Goldteeth was too strong to die from a single bite, though. He forced a roll, his back feet kicking and slashing wounds into Bonebite’s thighs. The two came to a stand, facing one another for a brief second. They were both badly wounded, Goldteeth seeping blood from his neck, Bonebite from the many slashes along his arms and legs. They exchanged a few swipes, but Bonebite was the faster, and his claws found flesh.
And then Bonebite dove in, with such ferocity that Jerico found himself unprepared. The wolf-man’s claws slashed and grabbed, his teeth rent flesh, and in an explosion of gore he tore Goldteeth apart. Even those of Goldteeth’s tribe cheered, showing just how deeply their loyalty ran for their leader.
Bonebite lifted Goldteeth’s heart to the moon, and as he did, the crowd quieted.
“You of Goldteeth’s pack, do not swear to me as you might have once done. You will remain a pack, separate from us, but still strong, still loyal. Find yourselves a new leader, and he will swear loyalty to Redclaw. Redclaw will be the leader of leaders! Redclaw will be the moon made flesh. Redclaw will be Wolf King!”
“This is bad,” Jerico said, his throat dry. Darius nodded in solemn agreement.
“It’s time we leave, now.”
Wolves from Goldteeth’s former pack were climbing onto the pile of bones, no doubt to battle over who would become the new leader. Jerico watched for only a moment, then turned to follow Darius back to their boat. A single frightening thought hammered his mind repeatedly: whoever this Redclaw was, Bonebite considered him stronger. How fearsome must he be in battle, for Bonebite alone looked like he could tear apart ten armored soldiers.
Halfway to the river, Darius suddenly grabbed him and flung him to the ground.
“Quiet,” he hissed, but the order was unnecessary. Jerico felt Ashhur crying warning in his head, and it pounded like a drum. They lay in the tall grass, the silence of the night all around them. And then, a hundred yards to the north, ran the wolf pack. Jerico could not count them all, but there were at least ten, if not twenty. It was their leader that held his eye, and he watched as long as he could before they vanished. The wolf-man was enormous, towering over the others even when he ran on all fours.
“We’re downwind,” Darius whispered when they were finally gone. “Thank Karak for that.”
“Ashhur as well,” Jerico said, standing. He stared in the distance, a chill running up his spine. “Where did they come from, Darius? What is it they have done?”
They found their answer at the river. Beached not far from their boat was another, this one wide and flat. When they searched it, they found no trace of the supplies that had surely been atop it, and as for the men who piloted it, they found only their blood. The river, or the bellies of the wolves, had claimed the rest. Jerico whispered prayers for the fallen men while Darius cursed and turned his gaze east.
“You were right,” said the dark paladin. “They’ll starve and weaken us, and still they watch the river. Whoever this…Redclaw is, his pack is growing. When will they attack? When will they swim over these waters and tear this village apart?”
“I don’t know,” Jerico said, finishing his prayer. “But they will. Of that, I have no doubt.”
“Come then,” Darius said, heading toward their boat. “Let us share the bad news. Tomorrow morning, they’re leaving, all of them. We cannot defeat such a force on our own.”
“What if they catch us while we flee?”
Darius laughed and reached out his hand to help Jerico into the boat.
“Then I guess we’ll have to win anyway. What’s wrong, paladin, lost your faith in the impossible? Hopefully not yet. We’ve still got to convince a couple hundred farmers and wives to leave everything they have based on the testimony of two men.”
“They’ll listen,” Jerico insisted.
“We’ll see,” Darius said, and they let the subject die.
R edclaw detected the scent of his many brethren within the hills, and it warmed his heart. His two pups, still without names since they were yet to reach their first year, would be there among them. Hopefully one of his pack members had ensured them a close seat for when Bonebite challenged Goldteeth. They should witness such strength firsthand, see what it meant to face a rival and conquer him without hesitation or remorse.
The rest of his party loped behind him, and Redclaw did his best to put Yellowscar out of his mind. The fool had endangered his pack, cost him the life of a fine warrior, and revealed himself lacking in any sense of cunning or tactic. Let the humans kill him once he grew fat on the plentiful game waiting across the great river.
“Do you think Goldteeth won?” Rockeye asked.
“Goldteeth is stupid. His pack is small because even the wild dogs think better. He will expect to win on strength alone. Bonebite is smart. Bonebite is fast. I have no doubt who won. Goldteeth’s pack will swear their allegiance to me.”
They crossed the hills, and as they did, something tugged at the back of Redclaw’s mind, like a thorn that had worked its way underneath his skin. Ignoring it, he slowed his run so he might arrive standing tall and proud instead of with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. As they walked, Rockeye cocked his head and listened.
“The Gathering nears its end,” he said. “I hear them howling in celebration.”
“A new leader,” Redclaw said. “Let us meet him.”
They entered the circle, and Redclaw was pleased to see the sacred mound soaked in blood and gore. The best Gatherings were ones where not a shred of bone remained white come the rise of day. Three dead wolf-men lay atop it, with one lone survivor standing, his left eye swollen shut and the fur of his chest hanging ragged from torn skin.
“Bring him to me,” Redclaw said as Bonebite came closer.
“Of course,” said Bonebite. The dead wolf-men were placed before their pack, and they began their feast. Redclaw looked for his pups while he waited. Sure enough, they were near the front, within easy view of the bone mound. He grinned, and when they saw him, they respectfully dipped their heads. Pleased, he looked to the new pack leader, who came and knelt before Redclaw.
“I am Moonclaw,” said the wolf. “My pack swears its loyalty to you, mighty Redclaw. Bonebite fought in your stead, and his tongue tasted much blood. We will learn from that strength.”
Redclaw narrowed his eyes as he looked over the new pack leader. He had an almost lanky appearance, for while he was as tall as Redclaw, he lacked the muscle. His fur was a deep black, with a few splotches of white across his face and hands.
“I must see you fight another time,” Redclaw said. “I wish to judge your strength, but tonight, I deem you leader of your pack.”
“And I deem you leader of leaders, Wolf King.”
Moonclaw bowed even lower, and Redclaw felt his heart leap at the title. So it had begun, small perhaps, only the tiny step of a pup, but a step nonetheless. The wind shifted, swirling for a brief moment, and with it color poured over the hills south, the scent faint but inescapably human. Redclaw felt panic only a moment, swiftly replaced by anger.
“They were here!” he roared. “Humans! They watched the Gathering, and none of you saw? None of you heard their whispers, smelled their scent?”
“The noise was great,” said Moonclaw. “And what else could we smell but the blood upon the mound?”
“Forgive us,” Bonebite said, stepping back and lowering his head. “I heard and smelled nothing either. The wind was their ally, and the noise of the Gathering their friend.”
Redclaw let loose a rumble from deep within his belly. The rest of his pack gathered around him, remaining just far enough back to maintain a respectful distance. He felt his plan weaving through his head. They lacked the numbers for what he desired. They could slaughter the village, that he knew, but it was the humans that would come from afar that he feared. So far he’d kept his numbers hidden from them, but if any had seen the Gathering, had seen the force building so very near…