hunt.
Mika had imagined, when indeed he bothered to stretch his thoughts that far, that things would always go on as they were. Enor-oba, the chief's eldest son, and Mika's rival in everything from weapons to women, was destined to be chief one day. His brother would follow his father, and he himself would go on gaming, wenching, hunting, and escorting the seasonal caravan to Yecha or Eru-Tovar across Wolf Nomad lands.
Mika enjoyed these trips as they allowed him to explore the novelties of the cities. He found the immensity of the ocean at the outer edges of the city of Yecha boggling beyond belief. Its vast stretches of endlessly moving waters called to him, cajoling him to leave his land-locked home. The salt-laden breezes caressed his mind like a woman's hand and dared him to discover its hidden secrets.
The intricacies of the city itself were no less fascinating. Used as he was to the lofty trees of the roan-wood forest and the empty rolling plains, it was difficult to grasp the suffocating complexity of the city. It seemed that there was too much to see, more than was possible to fit in one's eye. Each and every scene needed to be studied closely to take in all the details, but that was impossible, for nothing ever stood still.
Yecha was the capital city of the Wolf Nomads, founded many centuries earlier by those of the clan who saw the need for a permanent site from which they might sell their loads of roanwood, trade for sablewood and other necessities, and hold their councils with the other nations of Oerth.
These early men of vision had been regarded by the nomads as martyrs who had reluctantly given up the freedom of the forest so that their brothers might live better lives.
The city had grown over the years, having been added onto and built upon until now there was a vast populous of men and women who, though they called themselves Wolf Nomads and wore wolf insignia on their clothes and banners, had never stepped foot in the forest and actually seemed to prefer living in the city! It was all but incomprehensible to Mika.
But even Mika had to admit that the city was an exciting place. Framed by huge, thick stone ramparts that flew the wolf banner, it was crammed with exciting and foreign sights and sounds that flooded the senses like a rare wine.
The streets themselves were narrow and twisting, filled with a wide variety of people-peddlers with packs, hawking their wares; burly countrymen pushing their carts heaped with produce still warm from the earth; painted harridans wearing filmy silks, flanked by massive ebony eunuchs baring naked, curved swords; not to mention ordinary merchants and traders from cities across the whole of Greyhawk, all of whom mingled freely with the everyday citizens of Yecha, exhibiting a multitude of strange manners of dress and customs.
Mika could not imagine how one could possibly live in such a place permanently without losing one's mind. It was barely possible to see the sky, for the buildings were frequently two layers tall and sometimes as many as six, towering higher than the oldest roanwood tree and often leaning out over the narrow streets below.
And the noise! There were no bird songs to be heard and few birds, other than the filthy gulls that flew overhead, laughing shrilly as they dropped evil white deposits on the angry citizenry below. Thin, mangy dogs roamed underfoot searching hopefully for chance morsels and hoping to avoid the prowling wolves that roamed the city freely. At night, the shadows were thick with the massive shapes of rats, their flashing white teeth sharper and more deadly than a cutpurse's knife.
And while he found city men strangely hostile and suspicious of a simple country boy like himself, their women had proved more than willing to make up for the rudeness of their mates.
But all of that would soon be over. Once he became his father's apprentice, there would be no more trips to the city and no more burgher's wives, only dusty old scrolls and stinking weeds.
Following the directions of the dead messenger, the Wolf Nomads approached the banks of the River Fler while mist still curled above the dark waters.
During the long, cold, uncomfortable ride, unremarkable except for the incessant howling of the wolves that flanked them on all sides, Mika-oba had cursed the foolhardy words that had placed him in such danger. Much as he regretted the death of his friends, if indeed they were dead, riding into the arms of a kobold army and getting himself killed would do nothing for his friends, not to mention his own valuable and irreplaceable self.
Although he was very curious about the mysterious princess and her wealth, Mika was determined to stay well to the rear of any battle, maintain a low profile, and return home to the adoring Celia with his skin intact.
Unfortunately, Enor-oba, Celia's hateful brother, had plans of his own, which he implemented as soon as they were within a mile of the river.
The band of nomads had dismounted and staked their horses out after walking and wiping them down to prevent crippling founder. The wolves paced excitedly, dark eyes shining, fangs glinting, knowing by some strange means that blood was about to be shed. TamTur, more disciplined than most of the wolves, heeled to Mika's command, his eyes bright with blood fever.
Enor called the men together as they checked and adjusted their weapons. They grouped in a circle on a small rise, waiting for Enor's strategy.
'We must make our approach before the sun brightens the sky,' whispered Enor at last. 'But to do so, we must know the disposition and placement of the enemy. Who among you wishes the honor of gathering this information?'
'I would gladly volunteer, Father,' Enor-oba said rapidly, before anyone else could speak. 'But Mika-oba is the very best among us, by his own admission. I will pass up the honor in deference to Mika-oba's greater skills. I swallow my pride and ask you to allow the better man to go. Send Mika-oba.' His tone was serious, yet his dark eyes betrayed his inner malice.
Mika glared at Enor-oba, who crouched less than a hand span away fingering the long white scar that ran down one side of his face.
'I could not take such an honor upon myself,' Mika-oba said between clenched teeth. 'You go, my brother.'
'No,' Enor-oba, said firmly, looking at Mika with mocking eyes, stroking the scar softly. 'I cannot count the times you have told me that you are the better man. Now, when the stakes are so high, I bow to your greater abilities.'
Mika thought he heard a murmur of suppressed laughter among his companions, though all presented somber faces as they waited for his response. But before he could reply, Enor clapped him on the back and said, 'Good lad, I know that this is a simple task, but one that you will relish. Spy out the way of things and return in safety.' And there was nothing more to be said.
Muttering blackly to himself, trying to think of a spell or an herb that would cause Enor-oba great discomfort while stopping short of actually killing him, Mika set about making his preparations for the dangerous reconnaissance.
Mika removed the light-grey wolf tails from his helmet and checked to make certain that there was nothing on his person that would reflect light. Satisfied, he smeared all exposed skin with a layer of hastily prepared mud, wrapped his dark cloak around himself, and then quietly slipped away from the others with Tam beside him, skipping with excitement.
He moved silently across the dark prairie until the sound of the river could be easily heard. Then, with TamTur following close at his heels, he made his way downstream, hoping to find a spot that would allow him to view the enemy while remaining unseen.
Creeping among the large rocks that lined the river, Mika and the large wolf gradually worked their way toward the shallow ford in the bend of the river where the caravans traditionally crossed.
After some time, they reached a pile of large rocks perched on the edge of the bank which would provide both the height and the cover he desired. Mika sank into the shadow of the rocks, motioned TamTur to stay, and began to climb, cautious not to disturb the balance of the rocks. He was eventually rewarded with a clear view of the battleground. It was not an encouraging sight.
The caravan was stretched across the river. One wagon rested on Wolf Nomad lands. Three wagons stood axle-deep in the river itself, and six wagons remained on the far side of the river in Tiger Nomad territory.
The dead were strewn around the wagons like leaves after the first frost. The thin cold light of the descending moon outlined their still forms, and Mika-oba was able to pick out at least twelve dead humans and a scattering of wolves. More than a hundred kobold corpses littered the ground, but the messenger had placed their numbers much higher. Mika allowed himself a moment's hope. Maybe the kobolds had been driven back and had abandoned their intended prey!
