Delron took the lead, kicking his heels into the donkey’s flanks and muttering under his breath. Kalan noticed that the route they took away from the cabin was heading toward Mount Drear. He had never noticed how large the mountain was from a distance. The curved, fang-like summit cast an enormous shadow over the valley where Delron’s cabin lay.
As they rode deeper into the valley, Kalan began to pick up hints of a trail in the trees. It was not much; a half-broken limb high in a tree, a pile of snow that had been dropped when a branch was disturbed. He rode closer to a cedar to examine it. There were three large gouges in the side of the tree. He turned Downer slightly to examine the other side of the tree. Three identical gouges were also there.
The Shakzan were born with razor-like claws with serrated edges. The claws were perfect for ripping flesh apart, and Shakzan used them for that purpose regularly. The claws also served as a means of transport. The Shakzan would scuttle up a tree and use their powerful back legs to jump off, catching another tree with their claws. Using this method, they were able to move very quickly over short distances.
Kalan heard Delron ride alongside him. The old man paused to adjust his spectacles and then peered at the claw marks.
“I knew they could not have gone far, but I did not think they stayed this close to the cabin.” Delron said.
Kalan carefully ran his fingers over the gouges. The sap inside was not yet frozen.
“These are fresh marks,” said Kalan. He looked ahead to the other trees, judging the distance. The next set of claw marks appeared on a pine about twenty paces ahead.
“It is a big one,” Kalan said quietly. He glanced at Delron; the old man was studying the new set of claw marks and muttering to himself.
The size of a Shakzan’s claws were a sign of seniority; the bigger the claws, the more vicious the beast. Kalan had studied the Shakzan during his time at the Citadel, and he knew that members of their councils almost always had massive claws, sometimes as much as twelve inches in length.
The color of their skin was also a sign of seniority. Most Shakzan were born with milky-gray skin – they were regulated to the menial positions such as scout, guard, or laborer. The black-skinned Shakzan were considered blessed by Vinski, the Shakzan god, with more intelligence and cunning. They were also notably more vicious than their lighter-skinned brethren. In the Citadel, it was a sort of unspoken rule – the darker the Shakzan, the quicker you kill it.
The exception to this rule was the extremely rare albino. Shakzan mythology held that only one albino would be born per village, per season. The Canons said that the duty of the pack was to kill it immediately. As far as Kalan knew, not one albino was alive in the land of the Shakzan, although he had heard some of the soldiers speak about seeing an albino many years before on a patrol. The reason for the killing of an albino Shakzan was simple: if allowed to live, it would become the most vicious animal in the pack, killing every living thing around it.
Kalan had read scrolls detailing the massacres of entire Shakzan villages that did not kill their albino children. When albinos reached adulthood, they went mad and killed everyone around them. The elders of surrounding villages had formed a conclave to deal with these albinos. As near as Kalan could tell, the warriors of these villages had joined together to slaughter all the albinos. When all the albinos were killed, the Elders created a Canon law whereby the aiding of any albino was punishable by death.
Delron slid off his mount and pulled a small roll of leather from his pack. The leather had different markings at varying length, and Kalan caught sight of one of the markings – it was a measuring tape. Delron held it to the top of the claw marks, then to the side, measuring the length and width. He frowned at what he saw.
“Its claws must be at least eight inches,” Delron said. “I would say that this one is at least two meters standing.”
Kalan thought about that. A Shakzan as tall as a man . . . that was a rarity. Not unheard of, but very uncommon. Shakzan tended to be shorter; most were not above an average woman’s height. The Magi had speculated that the reason for their small height was that it created a lower center of gravity, allowing them to be more agile.
Delron gathered his reins and went to mount his donkey. Kalan watched the woods surrounding them.
“We must make haste.” Delron said. “I believe we are being watched.”
Kalan moved his hand to his belt and loosened his dagger in its sheath. He kept one hand on the weapon as he took the lead, eyes searching the forest. He heard Delron mount his donkey and fall in behind him on the trail.
The snow muffled all sound except for the quiet thump of the horses feet. Kalan kept his eyes moving, searching the stillness of the morning air. He paid close attention to little things – the almost accidental movement of a branch, a clump of snow at the base of a tree, a squirrel idly watching them ride by as he stuffed his cheeks with nuts. Years of battles had taught him that it was most often the little things that gave the most warning.
The valley cut deep, a massive hollow in the shadow of Mount Death. Kalan wondered again at the mystery of the old man, who built a home where all said it was folly to live.
But then, hadn’t people said he was foolish to move out here, away from all he had ever known, to start a life with Mari? That proved it. People just didn’t know what they were talking about. His thoughts moved toward Mari. She had the most beautiful smile, and her eyes when she looked at him . . . Dear Creator, he prayed silently, please keep her safe from harm.
Nine months pregnant, and all alone. He had cut and sacked extra firewood inside the sitting room, close enough that she could reach it easily. He had gone to hunt meat to help replenish her strength after childbirth, and had hoped to be back in a day, perhaps two. He turned in the saddle to look behind them and felt a sharp stab of pain in his side. His three days of rest had helped to mend his wounds a great deal, but he knew that if he put too much strain on his side it could break open at any time.
The snow had begun falling slowly. That was good. A few hours and their entire trail would be covered. Kalan turned his attention back to the forest and began to search for familiar areas. He did not think they were very far from where he had killed the Shakzan.
The snow continued to fall as they made their way out of the valley.