Wolves of the Gods

CHAPTER FOUR

The skies were somber, the lake ashen, when they sent little Tio to his watery grave. The village was draped in black and the winds came off the Bride's slopes cold and moaning, black bunting flapping like the tongues of so many ghosts.

All of Kyrania was in shock that one so young and innocent had met such a horrid fate. The mourning women wailed and tore their hair. And all the men got drunk and swore vengeance. Against whom, no one was certain.

Safar presided over the funeral ceremonies, casting cleansing spells and leading the village in traditional prayer.

And everyone sang:

"Where is our dream brother?

Gone to sweet-blossomed fields …

Our hearts yearn to follow … "

When the song was done, Safar and four temple lads fired the boat and pushed it away from the lakeshore. The mourners watched in silence as the funeral craft, festooned with yellow ribbons, was pulled this way and that by errant winds. Black smoke trailed through the curling ribbons and everyone wept in relief when the boat bearing Tio's remains finally halted in the middle of the lake. This was lucky for Tio's spirit. Everyone had worried the misfortune he'd suffered in this life would follow him to the next.

The boat burned to the waterline and then wind-driven waves slopped over to hiss and steam in the flames. The boat sank slowly, smoke and steam columning up into heavy gray skies. Then it was gone.

Safar's heart sank with the boat. He thought of the dream he'd had only yesterday morning. The dream of wolves in which he'd witnessed Tio's death.

Suddenly his hackles rose and chill fingers of danger ran up his spine. Palimak suddenly clutched his hand.

"Somebody's watching, father," the boy whispered. "And he's not very nice!"

Safar felt eyes boring into him-eyes from nowhere and everywhere. He squeezed Palimak's hand. "I can feel it too," he said. He kept his voice easy, but with just a tinge of concern. "And you're right. He's not very nice."

"What should we do, father?" Palimak asked. "I don't like this! It isn't right! Watching people, and …

and…" He shrugged. "You know … Looking at everything!"

Only Safar and Palimak were aware of what was happening. Their fellow mourners were solemnly engaged in singing songs and beating their breasts to help speed Tio's ghost to the Heavens.

"I could use your help with this, Palimak," Safar said. The boy's face brightened, worry lines vanishing.

"Do you have a trick, father?" Palimak asked, flashing a sharp-toothed smile.

"I certainly do," Safar said. "But it won't work unless you help me."

He felt the remainder of the child's tension vanish. Now the ominous presence seemed only a game.

Palimak giggled. "We'll get him! Really, really get him!"

His gusto was alarming. Safar remembered his own blood-thirsty ways as a child and forced himself to stanch a sudden, unreasonable feeling of parental concern.

"Yes," he said, "we're going to surprise him. Maybe even hurt him … but just a little bit. Enough to make him sorry."

Palimak drew in a deep breath, gathering his concentration. And then, "I'm ready, father."

Safar nodded. "Here's what we'll do," he said. "Let's make ourselves really hot! Let's be so hot he feels like he's looking right at the sun. Can you imagine that?"

"That's easy," Palimak said.

"Not that easy," Safar warned. "I want you to think really, really hot. Hot as you possibly can."

Palimak chortled. "We'll burn him!" he said. "That'll teach him!"

Safar started to add a few more words of caution, but then Palimak's eyes started to glow and the air crackled with a surge of magical power. Hells, the child was strong! Safar leaped in to catch the surge and blend with it. Then he gained control, added his own power, and focused their combined strength like a magnifying glass intensifies the rays of the sun.

He smelled the stink of ozone and then the air became hot and heavy and it was difficult to breathe. He heard Palimak cough. And then from far away he heard a howl of surprised pain. Like a wolf who had just sprung a steel trap.

Then the eyes were gone-snatched away-and all was normal again.

"Will he come back?" Palimak asked.

"I don't know, son," Safar said. "But we'll have to be careful."

Then the crowd descended on him and he was shaking hands and commiserating with the family as if nothing had happened.

The following night he called an emergency meeting of the village elders.

First they heard from Renor, Tio's older brother. The men's eyes became moist as they listened.

"It was only for the night," Renor sobbed. "I didn't think there was any danger, or I wouldn't have left him there. I'd have taken him with me and made the herd fend for itself!"

Safar, a master of old guilts, said, "You had no reason to act differently, Renor. That is the way things are done in Kyrania. Boys have always taken the herds into the mountains to learn how to be on their own and act responsibly. That was what you were doing with Tio." He waved a hand at the others. "All of us have had that first time experience of a night alone on the mountains. It's a tradition-a necessary tradition."

The other men muttered agreement. "My brother did the same for me when I was a lad," said the headman, Foron, who was also the village smithy.

Renor wiped his eyes, trying to regain control.

Safar's father, Khadji, leaned in. "Tell us the rest, son," he urged. "Then you can go home to your family.

They need your strength now."

Renor nodded. "On the way down the mountain," he said, "I didn't see anything to worry about. And I was looking, believe me. I mean, I had an injured goat on my back, didn't I? No sense giving some big cat ideas, or reason to think I was the goat. Tio has … had … a good imagination. I knew he'd be frightened. So I didn't even wait until morning to go back up the mountain. I just left the goat with my father and set off again."

The young man said he'd made good time on the return, but then it became too dark, the trail too treacherous, and he was forced to make a cold camp a few hours from the meadow.

"I couldn't sleep," he said. "I was worried about Tio the whole the time so I got up before first light-I didn't even eat-and set off to meet my brother."

Finally he came to the meadow. "It was like walking into a nightmare," he said.

The ground was torn up, barely a blade left untouched, and there was a huge smoking crater in the center. There was blood everywhere and the mangled remains of animals strewn about the field made it look like a giant's butcher shop. Renor ran for the shelter and there he found Tio's body, ripped so badly he barely recognized him. Next to him was a big gray she wolf, also torn to pieces.

"I couldn't figure out what happened," Renor sobbed. "I went mad for a bit. I rushed all around the valley and the hills calling him, 'Tio! Tio!' He didn't answer, of course. But I couldn't believe what had happened. I kept thinking of my mother and father. And of Tio, poor little Tio who never did a wrong to anyone. Then I became angry, stupidly angry, and I ran all over the meadow looking for something to kill.

But everything was already dead. Goats and wolves … all dead."

"I don't understand," said another of the Elders. "How could they all be dead? Goats and wolves alike?"

The man was Masura, who was second in command and no friend of the Timuras. A prissy fellow, Masura considered himself the ultimate word in village morality.

Renor shook his head. "I don't know," was all he said.

Safar remained silent during the discussion. He had an idea what was at the end of this bumpy trail of logic, but he thought it was important the Elders find it for themselves.

Foron scratched his grizzled chin. "If the wolves killed Tio and the goats," he said. "Tell me-who killed the wolves?"

"Maybe it was another pack," Masura suggested. "But stronger, much stronger."

"That doesn't make sense," Safar's father said, drawing a hot glare from Masura, who disliked being contradicted. "I've heard of such things, of course. Wolves attack other wolves all the time. But only when they come on the same prey. And then the weaker wolves run away as soon as they see all is lost.

They don't stay around to be killed."

Foron agreed. "You're right, Khadji. Also, once the others took flight, the stronger pack wouldn't chase after them. After all, the object would be to eat goats, not to fight other wolves."

"There's another thing that was strange," Renor said, breaking in. Then he ducked his head and blushed, embarrassed by having interrupted the headman.

"Tell us what you saw," Safar said, gentle as he could. "We have to know everything."

"Well, it wasn't what was done," Renor said, "but what wasn't done that bothered me. I mean-nothing was eaten. All the bodies were ripped up, but they weren't gnawed on … or anything. They were just … I don't know … torn apart!"

"Sorcery!" Masura exclaimed. "Of the foulest kind." He glared at Safar as if he were responsible for all the foul magical deeds in the world.

All eyes turned to Safar. "I suspect you're right," he said. "In fact, if you think about it closely, you'll see there is no other reasonable explanation."

The house became so silent Safar could hear the ticking of the roof beams and the scuttle of insects hunting in the cold hearth. The men only looked at him with fearful eyes.

"What could it be, my son?" Safar's father asked. "And what have we done to deserve such a curse?"

"The whole world is cursed, father," Safar replied. "It isn't just us. Down on the flatlands people are suffering greatly, as you know. And there are all sorts of magical beasts plaguing them. I once dealt with a creature who had a whole region under its thrall." He was thinking of the Worm of Kyshaat, whom he had defeated some years before.

The Worm was just the first of many manifestations to infect the world.

Safar sighed, mourning the end of his people's innocence.

"What should we do about this … this … creature, Lord Timura?" Foron asked.

"Exorcise it," Safar said firmly. "That's what I did before." He turned to Foron. "If you'll provide me with a guard I'll go up into the mountains tomorrow and see what I can do."

As frightened as everyone was they were so angry at what had happened to Tio that Safar was deluged with volunteers to accompany him. He held them off, preferring to hand pick the party in the light of day.

Then he said, "If you will excuse us, Renor, I'm sure your family is anxious to see you."

The young man looked startled, then realized Safar was politely indicating he should leave. Safar turned back to the group when he was gone.

He hesitated. There was much he had to say, but his thoughts were disorganized. The emergency had left him little time to consider the vision of Asper's Tomb. Still, he knew one thing: he had to leave Kyrania. If there was any chance to stop the magical poisons blowing on the winds of Hadin, he would find it in Syrapis. Before he left, however, he had to protect them as best he could.

So absorbed was he in his musings, he forgot the others. His father's voice brought him back.

"What is it, son?" he asked. "You seem as if you wish to tell us something."

Safar started to speak, then shook his head.

"Let it wait," he said. "We can discuss it later."

There was heavy fog upon the mountain when Safar entered the meadow where Tio had been killed. The mist was so thick it was like a midnight garden; wet, heavy cobwebs breaking before him, then clinging and trailing behind. He was accompanied by five of Kyrania's best men, including Sergeant Dario, the village's elderly fighting master, as dangerous at seventy as when he'd fought on the Jasper Plains fifty years before. Guiding the group was Tio's brother, Renor.

"Better let us secure it first, me lord," Dario said. He tapped his sharp, beaked nose. "Don't smell nothin'

amiss. And the old sniffer never failed me all these years. But like I always tell the lads-better a good professional look around than blind guessin'."

Safar stopped a grin and nodded solemnly. Dario was a proud little man-short, bowlegged and so skinny and wrinkled he looked like a whip made of snake hide. His only concession to age was a tendency to be a bit loquacious. Even so, he was no figure of fun as he motioned to his men and they fanned out. He gave another signal and they all disappeared at once-slipping through the fog like ghosts to investigate the meadow.

It was cold and Renor wrapped his arms about his heavy coat and stamped his feet. He started to speak, but Safar shushed him.

He took a small pot from his cloak and set it on the ground. Then he withdrew a little silver tinder box, lit a wick and pulled the stopper from the pot. Oily, orange-tinged fumes coiled out, heavy smelling, like overripe fruit. Safar quickly inserted the smoldering wick into the fumes. Flames sheeted up and a great trumpet blared.

It was a great hammer of a sound, smashing against the foggy shield. Then there was the indrawn whop!

of an implosion as all moisture was drained from the atmosphere and air rushed in from all sides to quarrel over the vacuum left behind. The fog vanished, showing Dario and the others creeping forward, looking a little foolish as they turned to gape at Safar and Renor.

Safar pointed past them. "Over there!" he said, indicating the blackened crater in the center of the meadow.

The men revolved to look and it was if the force of their eyes let loose nature's darkest side. With sight came smell, and the odor of the goat corpses drifted across the torn up ground and the men had to turn their faces away to gasp for sweeter air.

Safar made a magical gesture and a slight breeze blew through, infused with the smell of violets. Dario nodded at him, made his mouth into an "O" as he drew in fresh air, then shuffled forward to the crater.

He peered inside.

"There's nothing here, me lord," he called back.

Safar concentrated, radiating a cautious "find and flee" spell across the meadow. It was a difficult exercise. The rocky encirclement forming the meadow also made a natural cup that urged spells to flow back to their source.

The group had returned to his side by the time he was done.

Safar shrugged. "As far as I can tell, sergeant," he said, "it's safe. Hells, there's barely a sign of the magic that was done here. Certainly nothing to exorcise. Whatever spirit visited this place has either gone or is in such deep hiding that I can't find him."

His words were hardly reassuring-nor were they meant to be. Dario and the others scanned the area, nervous. A few moments before they'd been full of fire, set on vengeance. Now they were wondering if anyone … or thing … was examining them, measuring them for the grave.

It was Renor who broke the mood. He drew himself up. "I'm ready for whatever they're after," he said.

His comment made no outward sense, but it resonated deep into the cavern of last resorts, where all threatened things retreat to make their final stand.

Dario nodded-a downward jerk of his sharp features, like an ax cutting through. "Sure we are," he said.

Warmth spread through them all like a comforting wine as the villagers, including Safar, drew on their common strength.

It was then that the first wolf howled.

This was a howl from the earth. A hunting howl, ululating across the glen, then turning sharper, higher, victorious, as the Hunter found its prey.

There was not a man standing on that bloody meadow who did not know in his heart the Great Wolf was calling, and that its hungry call was meant for him.

A moment later another wolf howled in reply; a huge creature from the sound of its baying, but not as large as the Great Wolf. Then another acolyte of the fang joined the first two. And then another, until the whole meadow rang with their ungodsly song.

The howling stopped as suddenly as it began. Only a deathly silence remained, a void almost as frightening as the devil wolves.

Dario coughed-hard and harsh to choke up the phlegm of fear. "I was never the sort what opposed an orderly retreat, me lord," he said in a gruff voice. "Assumin' the circumstances called for it."

Dario jerked as the howling resumed-even closer than before. The old warrior forced himself to relax and then he smiled, carved wooden teeth making an old man's splintered grin.

"What I'm sayin', me lord," Dario continued, ignoring the howls as best he could, "is that right now appears to be one of them circumstances I was talkin' about. For retreatin', I mean."

Serious as the situation was Safar couldn't help but laugh. "I don't think you'll find anyone here who objects to such a strategy," he said.

The laughter calmed the other men. They all grinned and nodded. Safar gestured toward the trail they'd taken into the meadow.

"You can have the honor of leading the retreat, sergeant," he said. "But go as quickly as you can. Don't look back. Only forward. And don't pay any attention to anything that might confront you. Just charge on through. Do you understand?"

Dario licked his lips, then nodded. He formed up the group, young Renor in the center, and at Safar's signal he charged, moving at an amazing pace for one so old. The others had to strain to keep up.

Safar followed until he reached the meadow's edge. There he calmly halted and shed his pack. He unbuckled it, drawing out a half dozen small stoppered bottles. He waited, the howls growing louder and closer.

Then he saw them-gigantic wolf-like shapes bounding out of the rocks. There were four of them, twice the size of a man. They were a misty gray, like fog, but so lightly formed Safar could see through them.

Safar picked up one of the bottles, hefting it in his hand. It was filled with a silver liquid tinged with purple-wolf bane mixed with mercury. It was heavy for its small size. He tossed it from hand to hand like one of Methydia's circus juggling balls.

And he intoned:

"Wolf, wolf,

Trickster,

Shape changer-

Bane

Of our existence … "

He hurled the bottle.

It sailed through the air, falling a good twenty feet before the charging spectral pack. Safar turned away, shielding his eyes, just as the bottle struck. Great sheets of purple flame exploded. He heard satisfying howls of pain and rage. He scooped up the other bottles and ran after Dario and the others.

For fifteen paces or so the only sound was the ringing in his ears from the explosion and the terrified yowls from the ghostly wolf pack. Then he heard the eerie, commanding cry of the Great Wolf ordering the pack to follow. It echoed through the small meadow, was pinched in by the frozen rock, and then blasted forward to sear his back.

The ghost wolves, however, recovered almost immediately and he hadn't taken more than five paces before he heard the sound of their running feet just behind him.

They were so close he didn't have time to stop and aim. He hurled a bottle over his shoulder as hard as he could, digging his toes into the ground with such force that he practically levitated as he flew down the trail, sliding where it curved toward a cliff edge and sending a shower of ice and frozen pebbles over the side. He fought for balance, hearing the debris tumble down a frightening distance and the sound of his howling pursuers drawing near. Then the bottle struck and the explosion was so forceful he almost went over the edge himself. He recovered at the last moment, boot heels skittering at the cliff's edge as he hurled himself to the side and back onto the path.

Again he heard the yowls of pain. Again he heard the Great Wolf howl for his spectral pack to follow.

But from the sound of the baying pack there was a more comfortable distance than before.

Safar caught up to the others as they entered a canyon, shrouded on all sides by a thick, clinging fog.

He heard a growl then a grinding and he shouted, "Faster!" And everyone threw caution away and ran as fast as they could. But it wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the huge boulders that rumbled into their midst.

Safar heard someone scream and turned just in time to see one of his fellow Kyranians fall beneath a huge rock. It crushed his legs, then bounced away down the mountainside.

Dario shouted a halt and as the men hastily lifted up their moaning, badly wounded friend, Safar swept about and hurled two more jars into the surrounding fog. He aimed blindly, but he heard shrieks of pain and knew he'd struck his mark.

Then they were running again-on and on, until all their strength was gone and they could run no more.

Safar and Dario directed the group to a clump of snow-covered boulders, where they sat their injured friend down and turned to meet the pursuing horror.

To their immense relief there was only fog and silence. After a moment or two Safar probed the mist with his senses. He found nothing.

The Great Wolf and his ghost pack were gone.

They crouched in their camp all that night and set off at first light. It was a cheery day, with only the Demon Moon hanging on the northern horizon to remind them that this was not the most delightful place in the world to be. Birds were singing, fawn were dancing in the forest and small animals darted underfoot.

No one was fooled.

They could hear heavy bodies moving through the underbrush behind them and knew they were being trailed. Even so, they reached Kyrania by late afternoon with no further incidents.

Everyone was too tired to do more than report the barest details of what happened. Still, those details were harrowing enough to rouse the village into mounting a guard at all the main entrances to the valley.

Safar collected Palimak from his parents' house. The boy ran into his arms, sobbing as if he had undergone an unpleasant ordeal. When Safar asked what was wrong he didn't speak, but only clutched him tighter. Palimak was silent on the short walk home. He ate little of his dinner and went to bed without complaint.

Late that night Safar was awakened from a dreamless sleep. His limbs were heavy, yet his mind sang with urgency. He forced his eyes open and saw Gundara crouched on his chest.

The little Favorite was frantic, clawing at his nightshirt. "Hurry, Master!" he cried. "The boy! The boy!"

Safar groaned out of bed, fighting rolling waves of lethargy. He grabbed his little silver dagger and staggered to Palimak's room.

He paused at the door, fighting the strange weariness. Gundara was perched on his shoulder, fangs chattering in fear.

Safar looked inside.

A tall man stood over the sleeping child. Flanking him were gigantic wolves, reared up on their hind legs.

When the man saw him he smiled and said, "Hello, Safar."

The wolves growled menacingly.

"Silence!" the man commanded. "Can't you see I'm speaking to my friend?"

It was Iraj Protarus. Back from the dead.