Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [26]
The little group moved from the burial scene back toward their camp. Canthus and the rest of the pack raced around the far shore of the lake as the riders picked their way along the smoother near shore. The dogs had almost rejoined them on the other side when Canthus stopped with a howl. Barking furiously, he refused to come any further. Instead, his attention was directed toward something on the ground, near the shore of the lake.
“I’ll have a look,” volunteered Daryth, leading his horse among the large rocks of the shore toward the eagerly waiting pack of hounds. He reached Canthus and looked down.
“I think you’d better come over here,” he called. “I’ve never seen anything like this before!”
The others found Daryth standing upon a low, flat rock. Around him spread the shallow waters of the lake in all directions, except at the base of the rock. There, the water was low enough to reveal a small expanse of mud, in the middle of which was a footprint.
The foot that had made the print was wearing a heavy boot, judging by the depth of the mark, with a smooth leather sole. Cleats protruded from the sole at irregular intervals, and the whole boot showed signs of long wear. None of this made the track exceptional, however, for the boot could have belonged to any common woodsman or shepherd – if these were its only features.
But the print was fully two feet long.
*****
Erian awakened in terrible pain. His shoulders and head pounded with agony, and his body was numb from the waist down. He slowly realized that he was naked and lying outdoors.
Lifting his throbbing head, he looked around himself in confusion. He lay upon the muddy bank of a shallow stream. In fact, his lower half was immersed in the chill waters, and this cold had benumbed him.
Slowly, with tremendous effort, the big man pulled himself from the water and lay, shivering, in the mud of the bank. A cluster of tree roots and enclosing bushes gave him shelter. He struggled to remember how he had come here, but his mind furnished him no explanation.
He saw that it was after dawn, yet the whole night had vanished from his memory, leaving a gaping, dark hole. What had happened to him?
Grunting heavily, Erian twisted himself into a sitting position and looked around. The stream flowed from his right to his left, he observed. He heard the caw of a gull, and smelled the salt air of the sea, so he knew that he lay close to the coast. The stream was bordered by a thicket of bushes and small trees, but the land beyond seemed open and rolling.
Looking down, Erian noticed without surprise that he was covered with blood. The mud and the water streaked the crimson fluid into a garish pattern across his body. He did not seem to be wounded, so obviously the blood had come from something, or someone else.
Lurching to his feet, Erian caught sight of Caer Corwell, and knew now that this was Corlyth Creek, which entered the sea just north of the town. Slowly, keeping to the concealment of the undergrowth around the stream, he started staggering toward Corwell.
His mind flashed through bits and pieces of the previous night: the full moon illuminating his cottage, and summoning him, with its cold and unblinking glare. He could remember nothing after that.
The sun had just cleared the peaks of the Highlands, and its harsh light cast long, clear shadows in the crystal morning air. Few villagers were about yet, so Erian was able to slip through the back streets of the town to his own cottage. The door to his home stood open, smashed outward with enough force to break the latch.
Confused, and very frightened, Erian slipped inside and closed the door.
*****
“What could have made such a footprint?” demanded Daryth, staring at the massive track.
“Firbolg,” muttered Arlen.
Not wanting to alarm Robyn, Tristan said calmly, “Surely it would be very far from home.”
“Where do they normally live?” asked the Calishite.
“Usually they stay in Myrloch Vale, north of the kingdom,” explained the prince. “I wonder what one