Free The Dark Glory War by Michael A. Stackpole Page B

the logging road. As per the plan, they would vector in on the temeryx lair, coming at it from two sides. The third group—nine of us on foot—was to head straight at it from the camp, ostensibly to catch any creatures that broke for freedom in our direction.
    As he set off, I looked at Sandes. “You don’t mind that you are nurse-maiding us and won’t get a chance at a frostclaw kill?”
    The round-faced man smiled. “Lord Norrington honors me by entrusting you to my care.”
    “That’s not really an answer.”
    Leigh slapped Sandes on the right shoulder. “Leave him be, Hawkins. The man has been my father’s chief hunter for two years now, and he will marry a month from now, won’t you, Sandes?”
    “I will, my lord.”
    “So, being allowed to herd us youngsters and keep us out of trouble is practice for the coming years. Besides, if we see no frostclaws, I’m certain Sandes can find us something else to hunt. We’ll bring back a buck or two for the victory celebration.”
    I frowned. “How will we know when the hunt is over?”
    Leigh pointed at the feather on my bow. “When the temeryces are dead, the feathers will stop moving.”
    “Won’t be soon enough.” Nay pointed his spear along the feather-path. “Goodman Sandes, might be safer if we keep to the nursery groves. Cuts down their turning.”
    Sandes nodded in agreement, so we shifted our course to move from protective stands of trees to other positions that were defensible. This slowed our progress, but I didn’t mind. I moved ahead with Sandes, watching as he picked out our course. He kept our exposure to attack minimal, and as a tactical exercise, I learned a lot from him.
    It was an exercise that saved our lives.
    For reasons we had no way to anticipate, the temeryces did not stay laired through the afternoon. We received the first inkling of this when our gently drifting feathers began to dance a bit more heartily. Sandes called an immediate halt, with him and me on the top of one hillock, the other five huntsmen in a grove on another, and Nay and Leigh caught fording a small stream that split one hillock from another.
    Even though our forward progress had stopped, the feathers’ jerking increased.
    “They’re coming at us!” Sandes waved to Leigh and Nay. “Move it, get up here.”
    I stepped up to the fallen log that lay across the northwestern edge of our hilltop. In the distance I caught little flashes of movement, and I knew it was more than the feather tugging at my bow. “I see something coming in. Fast.” I fitted an arrow to my bow and drew it back.
    The first temeryx came into view as it splashed across the stream about twenty-five yards down from Nay. I let fly and missed its breast, but did stick it in the left thigh. The creature shrieked and slipped off a rock, to splash down in the water. It scrambled to its feet again, leaping up and away as Leigh’s quarrel struck sparks from a rock in front of it.
    Two more temeryces burst into the open as the first started charging up the streambed. The huntsmen on the other hill shot at them, with a trio of arrows catching one frostclaw in the right flank. It flopped down and thrashed, its feet clawing mud and stone from the bank. The third temeryx leaped over its dying companion and sped forward.
    I drew another arrow back and tried to track the running frostclaws, but trees gave me only fleeting glimpses of them. I glanced back at the clearing where I’d gotten my first shot to see if there were more, but I saw no others. Another targetdid present itself, and I let fly with only a second’s hesitation, even though I could not identify the creature at which I shot. I just figured that anything runningwith the frostclaws instead offrom them had to be bad.
    My arrow took the child-sized creature high in the chest, lancing down from right shoulder toward its left hip. The broadhead pierced its brown, downy pelt. The creature opened its mouth in a scream, spraying out blood where there should have been sound. It spun