Chapter 13

The sky was deep and blue and bare of clouds. The sun shone down bright and unhindered, but its warmth was fleeting, carried away by the fretting and inconstant late October wind. Dry and fallen leaves were whisked up quickly into whirlwinds, only to be abandoned with equal suddenness, left to drift back to earth as they would. The aged and wind swept granite thrusts bore countless lichen edged crevices, filled with the same brown and lifeless needles that covered the ground wherever rock or pine, or holly did not. The air was cool and clear, but altogether void of fragrance.

The meeting place had been well chosen. A wide and shallow bowl at the very crown of the Hill, carved by nature from the rock that formed its bones, it commanded an unobstructed view for miles in all directions. Beyond the reach of all but the hardiest pines, it lay bare and open to the sky above. Here sun by day and star by night were free both to see and be seen by the descendants of a race as old as conscious thought upon the Earth.

It is a fitting place to die, thought Akar solemnly. He rested now upon the southern promontory which stood out from the edge of the bowl like the horn of a saddle, waiting for his foe to reappear from the cover of overhanging branches into which he had vanished from view. By now he must surely be aware of his presence. But he knew Shar-hai would do nothing in haste.

So arching his head skyward like the wolves of old, he let out a long, dispassionate howl, issuing his challenge to whatever ears might choose to hear it. He felt new strength and courage coming to him from out of the Hill, from the roots of stone and past, and he vowed again not to surrender his spirit until every chance to kill or injure the usurper had been utterly spent.

Now less than two hundred yards away on the slope below, the guard responded with angry growls and defiance. For they still detected only one forbidden scent. Only Shar-hai showed restraint, held back by the measured caution of one who had lived his life in subtle but constant fear of retribution.

Not that he feared Akar’s challenge. He had no intention of abiding by any rules or code of honor in dealing with his brave but foolish opponent. He knew that if at any point he faltered, his guard would not hesitate to join the fray.

But still he was uneasy. He had slept poorly two nights before, and trembled in the shadows of a dark vision.

In his dreams---he had not slept again since---he walked through a bleak forest of eternal night, the black trunks of the trees gnarled and twisted like misshapen statues, wrapped about the feet with a chill mist that rose to a fog and blanketed the horizons, giving all distance a feeling of timelessness and endlessness.

He walked alone, feeling lost: hungry, no matter how many times he killed. He stalked and slew first one beast and then another, with none to rise up against him, and none to mourn the loss of the fallen.

And finally, after an endless, meaningless search, he thought he had found it, the thing he hungered for. A child, white and innocent and soft. It had fled before him on sight, flying first down, and then up, a long bare hill. He pursued it in ecstasy, in torment. Closer and closer, his body growing weaker, almost sexually, his legs sometimes moving in place, as his desire became more desperate. He was almost upon it when---

A terrible Angel of Death stood before him, wrapped in a cold and deadly light, a flaming blue weapon in its hands. He tried to stop, but something pushed him forward, irresistible: driven like a piece of meat onto the stake. He cried out in a voice that was almost human...

Upon waking he had heard yet again the hoarse words of the hyena bitch who bore him, as she lay dying, abandoned, in the snow.

‘Wreak your vengeance well, son of Shar, and fear not the wrath of your brothers. For no creature of the wild shall ever slay you. Neither river, nor mountain, nor lion; but only a man. Beware the dark masters who walk erect, with the eyes that burn of a world that will never be... ‘ And he had raised his head in spite of himself, alone in the night, and howled his anguish to the wind.

But here, now, there was Akar to deal with. It all seemed so pointless. For try as he might, he could not make his hatred flare against him as it had against Shaezar. They were much alike. But yes, he would kill him. And kill again, until the emptiness of his soul had been sated, or had itself been devoured.

He emerged with his guard into the clearing that stood before the southern rise of the promontory. There he was met by the remaining males of Shaezar’s pack. There were only four: an aging outrider, two yearlings and a one-eyed five year old.

Seeing Akar standing straight and proud above them, the four were faced with a difficult choice. If there had been but one more seasoned male among them, perhaps they could fight. But as it was they stood no real chance against the monstrous half-breed and his treacherous companions, themselves both large and fierce.

Akar looked down on them with compassion, for their dilemma had been his before them: whether to serve a hated leader, or to make noble but vain rebellion against him. The hackles of the guard were raised, and there was scarcely contained rage in their throats. Shar-hai addressed the wolf.

‘You have issued your challenge, small one. Will you remain there above us, or come and meet your death in the arena?’

‘We will do battle soon enough, my unnatural brother. But first I will speak to those whose souls remain.’ And there was in his voice something so solemn that it stilled the fires of the two, and granted him with Shar-hai this last request. He spoke in a dialect they only half understood.

‘Do not despair, you that remain. Even if this battle is lost, the marauder cannot last much longer. He defies all that is quietly strong with every step he takes. Nature will not allow it. His death draws near.’

With that he turned, and leapt down into the arena behind. Shar-hai was there ahead of him. And for all their snarling threats and lunges, his guard could not keep the others from pushing past and up the curving stone trench that led into the meeting place. One female joined them there as well.

Akar fought valiantly, summoning all the courage born of despair, and all the strength and guile he could muster. He fought in the only way he could---refusing to allow Shar-hai to use his greater size and strength to advantage. Each time the two would bolt together, rising from impact with heads writhing and bared teeth crashing, he would slide off quickly and not be broken back, slashing as he did at the flanks of the other before retreating. In this way he bought time for Kamela, holding off the death clash as long as he could.

But soon, as he knew he would, Akar began to tire. His lunges at the legs and ribs of his opponent had done little damage, while the constant pounding on his own neck and chest had begun to take its toll. Rising together yet again he remained there, suspended, and aimed for the throat. He could not get past the others flashing jaws, then was broken back.

They clashed again, Akar off balance, and it was only through a supreme effort that he held up against the weight and strength. He slipped away, and this time Shar-hai lunged at his exposed shoulder. The wolf turned sharply back into him, trying to seize his front leg; but he was away. Akar ran a short way, then turned. They rose together, the larger reaching greater height, forcing him down. He slipped away. Again. One of the guard suddenly lunged at him, biting deep into his hind leg before the one-eyed male drove him away. They bickered and fought. Shar-hai was on him again, tearing at his ear. They rose. Again.

Slowly they kept fighting and Akar was losing strength and it seemed to him that the world became a blur of yellow teeth and he was caught in a circle of foes whose names he had forgotten, and it was like a dizzying whirlpool or being caught in a ring of fire with the heat and smoke choking him and all he could do was fight back against the one who kept attacking him.

And as the horror of it grew and desperation drove reason and consciousness from him, he became cruel and savage like a dying animal. And for a time this desperation gave him strength. But soon he knew that this growling bitter hatred that was the fire beneath living creatures and which he was feeling only now, was second Nature to Shar-hai, and what he would be feeling very soon now that he was cut and in the midst of insurrection. And it was true. Perhaps only seven minutes had passed before Akar had nothing left and his foe was still strong. So hideously strong.

The knowledge of Death came to strangely to Akar, as his spirit weakened and he knew the end was near. And it was familiar, so familiar. It filled him with a dull horror that was the essence of all the nightmares he had tried to forget. He knew he would die, and if there had been time it would have filled him with a great sorrow. But there was no time. And he was ready to quit when he remembered Kamela, and knew that he must fight a while longer.

Then sensing his weakness, Shar-hai reached a foreleg across him as they rose, and with all his weight and strength crushed him to the ground against a jutting stone. Akar gave a short yelp of pain as he landed and something in his shoulder gave way. And he knew he could rise no more.

Kalus had heard the sounding of the challenge, but it meant nothing to him. He kept looking back toward the lower lands and wondering. But when he heard the sounds of battle, and saw the female running past with the cub but looking back many times, he understood.

‘Akar!’ he thought dismally, pounding his head in anger and self-loathing. ‘Why didn’t I know it before?’

It all came to him in an instant: the outcast wolf, the murderous usurper, Akar’s underlying despair. And he knew and felt a quiet dread creep over him. Because he could not wait.

He ran now, all hiding behind him, up the hill toward the place where he knew Akar was fighting for his life, and for the life of the female he loved. He thought of Sylviana and nearly stopped---he looked back---then continued up the hill with the sword in his hand. His pledge, and the threat of a dangerous enemy left unchallenged, drove him on.

After a time he tried to pace himself, knowing he would have nothing left. But still he pushed as hard as he dared. He reached the clearing, now unguarded, and looked up at the promontory. He could not rush in blind, with the battle so close, but must have some advantage at least. So he moved to a place where the rock was scarred and began to climb, that he would not be wholly without protection.