The Gates of Night_ The Dreaming Dark - Keith Baker [19]
Xu’sasar said nothing; she turned her attention back to the stars.
“Pierce, you know what to do.”
“Yes,” Pierce took a moment to study the stones around the crystal sphere, imprinting the shapes and patterns in his memory; he wanted to make sure he could find his way back. Then he set off into the darkness, another shadow in the night.
Pierce had already seen that the smallest of the stones scattered across the field were the size of his head. It was only when he drew closer to one of these boulders that Pierce saw that it was a head … a sculpted face, staring up at the sky. The first one Pierce found was the face of a male elf, with delicate features and long tapering ears; the eyes of this stone eidolon were covered with phosphorescent moss, gleaming in the darkness. The head was half-buried in the soil, and Pierce wondered if it might just be the face of a complete statue, its body buried beneath the earth.
Anything to add?
Stay out of sight. Shira’s thought seemed curt, and she did not respond to further queries.
The granite elf was just the first of the visages Pierce encountered as he made his way across the plain. A human child, a wrinkled gnome, a dwarf with a luminescent beard—Pierce could see no pattern to their placement, no common theme save for the fact that they all gazed up at the moon. Only when he reached the crest of a small hill was he was able to gaze down on one of the larger tors, and then he realized: They were all faces. The features of large outcroppings were rough and grainy, and seemed to be the work of wind and weather as opposed to hammer and chisel, but they were still recognizable as humanoid heads, patterns of hair traced out in strands of glowing moss. Silence ruled the valley. There was an utter absence of insect sounds, no calls of night birds. Just Pierce, making his way across the valley of faces.
The faces weren’t the only thing Pierce found as he surveyed the plains. The region might be still and silent, but it wasn’t empty. The trails in the damp grass were almost invisible, but Pierce had tracked Valenar commandoes through the forests of Cyre, and he could see the patterns of passage. Large, canine tracks—wolves, most likely, though easily the size of ponies. Occasionally Pierce caught traces of a horse’s passage, but these tracks were old and faint, fading in and out as if the stallion were leaping hundreds of feet at a time.
He’d been walking for nearly a quarter hour when he heard the howls.
The calls were deep, the full-throated baying of hounds as opposed to the cries of wolves. The sound was closer than Pierce had expected from the faint trails. After a moment of silence, the calls began again, even closer. Pierce already had his back to one of the stone buttes; he made his way up the barren edge of the tor, finding a narrow ledge a good distance from the ground. Pierce set an arrow to his bowstring and waited.
The hounds arrived. There were two of them, both larger than any wolfhound Pierce had ever seen. Their coats were thick and glossy—and the color of fresh, wet blood. Muzzles, ears, and paws were darker and dull, as if this blood had dried and clotted. The eyes of the beasts were pale rubies, shimmering in the moonlight, and steam poured from the nostrils of the lead hound as he tasted the air.
Pierce remained perfectly still. Both hounds lowered their snouts to the ground, snuffling through the grass. Certain that they had found his scent, Pierce considered the best angles of attack. He was confident the beasts couldn’t reach him on his ledge, but he had no idea what sort of help they could summon if they escaped. One of the hounds raised its head. Its gaze fixed on Pierce, and as it opened its mouth to howl, Pierce loosed an arrow.
Xu’sasar struck before the arrow reached its target.
She seemed to materialize out of the night, shadows trailing from her skin like mist. She carried no weapons, but it made no difference. Her elbow slammed into the mastiff’s throat with tremendous force, cutting