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The Black Wolf

"REGENERATION" Prologue
"REPLICATION" Ch#6
"THE TROJAN WAR" Ch#4
"STAR SCROLL" Prologue
"UNCLE BENTHOR" Ch#1
"THE FRIENDS OF ING" Ch#2
"THE BATTLE OF ELAH" Ch#4
"BURDEN OF TIME"
"CIRCLE OF PRECESSION"
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Chris Dolan's Home Page

"The Black Wolf" is Chapter#3 of my first novel, "Star Scroll." One of the three main Gondwanaland antagonist's, Bale the Deinonychasaurus, is introduced here. The first of Joshua Blackwell's three sentient allies, the black wolf, Pang, is also introduced here. I handled German Shepherds in the USAF, so Pang is one of my favorites. I hope you like this action-packed chapter. Please comment in my guestbood.

Chapter 3 of "Star Scroll" by R. David Pareis

The Black Wolf

“Benjamin is a ravenous wolf.
In the morning he shall devour the prey,
and at night he shall divide the spoil.” Gen.49:27

Joshua and his war party camped for the night after a difficult climb to the top of their remote objective. The high ridge of igneous granite overlooked a deep and formidable valley which had been gouged out by advancing northern glaciers thousands of years before. But now the element exposed, laccolith ridge was barren and desolate after the reluctant retreat of the largest glaciers. To stay warm, the party divided up around small camp fires nestled down inside smooth depressions sculptured through time by the relentless erosion of wind, water and ice.

A mile below in the boulder-strewn till of the valley, an army of Imps war danced oblivious around their shadow-casting bonfires. They had stopped to camp for the night near the first of a series of Paternoster Lakes that stretched up the valley to the north. The invading army was using the long valley like a highway to lead them closer to Mount Norsdon and Ingdom Castle.

Slipping off his thick, seal-skin mittens, Joshua prodded at the glowing coals of his fire with his hunting knife. He carefully raked red embers next to the water-rounded rocks, which he had handpicked from a stream bed on their way out of Ingdom Valley. The rock circle would first absorb, and then radiate the precious heat of the fire against the bitter cold that still seeped through his otherwise warm, mountain-ram parka.

Like the rocks, the black coal in the fire had also come from his overstuffed antler pack. The coal and packs were trade articles acquired from the reclusive Pygmy Hobbits who mined the largest Svalbard island of Spitzburgen. Their icy terrain was rich in stratified, carboniferous coal. The lack of much wood in the northlands made their coal an invaluable source of fuel, which was used extensively by the Ingdomites during hunting ex-cursions out on the Great Ice.

His Elves had at first thought him insane to make them march to war with their packs full of rocks and coal. Nevertheless, as they warmed their numb hands and tired feet around their dimly glowing circles while mumbling quietly to each other about their upcoming battle, he could see the respect in their eyes. Black cooking pots filled with bubbling, caribou stew were sitting over each fire making everyone’s mouths water with anticipation.

Staring into the shimmering embers of his own fire, Joshua could almost envision the inevitable combat that would take place in the morning. He could hear the deafening din of blood-crazed battle cries and smell the pre-battle vomit and urine of anxious warriors. He could feel the hollow thuds of raining arrows and thrusted spears penetrating armor and bone. He could sense the agonized screams of the wounded and dying amid the clash of swords and battle axes, as the eerie wails of deployment horns played on adrenaline-ravaged nerves.

During the previous day, his uncle’s Ingdomite army had completed the last leg of their battle march by crossing over the rugged western pass of Mount Horn. From there, they had descended below the peak’s glacier-exposed, truncated spurs and over its two cirque valleys divided by a sharp-edged, arète ridge which made it look like a Titan’s discarded battle helmet.

Dropping down to the mouth of the fjord-valley, the main force had then pushed north along a winding stream while follow- ing the wide swath-trail of the Imp Host. They hoped to trap the Imps against one of the frozen lakes at the north end of the valley.

At that point, Joshua and his war party had been deployed by his uncle to provide an element of surprise during a crucial point of the battle. They had followed a smaller adjoining valley and had climbed the high ridge adjacent to the Imp army unseen from the opposite side. Their bundles of stacked arrows now lay on the back slopes of the ridge where they had been pulled up with ropes.

Joshua watched his ten squad leaders running hunched- over to his fire out of the darkness with large pan-spoons from their packs. Helping themselves to some caribou stew from the steaming pot, they sat down cross-legged around his fire while sipping their dinner. Undisturbed by their presence, Joshua’s thoughts continued to wander while staring into the red coals within the stone circle before him.

The pensive Elves sat silently clutching their pan-spoons to keep their hands warm as the wind howled overhead. They were each dealing privately with their own fears of the coming morning. The stars continued to burn slowly across the moonless sky as if on the back of some cosmic tortoise. They slowly inched their way toward the dawn while displaying the ageless signs and seasons of future events.

“Here’s some hot food,” said one of Joshua’s officers while extending a steaming pan-spoon of stew to his commander.

Lord Brecha was a tall Elf of the Royal clan. He was almost five-feet in height with muscular shoulders and dark, Mongolian eyes. A tuft of blue-black hair splotched with gray spilled out from under his parka hood which accented his sharp chinned, nearly hairless face.

“Do you see the Thunder-Eagle flying to the north?” he asked while looking up at the stars.

Joshua followed his gaze and eventually picked out the shimmering points of the Ingdomite star-bird constellation which had the Belt of Orion comprising its head and beak.

“Yes, I see it,” he said while taking a careful sip of his steaming pottage.

“It is a good omen. Victory will be ours tomorrow for no clouds obscure the flight of the Thunder-Eagle,” replied Lord Brecha amid grunts of assent muttered from around the fire.

“Then may your arrows find their marks with the eyes of eagles,” returned Joshua with a smile which temporarily broke the spell of tension in the brisk night air.

“And may those fat Dwarves of King Benthor fight with the courage of badgers in the morning!” chimed in young Turk amid chuckles from his peers. The young Elf’s fiery words were representative of his flare for blunt and truthful statements.

As they finished eating, Joshua gave out his final instructions for the night watches before dispersing his squad leaders to their respective campfires. Turk’s squad relieved Prince Ody’s, who were spread out on a lower ledge, so they could come in to eat around Joshua’s vacated fire. The older brother of Princess Celia looked cold, hungry, and exhausted as did all the Elves of his squad.

They ate quickly and then retrieved their packs to set out their bedrolls. The Elves who had earlier been assigned with cooking duties cleaned out their respective iron pots with stones and snow, swishing the abrasive mixture inside the pots in an effective scouring motion.

The ten pots were then fire-dried and stacked inside one another to be placed in a long leather pack, through which a long rope was inserted for transport purposes. Everything they had brought with them had been lifted to the ridge with ropes. Not long after, the hidden camp settled down to get some much- needed sleep.

The rest of the early night was calm until an unusual disturbance broke through the distant throbbing background of the Imp’s war celebration. Further north, along a lower ledge running parallel to their own, could be heard the howls of a wolf as if it were in great pain. It was a haunting, soul-disturbing howl which dampened everyone’s spirits despite their warm fires and full stomachs.

The Imps were too far away and too engrossed in their own entertainment to hear the plight of the suffering wolf. Joshua had watched the Imps earlier through his binoculars as they beat their crude drums and ran about like crazed Baboons.

Joshua sent one of Ody’s scouts to fetch Lord Brecha and watched as the tired Elf silently hunched off toward the other campfires while stooping and running to keep from being high-lighted against the horizon. Lord Brecha soon returned with a grim look which reminded Joshua that he still had a somewhat strained relationship with the Elves because of his status with the Dwarf royalty.

The mixed people of Ingdom needed each other, but he couldn’t help noticing the undertones of prejudice that could flare up if they didn’t have the common enemies of the southern continent constantly forcing them together. Joshua thought of his own time in the future, and how most of the people were statistically average except for color and culture. However, in the age of ancient Ingdom, there was so much diversification of the humanoid races that he marveled at their ability to coexist at all.

“What can I do for you, commander?” asked Lord Brecha with a touch of irritation.

“Take your squad north and quietly investigate that howling wolf down on the lower ledge. If my binoculars can be trusted by firelight, there are shrubs of bitterbrush down there, so be careful of an ambush. We can’t afford a curious Imp or two nosing around before our attack in the morning. Don’t kill the wolf, just find out what’s wrong with it and come back with a report.”

Lord Brecha nodded and quietly slipped into the darkness to gather his squad. Joshua untied and rolled out the bear pelt Celia had given him for a bedroll. He tried to rest, but the combination of the hard granite, and the beating drums, and the insistent howling on the lower ledge frayed his nerves. Pulling an extra seal-skin parka more tightly over him like a blanket, he rolled over and closed his eyes.

He remembered his last night at the mountain fortress of Ingdom while sitting high on a stone-rampart with Celia while they looked down into the southern valley stretching out below Mount Norsdon. He asked himself how he could have fallen so deeply in love with her in such a short time. He reluctantly came to the conclusion that he must have loved her even as a child.

In addition to her beauty, he loved her gentle nature, warm laughter, and patience of his many, long stories. Her endless questions about future Earth had taken them on long journeys of historical fantasy—-the wind of excitement filling her sails of interest.

He’d kissed her again on the rampart that night, and she’d melted in his arms. He recalled the sheen of her long, blue-black hair as the waning moon shone upon it, and the way her royal white deerskins clung to the curvatures of her firm breasts and hips. She intoxicated his mind.

Perhaps that was why Benthor had shuttled him so quickly out of Ingdom ahead of the main forces. The Elf Senate would never look favorably upon a marriage between their princess and a human barbarian, even if he was the nephew of the Dwarf king of Ingdom.

Brecha returned with a dismal report of a desperate wolf caught in a hunting trap. Not willing to risk his men to any further danger of an ambush, he reluctantly sent them off to get some sleep. Joshua tried to put the thought of the animal out of his mind, but he kept imagining himself in place of the unfortunate lobo.

He began to feel the sharp, metal teeth of the trap biting into his own leg bone with agonizing pain. He sensed how utterly alone the wolf was--trapped, bleeding, and without hope. Long minutes seemed to stretch into eternity for him as the wolf’s howls drifted like sad notes on the northeast wind.

Mumbling under his breath, Joshua finally tossed aside his extra parka and rose to his feet in anger. A frantic unsheathing of swords and quick, pattering feet soon surrounded him as many restless Elves ran to his aid from around the campfire.

“What is it, my lord?” whispered Ody, his Elvish sword still ringing like a tuning fork as if searching for some unknown adversary.

“We’ve got to do something about that crazy wolf before it postpones the entire war for lack of sleep!” said Joshua firmly as he hunched to the edge of the ridge to view the dying, enemy campfires glittering down in the valley like a distant bed of red hot embers. Most of the wild Imps had filtered off to their bed rolls.

“Ody, bring your warriors to accompany me. I’m going down to release that whining wolf or put a sword in it’s throat,” Joshua growled while walking briskly toward his belongings. He plowed his way through the sleepy Ingdom defenders like a raging bull. They gave way easily before him, not wanting to antagonize his rare display of late night temper.

Pang lay exhausted from fever. The sleek, black fur of his leg was matted with crimson from the horrible wound in his left front paw. His dismal fate would be grisly indeed if the intoxi-cated Imp that laid the trap returned to find him still pinned in those powerful, metal jaws. He howled once again to exclaim his rage for stepping into such a foul trap. It would be a cruel irony, indeed, to die from a bite stronger than his own.

His alpha mate, Yawa, had told him long before how the Imps hunted wolf-flesh which they roasted with fire. He remembered with bitter pain and sorrow the day an Imp’s poison dart had buried itself in her heart. He had killed the grotesque Imp with horrible rage, and then dragged his beloved Yawa down into a secret, deep den where he’d mourned her for days.

They had been an Alpha couple, the prime pair who was honored to reproduce out of the endless pecking order of the pack. Seeing that their own pack had grown too large to support them all, they had set out on their own to start a new pack far to the south. They had traveled many moons toward the southern plains of Gondwanaland to find their destiny in the land of the Cromagnites when the tragedy overtook them.

In his delirium, Pang recalled the years of solitude that followed as he fled back north into the jagged mountain country with an unquenchable loneliness. His destitute spirit drove him further and further from the two-legged races who now crowded the fertile valleys of both Gondwanaland and Laurasia.

Even the sterile cold of the northlands had not been able to cover the anguish of his heart. Now and again, the Mountain Hobbits had seen him standing on ice-rock ledges overlooking their villages. Their Elders had named him Pang, for his life of sad solitude--but his wolf name was Yamin Zeeb.

Pang’s parents had passed down to him the special ability to communicate with other animals, and the wolf had discovered the gift even worked with humanoids. As fate would have it, the threat of the Imp invasion had been the very reason he had abandoned his solitude and come down from the high country.

During one of the dark nights of the most recent new moon, he had overheard a group of mountain-folk near the timberline of a distant peak talking around their campfire about their anxiety for the safety of Ingdom. They were convinced that the Draconian Wizard was once again the real power behind the invasion, and they feared the powerful Imp army might finally overwhelm the Ingdomite stronghold.

Pang had spent a quarter of a moon spying on the Imp legions, during which time he had prepared himself for the possibility of informing King Benthor on how to defeat them. The Imps had seen him on a few rare occasions and had set traps to kill him. He had been moving quickly toward the Dwarf monarch’s camp when he had carelessly ran upon the cleverly hidden trap.

He howled with rage once more when he recalled seeing high-cheeked, Elf faces staring down at him from the surrounding brush. Little sharp faces which had left him to die. He had half hoped that the Imp trapper would return, so he could play possum and tear his throat out. At least that would have been some small justice, but the drunken Imp had not returned.

Shock and exhaustion had caused him to drift off into fitful dreams until searing jabs of white-hot pain once more awakened him from his restless memories to remind him of his hopeless situation. Pang realized his life force was slipping noticeably away, and he knew that if he had any chance of survival he would have to do something soon.

He licked at his torn flesh while frantically seeking some weakness in those spring-bent jaws--but there was none. In desperation, he thought of one last recourse. He would gnaw his useless leg off in order to rob the trap of its trophy.

His flesh had swollen badly around the metal teeth that clamped themselves into the very bone of his foreleg. He had just begun to nibble blood-caked, black hair from the wound with his teeth when the sounds of approaching humanoids startled him to feverish anger. The little sharp faces had returned, but the round face of a strange giant now accompanied them.

“Here is the wolf, Joshua,” said Ody while pointing to the glassy-eyed wolf who growled deeply with bared fangs at them all.

“It is a black wolf, and a fierce one at that,” replied Joshua while easing his way forward.

“Be careful, the beast is trap-frenzied,” warned Turk, who had joined them as they had traveled past his lookout post.

“I’m not here to harm the wolf...but rather to rescue him. If only there was a way to communicate my intentions to him,” said Joshua while holding out his empty hand to Pang for him to smell. The wolf calmed considerably, but it still kept a wary eye upon the bow-strung warriors behind their tall, pale commander.

Joshua noticed the animal’s concerns and motioned for them all to retreat and lower their bows. Ody was the last to obey, feeling personally responsible for his friend’s safety. When they were finally alone, the wolf whined in pain like a puppy, and Joshua made his way to the trap.

A metal spike had been driven into a rock crevice hidden among some bitterbrush shrubs, to which the trap was attached with a short chain. The metal trap was shaped like a set of boiled, shark-jaws with a powerful spring giving it a deadly bite. Joshua had no respect for anyone who could inflict such cruel punishment on another living creature.

Only a human would do something like this, he thought to himself and then he shook his head. He had learned something more about the Imps.

Grim from the sight of the wolf’s wound, Joshua carefully drew out the rune-indented sword Benthor had given him. The long Mammoth-tusk handle was carved intricately at the end into a ram’s head, and it felt smooth and balanced in his hand. He told Pang that he needed a tool to take the pressure off his leg, and then he slowly proceeded to work the sword between the relentless jaws.

More than once, Joshua made the great wolf yelp in pain, but he patted the desperate animal’s right shoulder reassuringly until he was ready to apply pressure against the powerful spring. The waiting Elves watched through the bushes in awe as Joshua worked with the trapped wolf.

At last, he managed to open the jaws just enough to get a grip with both hands. His face and neck were virtually exposed to the wolf, but he whispered calmly to the frightened animal while warning it of his every move and intention. Grunting with extreme effort, Joshua pulled apart the jaws of death and safely expelled the wolf’s badly mangled paw.

Easing the bloody teeth down upon his sword, he removed his fingers, and then pulled his treasured blade free from the nasty trap. Joshua yanked the metal spike from the rocky crevice with a mighty pull, and handed it to Ody, who stuffed the horrible device in his pack.

Pang flopped exhausted on the ground while panting laboriously, so Joshua poured water into the side of the thirsty animal’s mouth from his water flask. After drinking his fill, Pang looked long and steady into the concerned hazel eyes of the young man--and then started to talk. “Thank you, my lord Joshua. I have information that will assure your victory tomorrow. Let me sleep for now, and I will soon tell you all I know.”

A long pause followed as Joshua finally comprehended the meaning of the talking wolf’s revelatory words. Picking the wounded lobo up gently in his arms, he carried the sleeping black wolf back to their war camp followed by his curious squad of warriors. Upon their safe return to the highest ridge, he ordered his herbal doctor to tend to the wounded creature.

News of the event quickly spread among all the Elves who were awake. They each wondered what news the wolf could possibly have that could help them win the inevitable battle to come.

The Black Wolf - Part 2

Joshua was startled awake from deep sleep by a tap on his shoulder. He had told the scheduled guards to get him up when the stars seemed their brightest. The first hints of the coming day would soon begin to displace the heavy darkness of the long night, and he wanted his war party to be in position before sun-rise. The Thunder-Eagle had flown his great course from the east to the west and one wing had now begun to dip below the western horizon.

The Valley of Elah had finally grown quiet far below them, since the last of the war-restless Imps had succumbed to the need for sleep. Joshua looked down the valley to the south and grate-fully recognized the telltale glow of coal campfires only two miles away from the Imp army. Under cover of darkness, King Ben-thor had positioned his army on the very heels of the Gondwana- land invaders. Knowing Benthor, his men would also be awakened soon for a hearty breakfast that would see them through the grueling day of battle ahead.

The rescued black wolf lay on a musk ox skin near Joshua’s fire. The charcoal ashes had shrunk below the surrounding ring of rocks, but they were still giving off some heat. The pensive wolf was awake, and his chin rested on the fur-wrapped splint that now protected his mauled leg.

Joshua took a drink of water from a skin-flask lying near the fire while studying the alert eyes of the intelligent animal. Taking a pinch of ground parsley from a small, leather pouch in his pack, he chewed on it thoughtfully while taking the dragon-breath of the prior night’s scallion-laced stew from his mouth. He took another slushy swig from the flask and squished it be-tween his teeth for awhile before spitting the green liquid on one of the firestones which hissed in anger.

“What shall I call you, my friend?” he asked the wolf who was looking at him calmly with pointed ears and almost human gray eyes.

“My name is Yamin Zeeb, but the humanoids call me Pang. I owe you for my life, so I will follow you for twelve moons as re-payment. During that time I will provide you protection and scout for you, and help you find game.”

A shiver went up and down Joshua’s back as he listened to the wolf’s guttural voice. He did not feel that Pang was partic-ularly evil, but even so, the animal’s obvious intelligence made him feel uneasy. He had to remind himself that it was mere human instinct to fear the unknown.

“Payment is not necessary, Pang. I only saved you because I didn’t want the Imps to find us until later this morning when our arrows put out their hearts,” said Joshua with a tinge of selfish guilt.

“I have no love for the Imps either, master,” growled Pang while pointing his chin toward the valley over the ridge.

“How did you happen to be in the Valley of Elah during this important time?” asked Joshua with curiosity.

“I was on my way to give a report to King Benthor when the trap bit me. The Imp leader is not one of the hybrids. He smells like a dragon, but he has no wings. Kill him, and you will cut off the head of those Impish devils below. Without a military leader, they’ll be disorganized and vulnerable. They are so superstitious, that they will frantically flee if you man-age to frighten them properly.”

Joshua reflected on the wolf’s information while retrieving some dried caribou jerky from his pack. He tossed a large piece to Pang, who caught it gracefully in his powerful jaws and quickly devoured it.

“The Imp leader sounds just like what I would expect of one of Gorn’s henchmen. Tell me more about the Imps. Where do they come from? What are their fighting strengths and weaknesses?” asked Joshua after throwing him a few more morsels.

Pang folded back both ears in thoughtful concentration while he gulped his food down. Then a misty look of far away memories came over his face while he licked his chops clean.

“Eleven moons ago, I stalked a lone caribou too far into the highlands before catching her in a blizzard. Much to my chagrin, she was one of Benthor’s spies and a talking creature like myself . . . so I spared her. Bulah’s warmth kept me alive, but we lay buried in a snow storm under an outcrop of rock for three turns of the sun. When I became too weak from hunger, she ventured out and brought me back a carrion snow-rabbit that was just enough food to get me down off the mountains to hunt again.

“Bulah told me many things during those dreamlike days we lay in the snow-womb together. She had talked with a bear, who had spoken with an otter named Bagely, about the new genetic army of the Draconian Wizard. Gorn’s tower of power stands in the center of the great caldera marshlands near the southern tip of Gondwanaland.

“She informed me that fifty some winters ago, Gorn’s nocturnal henchmen captured some of the long-armed, red-haired, Men-of-the-Forest, who live south of the sequoia forests of the Rephaim Giants. Over time, the Draconian used his dark science to genetically mix them with an ancient dragon-race that had been extinct for eons.

“Gorn then bred his new Centaurian creatures heavily for many years while using them for mining and raiding purposes in the mineral-rich territories of the Cromagnites. During the many season changes that followed, the Cros were slowly driven north-ward out of the plush Great River Basin and into the badlands of the Etopian Desert. The Cros are small giants in stature like yourself, but they are a dual nation of red and black races.

“The entire Cromagnite Nation massed to attack the invading Imp army when they passed through Cro territory just twelve moons ago, not realizing that they were marching northward to invade Ingdom. The Cros lost all their battles against the Imps because of the leadership of Bale, the Imp’s fierce general. Cro Power couldn’t harm Bale, whom they call the Terrible Claw. The secret to his military power is in his metal head. Kill that, and the invincibility of the Imps will be broken.

“The Imps are physically strong from working in the under-ground mines for their foul procreator. They are agile like the Orangutan, but they thrive in hot weather. They look like hairy reptiles with no tails and have facial markings as ugly as ba-boons. The frigid cold of these northlands will not suit them well. This is all I know about them, except that a lone Imp killed my mate with a poison dart seven summers ago. I broke his neck with a bite behind the head.”

Pang licked at his splinted paw as Joshua digested the amaz-ing account. Prince Ody hunched into view to inform him that the other officers were awake and that the men with breakfast duties were preparing their morning meal. Those at his own campfire were kicked awake as well, and they began staring with fasci-nation at the black wolf conversing with their commander. Joshua couldn’t help chuckling to himself at the return expressions the lobo gave to his curious warriors.

Joshua reflected on the ill fate of the wolves of future Earth. His own distant European ancestors had become too power-ful in their crooked dream of New World conquest. What had been stable in the North American ecosystem for many thousands of years, suddenly underwent calamity and unspeakable tragedy. His people’s horrible sins had been the senseless butchery of the Spirit-of-the-Wild. That wild spirit could only be defined in relative terms as the Native Peoples, the buffalo, and the wolf.

The American pioneers had wanted the frontier and all its resources for themselves, and so they destroyed anything and everything in their path. The buffalo were destroyed to ulti-mately eliminate the Indian nations and the wolves. With their natural food supplies gone, the Native Americans and wolves turned to the only source of food left them--pioneer cattle and sheep.

When greedy men became too numerous to live in unity and harmony with the land, then the whole world groaned from the losses it sustained. Joshua realized that he would have to be very careful about what he taught and tried to accomplish in the age of Ingdom. His knowledge and technology, if used unwisely, could destroy the delicate balance of the planet. He would be no better than the Draconian League if he did not weigh his deeds with his conscience.

A cold wind had shifted from out of the northwest tinged with low, gray clouds heavy with snow. By the time the eastern horizon had begun to change from black to hazy gray, they had already gulped down a big breakfast of stuffed barley-fritters and steaming, herbal green tea. Joshua unpacked a raw caribou steak breakfast for Pang and watched him wolf it down while he poured him a bowl of melted ice. A small dusting of powdery snow had already begun to fall when Joshua gave the hand signal to prepare to break camp.

Everyone packed up their bedrolls and packs, and gathered their weapons for the descent to the lower ledge. At the base of the lowest ridge, a talus-bank of angular rock debris deposited through the forces of frost and erosion, would provide them with a natural defense against a frontal attack. The scattered pockets of bitterbrush would also give them more cover than the windswept, barren ridge where Pang would stay to watch the battle. Joshua sent his herbal doctor south along the lower ledge to carry King Benthor the report that Pang had told him.

Hand signaling his squad leaders to move out, Joshua’s war party made the descent quickly and silently along with all of their supplies. They were in place long before the stunted day-light could seep its way down into the valley. Joshua went up and down the new line of defense to give each Elf encouragement and to check their line of fire into the center of the scooped out valley below.

Taking up a position beside Lord Brecha’s squad on his right, and Prince Ody’s squad to his left, Joshua readied his compound bow and screwed razor sharp hunting points into the tips of his graphite arrows.

As Sol finally slivered over the eastern ridge like molten lava pouring through steamy snow clouds, Joshua signaled his uncle with his small square mirror that his archers were in position for the battle. Three dull flashes from a reflective copper shield in return meant that the Dwarves were preparing to attack.

Not long after that, Joshua heard the Ingdomite ram-horns blowing formation calls. He felt his bowels churn with anxiety, and then just as a precaution, he ordered his equally nervous Elves to relieve themselves before the battle started.

Looking quickly at the invaders, he saw how fast the enemy arranged themselves for war. They were not taken by surprise, as they had hoped, but were organized into formations of shield-carrying spearmen, archers, and swordsmen. Great undulating shouts in unison arose from their hybrid throats. It was a tactic they used to instill fear and dread in their opponents. With pompous, orderly movement, they began to march toward Benthor’s now waiting Dwarf army while brandishing their shields and weapons with rhythmic discipline.

Pang stood outlined against the western horizon on the lac-colith ridge and watched the procession of war formations moving through the boulder strewn valley below. He witnessed the Ingdomite army counter the Imps initial movements by massing phalanxes of spearmen carrying body length shields. They moved en masse like a wall of reinforced hide--their shields forming a blockade through which long spears rose at imposing angles.

Benthor masterfully deployed his troops among the huge boulders left by the glacier thaws and the winding stream beds running down the center of the valley. The Dwarf King’s remain- ing platoons of Elvish archers spanned out on both flanks of the valley where they could impose cross fires, but Benthor held them back from the initial battle. He chose rather to test the hardiness of the Imps with his foot soldiers. Pang spotted a glint of sunlight reflecting off the Imp warlord’s metallic helmet as he stood on a massive boulder, roaring orders to his chanting invaders.

Counter phalanxes of shield-carrying, Imp spearmen surged forward and clashed powerfully into the front line of Benthor’s slow marching formations. At first it looked as though the Ing-domite defenders might be pushed back, but gradually the ordered discipline of the fearless Dwarf infantry began to prevail as the initial rage of the Imp charge lessened in intensity. The noise of fierce fighting filled the valley as the foot soldiers of each army fought to take the upper hand in the early stages of the battle.

Pang watched enthralled, reminded of how his proud pack had once been driven off by the defensive circle of a small herd of bison who had ferociously faced their every attack and counter-attack. He marveled at the savagery of humanoid warfare, where cunning, agility, and the strength-of-one’s-bite were not as important as the tools of destruction with which they could magnify their killing power.

The dim orb of the sun had climbed well up into the hazy sky when the eerie wail of an Imp’s retreat horn finally split the battle noise in the valley below and marked the end of the all important feeling out process. A mighty roar issued from the throats of the Ingdomites who drew confidence from withstanding their enemy’s first charge.

The once grass-tufted valley floor was now snow covered and littered with the dead and dying. Bloody, writhing bodies could be seen crawling pitifully amid the clutter of dropped shields and weapons--leaving red trails in the freshly fallen snow.

Pang turned his attention to Joshua’s position on the parallel ledge far below and watched as his new master tried to control the nervous energies of 100-archers--all of whom ached to join the battle. Only when the time was right, would King Benthor signal his hidden war party to attack from their highland position.

Ram horns played again on the mid-morning air as new for- mations moved in to replace the battle weary. The wounded from both armies were being hastily cared for by unarmed warriors picking their way through the mixed bodies, while the pounding of a great war drum marked the passing of the short time of strained peace.

Below, Joshua had noticed significant archer deployment in the Impish Host which would give the Imps a tactical advantage after the battle resumed. Pang saw him signal Benthor, who immediately recalled the medical teams double-checking the dead. Inner formations of Dwarf foot soldiers moved with ant-like purpose while archer platoons were hastily deployed.

The Imps war-horns sounded again, followed by barrages of poisoned arrows that arced through the blowing snow and rained down on the upturned shields of the Ingdomite Host. Counter barrages soon followed from the Ingdomite archer formations, crisscrossing the sky with deadly missiles. Many fell on both sides as horns blew for another frontal attack. A spearhead of Impish barbarians charged recklessly forward across the now prone bodies of the first battle and reengaged the humanoids who quickly gave ground this time while opening a bulging bubble into the heart of the Dwarf infantry.

Soon though, phalanxes of Ingdomite swordsmen and axmen shut off the lifeline of the marauding Imps by means of a pincer movement, leaving a large group of surprised enemy barbarians isolated and surrounded by angry Dwarves cutting them to pieces. They only surrendered when they were nearly all destroyed, and the survivors were taken to the rear lines where they were to be interrogated for important information.

The cold and snow began to take their toll on the Imp army as the early afternoon wore on. They started to move with almost lethargic desperation while trying to keep warm and end the conflict as soon as possible, but the Ingdomite defenders were giving them all that they could handle.

The temperature had dropped twenty degrees in little over an hour, and the wind chill had doubled. The warmer dressed Dwarves and Elves, who were used to the harsh northern environment, seemed content on a long conflict--their hot breath steaming from their mouths as if their lungs were on fire.

The Imps had withdrawn slightly to the north and back to the first of a series of paternoster lakes that stretched around a slow curve to the northwest and up through a hanging valley to- ward a rugged pass leading to the Norwegian Sea. The water in the lakes was freezing over again and was adding to the chill, arctic wind blowing down from around Mount Horn.

Joshua looked back over his shoulder and up at the high ridge of igneous granite where they had camped the previous night. He could just make out the black silhouette of the wolf whom he had saved on the very spot that they now waited in am- bush. Pang had informed him the Imps were superstitious. He wondered silently what the wolf had in mind when he’d asked permission to remain behind on the laccolith ridge.

Somehow, Joshua sensed that the outcome of the battle might be controlled by the mysterious black lobo. He stamped his burning cold, cramping feet and tried to stay warm while crouching uncomfortably behind the snow-covered ridge shielded by shrubs of bitterbrush. All he could do was wait--as if in the very jaws of an Imp’s hunting trap.

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