Arrows of Time - Kim Falconer [151]
The clearing was empty, though he wasn’t sure what he had expected to find. Did you think she’d be standing here waiting for you, arms crossed and foot tapping? Or maybe arms open wide, overwhelmed with gratitude that you’d come back for her? He chided himself, then chided again for the self-denigration. Treat yourself as you would your most treasured friend. Her words came back to him, and he let out his breath. He realised he’d been holding it for some time. All right, good friend, he said to himself. Let’s find our mentor.
He scented the air, expanding his awareness, searching for Kreshkali with both mind and heart. Chills went down his back. She’d been here, he was certain, but her scent was faint. Had too much time transpired? ‘When’ was he anyway? He looked at the sun. It could be only a few hours after they had left with the impostor.
The earth vibrated beneath his boots. Cantering hooves churned up the ground and he turned towards the sound, ducking behind a blackberry thicket before they charged past. Two riders were heading north-west. They were followed by several dogs, golden barrels with legs—Labradors, bounding along happily, oblivious to his scent. Their tongues were long and panting—a hard run. He narrowed his eyes. It was a hunting party, and both of the riders carried birds of prey on their wrists. Falconers! Nothing unusual about that, but what was the other scent he caught? Blood. From the kill? No. It was Kreshkali’s blood.
Every cell in his body screamed at him to follow. He checked for threats. The Treeon guards were nowhere about. All he heard was the sound of crows in the distance and a babble of water behind him. He bounded out from the cover, taking off at a dead run. Using four legs meant he could catch up faster and his shift was seamless. He was downwind of the charging beasts and the dogs. So far, the other animals hadn’t caught his scent.
He followed the hunting party north to the foothills of Mt Pele, a lush and rolling pastoral land crisscrossed with creeks, oaks and hay fields. The horses were walking now, cooling off from the sustained gallop. He kept a fair distance back, the terrain lacking the cover he needed to stay close and concealed. He marked where they turned down a driveway and shifted back to bipedal form. The area was dotted with small farms, no place for a Lupin to be seen prowling about, but a young man would pass more or less unnoticed.
He paused at a stream and drank deeply, bathing away the sweat and grime from his soaked vest and letting the sun dry his skin and hair. He didn’t want to burst in on them and raise suspicions. It was only an hour’s ride from Treeon. There may have already been word of the murder and the escaped suspects. He didn’t want to look the part.
The falconers had gone into a prosperous estate, judging by the finely bred horses in the surrounding fields. He’d clean up, and come a-calling. It wouldn’t take long to find out why he smelled Kreshkali’s blood. He shivered, even though the sun beat down on his bare shoulders. Kali, where are you?
There was no response. He gathered pungent herbs to mask his Lupin scent and headed down the road—a young journeyman herbalist from Morzone on his way to Treeon in need of directions. The driveway was long, shaded by oaks draped with pale green moss. When he reached the manor house, dogs charged out to greet him, teeth bared and hackles high. Easy, boys. Is your master about?
Their growls quickly changed to curious yips as they sniffed and wagged their tails.
That’s surely a yes? He roughed their backs.
A woman with flaxen hair the same colour as the dogs appeared from the stables, dressed for the hunt, her right hand gloved. He recognised her as one of the riders. She smiled at him, unafraid. Good start.
‘Are you lost?’ she asked.
What a lovely voice. The dogs ran to her as she spoke, making to jump