. Nine of them.
Two of those were injured. With them came two injured strangers and
a wild, bony skeleton of a male in tattered, grubby furs. The male
stumbled and staggered, and was dragged partway by the huntresses.
His paws were bound behind him, but he did not cringe like the
cowardly males Marika knew.
    Because Skiljan had led the party, the Wise and adult females of
all the loghouses crowded into her loghouse. Skiljan’s males
cleared room and retreated to their chilly northern territory. The
more timid withdrew to the storeroom or their cellar. But Horvat
and the other old ones remained watching from behind the barricade
of their firepit.
    The pups fled to the loft, then fought for places where they
could look down and eavesdrop. Marika was big enough, ill-tempered
enough, and had reputation enough to carve out a choice spot for
herself and Kublin. She could not draw her attention away from the
male prisoner, who lay in the territory of the Wise, watched over
by the sagan and the eldest.
    Skiljan took her place near the huntress’s fire. She
scanned her audience while it settled down with far more than
customary snarling and jostling. Marika supposed the adults knew
everything already, the huntresses having scattered to their
respective loghouses before coming to Skiljan’s. She hoped
for enlightenment anyway. Her dam was methodical about these
things.
    Skiljan waited patiently. Three Degnan huntresses had not
returned. Tempers were rough. She allowed the jostling to settle of
its own inertia. Then she said, “We found eight nomads denned
in a lean-to set on the leeward side of Stapen Rock. On the way
there we found tracks indicating that they have been watching the
packstead. They have not been there long, though, or we would have
noticed their tracks while hunting. The cry heard and reported by
my pup Marika came when they ambushed four huntresses from the
Greve packstead.”
    That caused a stir which was awhile settling out. Marika
wondered what her dam would have to say about neighbors poaching,
but Skiljan let it go by, satisfied that the fact had sunk in. She
ignored a call from Dorlaque for a swift demonstration of protest.
Such an action could cause more trouble than it was worth.
    “Four Greve huntresses ambushed,” Skiljan said.
“They slew two. We rescued the other two.” The Greve in
question were trying to appear small. Dorlaque had not finished her
say, though no one but they were listening. Skiljan continued,
“The nomads butchered one of the dead.”
    Growls and snarls. Ill-controlled anger. Disgust. A little
self-loathing, for the grauken never lurked far beneath the surface
of any meth. Someone threw something at the prisoner. He accepted
the blow without flinching.
    “Our sisters from Greve packstead