But today his mind was on other matters. During the night, as he made cold camp by a narrow stream, he had heard the howling that so disturbed Gaelen and his companions. They had half-dismissed it as a hunter’s prank; Badraig knew it was not, for he was the only hunter in the area.
Being a cautious man, with over twenty years’ experience, Badraig waited until near dawn before checking the source of the cry. With infinite patience he had worked his way through the wood, keeping the breeze in his face. As it shifted, so too did he.
And he found the butchered, broken remains of Erlik of the Pallides. In truth he didn’t know it was Erlik, though he had seen the man many times at the Games. But no one could have recognised the bloody meat strewn across the track. Badraig lifted a torn section of tunic, recognising the edging as Pallides weave. In the bushes to the left he found part of a foot.
At first he thought it was the work of a bear, but he scouted for tracks and found six-toed footprints the like of which he had never seen. There were also the tracks of foxes and other small carrion creatures, but they had obviously arrived long after the killing beast had departed.
The prints were enormous, as long as a short sword. Badraig measured the stride. He was not a tall man, neither was he the shortest clansman in the Farlain, but he could not match the stride except by leaping. He gauged the height of the beast as half that again of a tall man. And it walked upright. The deepest impression was at the heel. He followed the track for a little way until he reached the foot of the slope. Here the spoor changed. The creature dropped to all fours and scrambled up at speed, gouging great tears in the clay. Badraig dug his fingers into the earth with all his strength, then compared his efforts with those of the killer. He could barely scratch the surface.
So it was big, bigger than a bear, and much faster. It could run on all fours or walk upright like a man. Its jaws were enormous – the fang-marks in the leg he had found proved that. He considered following the beast up the slope, but dismissed the idea.
From the remains he could see that the Pallides hunter had been carrying his bow with the arrow notched. He had been given no time to shoot. Badraig was confident of his own skills, but his strength lay also in the understanding of his weaknesses. Armed with only a hunting-knife and a quarterstaff, he was no match for whatever had wreaked this carnage. His one duty was to carry the news to Cambil and clear the mountain of youngsters.
Luckily, so he believed, no teams had passed his vantage point, so he would be able to stop any he came across as he returned. By mid-afternoon every village in the Farlain had the message and by nightfall six hundred clansmen, in groups of six, were scouring the mountains. By noon the next day forty-eight puzzled and disappointed youngsters had been shepherded back to their villages.
Only two teams remained to be found, those led by Layne and Agwaine. At dusk on the second day Cambil sat with his advisers round a camp fire half a day’s march into the mountains.
‘They’ve just vanished,’ said Leofas. ‘Layne’s group made camp near the elm grove, and then moved north-east. After that the tracks cease.’
‘It was a cunning ploy,’ said Badraig. ‘They obviously thought they had a clue and didn’t wish to be followed. It doesn’t make it any easier for us, though – except that we know they didn’t head for Vallon.’
‘I disagree,’ said Caswallon.
‘A pox on you, Caswallon,’ snapped Badraig. ‘That was my area. Are you saying I’m that poor a huntsman that I could have missed eight callow boys?’
‘What I am saying is that we’ve searched everywhere and found no sign,’ answered Caswallon softly.
Badraig snorted. ‘Then maybe it’s you who’ve missed the trail.’
‘Enough of this quarrelling,’ ordered Cambil. ‘What shall we do now?’