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Darwin's Legacy

Chapter 5 - A Lone Wolf

For the first time in his life Ro-Ack felt lonely.

Quiet and somewhat aloof as a child, he nonetheless had his parents and cousins for company. Then when he was a little older he had made friends with the stunted hunchback, Heg, and later still with the tenacious and vivacious An-Gar-Lun, their little Annie. But Heg had disappeared a week ago after an embarrassing incident while performing as the pack storyteller, the Da-Lan, and Annie was busy with her duties as Mi-Ran, one of the pack courtesans.

Ro-Ack was incredibly busy himself as he now managed not only his home pack but the affairs of the ever-expanding wolf alliance. His Ro-Ro, the original pack leader, had taken on the title of Ang-Ro. Ang meant 'all' or 'everything' and together with Ro had the connotation of 'he who leads all', or supreme leader. Some of the other pack leaders had proposed the title of Pak-Ro, signifying 'Leader of the Wolf Nation', but he overruled them without explaining why. They did not yet know of Ang-Ro's ambitions to conquer the felines, foxes, dogs and coyotes, in other words, all the sentient creatures in the known world.

Ang-Ro and his mate, who still went by the title of Ro-Da, the leader's shadow, were forging a new order. The leader of each pack that joined the alliance voluntarily was given specific authorities and responsibilities, such as provisioning, scouting, assaulting, and the like. Each had the Balance from their home pack to assist him, but their divisions were made up of specialists from all of the packs, with those from Ang-Ro's original pack foremost, thereby creating a layer of wolves loyal to Ang-Ro between the new leaders and the ordinary members.

It was Ro-Ack's duty to coordinate all of the activity between the specialized divisions. As such he was the only wolf allowed to retain the title of Balance, but he found little resemblance between his new duties and his former existence. Instead of gently guiding the lives of mostly loyal and respectful pack members he now spent most of his time investigating complaints and settling disputes. The work called for a rough paw when former rivals got into a fight and for frustratingly courteous diplomacy when a leader was suspected of taking advantage of their new position in the alliance.

While he was no busier than when he just had one pack to manage Ro-Ack did not like his new duties and he missed the occasional light moments he used to share with Heg and Annie. He did not realize how much he had come to rely on their companionship until it was taken from him.

Heg was gone, disappearing the same night that Ang-Ro had formed the Wolf Alliance, and he had been replaced as Da-Lan by the overly serious Cor-Wag. Ro-Ack could not relax and unwind around her. Not only was she difficult to talk to, Ro-Ack also found no relief in her tales of war, death and destruction.

The Mi-Rans of the various packs had been assembled into a sort of guild, managed by the former lead Mi-Ran of Ro-Ack's pack, a dried up old specimen who had never actually been much of a beauty, despite bearing the title: 'Beauty Shared'. Annie, however, was incredibly beautiful and extremely busy now as she had become the favourite of Ang-Ro and the division leaders. This was encouraged by Ro-Da, who used liberties such as this to control her mate, and also because she felt that Annie would be a good source of intelligence, as alpha wolves were won't to brag. If any of their mates objected they soon learned not to do so openly, not after two such possessive females were found drowned in suspiciously shallow water.

As it was, Annie's nights were occupied entertaining the new upper class and her days were spent resting up for the next night's activities. The manager of the Mi-Ran, who ironically styled herself as 'Ang-Mi', Supreme Beauty, restricted all access to Annie outside of her scheduled duties. The old hag now referred to Annie as 'Mi-Ran-Ro', Number One Beauty, and had ranked the rest accordingly as number two, number three and so on. She indicated that Ro-Ack was of sufficiently high rank to spend some time with Mi-Ran-Ah, Number Two Beauty, but he declined her offer; it was not the type of companionship he was seeking.

Not only was Ro-Ack lonely, he also felt that he was no longer trusted. Despite Ang-Ro's openness since the great hunt Ro-Ack noticed that the leader's personal network of spies still reported to Ang-Ro alone, and that none of what they were reporting was ever passed on to Ro-Ack. And when he came around the leader's cave unexpectedly the guards would delay him until Ang-Ro of Ro-Da could throw a cloth over the southern portion of the sand model they used for planning the campaign. Then there was Ro-Da, who had never paid him more mind than she would a fly in the past. She had started treating him like a member of the family and seemed particularly interested in having Ro-Ack take all of his meals with them. And if he was not mistaken, her invitations to join her in her private chambers for a late night snack had deeper connotations. He shuddered at the thought; not because of what Ang-Ro might do to him after a night with her but of what Ro-Da might do to him during it.

One warm summer day when there was no particular crisis looming Ro-Ack decided to climb up above the caves where a trail led to a ledge by a small waterfall. There he sat and contemplated the recent turn of events.

What is best for the Pack? He wondered, and for the first time in years added: _What is best for me? _ He had already lost his friends and his peace of mind. What further sacrifices was he willing to make for the good of the pack? Did the course Ang-Ro had set them on serve the overall good of the pack, or wolfdom in general? It seemed to on the surface, but Ro-Ack had a nagging feeling that there was something that Ang-Ro had held back.

But what if he decided that the plan was leading them to destruction, what then? There was no discernible rival to Ang-Ro, and all of the division leaders seemed eager for war and in agreement that Ang-Ro was the best wolf to lead them into it. That might change if the war went badly, but for now most potential challengers were busy building their own reputations and relationships.

Ro-Ack was aware that a fair number of the original pack looked up to him, and his reputation had spread amongst the new members. Should he challenge the leader? He could hold his own in battle but Ang-Ro was a more experienced fighter who had won his leadership by duel and had defended it in the same manner twice since. Ro-Ack would likely be killed in any such challenge. There was a slight possibility of losing without suffering any fatal injuries, but if he lived he would be subject to immediate banishment, if the leader allowed it. Popular but defeated challengers had been known to leave with half the pack following them into exile, only to establish a new pack and return in force years later. Ang-Ro might prefer to kill him on the spot than risk losing half his force.

And what if by some stroke of luck he won? Could he stop the events that Ang-Ro had already set into motion? Would the alliance hold with no war to bring glory and reward to the other leaders? And would he be able to survive the series of challenges that were sure to follow?

He doubted that the answer to any of those questions was yes. Was there another way he could stop Ang-Ro that he had yet to consider?

One of Da-Lan's traditional tales told of a Ro-Ack who had stabbed his Ro-Ro as the leader stood up to address the pack. Although he had done it to prevent the pack from falling to decay under an unstable leader the tale had ended badly for the Ro-Ack in question and his pack he recalled. Well, Ang-Ro-doesn't have to worry about me on that account, he mused, assassination is not my way. But then he thought: Does Ang-Ro know that? Suddenly Ro-Da's interest in his diet did not seem so innocent.

Ro-Ack sighed. His choices seemed to be to stay and support a cause that he was strongly opposed to or die in a fruitless challenge. Or, a new thought popped up inside his head, I could just ... leave, like Heg did.

He thought about that option for a while. He could not leave openly because to do so would be the equivalent of an open challenge. Sneaking off would be almost as damaging to the leader's reputation, but aside from his spies, which Ro-Ack could handle easily, Ang-Ro was unlikely to send anyone else after him because there was always the risk that whoever he sent would opt to join Ro-Ack.

Ro-Ack let the sound of the waterfall sooth him as he tried to decide what his best course of action was. As his mind struggled to comprehend and process factors that were opposed to one another his eyes drifted down to the den, several hundred feet below.

From this height the entire den and the surrounding territory was visible. He could make out the trails that connected the various cave systems and the ant-sized wolves moving along them. Moreover, he could make out the rows of shelters that the allied packs had set up in the meadows nearby. The pack had more than quadrupled in strength, he knew that from the numbers the new division leaders had reported, but for the first time he got a good idea of how large the alliance had really become.

We are a nation now, he thought as he regarded the vast but temporary encampment_, a nation without a home._ Maybe one day, after they had united the wolf packs and conquered the rest of the sentient species, they would come back to these mountains and build a proper city. But for now all they had was a few mouldy caves that only one-in-four wolves present had any connection with, and even of those most did not think of it as home so much as the place where the pack currently lived.

Ro-Ack suddenly realized that despite being thought of as an outsider for most of his life he had considered the caves and caverns that he, Heg and Annie had grown up around as his home, but not anymore. Now it was no longer familiar or comfortable. Not with all the new wolves, not without his friends to talk to.

To hell with Ang-Ro's wolf nation, he decided. The pack I pledged myself to serve above all else is gone, absorbed into some mad scheme of conquest and domination. There and then Ro-Ack decided to run away, to escape the constraints of pack life, to become a lone wolf.

At least until I catch up with Da-Lan, he thought.

* * * * * * * *

It had been two weeks since his abrupt exit, and Da-Lan was having a hard time of it. In his haste to depart he had packed scrolls full of advice on survival and field craft. But all of them assumed that the reader was at least intelligent enough to have brought a few basic tools and weapons with them; something that he had neglected to do. He had only a small sheath knife on him when he left; the kind most wolves carried all the time for eating and for odd jobs around the den.

The knife was useful for cutting pine boughs for bedding, and striping bark to tie lean-to poles together, but it was useless for hunting. And because of the increased size of the pack the land for some miles around had been picked clean of edible berries and roots. He didn't have time to construct snares either; he had to keep moving least the leader send a search party after him. As it was, he had to spend twice as much time traveling to make up for the slow pace that was all his stunted legs could produce. By the third day he was close to collapse because of the lack of food and increased effort.

Da-Lan, he still thought of himself as the story teller, decided that he had put enough distance between himself and the pack to afford a rest. He was camped close to a slow, deep stream that was likely to be full of trout. Following the directions in one of the scrolls he tried to fashion a fishing pole from a springy branch and some thread he laboriously unravelled from his loin cloth. But he had nothing to make a proper hook from, no bits of metal, no old antelope bones, not even a bent pin. He painstakingly carved a wooden one, and impaled the only bait he could find on it, a grub. The thread snapped on the first strike, and Da-Lan cried in frustration.

The same scroll also suggested that a useful spear could be made from a stout length of maple or oak if its tip was hardened in a fire. Another scroll gave instructions on how to start a fire by rubbing two pieces of wood together. It sounded easy, but after an hour of muscle-straining rubbing the two pieces of wood were hardly warm and Da-Lan was wishing that he had the foresight to grab the box of matches he had purchased from the foxes last year before he left. He decided that the spear would have to do without fire hardening for now.

At least the banks of the river provided some reeds that he could chew on, and a few frogs that he was forced to eat raw. It was enough to provide the energy necessary for another day of traveling. When dusk came again, Da-Lan found himself in an alpine meadow teaming with small game.

Da-Lan found that with his powerful chest and arms he could hurl his spear an impressive distance and have it strike with great force. This allowed him to stay far enough away from the game as not to spook them. But after throwing it at several unsuspecting hares and pheasants he discovered that since he had never practiced with a spear his aim was very poor. The only game he managed to catch was a ground hog that was stunned by the butt of the spear when it bounced off a nearby tree and struck the unfortunate creature. Da-Lan had to dispatch it with a rock before he skinned and gutted it.

Raw ground hog did not appeal to him, and he had found another means of making fire, so he decided to stay another day and try it out. The scroll he had consulted detailed the construction of a fire bow. It consisted of a bent branch with a string that was looped around a straight rod. The rod was slotted into a hole in a log that was surrounded by kindling, and held in place by a block or wood on the other end. By drawing the bow back and forth the rod turned and the friction created heat, which then ignited the kindling, or so the scroll claimed.

Da-Lan used the cord that held up his loin cloth and the remains of his fishing rod to build the bow. After about thirty minutes of arm-wrenching action a curl of smoke appeared. Ten minutes later the smoke became a flame, a flame that Da-Lan nursed until he could get some larger bits of kindling to catch. From there it was just a matter of adding bigger pieces carefully, so as not to smother the fledgling tongues of fire.

The roasted rodent tasted better than it should have, probably because of his near starvation and the spice of pride at his accomplishment. That night, after hardening his spear, Da-Lan not only slept with a full belly, but he slept warm and comfortable near the bed of coals that was left from his fire.

The next morning he had made a disappointing discovery. There were plenty of embers left in the fire pit in the morning, and he easily fanned them back into flame with a stiff piece of bark, but he had no way to carry the fire. There was no material around suitable for making a torch that would last more than a few minutes and nothing that could withstand the heat the coals until he next made camp. Da-Lan added a gourd to the items he would regret not taking with him.

He would just have to make a new fire each night, he decided.

Three days later, just as his aim had improved enough for him to spear a slow, fat rabbit, the sting on his fire bow broke. The remaining pieces were too short and worn to make another. He tried tearing his loin cloth into strips and tying the strips together but the knots interfered with the bowing action. Da-Lan ate the rabbit raw and was sick for two days because of it. It rained both days. When the vomiting, diarrhoea and cramps finally subsided Da-Lan found himself cold, hungry, wet and naked.

That had been the day before yesterday, and Da-Lan could recall thinking that nothing could make things worse. That was before he met the bear, of course.

The bear was cold and wet and hungry too. It was also big and black and had no qualms about scarfing down a portion of raw Da-Lan.

And that was how, exactly two weeks since leaving the den, Da-Lan found himself backing away in ever diminishing circles, fending off a hungry bear with a wholly inadequate spear.

Da-Lan felt the shock go through his body as he bumped against a thick tree. With nowhere to run he made a valiant lunge at the bear's throat. The bear shifted its great bulk to one side with unforeseen grace, and turned its head to catch the passing spear as if it was a leaping salmon, With a twist of its great neck it wrenched the pole from Da-Lan's paws and them bit it in two. With a triumphant roar it reared up on its hind feet and shambled forward to claim its meal.

Da-Lan's final thought as the bear brought its arm back for the final blow was, I'm screwed.

Its paw held high and back, every muscle straining in preparation for the killing blow, the bear suddenly froze. Then it coughed, and instead of bringing five hundred pounds of force behind that great, clawed paw, it clutched its own throat. But it could not get its paws around its neck properly because the last six inches of a crossbow bolt was in the way. As Da-Lan watched in amazement another feathered bolt sprouted in the creature's left eye, followed by a third in the middle of its heaving chest.

Da-Lan had to scramble to avoid being crushed by the corpse as it came crashing down.

Standing up so he could see over the black lump that the bear had become, he was not altogether surprised to see Ro-Ack advance into the clearing with a loaded crossbow pointing at the bear.

"It's dead." The former storyteller assured his former best friend. "You can put the weapon down."

"That depends on whether you have decided to forgive me yet or not." Ro-Ack replied, shifting his aim slightly but not quite pointing the weapon at Da-Lan.

"I can't forgive you for what you allowed Annie to become." Da-Lan said, and then he looked down at the dead bear. "But I suppose I could tolerate your company for a while."

"That will have to do." Ro-Ack said as he applied the safety and slung the crossbow across his back. "How are you doing?"

"Fine, fine. My new diet is working out well. But you just killed my running coach. Now who will motivate me to pick up the pace?"

"Her mate, right behind you." Ro-Ack sputtered with rare laughter when his old friend wheeled around in panic to find nothing there.

"Very Funny." The hunchback commented as he turned back to face the snickering grey wolf.

"You should have seen your face." Ro-Ack managed between chuckles. Da-Lan could not help but smile.

"You are a tail-hole. You know that?"

"You would know, you've seen enough of them."

"Har har."

"Seriously Heg, how are you?" Ro-Ack asked as he squatted to retrieve his bolts from the rapidly cooling carcass.

"Heg? Not Da-Lan anymore?"

"Sorry. Ang-Ro replaced you with Cor-Wag as soon as he found out that you had left. Ang-Ro is the leader's new title." He explained when he saw Heg's puzzled frown. "But if you prefer you can keep the title as our new pack-of-two's story teller, unless you were aspiring to be the new Ro-Ro?"

Da-Lan regarded the older wolf. Besides the cross bow he carried an axe and a short sword of the type the scouts used, one with saw teeth on the back of the blade. He also wore a large backpack that had several compartments, waterproof pouches and gourds to hold liquids. Da-Lan was willing to bet that in those pouches he would find matches, a flint, fishing gear, spare food, a small tent, blankets and a tooth brush.

"No. I'll let you fumble along in charge for now, just for the entertainment value." He replied. "Is that fish I smell?"

"Trout. I found a stream full of them a couple of days ago. I caught a few and packed them in some salt that I brought. Would you like one?"

"Sure one ... or four." Ro-Ack pulled a package of whole fish out of one of the pouches and Da-Lan ate ravenously as Ro-Ack recounted the goings on in the alliance since the story teller's departure.

"Ang-Ro didn't bother to have you followed because your disappearance was a relief for him." Ro-Ack explained after telling of the new system of divisions and guilds. "He wanted to elevate Cor-Wag to chief story teller for the alliance, but you still had a fairly large following, despite the funk you were in the last few days. Anyway, having you out of the way made it easier for him, but he quietly told the perimeter guard not to let you back in if you returned."

Flies were gathering around the pools of blood near the dead bear. Some of them were attracted to the growing pile of fish bones between the two wolves. Da-Lan waved one paw ineffectively as he continued to eat and listen.

"Ang-Ro did have me followed, but not by the scouts, just by some of his pet spies." As he spoke Ro-Ack casually plucked a dozen long stalks of grass and used one to tie the rest together into a whisk, which he used to shoo the flies away absently while he talked. "I caught one on the second day and before he died of his wounds he told me that Ang-Ro had covered my absence by circulating a story about sending me as an emissary to a particularly difficult pack that had refused to assimilate. He said that whoever found me was to kill me and return with my head and the story that this was the rival pack's response. Ang-Ro would use the ensuing rage to order an attack and wipe out the pack that stood in the way of his plans. He would kill two birds with one stone so to speak."

"Hmm ... 'two birds with one stone', that's good. I should write that down."

"You brought ink and quills?"

"Yesss ...."

"Good thinking. I completely forgot to bring anything to record our adventures or make annotations on the maps with."

Maps, Da-Lan thought ruefully, my cave was full of maps, and matches, and knives, and my crossbow, and .... "Did you say that we were on an adventure?"

"I don't know what else you would call it. A quest, maybe?"

"No, no. Adventure suits the situation better. Two lone wolves out to see the world, just ..."

"Just what?"

"Where do we start?"

"We start by carving up brother bear there." Ro-Ack said as he dug in his pack and produced a flint and steel for striking a fire. "Then we can smoke some of the choicer meat while we clean the hide and make a pack from it to carry the meat in. After that," he sighed as he looked back the way they had come, "we head anyway the wind takes us, as long as it's away from the alliance."

* * * * * * * *

Silver Tip's scouts came back with the news that their next campsite was already occupied by another caravan. That was not unexpected, since he had changed his intended route and was now following someone else's traditional route, but in reverse. Everything was considered fair in trading though, and no one owned a particular route or territory outright. But it was still best to approach cautiously and prepare gifts to appease what was sure to be an offended party.

"Whose caravan is it?" He inquired.

"Broad Leaf. Their wagons are still heavy with merchandise; they have not traded much this year."

"Ahhh!" That made things easier. Broad Leaf, named so for his unusually wide ears, was Silver Tip's cousin's son, and friendly. He was also inexperienced as a caravan leader and had not made much profit since taking over from his father when the older fox retired. Silver Tip saw a way that might work out well for both parties. "Go back and announce our imminent arrival."

Silver Tip had traded well. The rumours of war had proved true and the smaller packs were anxious to arm themselves. Apparently one of the major packs higher up in the mountains had created an alliance and was demanding that all wolves either join or face the wrath of someone called "Ang-Ro". Disturbing as this news was, Silver Tip would have liked to stay out for another month to take advantage of this favourable trading environment, but he was almost out of stock.

He ordered two of the wagons, those loaded with the best metal, to break off from the caravan and hide. Then he led the rest of the wagons to the clearing where Broad Leaf's caravan was already parked.

"Hail, cousin." Broad Leaf greeted Silver Tip as an equal, as was his right now that he was a caravan leader too, albeit of a much smaller caravan. Silver Tip jumped down from his wagon and embraced the younger fox. The two exchanged simple kisses on each cheek, similar to the feline's traditional greeting. That was signal for the rest of the foxes in the two groups to exchange greetings, and soon the clearing was filled with chatter as those that knew each other swapped news and gossip from home.

"Why are you coming back along my route Silver Tip?" Broad Leaf asked, rather bluntly. Delicate negotiation had never been his father's style either, Silver Tip recalled. He explained about the constant attacks from the unusually large gangs of coyotes and how that and the heavy rains had forced him to abandon his traditional route.

"Are you not missing a couple of your larger wagons?"

"Burnt in the attacks." Silver Tip sighed theatrically. "There was too much damage to bring them along. I'll have to try to recover them on the way back, if they are still there.

"Your luck has been bad, yet you seem to have traded well since then." Broad Leaf observed. "There will be no business for us if we continue forward."

"You could go higher up and trade with the smaller packs near the peaks, or on the other side. Silver Tip suggested.

"You know that we are too few to travel safely in such territory. Things get wilder the further east you go, and the packs on the other side are almost feral. You know my father would never go there, and nor will I." Broad Leaf narrowed his eyes and studied the older fox. "What's really on your mind?"

As blunt as his father, but better at reading folk, Silver Tip credited him. I'll have to remember that.

"There is trading to be done this season still." Silver Tip began. But I am almost out of stock and the amount of metal and other goods I have collected is slowing me down. You, however, are anxious to leave this troubled land and get back to the winter campground, but are loath to return with so little. I was thinking that we could make an exchange. I'll take all of your stock and continue on. You take a fair portion of my metal and return home showing a profit. What do you say to that?"

Broad Leaf surveyed Silver Tips wagons with an expert's eye.

"This is all that you have?"

"All that you see before you. I was thinking that half of it would be reasonable in exchange for your stock."

"Three quarters."

"Five eighths."

"Five eighths and one wagon. I won't have room for it all otherwise."

"Deal." Silver Tip declared and they shook paws on it. Then he turned to Bright Eyes, who had been standing by observing his father's technique. "Son, unhitch the horses from wagon number three." Number three had a bad axel, and would require a new one before long.

"Wait!" Broad Leaf protested. "I'm going to need the horses."

"Our deal was for one wagon, not one wagon and two horses." Silver Tip informed him, crossing his arms. The position not only conveyed his determination, it put his paw close to the knife strapped to his other forearm.

Broad Leaf grumbled, but did not argue further. The code of the barter forced him to accept despite having been fooled. He began to direct the unloading of his stock and the transfer of Silver Tip's metal to his wagons.

Bright Eyes stepped up beside his father and whispered in the old fox's ear.

"Broad Leaf." Silver Tip called, and the younger caravan leader turned back to him with a frown, expecting another disappointment. "Would you be able to spare a couple of guards? I lost a few on the way here and if I am going to stay out longer I should replace them. I'll provide you with the usual payout for them."

"You need guards?" Broad Leaf's eyes sparkled. "I'll trade you two guards for a brace of horses, horses of my choosing mind you."

Silver Tip thought it over for a moment. He looked around at the other caravan's guards and liked what he saw. They were all fit and attentive, with no sign of rebellious behaviour.

"Deal. Which two?"

"Stubby." Broad Leaf called a fox whose paws had been damaged by frostbite years past over to his side. "Go fetch the 'New' guards. The ones we picked up this morning."

"The ones you set to digging a latrine out on the other side of the clearing?"

"Yes, those two. Hurry now. Silver Tip is waiting." Broad Leaf turned back to Silver Tip with a satisfied smile.

Silver Tip held his tongue and hoped that his embarrassment at being caught out did not show on his face. What kind of rabble is he pawning off on me, he wondered?

He did not have long to speculate. In less than a minute Stubby was back, leading the most unlikely pair of wolves that Silver Tip had ever seen.

Great, he thought, seeing the way the taller of the two examined him openly, as if he were the one in charge. An arrogant son of a wolf bitch and a naked cripple. That's all I need.

* * * * * * * *

It had been an interesting day for Ro-Ack and Da-Lan. First they came upon a caravan of foxes unexpectedly and were almost killed before they could explain themselves. Then they were accepted as general labour on a probationary basis, and the next thing they knew they were being traded to a much larger caravan as guards. Da-Lan though that it was all very exciting, but Ro-Ack had noted the way their new master had looked at them when they were presented and he was not so thrilled. While he hardly expected to be invited to dinner with the dark fox that looked like he had been dusted with silver, he at least expected to be acknowledged by him. But the old fox just frowned at them for a moment, directed a few words in a language Ro-Ack did not understand to what looked to be his son and stomped off in a huff.

"Do either of you speak the common tongue?" The younger fox, who was dark coated like his father but with brilliant golden eyes asked in that language.

"Yes, we both do." Ro-Ack replied "Before leaving our pack I helped with negotiations and my companion here was our lore keeper."

"Do you have your own weapons?"

"I have a short sword and a crossbow, but Da-Lan has none."

"Da-Lan?"

"My friend. He was ... he goes by the name Da-Lan. I am known as Ro-Ack." Ro-Ack found the fox's accent amusing; foxes gave each phrase a musical lilt. He had been told that the foxes found the wolfen accent hard on the ears, too abrupt and throaty.

"The Land and Roe Hack?" The fox was having trouble with the sounds in the wolf tongue. Ro-Ack considered a literal translation but preferred not to be reminded of his former post each time someone addressed him.

"Da-Lan. 'Dah' and 'Lan'. And Ro-Ack. 'Row' and .... and 'Ack', I suppose." Da-Lan then spelt the words out, slowly and loudly, to see if that would help.

"Rue Ache?"

"Almost. Less nasal on the first syllable and more throat on the second."

"Maudit, mais votre langue est difficile de parler." The fox muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing. Look, I am going to call you Roark and you," he swung to point at Da-Lan, "will be Dylan. They are names that originate in the common tongue. Any problem with that?"

"Dillon?" Da-Lan asked.

The fox, who eventually introduced himself as 'Bright Eyes', wrote their new names on a scrap of paper once he determined that Da-Lan could read and explained the pronunciation. After saying them a few times they determined that they were close enough to their wolf names to do. Bright Eyes then led them over to a wagon with no windows and a heavy padlock on the door. Pulling a key from inside his shirt he unlocked it and opened the door. Inside they could see racks of weapons, barrels of arrows and stacks of crossbow bolts. The fox looked around inside and them back at the two wolves. He selected a long sword in a leather scabbard and passed it down.

"For Roark." He commented. "You can use your own crossbow if you are comfortable with it." Then he studied the hunchback for another moment before making a selection. Moving to the rear of the wagon he took down something that was large and cumbersome. When he emerged he almost dropped the heavy object on Dylan's head, but the former story teller lifted one powerful arm and guided the weapon don to his level.

It was a crossbow, but the span of the bow was nearly twice as wide as any that the wolves had ever seen before. And unlike most, which were constructed entirely of wood, this one had steel springs to lend even more velocity to the bolt.

"It's actually a siege weapon, meant for to be mounted on a wall and pulled by a crew of two or three, but you look like you can manage it all by yourself." Bright Eyes commented.

Dylan looked for a foot stirrup but seeing none grasped the body of the crossbow in one massive paw and pulled back the thick cord with the other. The springs creaked as he hauled the string all the way back to rest in the latch. Looking up to the wagon he held out his paw, and Bright Eyes dropped him a quarrel as long as an arrow and as thick as Dylan's thumb.

Dylan set the bolt and looked around for a suitable target. He settled on a pine tree that was about forty feet away. The truck was a foot and a half thick, and there was a much wider oak twenty feet beyond it to act as a backstop in case he missed. Dylan aimed the weapon, holding the overly long and very heavy device dead level without showing any strain, and pulled the trigger. The bolt left the rails with a force that could be felt by Roark from several feet away.

The unexpected recoil made Dylan take a half step back to keep from falling. By the time he had recovered the shaft had already found its target, and passed right through it. He had to take a step to the side to spot the bright red fletching sticking out of the oak. The three went to inspect the damage. On the near side of the pine there was a hole the size of Dylan's thumb. On the far side there was a cone-shaped wound almost a foot across and a lot of fresh kindling.

"That was a carbon steel shaft with an armour piercing tip." Bright Eyes informed them. "But a regular hardwood shaft with a flint head will do just as well on a large coyote."

Or a couple of average sized wolves, Roark thought, while poking at the exit wound.

"Come. I'll introduce you to the rest of the guards and your patron, your boss."

After retrieving their personal possessions from the other caravan the leader's son brought them to a separate campsite and left them with a large, tough-looking red fox with an eye patch who was named appropriately enough, Dead Eye.

"Lost it when I was a kit in a feline raid." The rugged fox explained after they were left in his care. "But I got the balls of the one what done it." He held up a small doeskin sack that he wore hanging at his waist and jiggled it before their eyes. Something dry rustled inside. There were at least a dozen similar sacks decorating his belt. "You two can bunk with Louis. That is not his real name either but no one civilized can pronounce those Coyote names." He showed them a small tent where a large but ragged coyote sat brewing tea.

"This is Louis." Dead Eye indicated the grinning coyote. "We always work in units of three. Louis' former team mates are gone so you two get to replace them. He will show you what to do and where to go. During the day when we are camped two of the three in each unit are always on duty. At night one of three is always awake and on post. When we are on the move everyone is on duty all the time. Louis will answer the rest of your questions." With that the fox left them.

The coyote kept grinning until Dead Eye was out of sight. Then the smile fell from his face.

"Arrogant pricks." Louis commented. "Think they own the world just cause they control the trade. We gonna see who laughs last when the wolves come down outta the mountains." He looked up at the two newcomers. "Name's Ayoo-eeie. That mean 'Moon Fire' 'cause I was born the year that the moon come out in the day and block the sun so it lookin' like it had a big fiery ring 'round it. Lots a coyote my age named Ayoo-eeie, now that I think about it. But you calls me Lou-ee like the fox says iffn' it please you. You got names?"

Dylan explained their wolf names and the common tongue equivalents while Roark studied the hard to understand coyote.

"We don't got any other wolves at the moment." Louis explained. "The last two we had gone back to their packs after the rumours of war started comin' in. We got a few dogs, couple of cats, and one or two foxes too stupid to trade, like Dead Eye, the Patron."

"Patron." Roark interrupted. Bright Eye had used that term. "What's it mean?"

"Means boss, chief, leader. It fox speak. Bright Eye is Dead Eye's Patron 'cause he in charge of the camp, but his daddy Silver Tip is everybody's Patron."

"Do you speak fox? Is their tongue much different than yours, or ours?"

"Ayiee! Coyotes no speak that gibberish. Foxes only use it with each other and never teach it to us that work for them. But we hear them using it so we know a few words. Some words is the same as common tongue words, just said different. Like 'table', 'orange' or 'biscuit'." Louis went on to demonstrate for them how the other words he knew in the fox tongue, but to Roark's ear it sounded nothing like Bright Eye's phrasing. He doubted that he could do any better, given the terse nature and rough syllables of his own language.

"So what is it like working for this Silver Tip?" Roark enquired.

"He okay. Tough guy, but fair. Pays better than most." Louis described the death of the first guard and the dual between Mask and Silver Tip. "Got one hell of a good lookin' mate too."

Dylan thought of the vixens that entertained when the caravans came each year. While the wolves did not go in for magic acts or long odds gambling they did enjoy the dancing and the more intimate pleasures they offered. After all, there was no law that forced a single wolf to restrict his activities to the pack Mi-Ran, and the little vixens were lovely, clean and erotic. With this Silver Tip's fearsome reputation his mate was sure to be something special.

"She's a beauty is she?" He said, grinning at Louis.

"Well, she's ... different." Louis' mouth was half open to continue when a shout from across the camp drew his attention. Roark recognized the voice of Dead Eye, but did not catch his words.

"Time to go back to work." Louis said as he stood and brushed the dust from his short breeches. "Come on, I show you what it is we do ... but first," he pointed at Dylan's dangling genitals, "we got to get you some clothes. Silver Tip no like his guards runnin' 'round like a pack of wild animals."

* * * * * * * *

Cor-Wag returned to her cave in a huff. My cave, she reminded herself, not the Da-lan's cave, my cave.

It should have been a triumphant night for her. Earlier in the day Ang-Ro had called her aside with the news that Ro-Ack and one of his escorts had been reported killed on a diplomatic mission. The remainder of the delegation managed to escape, but unfortunately were only able to retrieve the escort's body. Ang-Ro had asked her in her role as the new Da-Lan to present the news to the pack at the evening meal. Ang-Ro wanted an emotional tribute to his fallen advisor. He wanted the crowd worked up. He wanted her to make dire predictions of what could transpire if they were weak and allowed this heinous act to go unavenged.

They had spent several hours going over the details of Ro-Ack's heroic last stand, as reported to Ang-Ro by the survivors. Apparently after one member was killed in the initial ambush Ro-Ack had held the attackers off on his own, ordering the rest of the delegation to retreat and carry the news of the rival pack's treachery back to the alliance. Cor-Wag would have liked to have played that part down, she still resented Ro-Ack for recommending Heg over her for the position of Da-Lan several months ago, but Ang-Ro insisted on a big build up for the former Balance. Cor-Wag was not one to argue with the leader, not after seeing how easily he replaced the last Da-Lan who disappointed him.

The presentation had gone well. Ro-Ack's followers were aghast. The newer members of the pack were infuriated. The call to revenge Ro-Ack afterwards was almost universal ... almost. One voice of dissent rang out. Ro-Ack and Heg's wild companion, the new Mi-Ran, spoke up.

"That does not sound like our Ro-Ack." She shouted above the clamour, and the den fell silent as she stepped forward, her frown and the firelight giving her face a terrible beauty. "He would never get trapped in an ambush, or make empty heroic gestures. He would have figured out a way to get them all back, including himself. And he certainly would not have chosen that motley crew as his traveling companions." She pointed dramatically toward the wolves that had been presented as the surviving delegation. They were not exactly the most impressive bunch that the pack had to offer.

Cor-Wag's jaw worked silently as she struggled to come up with a retort. She did not know Ro-Ack well enough to refute her assertion, and spontaneous wit was not one of her talents. No, that kind of thing was more suited to her predecessor, the hunchbacked cripple. The memory of how he had skewered her on more than one occasion burned, and tied her tongue even more firmly.

"Who can say what decisions one will make in an emergency?" Ang-Ro said loudly, but with some compassion in his voice as he stood on the opposite side of the fire. "And as for the brave members of his delegation, of course he did not choose them, I did. They have been feeling out our rivals for some months now and were recently invited to discuss a pact between us. I chose Ro-Ack to head the delegation because of his negotiation skills, not his battle skills. We all know he has never led a force into battle."

This brought some muttering from the crowd. What the leader had said was true, Ro-Ack was always in the background, planning and managing, never in the forefront where fate hinged on immediate action and reaction, and fate was known to be fickle.

"The important thing," Ang-Ro raised his voice to address the pack in general as the little slut had opened her mouth to argue further, "the important thing is how are going to answer this insulting act?" He let anger slip into his voice on the last phase and that brought a torrent of furious replies.

"Attack! Now!"

"Wipe them out!"

"Burn their Den!"

Any further protest was drowned by the calls for revenge.

Cor-Wag had expected some sign of appreciation from Ang-Ro for putting the majority of the pack in a receptive mood, but instead he gave her a smug look that said 'that is how you do it'. She blamed the little slut for stealing her chance to impress the supreme leader. She decided to leave early and retire to her cave, the one she had taken over from the previous Da-Lan, to pout.

If being embarrassed by a common Mi-Ran were not bad enough, two of the other females accosted her as she left the circle. The sisters Lo-Ack and Go-Ni, neither known for their intellect, intercepted her and asked if she would carry a portion of food back to their cousin, who had been too sick to attend.

"Their cave in on the way to the Da-Lan's cave." Lo-Ack informed her as she pressed a package of warm food wrapped in large leaves into Cor-Wag's paws. "You are going to the Da-Lan's cave, aren't you?"

"I am Da-Lan." Cor-Wag snarled, dropping the bundle to the ground where it split open and splattered their legs. "I am going to my cave."

"Hey! Watch out!" The more aggressive Go-Ni cried as Lo-Ack tried to apologise.

"That is what we meant Cor-Wag ... I mean, Da-Lan ... that it is on the way to your cave." But it was too late; Cor-Wag had already left the two bewildered wolves behind.

My cave, my cave, she repeated to herself as she ran from one corner to another, ripping down decorations that Heg had left behind and tossing them into the fire pit. She continued until she had piled everything that might have been his personal property inside the circle of smooth stones and then searched for a match to light it with.

Where did he keep the damned matches? She searched pouches and boxes desperately. Aha! Here they are! Now she just needed something flammable to stick in the middle of the pile to get it all going. Ashe looked around wildly, and spotted a crumpled up scrap of parchment with burnt edges sitting in the shadows. This will do!

Seeing the charred edges, she thought it might burn better if she flattened it out. That is when she realized that the remnant of a scroll was covered in writing, Heg's writing. Hoping that it would be a new story that she could claim as her own, she began to read.

It was better than a story, she realized as she perused the outpouring of Heg's love for the slut he referred to as 'Annie'; it was a means for her to get revenge.