"Ho, brother. It is well that we are away," Mika said genially, smiling across at the man in a friendly manner. "An evil business. How did your cargo fare?"
The man did not answer, merely leaned forward and slashed the reins down cruelly on the mules' backs.
"Hold, brother," Mika said pleasantly, although a hint of something hard had crept into his voice. "No need to harm the beasts; it looks as though they are giving you their all."
The man turned his head toward Mika and spoke quietly but with force. "I am not your brother, and my cargo and animals are none of your concern. Go away."
Tamlur growled deep in his throat, and Mika did not have to look at the beast to answer the question. He waved his hand in a command gesture, forbidding the wolf the right to attack.
"I was merely passing the time of day, brother," Mika said, using the term purposefully now. "I am not well versed in the ways of the city, but out here on the plains, it does not pay to be rude intentionally. One never knows when one might need a friend."
The man's dark eyes held Mika's gaze without flinching and Mika knew that this one would never call for help no matter what the circumstances.
Mika slowed his horse and fell back, allowing the wagon to pass him. He studied it carefully. Front and back were still tightly sealed. The wheels groaned in protest against the heavy load, and the axle complained in a shrill unending shriek that grated on the nerves. TamTur whined and shook his head, the high-pitched noise hurting the tender membranes of his inner ear.
Mika brought the grey to a halt, allowing the wagon to pull away, studying it as it rode low to the ground, and decided that he would have a closer look at it and its mysterious cargo once they reached camp, whether or not the driver or Guildsman approved. If there was a beautiful princess inside, she was yet to be glimpsed, and not a whimper of complaint or request issued from the wagon as it groaned along the route.
They reached camp at nightfall, greeted while they were still far out on the open prairie by a host of young, semi-naked boys daubed blue, riding bareback, and accompanied by their wolves, most of which were still leggy and ungainly with puppyhood.
The boys rode wide circles around the caravan, yipping and caroling wolf cries, parodies of the calls that would be used later in more serious encounters. They carried lances, some of which bore banners bearing the wolf emblem, and others that streamed long wolf tails.
They were answered by the returning warriors who wailed their own wolf calls into the cold night air. Their cries set off the wolves, which reared their heads and joined their voices in an eerie chorus that hung on the ear and sent shivers up and down the spines of those in the wagon train.
The sound of their voices brought people hurrying to the edge of the forest and crowding out onto the Far Fringe. Mika rode to the fore, placing himself next to Enor and Enor-oba, looking casual and unconcerned, his eyes searching for Celia.
Enor-oba looked at Mika with hatred, his hand going to the white scar on his face, almost without thought. "You shall not have her," he said through gritted teeth.
"What?" asked Mika, startled.
"You shall not have my sister," repeated Enor-oba. "You may have my father fooled, but not me. You are a coward and care only for yourself. I will do whatever is necessary to expose you as the scoundrel you are. Believe me, for I mean what I say."
Mika looked into Enor-oba's eyes and saw the hatred that burned there.
"What has set your ears on end, brother?" he asked with an easy smile. "We have competed since our earliest days. We crawled into the same den together and took our cubs from the same litter…"
"Yes, and you took the one I wanted," Enor-oba said bitterly, "and left me the female runt."
"… so why declare me enemy now, after so many years?" Mika continued, the smile still on his lips.
"I know that you are a coward who wants nothing more than to laze among the women," Enor-oba spat. "Had I not seen to it, you would have stayed at the rear throughout the entire conflict. I prayed that you would die, but you survived and now others will think you a hero. I know the truth and have had my fill of your posturing. I will see to it that others know as well. Including Celia. Especially Celia."
Mika saw that Enor-oba meant what he said, and that no words of his could change the man's mind. Besides, every word that he said was true.
He looked into the hate-filled eyes and grinned complacently, remembering the day shortly after their fifteenth year, when they had completed the last and the most important of the requirements for their initiation into adulthood, the acquiring of a wolf cub that would bond with them and remain loyal to them unto death.
The taking of a cub was no easy matter, for while a pack only had one dominant male and female that bred and produced cubs, there might easily be up to six other members of the pack that guarded, fed, and helped raise the pups.
A cub had to be taken young, before it had bonded to its wolf parents. And it was difficult to approach them at such an early age, as the wolves stayed close to the den.
Mika-oba and Enor-oba had both spied out the same den, yearned after the same large, black male pup, whose only other sibling was a small, runty female.
On the day of the taking, Mika had tricked Enor-oba into believing that the cubs had been moved to an alternate den. Enor-oba had believed Mika and had crawled into the den in search of the cub.
Later, Mika protested innocence and denied any knowledge of the fierce lone wolf that had taken up residence in the den. He had even offered to help his father mix up the ointment that would prevent the long deep wound on Enor-oba's face from scarring and festering.
The next day, while Enor-oba lay abed with his face mysteriously bloated to a grotesque size and his eyes swollen shut, Mika had brought him his new black wolf pup to admire. Enor-oba would not stop howling and had to be forcibly restrained from trying to strangle Mika.
By the time he recuperated, the only cub left was the tiny female that never attained full size and would obey all commands except those of Enor-oba. Mika grinned at Enor-oba, the memory still bright in his mind's eye.
Still smiling, Mika touched his heels to the ribs of the grey and caused it to leap away in a spray of gravel and dirt that showered down on Enor-oba as Mika rode for camp whooping and hollering exuberantly.
There was much commotion in camp as the women dropped what they were doing and hurried to the sides of their men.
"You are well?" asked Veltran as his eyes sought evidence of injury on his son's body.
"Yes, Father, I am well," sighed Mika-oba as he clasped the older man's fragile shoulder, taking in the sight of his tiny shrunken body, draped as always in the heavy wolf headdress and pelt.
Veltran's eyes, though blue, were faded and dull, and wrinkles criss-crossed his face in a cruel map of his years. Mika saw the weariness and pain that he carried with him like a visible burden. His father had become an old man without his even noticing.
Suddenly, he felt shamed and he realized for the first time how hard the death of his mother, sister, and brother had affected his father, how precious he himself had become.
"I'm fine, Father," he said gently, as they walked along the line of wagons that had entered the camp and creaked to a halt.
"There are many wounded to be tended to. I will help you as best as I am able."
"You are not hurt?" asked his father, placing a thin hand lined with prominent veins on Mika's tanned arm.
"Just tired and stiff," replied Mika. "It was a long ride and I will welcome my bed tonight." Or Celia's, he thought to himself.
"What casualties?" asked his father, walking quickly toward the lead wagon and fumbling for the large pouch of healing herbs that he always carried at his waist.