Rose Estes - Master Wolf

"No," Enor-oba, said firmly, looking at Mika with mocking eyes, stroking the scar softly. "I cannot count the times you have told me that you are the better man. Now, when the stakes are so high, I bow to your greater abilities."

Mika thought he heard a murmur of suppressed laughter among his companions, though all presented somber faces as they waited for his response. But before he could reply, Enor clapped him on the back and said, "Good lad, I know that this is a simple task, but one that you will relish. Spy out the way of things and return in safety." And there was nothing more to be said.

Muttering blackly to himself, trying to think of a spell or an herb that would cause Enor-oba great discomfort while stopping short of actually killing him, Mika set about making his preparations for the dangerous reconnaissance.

Mika removed the light-grey wolf tails from his helmet and checked to make certain that there was nothing on his person that would reflect light. Satisfied, he smeared all exposed skin with a layer of hastily prepared mud, wrapped his dark cloak around himself, and then quietly slipped away from the others with Tam beside him, skipping with excitement.

He moved silently across the dark prairie until the sound of the river could be easily heard. Then, with TamTur following close at his heels, he made his way downstream, hoping to find a spot that would allow him to view the enemy while remaining unseen.

Creeping among the large rocks that lined the river, Mika and the large wolf gradually worked their way toward the shallow ford in the bend of the river where the caravans traditionally crossed.

After some time, they reached a pile of large rocks perched on the edge of the bank which would provide both the height and the cover he desired. Mika sank into the shadow of the rocks, motioned TamTur to stay, and began to climb, cautious not to disturb the balance of the rocks. He was eventually rewarded with a clear view of the battleground. It was not an encouraging sight.

The caravan was stretched across the river. One wagon rested on Wolf Nomad lands. Three wagons stood axle-deep in the river itself, and six wagons remained on the far side of the river in Tiger Nomad territory.

The dead were strewn around the wagons like leaves after the first frost. The thin cold light of the descending moon outlined their still forms, and Mika-oba was able to pick out at least twelve dead humans and a scattering of wolves. More than a hundred kobold corpses littered the ground, but the messenger had placed their numbers much higher. Mika allowed himself a moment's hope. Maybe the kobolds had been driven back and had abandoned their intended prey!

But even as he allowed such wishful fancies to cross his mind, thin cries erupted from the beleaguered wagons. Answering calls to the left drew his attention, and despair washed over him as more than two hundred kobolds emerged from the flank of the foothills, almost exactly opposite his position on the far side of the river, and began advancing on the wagons.

A meager flight of arrows streaked from behind the wagons and fell short of the kobolds, striking none. The kobolds, armed with javelins, short spears, axes, and clubs, continued on in relentless waves.

Mika stared at the kobolds, fascinated in spite of himself, for while he had never actually seen one, he had heard them described in great detail by those who had.

He knew that they were small, barely three feet tall, every inch packed with diabolical cunning. Their skin was a tough, horny substance that covered their body like scaled armor and could deflect all but the most direct hits from blades and arrows. The digits of their feet and hands ended in sharp claws that could inflict infection and disease by the merest contact.

Their heads were ugly, bare skulls ridged with a hard, horny crest, and bestial snouts whose mouths were filled with jagged teeth.

Their presence here at the river was odd, for they were subterranean creatures most often found in dank, dark places like caves or overgrown swamps.

They had obviously chosen their moment of attack carefully, preferring darkness to the painful brilliance of daylight. Mika knew that the pupil of the kobold eye was similar to that of a cat and opened in darkness to utilize whatever light was available. Kobold night vision was exceptional, as it must be for the dark underground environs they normally inhabited. Their human enemies, on the other hand, were both hampered by the dark and exhausted.

Mika-oba groaned at the kobolds' steady progress, knowing that those sheltered behind the wagons would soon be overcome unless the Wolf Clan could cross the river quickly and come to their aid.

The odds did not look good, but Wolf Nomads were not known for their cowardice, and given the stubborn, pig-headed code of valor that Enor lived by, Mika knew that the chief would not stop to consider the odds, but would order his men into the fray.

Mika did not relish the thought of dying under a swarm of kobolds. Nor did he wish to be taken alive; he had heard rumors of what kobold women did to male human prisoners-placing them in cages and using and abusing them sexually until they begged for death. But what other alternative was there?

Mika thought for a minute, then, spying a smooth rock the size of his hand, he picked it up and considered it. Perhaps he could knock himself out and then wake up conveniently after the battle was over. No one would even miss him. He tapped himself on the head experimentally. Damn! Pain, hurt! Just then, there was a soft slither, and Enor-oba crept to his side.

Silently heaping malediction on the fellow, Mika dropped the rock, signaled Enor-oba to follow and quietly rejoined the waiting band.

"It's not good," Mika reported somberly, hoping that he could persuade the chief to abandon his plan. "It appears that most of the men are dead. I counted many human bodies, both traders and nomads. There cannot be many left alive. I also observed a large army of kobolds. They are advancing on the caravan even now. We are hopelessly outnumbered and I fear that it is already too late to rescue the few survivors. Our losses would be great."

Enor's face was cold and hard. "A Wolf Nomad does not know the meaning of defeat as long as he is still alive! We are born for a life of fighting. If death comes, so be it, as long as it is with honor. I know you would not have it otherwise, Mika-oba."

The chief placed his arm around the shoulders of the younger man and gazed deep into his eyes. "I know how your sword lusts to avenge the death of your friends. I know how your heart longs for battle. Well, you shall soon have your wish.

"Come, men, we must act immediately if we are to save them," said Enor, and Mika knew that there was nothing that he could do or say to convince the chief to change his mind.

Mika stamped his feet and shook his sword with the rest of them, while inwardly raging at the foolhardiness that could so easily cause him to forfeit his life. All Mika truly wished for at that moment was to be safely at home, tucked away in a dark nook, enjoying Celia's favors. It was not his intention to die on the blade of some stupid dwarf of a kobold just to save a wagon load of trade goods. All thoughts of rescuing the mysterious wealthy princess had long since vanished from his mind. Somehow, he must see to it that he was positioned in the rear when they attacked.

"We must cross the river and outflank the kobolds," droned Enor, his arm still wrapped around Mika's shoulders as the men conferred in a tight huddle, wolves crowding in at their feet. "Our only hope will be to trap them between ourselves and those in the wagons. We must not allow them to slip past us and reach the foothills where others of their kind are sure to be hiding."

"Mika-oba must lead us," Enor-oba said with quiet persistence while Mika cursed him silently. "He is, after all, the best bowman among us."