Rose Estes - Master Wolf

"That is true," Enor said, turning to Mika with a smile. "It is a position of great danger and I would not ask it of you, but I know that one of your prowess would demand it.

"Then, too, you have never had the opportunity of war to exhibit your abilities, since we have been cursed with this lasting peace. Friendly competitions are all right, but there is nothing like a good battle to get a man's blood running and show what he is really made of. I know that you must welcome this opportunity. All eyes will be on you, Mika."

Mika's heart shriveled within his breast. All thoughts of hiding in the rear were now banished by Enor's words. What misfortune! With a surge of panic, he looked from face to face around the circle of warriors, and saw nothing in their eyes but readiness.

"Light!" croaked Mika-oba, his voice shakier than he wished. "Light can be a weapon, honored chief. You are right, I do welcome the challenge, but there are so many kobolds, I dare not risk one of us, not even myself, over such a foolish thing as pride, until all of our comrades are safe. As you know, kobolds hate bright light. If we could fashion flares or large bonfires, it would hurt their eyes and deflect their aim."

"And make ourselves better targets, too," muttered one of the younger men whose older brother had been among those sent to accompany the caravan. Others nodded in agreement.

"Besides, there are no trees this far south of the forest and nothing but rock on the other side of the river," said Enor. "I am afraid we will have to rely on arms and if some of us fall, so be it."

"Grease bushes!" said Mika-oba with a sudden burst of inspiration. "We'll use grease bushes. Spread out and collect as many as possible. Fill your cloaks and wrap them well, for we will have to cross the river, and they must remain dry if they are to serve the purpose."

There was some indecision among the nomads, for not all of them were convinced that Mika knew what he was talking about, but in the end, unable to suggest an alternative plan, Enor nodded his approval and they did as directed.

Mika-oba smiled to himself as he hacked through the tough stem of a squat, round grease bush, piling it on his cloak with the others he had wrested from the hard ground. He pictured the devastation they would cause while allowing him to remain away from the kobolds.

Grease bushes were so named because they stored pockets of a pitch-like substance in their dry branches. Wise travelers avoided their easy abundance and sought other material for building camp-fires, for while grease bushes burned easily and well, heat caused the pockets of pitch to explode and coat the unwary with spills of clinging fire. With any luck, the kobolds would discover just how painful that could be.

Their cloaks were soon filled and the Wolf Nomads followed Mika as he picked his way downstream.

Enor dogged Mika's heels, pushing him on more quickly than he liked. The wolves were in the lead, running silently, tongues lolling, canines gleaming white in the occasional flash of moonlight. The cries of battle were swept toward the party by the winds, faint yet filled with the despair of death and, even more horrible, blood curdling kobold yelps of victory. Even Mika felt his blood stir as his feet carried him ever closer to the battle.

Once past the bend in the stream, the river swung south and then straightened for its descent into Lake Quag. Here, the banks rose steeply and the river rushed at a rapidly increasing speed. In its lower reaches, the water foamed and hurled itself around jagged rocks fallen from the sheer cliffs that framed it on either side. Fortunately, Enor and his men were able to cross before the river entered the narrow divide.

The water was cold and pulled at their boots, attempting to trip them and suck them beneath the dark current. Holding their cloaks on top of then-heads, they carefully waded across the watery boundary, climbed out onto the rocky shore, and entered the land of the Tiger Nomads.

The wind was frigid, carrying the cold winds of the Land of the Black Ice from far to the north as it swept down across the desolate tundra. Water clung to their legs like icicles, and their heavy leather boots and tunics were stiff and hard. But this was scarcely noticed, for all their attention was focused on moving as rapidly and quietly as possible. All knew that the kobolds' hearing, framed and funneled by their large pointed ears, was as acute and well-developed as their fabled night vision.

The nomads could hear the cries of battle clearly now, and it seemed that the kobold voices were harsh with the sound of victory.

Driven by the fear that they would be too late, Enor urged his men forward, and they swarmed over the rocks heedless of the noise, hoping that the moving water would swallow the sound of their passage. Mika ran at their side, begrudging every step and hoping that his plan would work.

To their right rose the black bulk of the base of the foothills which marked the short range of mountains that marched along the edge of the river. Their flanks were eroded by deep arroyos that carried the spring runoff into the river. Because of the depth of the arroyos, the battle could only be heard and seen when one stood on their crests. The men scrambled up and down their steep sides, frustrated at the amount of time lost to their passage.

The wolves flowed up and over with ease, the hard scrabble of their claws and panting of their breath the only sounds, and they appeared to be no more than swiftly moving shadows. Tam was breathing heavily and nipping at Mika's heels, stirred by the Wolf Nomads' shouts, which resounded from the wagons.

To Mika's sorrow, they finally crossed the last of the arroyos and peered over its edge, taking advantage of its shelter and position above and behind the kobold lines.

The closest wagon lay a scant hundred paces away on a sand beach at the edge of the water. Seven Tiger Nomads were crumpled in various poses of death, the striped bodies of their tiger companions close beside them, constant even in death.

The sight of the Tiger Nomads and their fallen beasts wrenched something deep inside Mika-oba. Wolf and Tiger Nomads had few ties, sharing little but the same ancient warrior heritage, favoring distance rather than close contact.

Tiger Nomads were brave men, accustomed to living simply and harshly according to the laws that guided them, and in company with their fierce, bonded tigers. These deaths, more than the greater number of fallen traders, brought home the meaning of the deadly game they were about to enter.

The Wolf Nomads crouched at the lip of the arroyo, looking down on the rocky slope of land that stretched between themselves and the bend of the river. The ground was covered by a frenzied army of kobolds that screamed and yelled and waved their weapons in the air as they closed the gap between themselves and the remaining survivors.

"Pray the Great She Wolf your plan works," whispered Enor. And Mika did so fervently as he pounded the point of a war arrow into the base of the grease bush. The moon was nearly set and the sun had not yet cleared the tops of the mountains to the east. It was the time which men fear most, the time of grey darkness when spirits most often join their ancestors.

All around him, men followed his lead and forced their arrows into the dry bushes, while wolves crouched at their sides, tense and anxious, whining high-pitched cries that were feverish with excitement.

"The bushes are heavy," grunted Mika-oba, "and will pull the points of the arrows down, but they must fly only a short distance, and we are above the target. Pull hard, aim high, and it will work." And he fervently hoped that he was right.

Hasteen, brother of the missing Haj, struck a fire-stone with a hissing intensity and, barely waiting for Enor's cry of "FIRE!" each man shot his arrow high into the air above the kobold ranks, then bent with scarcely a pause and pounded home another.