Chapter-3-2

⁠—⁠—⁠— II ⁠—⁠—⁠—

At first, neither Guin nor the wolves understood what had taken place. As the leopard-headed warrior fell to his back with the frenzied canines roaring over him, he heard a peculiar wolf- cry—a sorrowful keening that cut through the baying of the pack. In moments the howls around him became screams of pain, and then soft, piteous whines.

Pinned under gray furred bodies Guin had no idea what was going on, but from the sound it seemed as if someone or something was quickly and violently dispatching the wolves. After a few moments the jaws of the big wolf that had seized his neck reluctantly loosened, and the fangs of its pack-mate withdrew from the taut muscles of the leopard-man’s shoulder. Guin was free.

Yet the respite from attack brought him little pleasure, for now the pain and exhaustion that he had not felt in the rush of the fight hit him all at once. His head throbbed as if it were crushed in a vice and his strength seemed to seep from the bleeding fang marks that covered his body. With his mind reeling he lay on the cold ground.

Dimly, then, he realized that the night had become utterly quiet, save for the occasional soft panting that told him the wolves were still there. What had happened? Guin tried to sit up. His throat, his back, and his arms and legs ached as though all the muscles in his body were split and fraying. A fiery pain burned along the pathways of his nerves, and he slumped back down to the ground. But his curiosity and a suspicion that he was not yet safe overcame the crippling pain. Gritting his teeth and holding back a whimper he pushed himself up again, then rose to his feet…

And then Guin saw him.

He drew in a sharp breath. Whatever it was he had thought might have saved him from the wolf pack’s clutching jaws, it was not this. Guin’s bright eyes widened with surprise and shone with doubt at the truth of what they witnessed. At that moment, a bit of the humanity that had gone dormant while the leopard-headed warrior raged in battle rose again in his mind like a diver poking his head through the surface of the sea after a long foray into its depths.

“This is a surprise,” Guin muttered, his voice hesitant and his tongue thick in his mouth, as though he had forgotten speech for long ages and was just now remembering the shape of words.

“You saved me? You?”

The moon shone brightly as the goddess Aeris glided out from behind a cloud where she had taken refuge, casting her pale light on the cursed land once again. Guin’s battle with the wolves had seemed to last an eternity, but in truth it had only been a half-twist since he first faced them in the clearing among the boulders. In that time, the moon had slid ever so slightly toward the horizon, while Jarn’s Eye shone from its perch due east above the mountain summit.

In the ghostly light that poured from the heavens, Guin could see his savior clearly with his night-worthy animal eyes. It was a wolf, a great demon of the crags, so massive as to make even the largest wolf he had seen up until then seem no more than a newborn cub. It was not only the creature’s size that provoked Guin’s amazement but also the shining silver-white radiance of the pelt—as pale and gleaming as the snows of Ashgarn—that covered its giant frame from the tightly curled fur on its head to the tip of its bushy tail.

“You saved me?” repeated Guin. Somehow, he knew that the wolf could understand his words, though he could not have said whether it heard them as men do or somehow sensed their meaning from the waves of startled emotion. The wolf moved closer, snarling a low, clear warning to one of the smaller wolves which still panted in anticipation of a kill.

He stood above Guin on the tip of a broad outcrop that thrust up from the ground, peering over its edge like a king sitting on a high throne. His size and the power of his presence seemed to fill the sky. This was, without a doubt, the lord of the Dog’s Head—and it was obvious that he knew it. His eyes shone with a piercing silver light from under his white brow, and his slow, graceful movements and the way those silver orbs fixed upon Guin, as though gauging his worth, made clear the great wolf’s utter confidence and authority.

Guin was in the court of the Wolf King of Dog’s Head Mountain.

Guin’s amber eyes met the pale eyes of the Wolf King and the air crackled between them. The Wolf King returned the leopard warrior’s gaze without blinking, as though he was weighing whether or not Guin’s value was such as warranted rescuing. The great beast’s eyes were filled with the immeasurable sagacity of a creature that had lived for years beyond count, sharpened by an almost human-like intellect that now probed and considered the mighty interloper who had appeared in his ancient realm.

The ashen-gray wolves around him stood motionless, awaiting their king’s decision. Guin, too, stood perfectly still. The moon slid behind another cloud, then reemerged, playing its mythic light across the mountainside; a tense, stifling silence pervaded the scene. Then at last the Wolf King slowly tilted his head to one side and howled a low, commanding howl that, it seemed to Guin, bore the tone of a command.

As one, the wolves of the Dog’s Head silently turned and began to slink away. Some among the pack whined in their throats, reluctant to give up the feast they thought was theirs, but they were silenced with a glare from their king. Curling their tails beneath them they trotted quickly out of sight, heading back towards the boulder-field below. In a few moments, all the desert wolves that had surrounded Guin were gone.

When the last few stragglers had disappeared, casting regretful backward looks as they went, Guin felt the night suddenly grow cool around him. Alone he stood, facing the Wolf King, who had grown as still as the stone beneath him.

He could sense no enmity coming from the Wolf King’s eyes. Rather, when the great wolf turned his eyes back to Guin after checking to see that all of his subjects had indeed gone back down the slope, they had a look of familiarity, a sparkle that seemed to say: I know you well, leopard-man.

The blood that flowed from Guin’s wounds was beginning to dry. His entire body ached and stung with pain, and his arms and legs were impossibly heavy with exhaustion; yet he stood, immobile as a statue, waiting to discover what the great creature would do. Finally the Wolf King padded slowly down the rock towards Guin with soft, even steps, as though to show he meant no harm. With each step, his white fur rippled and swayed; he was like a spirit come from the wild eternal snows of the highest Ashgarn peaks. Soaked in moonlight, the silver streaks in his fur gleamed like frost. Approaching the still motionless Guin, the Wolf King stretched out his neck and brought his snout close to Guin’s unclenched fist. Then, without a sound, he respectfully licked the leopard-headed warrior’s hand.

When the rough, cold tongue touched the leopard-man’s fingers it sent a shiver like a bolt of lightning through his body. He was seized by a sudden uncontrollable trembling that he did not understand, and he stared at the Wolf King with a look of amazement, feeling as if… as if he was gazing upon his own destiny. Guin had a sudden sense that this meeting had been inevitable, as though Jarn’s hands had woven every step of his path up the mountain. And then it struck the leopard warrior that the Wolf King had expected this encounter all along, that he had seen the pattern and had come down from his throne to guide Guin to this place.

Guin stared silently at the Wolf King. Something remarkable was happening inside the battle-scarred warrior. From the damp flat of his hand where the wolf’s coarse tongue had touched it, some divine, untamed spirit of the wilds was flowing into his body, refilling the wellspring of vitality deep within him until it overflowed. Faster than he could believe, the terrible exhaustion that had overcome him, the pain of his wounds, and even the thirst that clutched at his throat all lifted and disappeared.

In their place, a limitless, primal life-force now surged through his body, flowing under his skin, along his pulsing veins, and into his mighty limbs. Slowly Guin lifted his hand and placed it on the steely whorled fur atop the wolf’s giant head. As though he was observing the steps of some timeless ritual, the ancient beast stood perfectly still, letting Guin’s hand rest upon him for a while. Then he slowly withdrew and, after licking the leopard-man’s fingers one final time, fixed him with a gaze full of inscrutable meaning. Then he turned and began silently to pad away.

Impulsively, Guin raised a hand and stepped out to follow the beast, but the wolf stopped a short distance away and shot him a look that said, Do not follow, and began to run, his silver-white form quickly disappearing into the night.

Guin felt a sudden certainty that the Wolf King meant for him to remain there and await his savior’s return. He looked around, and after satisfying himself that there was nothing of danger waiting for him in the shadows, he sat upon the night-chilled ground. Though he should have been tired and horribly weakened, he felt strangely elated, and as fresh as though he had just awoken from a long and restful sleep. He stretched out till he was comfortable, yet remained watchful of danger, and thought about the creature he had just encountered.

There was a power and majesty in the Wolf King’s presence that bespoke a spirit greater than that of any mere beast, perhaps greater than that of any mortal creature of the world. It was something profound and divine. Had he transformed before Guin’s eyes into an old man with long white whiskers and announced himself as an avatar of the desert land, forced to take the guise of a wolf for some reason, Guin would not have been surprised; there had been something about the great creature’s form, something deep within his eyes, that was wild beyond words. It was an essence that expressed all that was noble in animal nature.

Guin reflected on the Wolf King’s white fur. He knew of tales (though for the life of him, he could not remember who had told them, or when) according to which, long ago, when the desert wolves ruled the desert, their pelts had been prized for their pure, snow-white beauty. It was only after they had been driven into the mountains that they had become ashen-hued, resembling nothing so much as evil phantoms, haunting the crags high above the sands. Yet the tales told that even now, once in a great while, a throwback to the wolves’ desert-dwelling days would be born: a pup with pure white fur. When these pups grew larger, they were hunted by the Sem; in civilized countries, their pelts would fetch almost ten times their weight in gold.

Perhaps this Wolf King is one of those throwbacks, thought Guin. Yet the great wolf was so large in comparison to the rest of the Nospherus pack, he thought it more likely that the creature had come from a different stock altogether. Or could the ancient beast be the last of the wolves that had roamed the desert sand—a survivor from their distant past? Guin let out a laugh and discarded this idea. Many years indeed had come and gone since the desert wolves had truly lived among the dunes.

There was a soft sound away across the slope. Guin sprang to his feet, then relaxed and let the alert tension leave his muscles. The Wolf King had returned. The great white beast approached the leopard-man slowly, his head down as if to apologize for taking so long. He was carrying something in his jaws. Placing it at Guin’s feet, he nodded his head and drew back, like a vassal giving an offering to his holy lord. Then, lowering his ghostly form silently to the ground, he laid his head on his two front paws and regarded Guin with a steady stare. His gaze seemed more friendly and companionable than before.

Guin picked up the Wolf King’s offering. It was a plump balto bird with iridescent wings, freshly killed and still warm. Guin looked at the Wolf King, who was waiting hesitantly, as if to see whether the offering met Guin’s taste. Guin nodded and brought it to his mouth without hesitation.

The sweet, fresh blood ran down his throat and quenched his thirst. Then with sharp fangs he ripped into the fat bird as though he was a beast born. He devoured it eagerly, driven by a wild hunger that he had forgotten about until this moment. His jaw flexed, crunching bone and feather with a snapping sound.

The Wolf King looked on, seeming satisfied by this performance. Guin, looking up for a moment from his engrossing feast, noticed the creature’s stare, and he tore a wing off the bird and offered it to the wolf. The wolf refused, pushing it back with his nose, but when Guin insisted, he acquiesced, a servant graciously accepting gifts from his master, and began to eat.

It did not take long for Guin to consume the whole juicy bird. This wild meal was the most delicious, most satisfying feast he could remember. It was like nectar from the gods; he felt as though he was receiving life itself through his jaws, pure and raw and satisfying. He was lapping up the blood from his hands and the edge of his mouth with a long rasping tongue, when the sheer naturalness of what he was doing occurred to him.

Am I truly a beast? Drinking the blood, crushing the bones of this balto, I find it more delicious than any meal that could be prepared by the culinarists of the civilized lands. A beast-man… this is all I am. What would Rinda, little queen of Parros, think if she saw me here, sitting with a wolf, eating with bloody mouth and tongue?

She’d probably scream and faint, Guin admitted to himself. Inevitably his thoughts were drawn to the question that had plagued him since he awoke in the Roodwood with all memory gone. Who was he? How had he become like this? This time, however, the doubt did not bother him as much. He was full, and he was tired. By his side, the Wolf King, who had been busily engaged in grooming himself, licking his paws and chest, now stopped and suggested by pantomime that Guin go to sleep, laying his head down on his forelegs and closing his eyes.

“You’re a clever one, aren’t you?” remarked the leopard-man, laughing aloud. “But I suppose I should take your advice. After all, it seems quite clear someone’s sent you to aid me. I’m through with wondering at the strangeness that befalls me. It’s against my nature, and besides, what will come will come. Wolf King, I trust you, and I’ll assume that whoever sent you did so with my best interests in mind. At the very least, that bird you brought me was the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten, and surely that is a good sign. It’s a shame you cannot speak! For if you could, I imagine you could tell me a great deal—about my being, my true nature, my destiny—all the things I so dearly want to know!”

Guin rambled on freely as though he were talking to an old friend. The Wolf King listened intently, his eyes open and ears perked, as if he was trying to concentrate and understand what Guin said. But whether he understood or not, his clever animal eyes revealed nothing. At last he laid down his head and closed his eyes again, signaling once more that Guin should sleep. Guin laughed and nodded, then stretched his arms and legs, lay supine and shut his eyes.

Night was chilly on the Dog’s Head, but the leopard-man’s leather cloak protected him well, and his trained body was hardened enough to allow him to sleep almost anywhere without discomfort. It was not long before his spirit was roaming through the mountains of Dream.

For a while, the Wolf King stayed perfectly still, as though afraid of waking the warrior from his slumber. At long last, he lifted his head and looked over at his companion.

Guin seemed to be deep asleep. Reassured, the Wolf King rose slowly to his feet. Stretching and shaking the dirt from his belly, he slunk over to Guin and looked at his still face. Then, blinking his startlingly deep and thoughtful eyes, he gently licked Guin’s forehead, careful not to wake him.

The Wolf King seemed filled with respect and even fear, like an aged noble doing homage to his beloved emperor; he resembled, too, some tribal elder, a sage, gently acknowledging his successor, still young, with many things to learn. In a way that was far deeper than physical form, the two resembled each other—the giant silver-white wolf, king of Dog’s Head Mountain, and the mighty leopard-headed warrior sleeping at his feet. Powerful, self-reliant spirits, they could easily have been kinsmen from the same tribe, even brothers, so close did they seem.

The look they shared was that of one who had been chosen by something greater than himself to bear a burden of destiny so heavy that an ordinary mortal would stagger under its weight; one who had been blessed with strength and endurance of the spirit, yet who had to fight a terrible battle with no hope of aid or salvation. Very few were they who lived such a life, and they were truly alone, though their victories made the hearts of other men soar high. Such as these were known as heroes.

Guin’s body twitched and then shuddered as a dream disturbed his sleep. The Wolf King looked on worriedly for a short while; then, seeing that the warrior had fallen back into a calmer slumber, the great canine turned and departed silently across the rocks, headed out on some new task. His white form shone like a phantom against the dark crags and the starry sky.

The night was deep, but not as dark as it had been a few moments before. Dawn was approaching. The stars wheeled on their set courses, and the pale Aeris sped away to the western horizon, as though seeking to escape the advances of her fiery morning suitor, Ruah Sungod. A glow of indigo crept across the heavens as Ruah cast a white portent of his glorious birth over the eastern horizon, and the great spirit of the sky, Ayi, began rolling up his star-studded curtain to greet the day.

Morning had come again to Nospherus. It was the beginning of the second of the four days in which Guin had promised the combined armies of the Sem that he would return with reinforcements. It was also the morning that the Lady Amnelis planned to lead her mighty host on a raid to exterminate the Sem once and for all.

Guin slept. No heartless beast, stone-mimic, stonesnake, or leech-kin came to harass him. It was as though a mystic pentagram had been laid in the soil around him, forming a barrier against anything that might disturb his slumber.

The first ray of sun came over the Dog’s Head as though blazing Ruah had poked a giant arm through the curtain of the night. The Wolf King appeared on an outcropping, again carrying something in his mouth. It was a rock-lizard—as juicy as a balto bird, and tasting much the same. Laying it near Guin, he once more slipped away in silence. When he next returned, he was carrying a fragrant sweet cactus in his mouth. He had prepared a fine breakfast for the sleeping warrior.

Setting the cactus down by the rock-lizard, the Wolf King took up a position at Guin’s head, standing like a protective watch-hound. By now Ruah’s fiery disk had risen high enough to cast the first true light of morning on the mountain rocks. Bathed in that light, the silvery-white wolf shone more brilliantly than the glaciers of Ashgarn, so bright that any lesser eyes that looked upon him would have been dazzled.

It was an exhilaratingly beautiful scene, like something out of a fable or legend of old: the king of Dog’s Head Mountain, awaiting the leopard-hero’s rise, standing perfectly still and shining like a morning star on the mountaintop.