Huge Ajax's Arc

Chapter 351 of 619

The riding party reached the fork of two creeks north of the burned grove by dusk. Ajax, Rowan, and Chalam stopped where the dryad's line in the ash had pointed. Snow crusted the dead trees. The air smelled wrong, like meat left too long. Rowan dropped from his horse and pressed a hand to the frozen ground. "Pale-fur," he said. "Two. One ahead, one wide." He pointed at prints in the crust, wide and deep. "They hunt by scent here, not sound. The oil won't hide us all night." Chalam opened his satchel and pulled a vial. "I can mask our steps," he said. "Scent is harder. My oil covers heat and sound. Not the wind." He rubbed the oil along his arms, then Rowan's, then Ajax's. "Stay downwind or we lose the first one." Ajax drew his father's blade. The iron caught the last gray light. "Rowan takes the near beast. Bow first, then the neck if it charges. Chalam holds the far one still if it comes. I strike the mouth." He looked at Rowan. "Where does the near one feed?" Rowan tipped his head toward a hollow between the creeks. "There. Downhill. We come from above." They climbed the slope in silence. Chalam's oil dulled their boots to nothing. Below, a white shape moved through the dead trees, low and long, its fur bright against the dark trunks. It tore at a carcass and did not lift its head. Rowan drew. His arrow took the beast behind the shoulder. It screamed and spun, jaws wide, searching. Rowan loosed again into the same spot. The beast staggered toward the sound. Ajax came off the slope hard and drove the blade into its open mouth. Iron met the back of the skull. The beast shuddered and dropped. The second came from the wide flank, faster than the first, drawn by the scream. Chalam raised his staff and spoke one word. Roots burst from the frozen ground and gripped its legs. The beast twisted, snapping the smaller roots, but the hold slowed it. Rowan put two arrows into its neck. Ajax was already moving. He met the beast as it lunged and thrust the blade up through its jaw. It fell across the roots and lay still. Rowan knelt and ran his hand along the near hide. "Clean," he said. "No rot in the fur. The dryad spoke true." He looked at the second beast, then at the dead woods around them. "Nothing else out here. Both fed alone." Chalam pulled his staff free of the earth. The roots withered back into the ground. "That's the last of them," he said. "The grove is clean." Ajax wiped his father's blade on the snow. Two pale hides, white as frost, worth more than any Verath. The hold would carry them south, and the story with them. He sheathed the blade. "Skin them here," he said. "I’ll contact Tucker while you do."