Page 70 of Blacktail

Behind them stood a surprising array of lesser beasts—a rabbit, three cats, a pair of sheep, and a goat. Two guinea pigs cowered under a bush. A parakeet perched on a branch overhead. He scented other dogs as well, farther back. The ones he could see studied him with flat, unsmiling eyes. They’re lying in wait for me, Blacktail realized with a measure of surprise.

“Have I offended you somehow, Lord Milo?” Blacktail asked softly. He pronounced the word Lord with insultingly exaggerated courtesy. “You or your pack? It is not my intention to invade your lands.”

“Whether or not I and mine are offended is of little consequence,” Milo said.

Blacktail swished his tail. “I know that,” he said. “I wondered if you did.” The insult hung in the night air. Blacktail let the moment drag out, waiting to see what the little dog would do.

Milo made no reaction except to wag his tail a few times, as if at some inconsequential joke. The Great Dane forced a stupid, slobbery grin. The other beasts in the clearing feigned interest in sticks and leaves, pretending not to hear. Only the beagle reacted. He growled low in his chest, a surprisingly deep rumble from such a small beast.

Blacktail stepped around Milo—another grave insult—and padded up to the beagle. He sniffed the fat little dog carefully from nose to tail, though there was not really any need. The collar around his neck told Blacktail all he needed to know. The beagle trembled as he sniffed. Blacktail thought at first that he was afraid. Only when the dog snapped at him did he realize that it was rage, not fear, that caused him to shake.

Blacktail took a step back to spare the little dog the embarrassment of a thrashing. “How have I offended you, little fellow?” he asked. “Surely one so fat as you cannot object to me hunting on your lands.”

The beagle’s lip curled up. His teeth were very white and surprisingly sharp. Blacktail grunted. Now we’re getting somewhere, he thought. This little fellow is too dumb to lie.

But before the beagle could answer, the Great Dane stuck her long muzzle between him and Blacktail. “Forgive my pack brother,” she said smoothly. “He suffers from an impractical burden of machismo for a beast of his size. You have given no offense. You are welcome to pass through our lands, or not, as you please. Hunt if you like, drink from our streams. You are our guest.”

But all that was a lie. Her scent boiled with fury.

Blacktail swiveled his head to regard the strange pack. He could not reconcile the sense of their words with the scents of their emotions…but he thought them of little consequence. The Forest God still sleeps. These fools will be of little help in finding Him, I think.

“Well,” he said. “That’s fine, then. If no one objects, I’ll just be on my way. It’s late. I’m tired, and I’m hungry. Perhaps we shall meet again someday.” He turned away from them and took a single step closer to the light of the two-legs den.

“YOU STAY AWAY FR—” the beagle began, his voice astonishingly strong in the still night air. Milo and the Great Dane bit into the beagle at the same instant. The little fellow’s voice broke off with a yelp of pain.

Blacktail stopped. He looked back over his shoulder. The beagle lay on his side, a little wounded. His legs thrashed helplessly in the air. The Great Dane stood on his throat, pinning him with one massive forepaw. Milo flashed a look of pure rage at the beagle. Blacktail thought it was the first genuine emotion he had seen from him.

Milo and the Great Dane exchanged a look. Milo stood up and placed himself between Blacktail and the other two. The Great Dane remained poised above the beagle, her teeth hovering a bare inch from the little dog’s neck.

“Ignore them, lord,” Milo said. “The beagle has some foolish ideas about who may and may not hunt on our lands. That’s all. Of course we welcome you.”

“Hmm. That’s good of you,” Blacktail said. “Very well, then. Tell me. If I were to hunt these lands, where should I start?”

“Ah. Yes. I would say that you would, ah, do well to stay away from the pond. Do you smell it?”

Blacktail gave a curt wag.

“Of course you do. The pond, you see, is unclean. The waters taste of feces, and white bubbles float on the surface. In the daylight the waves shine with all manner of strange colors. It is rare to see someone drink from it twice. But the stream that feeds it is clean enough. I, ah, I hunt there often.”

The stink of Milo’s lie was such that any beast in half a longrun could not fail to smell it.

A thick cloud drifted across the face of the moon, temporarily darkening the clearing. The glint that flashed in Blacktail’s eyes was not a reflection from some light in the sky. “Why do you say such things?” he asked quietly. “To what possible gain?”

“I do my duty as I see it, lord,” Milo replied. “If I must answer for that, then I will.”

And what exactly is this duty? Blacktail wondered…but did not ask. This time he felt no lie. All he said was “Very well. I shall hunt at the stream.”

“That way, lord!” the Great Dane said helpfully. The pack scrambled to get out of his path. They turned their faces from him as he passed.

iii

Blacktail found the watering hole easily enough—too easily. It was marked by an amazing flurry of tracks and scent. No hunter could fail to notice such a ripe collection of foolish meat. But he was coming to think that no one—especially not Milo—had hunted here in a great long while.

He moved downwind, then settled himself into the deep shadows under a cliff. He shut his eyes so they would not gleam in the moonlight. As he waited, he cataloged the scents that drifted to him from the water hole. Deer. The hunt-beasts of this land are too fat to run. Chipmunk. The prey of this land have forgotten what it is to be hunted. Opossum. The paths to the water hole are grooved deep with the track of generations. Rabbit. The hunt is broken here. The thought cut to the heart of him. The hunt is broken here.

As if hearing him, an opossum poked into view and walked to the watering hole on ancient, shaking legs. He gave a perfunctory glance up and down the stream—even that little display of caution was more than Blacktail expected—and dipped his white snout to drink.

Blacktail’s eyes snapped open. He sprang from his hiding blind, landing just in front of the opossum with a small splash. The opossum did not try to run but only raised his head and looked up at Blacktail. Blacktail saw no fear in his eyes, only flat curiosity.