suggested that not only was someone or something still running the systems down below, but that someone or something now knew they were coming. Owen just wished they'd turn the heating down a notch. And then he rounded a corner in the trail and came to a sudden halt as he saw exactly what was waiting for him.
His first response was to grab for his disrupter, and he only fought the impulse down with an effort. The tall figure standing motionlessly some way ahead was most possibly the most dangerous thing he'd ever seen in his life, including the aliens of the murderous jungles of Shandrakor. The others piled up behind him, but apparently one glimpse over his shoulder was enough to convince them that they didn't want to get any closer either.
The figure had a man's shape, but it didn't stand like a man. Easily eight feet tall, its broad shaggy head had a definite lupine shape. Intimidatingly wide shoulders swelled out into a barrel chest that plunged into a long, narrow waist. The figure was covered in thick golden fur from the top of its long-eared head to the large paws that served as its feet The legs curved back like a wolf's, and something in the way the figure stood suggested it would be just as happy running on four legs as two. The furred hands had long, jagged claws, and long teem gleamed a dirty yellow in the grinning mouth. The eyes were the most disturbing feature. They were large and intelligent and almost overpoweringly ferocious. The rebels had found the Wolfling. Or he had found them.
Owen licked his suddenly dry lips and couldn't make himself move his hand away from his gun. The Wolfling was standing as though he might attack at any moment, and Owen had no doubt it would take a damn sight more than his sword to stop him. Giles had called the Wolfling the ultimate predator, a genetically designed killing machine, and now that he'd seen him, Owen agreed completely. Just standing there he was a threat, only an impulse away from an unstoppable killing rage, and everything from his savage glare to his viciously clawed hands marked him as a wild and uncontrollable force. He growled softly, and all the hair on Owen's head tried to stand up. Owen swallowed hard. Beyond trying to shoot the beast, he was at a loss for what to do. Apart from a suicidal urge to walk up to the Wolfling, pat him on the head and say 'Nice doggy!' He pushed that thought aside very firmly as the Wolfling growled again, and he glanced back over his shoulder.
'Giles,' he said, very quietly and calmly. 'I think he wants to talk to you.'
The original Deathstalker pushed his way through the others to stand at Owen's side. He bowed formally to the creature before him and smiled easily. 'Hello, Wulf. Been a long time, hasn't it?'
'Not long enough,' growled the Wolfling. His words were low and harsh, but not especially threatening. 'Every time you come here, you bring me trouble. What bad news have you brought this time?'
'The Empire is right behind us,' said Giles. 'They want the Device, and to hell with what it costs them. I mean to get it before they do. That means going through the Maze. Which means we're a little pushed for time. Will you help?'
'Always time to greet old friends,' said the Wolfling, grinning easily. It was not a pleasant sight. He moved forward with sudden grace and embraced the Deathstalker, the large man almost lost in the great furry hug. They laughed together, and the Wolfling released him. He studied Giles with his head cocked on one side. 'You said you'd be back someday, but after nine hundred years I'd almost given up hope. Damn, boy, it's good to see you again. But I see you have company. Introduce us, and I'll decide whether or not to eat them.'
He grinned his unnerving grin again as Giles made the introductions. Owen assumed the Wolfling had been joking, on the grounds he found it too worrying to believe otherwise. Hazel bobbed her head politely, but kept her gun trained on the beast. Ruby didn't even bother to be polite. Random smiled warmly, and even shook the clawed hand without missing a beat. Presumably in his time as rebel leader he'd learned to be diplomatic with all sorts of allies. The Wolfling and the Hadenman just looked at each other for a long moment, and then looked away, as though they'd decided to call it quits for the time being. Owen wondered what the two artificially created beings thought of each other; two bastard sons of man's ingenuity. Jealousy, perhaps?
When his time came, Owen made himself shake the Wolfling's hand. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought; it was just like shaking a hand in a very thick glove. As long as you didn't look at the claws. They were long and thick, the deep yellow coated with dark smudges that might have been dried blood, or might not. Owen decided he wouldn't ask. Up close, the towering beast smelled heavy and rank, a strong animal scent that lifted the hairs on the back of Owen's neck again in a pure atavistic response. He smiled bravely and let go of the Wolfling's hand as soon as he properly could. The beast turned back to Giles.
'He's your kin, Giles. The smell of your blood is strong in him. What will you and he do with the Device once you have it again? Use it against your enemies, or destroy it?'
'We haven't decided yet,' said Giles. 'For the moment, we think it important simply to keep it out of other hands. Is it still safe and secure in the Maze?'
'How would I know? I haven't looked at the damned thing since you teleported it into the middle of the Maze all those centuries ago.'
'Weren't you ever curious?'
'No. Not in the least. I would have destroyed it the first moment I set eyes on it I saw what it did to you, after you used it.'
'Take us to the Maze, Wulf,' said Giles. 'We haven't much time.'
'What about the Tomb?' said Tobias Moon. 'You promised you would take
The Wolfling looked at him thoughtfully. 'There are many of your kind waiting in their Tomb. Have you come to waken them at last?'
'Yes,' said Moon. 'Our time has come. The Hadenman will walk forth upon the stage of Empire once again.'
The Wolfling nodded slowly. 'Well, you certainly sound like a Hadenman. More aristocratic than God and twice as arrogant I'd wish you luck, but why tempt the fates? But as a word of caution and warning, would you like to see what remains of my race? It's really very instructive.'
He turned away without waiting for any answer and padded off down the earthen path. He moved quickly, with surprising grace for his size, and the others had to hurry to keep up with him. The Hadenman strode along with his face blank and impassive, but his golden eyes were fixed on the Wolfling's back. Owen shot a glance at Giles, but his face was carefully impassive, too. Whatever he remembered about the Hall of the Fallen, he wasn't giving anything away. They walked on through the silent forest, no one willing to break such a perfect silence with inconsequential chatter, until they came to a sudden branch in the trail. The Wolfling took the left-hand path, and it quickly led them to a bare face of rock; a giant stone slab rising hundreds of feet into the air, a massive tombstone in the midst of the forest. Owen craned his neck back, but he couldn't see the top of it. The Wolfling placed a great hand flat against the stone, and a door opened up in the stone wall, swinging silently inward on unseen hinges. A stark white light appeared in the doorway, and the Wolfling walked into it. There was a slight pause, and then the others followed him in, and this was how they came to the Hall of the Fallen.
It was a great cavern, hewn out of the heart of the stone, lit with bright, unforgiving light that came from everywhere at once and hid nothing in shadows. In niches in the walls, of various sizes, stood all that remained of the Wolfling race. Some were almost complete, standing proudly erect with their death wounds left unclosed and uncleaned. Dried blood crusted ugly wounds in the midst of torn and matted fur. Some were missing limbs or heads, and others were merely body parts, collected together. There were thousands of them, in thousands of niches, the slaughtered dead with unseeing eyes over endlessly snarling mouths. Still beyond stillness, battered and broken, most lacking even the illusion of life. Owen turned slowly in a circle, his mind overloading with images of death and destruction. There were too many to count, bodies and parts of bodies, a race wiped out because it was… too good.
'Welcome to the Hall of the Fallen,' said the Wolfling. 'I built it myself, over the years, because there was no one else left to do it. It took many years, but I've always had plenty of time, if nothing else. I gathered all the dead, left to lie where they had fallen by a triumphant Empire, and brought them here, one at a time. I am the last of the Wolflings, and I did not want my race to be forgotten. It is a sad and bitter honor to be the last of one's kind, and it carries heavy responsibilities. Has the Deathstalker told you how they died? No matter if he did; he remembers it his way and I remember it mine. We were stronger and greater than the race that created us, with a future and potential they could not hope to match. I sometimes think they would have forgiven us anything but that. So they came in their ships and destroyed us from a safe distance. The last of us hid away in our tunnels beneath the burning forests, and they had to send their men in after us. And for every Wolfling that died, we took a hundred human lives in payment. But there were so many of them, and so few of us, and in the end there was only me.
'The Deathstalker came here some time later, looking for a safe place to leave his Device, and found me
