Hunters' Shadow (Book one of the Hunter Chronicles)

Chapter Fifty Seven

Abandoned?

"There's no fresh scent," Marcus pointed out over the link. "I hate to say it Alpha, but... I think we're too late."

He received only a growl in reply.

Reports began to filter through the pack link from the smaller parties. Nothing more than a few remnants of recent inhabitation had been found up at Sweet William. None of the trails yielded signs of life, and Blake's warriors wore matching expressions of confusion as they experienced no resistance around Tungl. Blake bit back a curse of frustration.

Had Fenrik deceived them? Had they come to the wrong place?

No. The air smelt of rogue. The wind stirred up the dust around the entrance, carrying with it the smells of a campsite overused by too many bodies - the stench of uncovered latrines prominent amongst the usual aromas.

There were marks on the trunks of nearby trees that looked like sword cuts, the dirt around the entrances to the caves was scuffed by the heavy tread of dozens of feet and scorched areas of earth suggested several campfires once burned merrily. Not so long ago, this valley had been home to a large group of wolves.

So, where were they?

Marcus stood, staring at a patch of ground more torn up than the rest; his expression thoughtful as he knelt down to touch the ground. "Blood," he confirmed, rubbing the red dirt between his fingers. "and look, you can still see the outline of the stones," he gestured to a faint series of dints in the dirt that ran around the bloodstains in a near perfect square.

"Training ground," Blake grunted, mentally counting up all the fire pits outside. "They were here for a while, and in numbers too."

"So where did they go?" Marcus frowned, straightening up. "When did they go?"

Issac joined them, a rusty metal saucepan held loosely in one hand, a frown on his face. "The fire pits are all cold," he reported, scraping at a thin film of grease lining the base of the pan with the tip of his knife. "And this hasn't been used for a couple of days." He chucked it to the floor with a dull thud and a look of disgust. "So, where are they all?" he asked, looking between the two wolves expectantly.

"It was a diversion," Blake murmured, looking around the deserted clearing. Marcus shot him a confused look. "The attack on Blackridge," he elaborated. "They wanted to make damn sure our attention was elsewhere while they cleared out. This many wolves... We'd have noticed them moving - "

" - If we hadn't been distracted by Fenrik and the attack on our borders," Marcus finished with a groan.

"They sacrificed thirty wolves just to move camps?" Issac said in disbelief. "Why?"

"Perhaps the answers lay within." Blake's voice was bleak as he rested his eyes on the cave entrance. "Shall we?" he asked and strode ahead ducking his head to avoid the overhang of rock. His lieutenant followed him reluctantly inside, Issac close on his heels.

The cavern blazed with light. The warriors had lit every lamp and candle they could find until the torches no longer necessary. From the entrance, the whole descent was visible, opening up into a wide cave that spread out into a complex series of tunnels.

The cave was like the clearing outside; marked, stained and scuffed with recent life. The largest caverns had been used as living space, one had once been used for storage - but all the food and supplies had gone. Another looked as though it had been used as a workshop for tools and weapons - but had been gutted of all the useful equipment.

"It'll take us days to search all this," Issac breathed in awe.

"We'd better get started then," Marcus sniffed, tossing him a torch. He picked up the remnants of a sign that had once been bolted to the wall. The faded text detailed the layout of the cave for any tourists looking to explore. "Handy," he muttered to himself.