Yet suddenly Thork leapt forward, breaking the trance, Chnk! his hammer crunching into Vulg skull, the creature dropping dead at his feet.
Now Elyn brought her saber into play, Shssh! but the great furrow she cut upon a snarling creature’s flank caused it to turn in rage upon her. Yet lo! It fell at her feet with its throat slashed, though no cut was this of Elyn’s.
From the corner of her eye Elyn thought she saw. . someone, but when she turned no one was there. Even so, another Vulg fell dead, dark blood gushing from a gashed throat.
The glade was filled with a terrible snarling, loud, so loud the sound seemed to fill the whole world, as utter violence gripped, and shook, and rattled the very essence of the clearing, and Death stalked with a raging hand that juddered the very soul to its depths. Silver Wolves slew in a mighty slaughter, great jaws rending and tearing, whelming the Vulg foe.
And the creatures of the darkness fled yawling, for they could not withstand the silver archenemy; but Wolves pursued Vulgs, overhauling them from behind to bring them down unto death. And not one, not a single one of the Vulgs escaped the glade that night.
And when it was over, from somewhere, nowhere, everywhere, sounded a whistle, and the Silver Wolves came trotting back up the knoll, their work done this darktide.
Elyn and Thork watched them return, gathering in a circle around the twain and sitting expectantly, tongues lolling over grinning white fangs. And Elyn now saw that their fur was a dazzling, almost transparent, white, throwing back the moonlight as a silver sheen.
And lo! Suddenly before warrior and Warrior Maid stood a Man, long-knife in hand! Nay! Not a Man, but perhaps an Elf instead! Seemingly from thin air he appeared: first he wasn’t, then he was.
Thork stepped back with a grunt, bringing his hammer to a guard. Elyn’s own weapon was brought ’cross her body in a warding stance.
But the Man, the Elf, stooping to wipe the blood from his weapon upon the long grass, spoke in a gentle voice: “I am a friend.” He stood once more and sheathed the cleaned blade in a scabbard at his belt, then gestured to the grinning Wolves encircling them all. “And these are friends of mine.”
Man height he was, six foot or so, and in this he was taller than most Elves, yet his eyes held the hint of a tilt, and his ears were pointed, though less so than one would expect. His hair was long and white, hanging down beyond his shoulders, its sheen much the same as Silver Wolf fur, though somehow darker; in spite of his white hair, he looked to be no more than thirty. He was dressed in soft grey leathers, black belt with silver buckle clasped at his waist. His feet were shod with black boots, supple and soft upon the land. His eyes were as piercing as those of an eagle, their color perhaps grey, though it was difficult to tell in the light of the pale quarter Moon. At his throat was a glimmer of silver, mayhap an amulet upon leather thong.
“I am Thork, of Mineholt Kachar,” growled the Dwarven warrior, lowering his hammer, “and this be Elyn of Jord.”
The Elf, the Man, stood confused for a moment, head cocked to one side, as if seeking an elusive thought. “Names. . ah yes, names,” he responded at last, shaking his head in bemusement. “I had forgotten. Call me. . call me Wolfmage, a name I held in the past.”
“Wolfmage? But that’s the name of the Wizard of Wolfwood.” Through Elyn’s mind tumbled legends of old, and her eye fell upon the Silver Wolves, her mind recalling Trent the Bard’s song of a Mage that ran with Wolves.
The Magus spread his hands and gestured to the forest surround. “Lady Elyn, this is the Wolfwood.”
“But it is said that evil shuns the Wolfwood”-the Warrior Maid’s gaze strayed to the slain Vulgs-“yet evil came within.”
A flush of anger darkened the face of the Mage, and a huge Silver Wolf stood and growled, uncertain as to the source of the threat. And Wolfmage turned to Wolf and spoke a strange word, and the beast sat once again. “He senses my ire, does Greylight-if you must have a name for him as well. For he is as puzzled as I at this riddle of Vulgs within the ’Wood. Never have they invaded in a force such as this, steering clear instead of stepping within. For they fear the Draega, the Silver Wolves of Adonar.”
“They came into these woods for they sought our blood, these Vulgs” gritted Thork. “Just one of many foe these past nights.”
“Even so,” responded the Wolfmage, “still would they sheer off pursuit rather than run among these trees.”
“Evil has hounded us for nearly a fortnight running,” said Elyn, “relentless in its quest. From the Khalian Mire to here, vile foes have harried us, seeking our doom. Why? We know not. Yet Thork deems, as do I, that the Vulgs came into your demesne because we were here.”
The Magus stepped to one of the Vulg corpses, Greylight standing and padding to his side, hackles up, ready to attack should the slain creature show signs of movement, the other Silver Wolves standing ready as well. Kneeling, the Mage placed a hand upon the dead Vulg’s brow and remained motionless, his eyes closed. A siss of air sucked in between clenched teeth, and he uttered one word: “Andrak.”
Forest shadows drifted across their faces as the Moon rode through the night sky. Around them among the trees padded an argent guard, a ghostly silver pack slipping through the wood. To the fore in the distance Greylight ranged ahead, scouting a track toward an unknown destination.
“You need aid,” the Mage had observed upon rising from the corpse of the Vulg. “Too, you are scathed. Come. It is not far.”
“Wind and Digger,” Elyn had said, “our mounts. We must find them. They are wounded too, and I would see to their needs.”
“Fear not, for they are safe,” had responded the Mage. “I will tend them as well, and bring them at your need.” And they had set off down the knoll and toward the encircling shaggy boles of the surrounding Wolfwood.
And now they strode among the enshadowed trees, guardians all about them, silent Moon and stars above. “You are right about the Vulgs. They were after you. It is a sending! Andrak’s sending. His vile touch can be sensed by those who know its spoor.” Elyn and Thork could hear the suppressed rage in the voice of the Wolfmage.
“A sending?” asked Elyn, apprehension coursing through her at these ominous words. “But why?”
“Evil was the day when Andrak was seduced into taking that first step along the ways of darkness,” responded the Mage, “turned from the light by vile Modru. And in his wickedness, Andrak would have it such that he look down upon great suffering; and he would impose his will upon the helpless, and utterly dominate the powerful. And as such, I know not why he would set Rûpt upon the track of just two, for his dark dreams would elevate him above numbers beyond count.”
“Then the Grg seek us both,” queried Thork, “and not just one?”
“That I cannot say,” answered the Magus. “That it was Andrak’s sending, is true. But as to what or whom he would destroy, it is beyond my power to know.”
And suddenly there sprang to Elyn’s mind one of Ruric’s favorite oaths-“By the black nails o’ Andrak!”-but how that bore upon this, she knew not.
They strode on in silence for a ways, coming at last to a tiny grassy clearing within the forest. A small stone cote stood under the eaves of the wood, thatched roof yellow in the moonlight, the walls below a darkling grey. They entered through a wooden door hanging on leather hinges, and light shone palely in through windows, washing over shadowed silhouettes standing inside.
“Be seated my guests.” The Wolfmage passed beyond Elyn’s sight in the darkness; she could hear him opening drawers, and there came the clink of glass vessels. To her right, Thork stepped forward, and Elyn heard the sound of a chair being drawn back upon a wooden floor, and she could dimly make out the Dwarf sitting down.