There was no way out.

Skragdal lowered his head and roared.

Everything else went away when the ram charged. It came hard and fast, its scent filling his nostrils. At the last moment, it rose upon its hind legs. For an instant, the ram’s head was silhouetted against the sky. He took in its amber-brown eyes, filled with determined fury of the will-to-survive, its narrow, triangular nostrils and oddly Man-like mouth set in a slender muzzle, the heavy, ridged spirals of its horns. It was for these moments that Fjel lived in the wild.

The ram descended.

Skragdal met it head-on; head to head, brow to brow. It made a clap like thunder breaking. The shock of it reverberated through the thick ledge of bone protecting his brow, through his whole body. His shoulders sang with echoing might. Digging his taloned feet into the loam, he reached out with both arms, filling his hands with lanolin greasy wool.

They grappled, swaying.

And then the ram’s legs trembled. Its amber-brown eyes were dazed. With another surge of strength, Skragdal roared and wrenched sideways, breaking its neck. He swiped at the ram’s throat as he flung it to the ground. Red furrows gaped in the wake of his talons. The ram lay without moving, blood seeping slowly over the rocks without a beating heart to pump it.

Truly, Neheris had Shaped her Children well.

Skragdal grinned as the wild Kaldjager approached. “My thanks, brethren. That is how the Tungskulder hunt,” he said to them. “What do the Kaldjager say?”

They eyed his kill with respect. “We say it is well done, Skragdal of Darkhaven,” one of them said. “Our clan will feast well tonight; aye, and your lads, too. As for the rest?” He nodded to the east. “One comes. One of yours.”

Skragdal straightened, feeling the tug of absent armor on his shoulders where the straps had worn his hide smooth and shiny. It was Blagen, coming at a trot, his arms and armor jangling, a half-empty waterskin sloshing at his belt. He was unaccompanied.

“Boss,” Blågen said briefly, saluting as General Tanaros had taught them.

Everything that had gone away came crashing back. He was not free from the constraints of command. Skragdal sighed and pulled at the pointed lobe of one ear, willing the act to stimulate words, thoughts. “Where are they?”

“We lost their trail in Drybone Reach.”

Skragdal stared at him. “How?”

Blågen shrugged, glancing sidelong at the dead ram. “It is a large area. They are Arahila’s Children, cunning enough to hide and let us pass. Ulrig and Ruric have gone back to begin at the beginning. We will find them.” He glanced then at the other Kaldjager and showed the tips of his eyetusks. “We could use the aid of our brethren if they are willing to undertake a different kind of hunt.”

The wild Kaldjager exchanged slow smiles.

Skragdal considered them. “How many of you?”