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Darwin's Legacy

Chapter 7 - A New Life

For the wolves in the mountains, the summer seemed to pass much more quickly. Probably because the season was much shorter in the higher elevations where the snow did not clear until after the summer solstice and would be back again before the autumn equinox.

This presented Ang-Ro with a short window of opportunity to enact phase one of his plan, uniting all of the wolf tribes. He had made good headway by assimilating or annihilating the larger packs on the lower slopes early in the season, however the ones that lived at the upper elevations while smaller and more primitive were much fiercer, and more mobile. Tracking them all down took some time. It was not until the days became noticeably shorter and the nights chilly that Ang-Ro stood on the peak of the highest mountain as the leader of all the wolves on the western slopes.

He stood steady at the apex of his territory despite the cold wind that made the robes he was wearing flap about him. He had turned his back to the setting sun and was contemplating the view eastwards. It consisted mainly of other mountain tops, but far, far in the distance, visible thanks to the cold, clear, dry air, he could make out a line that indicated another plain on that side. But how far away it was and how far it extended was unknown to the wolves. None living had ever ventured beyond the next few peaks, and there were no scrolls detailing what lay beyond. Ang-Ro vowed to find out, one day.

From a sheltered platform several yards lower his entourage of division leaders watched him as they huddled and shivered.

"Are you contemplating adding our four-legged cousins to the alliance?" One of them, the largest, called up impatiently, referring to the common belief that the wolves east of the mountain were feral creatures that ran like prey, on all fours. He was Ro-Fa, once the leader of a rival pack and now the leader of the assaulters. He had agreed to join Ang-Ro's alliance rather than fight and so had been given a top-tier leadership position. He had to pledge his allegiance to Ang-Ro, of course, but he did not act subservient to the supreme leader. Ang-Ro had pegged him as one of the first to go once the campaign was complete, before the bigger wolf got any ambitious ideas.

"We will move no further east this year." Ang-Ro announced as he turned back toward them. "I have no desire to be caught on the wrong side of Cor-No if winter arrives ahead of time." He said, refereeing to the storm god that was believed to dance on this peak during the worst storms. The peak itself bore his name.

"Good." Ro-Fa grunted. "Then we can return to the lower slopes and start preparing our den for the winter."

Those around him, all former pack leaders themselves, mumbled agreement. There was much work to be done if they were going to use the caves of Ang-Ro's original pack as their capitol. Shelters had to be built for those who could not be accommodated. A system of communicating with the outlaying dens had to be devised. And now that the pack boundaries had disappeared some sort of district authority needed to be established. They had brought these points up to the supreme leader during the lulls between battles, but Ang-Ro had not revealed his thoughts on them as yet; perhaps now he would.

"We will return to the lower slopes, but only for a short rest and to re-equip." Ang-Ro told the leaders. "Then we move west, to the plains."

The pronouncement brought an immediate and outraged response as dozen wolves tried to out shout each other in voicing their objections. Ang-Ro waited for the cacophony to subside as the sun touched the curved line of the horizon and began to sink below it. When he finally did speak, he did so illuminated by the red light of the setting sun that stained his fangs with blood and brought fire to his eyes.

Half of those present were convinced that he was possessed by Cor-No himself, and those that were not convinced were willing to consider it a possibility. Nonetheless, they all listened in fascination as their leader detailed the next phase of his campaign.

* * * * * * * *

Back at the den things were not going so well for Mi-Ran-Ro, the courtesan formerly known as An-Gar-Lun, or Annie to her few friends.

At first, when she had become a comfort wolf back in the spring, everything had seemed fine. Mi-Ran was an accepted role in the pack and by taking it her beauty had ceased to be a threat to the other she-wolves. The activities required were no different from those she had been previously engaged in for comfort and survival, but the quarters that came with the job were a much more comfortable place to conduct them in. She had been accepted, happy, and content, for a time. But that time passed all too quickly.

Her first disappointment had come when Heg, the previous storyteller, had disappeared one night. She had always thought that he liked her and was heartbroken when he left without saying goodbye. But he had been acting distant since the day I announced that I was becoming a Mi-Ran, she recalled. Maybe he had a prudish streak that I was unaware of?

The second let down had come after the formation of the alliance, when Ang-Ro formed certain trades like that of Mi-Ran into guilds. He had ensured the loyalty of the guild by appointing the dried up old hag of a former Mi-Ran as 'Supreme Beauty'. One of her first acts had been to institute a classification system which reserved the higher rated courtesans for the exclusive use of the senior leadership. As 'Number One Beauty' Annie's clientele was now limited to Ang-Ro and his division leaders. Even her former protector Ro-Ack, the alliance Balance, was not permitted to pass the time with her.

With the Ang-Mi managing their appointments, the courtesans effectively lost the Mi-Ran's traditional right of refusal. This resulted in rough treatment for most of the guild members. In Annie's case, some of her elite customers came from packs where hygiene had yet to become a popular concept, and she could no longer send them away if they stank. The art of relaxation and de-stressing that the Mi-Rans had perfected became less in demand as the new clientele focused on the sexual aspect of their services. Annie soon found that she was not as comfortable with her new life as she once was.

The third distressing event was the death of Ro-Ack, which she still considered suspicious. Many in the pack and the new alliance remembered that he had a special affinity for her, like that of an older brother, and did not dare to raise a paw to her. But with him out of the picture there were no restraints on what the others did to her. She joined her guild sisters in learning how to cover up bruises and treat scratches between appointments.

The last thing, the one that she hated the most, was the return to being ostracised by the other females of the pack. Since she rarely had free time in the evening now that her time was split between entertaining the leadership and reporting their pillow talk to Ro-Da, the manipulative mate of Ang-Ro, Annie did not get the chance to socialize with the other females much anymore and she had acquired an undeserved reputation of aloofness. The fact that Ang-Ro had ordered some of them to do her laundry and clean her cave so that she would be better rested for her primary role did not help either.

She had expected to be able to rest and reconnect with her pack mates when the males went off to war, but she was mistaken. Ang-Ro had gathered some of the hardiest comfort wolves together and provided a pavilion where wolves that distinguished themselves in battle might spend the night afterwards. Annie was provided with a separate shelter that was pitched close to Ang-Ro's command tent. Ang-Ro was insatiable after a victory and prior to battle he usually sent along a division leader that needed motivating. But when they made the final sweep of the peaks to round up the last of the wild packs she claimed that the elevation was giving her terrible headaches so that she would be sent back to the den early.

When she had returned she found that the resentment towards her had gotten even worse. Now the matrons and maids alike were ignoring her when she approached them, snickering behind her back, pointing and laughing in their paws when they thought that she wasn't looking.

At first she thought that it was jealousy, resent at her access to the elite. If they only knew, she moaned. But on the day that the imminent return of the army was announced she discovered the source of their cruel amusement. Someone was passing a note around the den, and that someone was the new Da-Lan.

Annie had seen it out of the corner of her eye while silently chewing the noon meal at the communal fire. Those females around her shot her angry glances but off to the side, where Cor-Wag the new story teller was, a small group was whispering and laughing. She noted how Cor-Wag pointed her out and whispered to a matron before passing her a piece of parchment. As the older wolf read it she kept glancing up at Annie and giggling. Finally, with tears in her eyes, she had to put a paw in her mouth to keep from laughing aloud before passing the note back.

Annie thought of waiting until Cor-Wag was alone to confront her, but the new Da-Lan was much heavier than her and there was little chance of wresting the note from her. She considered asking Ro-Da to handle the matter but she hesitated. No matter what Cor-Wag had done to hurt her she did not deserve the suffering that the wicked Ro-Da would bring down upon her.

She waited, pretending to be absorbed in her meal, until Cor-Wag passed the note to a young wolf who was sitting with her back to Annie. Then, moving with the speed she had once been renowned for, Annie rushed over and snatched the paper from her paw. Before Cor-Wag could stand, she took a position by the fire, where she could toss the note in if the Da-Lan tried to get it back, and waited to see what the story teller would do.

"Go ahead, read it." Cor-Wag sneered. "Everyone else in the pack has read it already."

Annie raised the scrap slowly. It was covered in the symbols the wolves used for writing. Like their oral language, it was concise, conceptual, and dependant on context, but at the same time it was capable of conveying the powerful emotions of the species that had created it. She recognized Heg's paw in the script.

She read it quickly. It was not long, but it said a lot. It screamed out Heg's love for her, and echoed the thunderous breaking of his heart when she became Mi-Ran. It ranted about the attitude of the pack towards cripples like him and waifs like her, and it moaned over the trick of fate that kept them apart. It shone with the hope of them someday being together as mates, but it darkened at the end, when he wrote how it could never be, then it closed with a goodbye as final as the end of days.

All eyes around the fire were locked on her as if they belonged to a single creature. The entire pack held its breath, maws agape in eager grins as they waited for her reaction. Surely she would toss the note on the fire and flee in anger, or maybe toss herself on the fire from the embarrassment. Either way, they were in for a show.

Annie lowered the paper and looked around at the sea of expectant faces. She leisurely and deliberately folded the scrap of scroll into a neat square and tucked it inside her blouse. Then she threw her head back, and she laughed.

Annie laughed with the abandon of one who had lost their head in battle. She laughed at the thought of Heg mooning around after her for all those years, never working up the courage to tell her how he felt. She laughed at her own dumb ignorance, at how she mistook his attentions and favours for the same kind of platonic love that Ro-Ack and she shared. She laughed at the thought that a pack of stupid females who breed for social advantage could not recognize the raw, powerful love that Heg displayed in his note, and then she cried. She cried because it took an act of malice from an enemy for her to recognize that love.

The matrons and maids of the pack were nervous, and a little frightened, at the sight. They had never seen a wolf with eyes opened so wide that you could see the whites all around them with tears streaming down her cheeks and a mouth stretched in a painful rictus. Mothers clutched their young to their breast. Adolescents hugged each other. unmated females covered their bellies least that eerie stare rend them barren on the spot. Everyone inched away from the author of the scene, Cor-Wag the Da-Lan, who was surely doomed.

"Ah, Cor-Wag." Annie chuckled as she wiped the moisture from the fur below her eyes. "Oh, I beg your forgiveness .... Da-Lan. This pack deserves you." And without further ado she strode away from the fire and the stunned crowd that surrounded it.

All that she could think of as she marched back to her cave was of Heg's face, and where she could steal a pack and supplies for a long journey.

* * * * * * * *

Ang-Ro was incensed when he returned from the peaks to discover yet another deserter, especially since it was his favourite Mi-Ran. He had been looking forward to spending an afternoon alone with her in the hot springs nearby. But after raging around his quarters for a while he calmed down.

"It was only to be expected I suppose." He told his mate, Ro-Da. "First the hunchback then the loner and finally the slut. We tried to integrate that trio of losers into the pack but they never realty did fit in. We are better off without them."

"So you do not intend to go after her?" His dark mate inquired, pressing against him and rolling the fur on his chest between her digits.

"No Dear. You will have me all to yourself now that she is gone." He answered. She took a pawfull of fur and skin gave it a painful twist to let him know that he had completely misread her once again.

"Yeow! What did you do that for?" he cried as he jumped back and rubbed the sore spot.

"You have to send trackers after her. Not your idiot spies this time, real scouts. Ones that can handle a killing when it's needed."

"Why? She's even less important than the hunchback, and you did not want to send anyone after him. Even the escape of that troublesome Ro-Ack did not get you this upset. The only ones that will miss her are the leaders ... and me I suppose. She means nothing."

"No. She is different from the others. She has been reporting what the division leaders say when their guard is down to me. How do you think I knew about Ro-Don's plans to lead you into an ambush?" She referred to the plot by the leader of the scouts that the drunken sot had bragged about after he exhausted himself in Mi-Ran-Ro's bed.

"Commendable of her to draw it out of him, but not an irreplaceable skill, I'll wager. You'll just have to get Mi-Ran-Ah to do the same when she is promoted to number one."

"You idiot. It is not what she did but what she knows that is important. Along with their plots and schemes they passed on valuable information about the size and composition of our army, about our tactics, our strengths and our weaknesses. About our plans." Her ebony eyes narrowed into vicious slits aimed directly at her mate as she spoke the last few words.

If it was possible for a black wolf to turn pale all at once Ang-Ro would have done so just then. The division leaders were not the only ones that liked to drink and brag while engaged in other activities.

"I, uh, may have been a bit indiscrete myself dear."

"I know. Several times. She told me everything."

"Everything!"

"Oh yes."

"Even about the, uhm, ... non- verbal, uhm, things?"

"If you are referring to being spanked, yes. But don't feel bad dearest." Ro-Da said as she turned and headed for her private chambers. "Your bedding habits are our little secret, for the moment. Now go fetch some scouts and get them after her."

Ang-Ro left to do as he was told, but half his mind was occupied by thoughts of what she meant by 'at the moment'?

* * * * * * * *

Silver Tip's caravan was camped at the foot of the mountains. Silver Tip himself was parked on his butt at the top of the stairs of his personal wagon. Inside moans and screams rent the air as his fourth spouse cursed the day she agreed to let the old fox mate with her. For the last four hours the cries had been coming every ten minutes by his reckoning, but recently the interval seemed to be getting shorter. It would soon be time to fetch the old seer and midwife Star gazer and the kit who served as her eyes, Amber Rain.

But not yet. Silver Tip had been present for the birth of ten sons and five daughters over the years and he could read the signs almost as well as Star Gazer now. He busied himself by carving decorative pieces for his wagon, as was his habit when he would rather be out and about but had to force himself to be patient. His wagon was easily the most elaborate one in the caravan now.

An approaching figure drew his attention. It was the one-eyed chief of the guards, Dead Eye. He was making a direct line for the leader but his relaxed gait revealed that there was no emergency at the moment. Silver Tip put down his knife and brushed the curls of wood from his lap as Dead Eye drew near.

"Salut, mon vieux." Dead Eye greeted his old friend and patron from a position at the base of the stairs. "Trading has been good this year?"

"It has been very good, as you well know. Even with all the attempts to raid us."

"Heh, they buy weapons off us, and then they attack us. We kill them and recover most of the weapons to sell to the next group. That is what I call good business. A wise decision to stay out, Silver Tip."

"We would not have made a profit or survived at all without your excellent defence, Dead Eye. You have earned a well deserved bonus."

Dead Eye flushed and lowered his head to hide it. He pulled off his eye patch and rubbed the empty socket before speaking again.

"I would like to take all the credit for that of course, but I cannot." The red fox adjusted his patch and looked his leader in the eye with his remaining orb. "It was due in a large part to the two wolves you took from Broad Leaf. The big quiet one and the cripple."

"Roark and Dylan."

"Yes, exactly. Hmph." Dead Eye grunted. He had not thought that Silver Tip knew their names. But not much escapes his him, he reminded himself, despite all his pretending to be in his dotage. "The big one is a natural leader and a superb organizer. By the end of the first week the rest of the guards were deferring to him. By the end of the second so was I. And the hunchback is a boost to the group's moral. He can tell a story like you have never seen before, acting out all the parts and all." The head of the guard chuckled in remembrance.

"They are damn good fighters too." He continued. "Roark moves about, but he always seems to be where he needs to be to influence the fight. Dylan rides on the last wagon with that spear thrower of his and from there he can cover all the supply wagons. Many a sorry wolf or coyote that thought that a wooden shield would protect them from his bolts have ended up nailed to a tree by it.

Now it was Silver Tips turn to chuckle at the memory of how he felt cheated by Broad Leaf when the two dirty, dishevelled and naked specimens were presented to him. Well, only one was naked, he recalled, but neither had been very impressive at the time. His quiet laughter was drowned out by a new bout of screams from inside the wagon.

"Ouch." Dead Eye pretended to plug his ears. "Did you hear what she called you?"

"I've been called worse, and so have you"

"Not by someone I was sleeping with. Not recently, anyway." Dead Eye grinned, but the grin soon faded. "Speaking of name calling. I have not seen the twins for a few days. Did you send them away?"

The twins were the younger brothers and chief followers of Silver Tip's rebellious son, Mask. Ever since the death of Mask in a leadership challenge the two had been going around trying to drum up support for a general review of Silver Tip's leadership, hoping to accomplish through consensus what their brother had failed to do through use of force. But the profits had started rolling in shortly after the duel, and they found little support for their initiative.

"No, I did not send them anywhere. They just disappeared a couple of days ago. It is too bad; I would rather have them where I can keep an eye on them."

"You think that they have gone back to the winter campgrounds?"

"We'll find out soon enough." Silver Tip frowned as he wondered what mischief the twin could be up to. They had always been twice as much trouble as any other two sons of his, but filled with twice as much life also. He would miss them if they went away for good

"We are headed back for the winter campgrounds ourselves, right?" Dead Eye inquired.

"Yes." Silver Tip Replied, noting the pensive look on his old comrade's face. "We are out of trade goods and the wagons are heavy with raw metal and plastic. We need to secure it all and restock before we start the harvest circuit. Why do you ask?"

"I will join you on the harvest circuit, but it will be my last trip. Dead Eye said wearily as he leaned on the steps to Silver Tip's wagon. "I am getting to old for this, and it is time that I retired to the winter campground. With my share from this trip I will have enough."

"Your son works in one of the depots there, does he not?"

"He is in charge of a depot now. I will live with him and help to spoil my grandkits."

Silver Tip contemplated the news for awhile.

"I appreciate you telling me this now. Do you know anyone good in the other caravans that may be looking to change positions?"

"You do not need to hire anyone away from their caravan Silver Tip."

"What do you mean?"

"You could do worse than that wolf, Roark."

The proposal took Silver Tip by surprise. While most of the guards may be of other species, the chief of the guards was always a fox, and usually from one's own clan. That was the only way to assure loyalty in the one group that could mount a coup or support a rival's takeover by force of arms. But he had trusted Dead Eye with his life on more than one occasion, and the old red fox would not make such a suggestion lightly.

"I'll think about it." He replied after a moment. "There is no rush. So, it is retirement for you eh?" He said lightly to change the subject.

"You should consider retiring too, old friend. Staying in the winter campground would be safer for you and your mate and, uhm, any, ah, kits you two produce."

"You think so?" Silver Tip leaned down, a note of anger entering his voice. "More so than in my own caravan?" Dead eye was not cowed, however.

"You have enemies here."

"Less since Mask's brothers left."

"But they exist, all the same."

Silver Tip had just opened his mouth to retort when the alarm bells rang. The caravan was under attack again.

* * * * * * * *

Annie suspected that she was being hunted by the end of the second day. She confirmed it by killing a groundhog the next morning and leaving it in the sun for the crows. Then she moved to a vantage point a mile or so away and waited. Sure enough, two hours later the scavengers took to the sky with perturbed squawks as whoever it was behind her disturbed their meal. The fact that no one appeared on an exposed section of the trial just beyond made her believe that Ang -Ro had sent the scouts out after her.

Annie knew that while the scouts moved cautiously they also moved quickly. She did not have enough of a lead to make out running them a possibility. She needed to buy some time, and the only commodity that time could be bought with at the moment was blood.

Hanging out with Heg and Ro-Ack when she was a cub had exposed her to a number of different trades. Working as Mi-Ran for the pack in general, before she had been reserved for leaders only, had broadened that knowledge. For some reason males had this innate need to tell their bed partners the tedious details of their work and rag about just how good they were at it. The scouts were no exception. They may have been taciturn professionals during the day but they babbled like kit after a session between the blankets.

The key thing that she had learned about the scouts, was that they all had a strong sense of caution, but it was challenged by a stronger sense of curiosity,

Not knowing exactly how long she had to prepare, Annie put her pack and the crossbow she had stolen down at one end of the clearing she was in. She dug something out of the pack and then went to the other end of the open area, where she proceeded to remove all of her clothing. She folded them neatly and laid them, and everything else she was still carrying, at her feet. Then she knelt down beside them and began to frantically dig a hole in the hard dirt with her paws.

Every few minutes Annie paused in her digging to lift her head and howl at the sky. She kept her paws on her thighs as she did. When the last low note had faded away she returned to her digging. Dirt and gravel flew in all directions, but she was making slow progress.

When she had been at it for about thirty minutes, and had only made a depression in the soil twice the size of her head, a slim grey wolf with a cocked crossbow stepped into the clearing. He kept the weapon trained on her as he studied her from several yards away, a puzzled expression on his face.

"What are you doing?" He demanded.

"I am digging a grave." She relied, sitting up and wiping her paws on the clothes folded by her knees.

"Your own?" The scout chuckled and circled around in front of her.

"No." Annie said as she raised her cast off blouse to cover her breasts. "Yours."

She dropped her blouse and fired the paw-sized crossbow she had folded inside it before the scout could react. Ro-Ack had bought it for her from the foxes so that she would have some protection when he and Heg were not around. The small bolt caught him in the left breast, ruining his aim for the return shot. But Annie did not stay to see whether he was mortally wounded or not. As soon as the bolt had left the rail she had immediately dove and rolled in the direction of her large crossbow. An instant later a long black bolt flew through the space she had recently occupied.

She had been expecting it. Another thing that she had learned about scouts from their pillow talk was that they always worked in pairs. She noted where the bolt came from and snatching up her large crossbow returned fire. The yowl of pain that came from the bushes could not have been faked.

She quickly checked on the first scout. He was on his back with his paws on his chest. His breathing was fast and shallow. Annie dove into the bushes and went after the second scout, reloading as she went. She found him crawling away with her bolt through his abdomen. The wound might not be fatal if he could get back to his section before bleeding out. He looked back frantically and saw her approaching with the loaded weapon. Their eyes locked for an instant. She did not recognize him. He was not from her old pack. That would make things easier, for her anyway.

He tried to stand and run. He almost made it. Annie put another bolt between his shoulders before he could try again.

She returned to the clearing from another direction and checked on the first scout from the cover of the foliage. He was still, his chest unmoving, and red foam lined his maw. She fired a bolt into his corpse just to be certain.

After retrieving her bolts, including the small one buried in the first scout's chest, Annie assessed her situation. The scouts would have fanned out in all directions looking for her specific trail. Since they were not expecting any fight from a runaway courtesan the pair that had found her had likely not reported back. Returning with the prize was more worthy of note, and wolves were all about status in the pack after all.

Of course, the rest of the scouts would eventually come looking for this pair, and after finding them they would even more cautious. That could work to her advantage. Annie figured that she would have three days before they caught up with her again. Time enough to put some serious distance between her and the pursuers.

She striped the two dead scouts of their supplies, including one of the large knives with the serrated back that was good for cutting through branches, or bone. Then she packed up her things, pointed herself downhill and she began to run.

Annie ran non-stop for two days. When she was a cub she had spent a lot of time running, early on because that was how little wolves played, later because she was being chased so often. In the end she ran for the sheer joy of it. Even after becoming Mi-Ran she would spend the mornings running through the woods that clung to the slopes of the mountain, so she had lost none of her strength or stamina. Besides, running downhill was easier than going up.

As she ran she drank from gourds, hers and the ones she had taken from the scouts. She ate the high energy mixture that the scouts had exclusive access to, having found several days worth on the bodies. It was enough to keep her going through the day, the night and another day. At the end of the second day Annie stopped and ate a proper meal from her own rations, and when she was full she slept without a fire.

On the morning of the third day since killing the scouts Annie rose and made a small fire to heat her morning meal. When she was finished, rather than put it out and scatter the ashes, she added green wood that she cut with the scout's knife. The fresh-cut wood would burn for a long time, sending up a thread of smoke that would be visible for miles. Satisfied that it would not go out while she was away, Annie gathered her gear and headed back uphill on a course parallel to her route the day before.

By noon she had found the perfect spot, a rocky outcrop overlooking a small alpine valley she had traversed the previous day. Annie dusted her fur with the local soil, covered herself with vegetation growing nearby and settled down to wait.

Several hours later the first scout appeared. He was keeping to the cover on the side of the valley, moving only a hundred yards at a time. He checked the next bound thoroughly before moving on, signalling to someone behind him each time. The second scout hung back, prepared to assist in case their prey doubled back in ambush. He would not advance until the lead scout cleared enough terrain to make that possibility unlikely. But as one amorous scout had revealed, hardly anyone ever doubled back more than a few hundred yards, certainly never a half day's worth of travel.

The lead scout reached the exit at the bottom of the valley and signalled his partner forward. Once together Annie saw him point to the horizon, where the faint trickle of smoke could be seen rising in the still air many miles away. After a short conference they moved on, the first scout keeping the lead. That was important. If they were alternating the lead she would have less time to take them out.

After they had both left the valley Annie came down off her rock and followed them. She stayed far enough back to be hidden, but close enough to see and hear the signals they used between them. The next significant obstacle was a river crossing where one would have to wait for the other to catch up and provide covering fire before crossing. She had to kill them both before they crossed it, but not before they reached it.

A half mile from the river the sound of water rushing over the rocks could be plainly heard. The rear scout caught up with his partner and they conversed before the first one set off again. Annie gave him ten minutes to reach the river, using the time to creep up on the unsuspecting rear scout. It was a talent she had honed while stealing food as an orphaned cub, and she was very good at it. She had a point blank shot between the scout's shoulders by the time his partner signalled him to move forward.

Imitating the way the second scout had moved, Annie advanced as fast as she dared up to the river. As she had hoped, the first scout was intent on watching the other side of the river for signs of ambush, and did not spare a glance back; the space behind him was his partner's responsibility. He never even turned when Annie stopped a few yards behind and to one side, as she had seen the second scout do; so as not to bunch up and present a better target she suspected.

The first scout was describing how they would cross the river when her bolt passed through his voice box and silenced him forever.

Annie spent more time cleaning up after the kills this time. She dragged the corpses to the river after relieving them of their food and drink and pushed them in. Then she swept the ground to obliterate her recent tracks. She was fairly certain that the scouts had not left any of their own. She left her tracks from the day before as they were.

It was hard work. By the time she was done she was drenched in sweat and matted with blood and dirt. Deciding that she was too odorous to continue should more scouts be following, Annie stripped off her clothes and plunged into the clear cold water. She scrubbed her clothes and laid them on a rock to dry in the sun while she tended to her fur. They would still be wet when she emerged, but then again so would she, and she could not afford to wait around until they were both dry before moving on again. She intended to follow the river downstream for several miles before continuing downhill in any event, and then to angle away from her previous route. Hopefully it would be enough to throw them off for good.

Tossing her long mane back he luxuriated in the feeling of being clean again. She wanted to linger, but she dared not, so she turned back to the bank and walked towards the spot where her clothes and pack were waiting. But she walked slowly, enjoying the pull of the water on her shapely legs, and she kept her eyes down so that she could admire the firmness of her body as it emerged from the water.

The sound of paws clapping together brought her out of her trance.

The first thing she noticed when her head shot up was that there was someone sitting on her backpack, clapping and smiling at her appreciatively. The second thing she noticed was the cocked crossbow on his lap. She tensed to charge, cursing the extra drag of the water that she had been enjoying just a moment ago.

"Oh, no you don't." The crossbow came up and centred on her chest. "I saw what you did to those two just now. And no false modesty, keep those paws where I can see them."

Annie lifted her paws to the level of her ears and advanced until she was standing naked and dripping on the bank of the river. She could feel the stranger's eyes wandering over her.

"My, my." He said appreciatively as he stood up and hefted his crossbow. "You are a sweet one. It is going to be a shame to have to kill you."

* * * * * * * *

Roark had never felt so alive.

This is what the assaulters, scouts and archers all talk about when they come back from a fight, he thought as he fired his crossbow and then dropped it to pull his sword, the rush of battle.

He had never experienced it before joining Silver Tip's caravan. Back in his pack he had participated in a few raids and a number of hunts before becoming the Balance, but none of them had resulted in confrontation. The raiding parties had gone in and gotten out clean, and deer do not put up a fight like moose or bears do. After he assumed the position of Balance his duty was to stay back and run the overall operation while the Ro-Ro and section leaders conducted the immediate battle. Dylan, being a hunchback with withered legs, hardly ever left the den and so had never experienced battle either.

But both he and Dylan took to fighting naturally, much as they did when they first joined forces as cubs against the other young wolves, the only difference being that now the fighting was deadly. He fended off a thrust from a coyote's spear and slashed the attacker's upper arm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a second opponent circling around behind him, but he was too occupied with the first to do anything about it at the moment.

Roark struck and parried, using speed to negate the reach advantage that the spear gave his enemy. He watched his opponent's eyes for a clue as where the next thrust would be aimed. He saw the coyote's eyes open wide in triumph, but they were focused on something behind Roark. The big wolf wanted to turn and see what the new danger was but the coyote to his front was jabbing madly, forcing him to concentrate his defence in that direction. In a desperate move Roark dove under the thrusting spear and struck straight up, between the legs of his opponent. A scream and a gush of arterial blood was his reward, but the collapsing coyote tangled with his sword arm, and he was left defenceless against the one that had snuck up behind him.

Roark lay on the ground; his arm trapped by the twitching body, as the second coyote stood up and raised his sword above his head.

The bolt that took the coyote hit with such force that it knocked him sideways several yards. It entered just below his upraised arm and exited on the other side below his ribcage, taking most of the contents of his chest with it. Roark looked up to where the bolt had come from and saw a grinning hunchback reloading the massive siege crossbow that he carried.

"Not bad shot, eh?" Dylan grunted as he strained to pull back the bow with one paw.

"A little sooner next time." Roark laughed. Then he jumped up to join him on top of the wagon he rode. It was the one the guards used and Dylan had had it converted with a turret in the front where he could drive and shoot from under cover. There was enough room for two other guards in it and Roark used the security of the extra cover to assess the situation.

There had been plenty of battles in the months since joining the caravan. They could be categorized in two groups: packs of wolves that had just traded for weapons turning them on the caravan or wandering bands of coyotes attacking a target of opportunity. In the first case the object was to kill the guard force and take everything the foxes had. In the second instance the coyotes just wanted to cut out a wagon or two of goods and get away with as few casualties as possible. Both types offered plenty of action for the guard force, and many opportunities to die.

Why is it, he thought, that we feel most alive when we in a fight to the death?

Roark and Dylan made a good team, with Roark moving constantly, reading the battle with an expert's eye and Dylan providing covering fire from the vantage point of the wagon. Should the fighting be heavier elsewhere they could pick up a few guards and drive the wagon into the thick of the fight, thus changing the tide of battle. The other guards had learned to stay close and watch for the big wolf's signal. Even Dead Eye looking to Roark before issuing orders most of the time.

The height of the wagon allowed Roark a good view of the surrounding area. The coyotes had attacked the rear of the halted caravan, near where the guard wagons were. It was unfortunate for them, since most of the guard was already there, and Roark could see the rest coming from the far side, with Dead Eye in the lead. But it was an unusual tactic for the coyotes, who generally preferred to avoid a fight if they could, and Roark could not help but wonder why.

With the addition of the perimeter guards the coyotes were outnumbered, but rather than flee they fought a withdrawal, leaving a few engaged while the rest faded back a dozen yards and tried to engage with crossbows from behind trees. The trees were not much cover against Dylan's oversized weapon however, but even though the toll of dead coyotes kept mounting they kept fighting. What could they be trying to accomplish, Roark wondered? Or rather, what would I be trying to accomplish by engaging the entire guard force?

Suddenly, it came to him. The coyotes were drawing guard further and further away from the caravan. But Dead Eye was not so foolish as to let them get too far away. All the stores wagons were at this end, so if another group attacked the guard could still return in good time. The only really vulnerable portion of the wagon train was the front, where the wagons used as living quarters for the foxes were. And there was nothing of value to a coyote there, was there?

Roark cursed and reached around Dylan to haul at the reins.

"What are doing?" Dylan cried, his latest shot ruined by the sudden manoeuvre.

"They aren't after the stores wagons." Roark shouted as he steered the galloping horses between the wagons of the caravan. "They are after Silver Tip."

Dylan lifted his great crossbow and slotted it into a nook at the front of the turret. From there he could cover an arc of one hundred and twenty degrees and use both paws to haul the string back when he reloaded. Typically, he did not question Roark's judgement; he just took over the reins so that his partner could leap from the careening wagon when he needed to.

By the time the leader's wagon was in view the real assault had already begun. The attackers consisted of a large force of coyotes and several foxes. Roark recognized two of them as the young twins that Dead Eye had warned him about. The other foxes in the offense had been friends of theirs. The only defenders were Silver Tip and some of his older sons and followers. They were trying to lead the attackers away from the wagons. Roark saw the twins dispatch part of their force to pin the elder fox down, but they led the rest straight for the leader's wagon. The screams of impending birth issuing from it could be heard plainly.

"It's not Silver Tip they are after, but his wife and child." Roark called as he grabbed his cross bow and prepared to leap. "But why them?"

"Fox inheritance laws." Dylan shouted back as he hauled on the traces to bring the wagon to a skidding halt between the attacking force and their objective. "The bulk of Silver Tip's worth will go to the most worthy sons, with the remainder divided up among the rest, but any children not yet of age will get a substantially larger share by default. The rest of his sons are all adults now, and Silver Tip will not last as leader much longer. This baby represents a threat to their future." As he spoke he cut the horses free so that they would not be killed in the cross fire and loosed a bolt that impaled two of the coyotes that were running for the wagons. "Damn, I was aiming for one of the twins!"

Roark fired a bolt into a coyote that had reached the steps of the wagon where the cries were coming from and then jumped down. He reloaded on the run and managed to put down a fox, not one of the twins, before the weapon was knocked from his paws. Drawing his sword with his right paw he pulled the scout's knife with his left and backed up until he felt the lower step of Silver Tip's wagon against the back of his legs. The twins and several coyotes continued to advance, while a small group led by another fox surrounded Dylan's wagon.

Roark fended them off as best as he could, but so badly outnumbered and without Dylan to help he knew that he could not hold them off forever. His only chance of survival was to keep moving, yet he would not leave the door to the wagon undefended. Silver Tip may have thought of them as trade goods when he bartered for them with Broad Leaf but he had bought Roark's loyalty by providing fair wages and equitable treatment since then. Roark had signed on to guard and guard he would, to his least breath if need be.

Another cry issued from the wagon behind him. They were coming close together. It would not be much longer. Roark ducked a sword and nicked one of the twins, reacting automatically as his mind wandered, a trait he had heard about in others but had only recently discovered in himself. She must be one hell of a vixen to be this much of a threat, he mused as his blades spun an impenetrable defence. He had never seen her, as she had gone into confinement before Dylan and he had been taken on. He did not even have a description of her since Louis had been cut off before he could finish telling them about her on their first day and the topic had not come up again since. I'm going to live through this, he decided, just so I can see what makes the amazing Aster so special.

The twins had other plans, unfortunately. They pressed the attack despite losing one of their coyotes to Roark's sword and suffering several wounds each. Roark was faring no better. Lines of blood trickled down both of his arms and a sword had glanced off one of his ribs, leaving an ugly gash. He glanced up to see how Dylan was fairing, and was dismayed to see his cubhood friend struggling under a pile of attackers. Shouts from the rear indicated that the rest of the guard was on the way, but they would be too late, he was sure.

It is time to throw in the loin cloth, he thought. It was an expression the wolves used to indicate surrender. Whenever two wolves dueled they fought naked and weaponless. Each brought a witness to ensure fairness and to hold their cast off weapons and clothes. If it became obvious that defeat was inevitable the witness would throw his friend's loin cloth into the circle to stop the fight before a fatal injury was inflicted. But Roark had sworn to defend this wagon to the death, and besides, he thought, I'm still wearing my loin cloth, so Dylan has nothing to throw ... or does he?

Dylan was an ace with his oversized crossbow, but he was not much good in close fighting. His weak legs made it difficult for him to duck and weave, and his hunched back made it difficult to raise a sword to strike. But, on the other paw, his massive chest and arms gave him a deadly bear hug, and Roark had seen him toss an opponent ten yards over flat ground. The thought gave him an idea.

"Dylan," he cried, "I'm getting bored. Toss me down a couple more."

The brash statement made the attackers pause in confusion. Dylan used the opportunity to lift two of the attackers and throw them as hard as he could toward the group surrounding Roark. The result was similar to a strike in a game of skittle cones, everyone standing went down in heap of snapping bones and cracking skulls.

Roark managed to avoid being caught up in the melee by jumping up on the platform of Silver Tip's wagon. He stabbed at the pile of red and tan fur at their base without pausing to choose his targets, but anyone that tried to stand got a limb looped off for their efforts. A crunching noise from the top of Dylan's wagon indicted that the last of his attackers had been dealt with. From around the side of the wagon Silver Tip appeared, leading a bevy of his loyal sons and several guards. They were all armed with crossbows, and they stopped several yards away from the pile of wounded enemy at the base of the steps.

"Stay up and out of the way." Silver tip advised Roark, and then he signaled his group to commence firing.

The eight defenders had reloaded at least three times each before the pile that contained at least two of Silver Tip's rebellious sons and the last of their coyote cohorts stopped moving.

* * * * * * * *

They had captured three of the coyotes and one of the traitorous foxes alive.

The coyotes only knew that the twins had negotiated with their leader some weeks ago, exactly how many they were not sure. They had been keeping a couple of days travel behind the caravan ever since, waiting for the order to attack. Silver Tip rewarded their cooperation by allowing them to live. One even opted to join the guard.

The fox was another matter. He took a lot of persuasion to talk. Eventually however, he told of how the twins had been plotting to take over the caravan ever since Mask's death. They had come up with the idea of enlisting the coyotes and going after Silver Tip's new wife and the child she bore. That would surely throw the old leader into a state of shock that foxes were known to be susceptible to when their mates died suddenly and unexpectedly. It would be easy then to have him declared incompetent. With the wily old fox out of the picture his weak followers would be easily defeated.

"At least, that was the theory." The captured fox said, panting heavily due to his battle wounds and the form of persecution being used. "They made it sound so simple.

"I'll show you how weak my followers are." Silver Tip stated before turning to his faithful eldest son. "Make sure that he has told us everything before you kill him. He instructed Bright Eyes before stalking off toward his wagon.

On the way he saw the big wolf, the one that had saved his mate and her baby. Roark was his name he recalled through his fatigue. He angled toward him. As he neared Roark stood and bowed his head slightly in the fox fashion.

"Silver Tip." Roark said.

"Roark. How is Dead Eye?"

"His wounds are grievous, but he will live. His right paw will never work again though I'm afraid." The chief guard had lost too much muscle in his forearm, and his paw was paralyzed into a twisted hook.

"Maybe we will have to change his name to Claw." Silver Tip joked. Then he became serious again. "I am making you the chief guard Roark."

"You honour me Silver Tip." Roark bowed deeply in acknowledgement. "I will do my best to be worthy of the position until Dead Eye is well enough to return to duty."

Silver Tip brushed off the thanks. He doubted that Dead Eye would ever return to duty, but despite the favour he owed for the wolf for saving his family he was reluctant to give the position on a permanent basis just yet. Let's see how he does dealing with the guard and my sons until we reach the winter campgrounds, he said to himself, then I'll decide.

"Tell those that are not occupied with burying the dead to gather at my wagon." Silver Tip ordered his new chief guard. "I have a new child to present, I believe."

The old fox left the wolf to his duty and continued to his wagon. He saw that Roark had posted a pair of guards there in case there were other conspirators left in the caravan. A clever move, he thought as the wolf's esteem rose in his mind once again. The guard parted to let him in and he mounted the stairs.

Inside the wagon Star Gazer and her assistant Amber Rain were just cleaning up. They had bundled the sweat soaked and bloody sheets and had already scrubbed down the area around the bed that Aster had been confined to for the past few months. His spouse and the baby were nowhere to be seen.

"She is dressing in the other chamber." Star Gazer informed him, although she was too blind to read his curious expression. "She won't let the bay out of her sight."

"Is it a ..." Silver Tip was about to say 'male or female', but the ancient seer cut him off.

"It's a son." She informed him.

"My eleventh." Silver Tip said in wonder. He also had five daughters that he loved dearly, but having so many sons added to his status.

"Phenomenal." The seer replied dryly. "However, with Mask and your twins gone you are back down to eight."

"Seven." He corrected. "The twins convinced Dark Stockings, the first child of my third wife to join their rebellion."

"Oh? I had not heard. Did he die in the attack?"

"No he ...." an agonized scream rent the air. Silver Tip waited until it had faded to a gurgle that was suddenly cut short before continuing. "Yes. He is dead."

"Could be worse." She shrugged. "Seven sons are plenty. Well, six and a kit actually."

Further conversation was curtailed as the door to the inner chamber opened and Aster emerged. She was wearing a light burgundy robe that complimented her fur and she had wrapped the baby in a green cloth. She smiled wearily at her mate.

"Shall we go present your newest son?" She asked.

Silver Tip resisted the urge to unwrap the bundle and see the kit for himself before revealing it to the world. But that was not the fox tradition and he had faith in his mate. Surely the child will have enough of my features to prove that I am the father, he thought, as I have asserted all along. She would have warned me otherwise, wouldn't she?

"Yes." He said, holding the outer door open for her. "Let us proceed."

The two stepped outside and stopped on the platform at the rear of the wagon. Silver Tip took the wrapped kit from his mate and turned. Dramatically, he dropped the cloth and held the newborn up for the crowd of foxes and the few guards that had assembled. 'Oohs' and 'Aws' of wonder filled the clearing.

Near the front, the hunchbacked wolf Dylan exclaimed: "Hey! She's a cat!" He was immediately shushed by Roark and the coyote Louis who bracketed him. "Well, she is!" The crippled wolf said indignantly, pointing at Aster. "You never told us Louis."

From behind Silver Tip could see that his son had the markings and tail typical of a red fox. Turning the kit around, he discovered that the baby had the facial features and ears of a feline. He laughed out loud as the kit-kitten struggled in his paws.

"Cor-No be damned." Roark breathed, looking at the sleek green-eyed feline that stood tall and proud beside her mate. Her fur was short and had a slight bluish tinge. Her slim tail swayed behind her in a contented manner. "Cross species breeding. We really are evolving faster and faster aren't we?"

"I don't know about that, but it's a beautiful baby." Dylan commented

"The times, they are a changing." Louis said thoughtfully in his heavily accented common speech.

"That's a good line." Dylan said thoughtfully. "Mind if I use it?"