The water was cold and pulled at their boots, attempting to trip them and suck them beneath the dark current. Holding their cloaks on top of then-heads, they carefully waded across the watery boundary, climbed out onto the rocky shore, and entered the land of the Tiger Nomads.
The wind was frigid, carrying the cold winds of the Land of the Black Ice from far to the north as it swept down across the desolate tundra. Water clung to their legs like icicles, and their heavy leather boots and tunics were stiff and hard. But this was scarcely noticed, for all their attention was focused on moving as rapidly and quietly as possible. All knew that the kobolds' hearing, framed and funneled by their large pointed ears, was as acute and well-developed as their fabled night vision.
The nomads could hear the cries of battle clearly now, and it seemed that the kobold voices were harsh with the sound of victory.
Driven by the fear that they would be too late, Enor urged his men forward, and they swarmed over the rocks heedless of the noise, hoping that the moving water would swallow the sound of their passage. Mika ran at their side, begrudging every step and hoping that his plan would work.
To their right rose the black bulk of the base of the foothills which marked the short range of mountains that marched along the edge of the river. Their flanks were eroded by deep arroyos that carried the spring runoff into the river. Because of the depth of the arroyos, the battle could only be heard and seen when one stood on their crests. The men scrambled up and down their steep sides, frustrated at the amount of time lost to their passage.
The wolves flowed up and over with ease, the hard scrabble
To Mika's sorrow, they finally crossed the last of the arroyos and peered over its edge, taking advantage of its shelter and position above and behind the kobold lines.
The closest wagon lay a scant hundred paces away on a sand beach at the edge of the water. Seven Tiger Nomads were crumpled in various poses of death, the striped bodies of their tiger companions close beside them, constant even in death.
The sight of the Tiger Nomads and their fallen beasts wrenched something deep inside Mika-oba. Wolf and Tiger Nomads had few ties, sharing little but the same ancient warrior heritage, favoring distance rather than close contact.
Tiger Nomads were brave men, accustomed to living simply and harshly according to the laws that guided them, and in company with their fierce, bonded tigers. These deaths, more than the greater number of fallen traders, brought home the meaning of the deadly game they were about to enter.
The Wolf Nomads crouched at the lip of the arroyo, looking down on the rocky slope of land that stretched between themselves and the bend of the river. The ground was covered by a frenzied army of kobolds that screamed and yelled and waved their weapons in the air as they closed the gap between themselves and the remaining survivors.
'Pray the Great She Wolf your plan works,' whispered Enor. And Mika did so fervently as he pounded the point of a war arrow into the base of the grease bush. The moon was nearly set and the sun had not yet cleared the tops of the mountains to the east. It was the time which men fear most, the time of grey darkness when spirits most often join their ancestors.
All around him, men followed his lead and forced their arrows into the dry bushes, while wolves crouched at their sides, tense and anxious, whining high-pitched cries that were feverish with excitement.
'The bushes are heavy,' grunted Mika-oba, 'and will pull the points of the arrows down, but they must fly only a short distance, and we are above the target. Pull hard, aim high, and it will work.' And he fervently hoped that he was right.
Hasteen, brother of the missing Haj, struck a fire-stone with a hissing intensity and, barely waiting for Enor's cry of 'FIRE!' each man shot his arrow high into the air above the kobold ranks, then bent with scarcely a pause and pounded home another.
The air was filled with a fiery rain as the brightly burning bushes pelted down on the unsuspecting kobolds, showering them with explosive bursts of hot burning pitch.
The night was rent with screams of pain as the burning pitch burned the kobolds' scanty raiment and continued searing their horny skin. Writhing in anguish and rage, the kobold leader, an ugly brute half again the size of his followers, turned and scanned the rocks behind his ragged army, seeking the origin of the unexpected attack.
Mika-oba knew that the element of surprise was over. The kobold would soon spot them and direct his followers to attack the attackers. Rising to his feet at Enor's signal, Mika shrieked a hair-raising wolf cry, and waved nomads and wolves onward down the slope toward the kobold army.
Suddenly, just as the last of the men had passed him, a hard shove from behind pushed Mika off balance and he was forced to run downhill as fast as he could go in a desperate attempt to remain on his feet. With utter horror, he found himself overrunning his companions and plunging well ahead of the front line on a course that would soon place him squarely in the middle of the kobold lines.
A shriek of terror lifted from his throat and his comrades, taking it as a cry of courage, increased their strides and closed behind him in a solid wedge, propelling him on, their own wolf calls drowning out his piteous bleats of fear.
Axes, swords, pikes, and javelins raised above their heads, screaming madly, the Wolf Nomads, terrifying in their blue war paint with their ravening beasts beside them, caromed down the hill and slammed into the rear of the kobold army.
Chapter 2
Ululating wolf wails rose from the throats of the Wolf Clan as they slashed their way through the astonished kobolds. A chorus of elated wolf cries answered them from the wagons. Hasteen and several of the younger nomads perched on the lip of the arroyo and continued firing flaming grease bushes into the churning ranks of the kobolds.
Mika, finding himself suddenly alone but surrounded by kobolds on the rocky slopes, seized his battle axe and began whirling round and round, while screaming like a madman. Blood flew-kobold blood-and hope grew that if he could just keep swinging, the wretched creatures would not be able to get close enough to hurt him.
Tam crouched at his feet, just below the arc of the blade, snarling, ready for any kobold foolish enough to venture within reach of his open jaws. Some did, and Tam feasted on their blundering bodies.
A short distance away, the kobold leader roared in anger and beat out the fiery sparks on his orange tunic with his horny palms while urging his followers to stand fast and attack the newcomers. A few did as he directed, but the majority were too confused and frightened by the flames, which continued to rain down on them. Those few kobolds that did manage to reach the attacking Wolf Clan did not live long enough to regret their mistake.
Emboldened by the presence of their rescuers, twenty-odd survivors emerged from behind the wagons and joined their comrades.
The battle was long and fierce, but the advantage had been tipped in favor of the nomads, and as the first light of dawn crept over the eastern edge of the hills, its cold bright light so painful to the kobold's sensitive eyes, the nomads seized the initiative and pressed the creatures into a total rout.
Screaming their wolf cries, the nomads moved about them with axe and sword, hacking and slashing, killing kobolds in large numbers.
The wolves and the few tigers that remained alive were charged with a maniacal blood lust. Their eyes glittered crazily and their open jaws revealed sharp teeth that drooled with dark kobold blood.
The crazed animals seemed to favor prey that moved, and they brought down one fleeing kobold after another. A few kobolds, more clever than their unfortunate companions, took advantage of this tactic and dropped to the ground and played dead, crawling off after the bloodthirsty animals had passed them by.
Toward the end of the bloody battle, Mika-oba, who had grown both weary and dizzy, found himself face to face with the kobold leader. Its rusty brown hide was burned and bleeding in a dozen places, but fury still glowed in
