Each of the scouts dripped another line in the dirt, forming a cross with the original. Jaren first, then Syllany, then Brek, each touching their wulfbunde on the neck, turning them. Karn made another line, turned, touched Blood’s neck. Blood turned.
They all sheathed their daggers.
Arana made a line through her first line, formed the cross. She turned her back to the fire, wъlfbunde following. “We have all agreed to the judgment of Canus. By dagger and fang we have agreed. The decision is death.”
Each scout walked into the darkness. The scouts were silent on bare feet. The four wolves turned toward Blood. Blood turned back to face them. Each wolfs dark eyes fixed in anger and question on Karn, then each turned and followed their masters.
Blood did not move. Karn grabbed Blood by the remaining fur around his neck, urged the wolf toward the forest. Blood growled and bit. Karn slapped the wolf. He slapped the rod against his thigh. Blood crouched back.
“We have turned our backs and accepted the judgment of Canus. By dagger and fang, we have agreed. I know you understand this well, Blood, because you are the best of all wulfbunde.”
Karn pointed the rod into the dark. Blood stood straight, proud, walked into the forest. Karn followed.
The firelight caught the pattern of leaves, branches, threw them large and dark against the ground. The howl of the Forsaken filled the forest. Karn slipped the rod into its loop on his belt. He drew his twin daggers, cutting edges away from his body, curved blades down. Their metal was old, nicked, sharpened with new whetstones.
The hills and mountains of Neraka penetrated the night sky, walled off the stars and Krynn’s new moon. Karn found prints within a hundred paces. The Forsaken had passed several times, circling the campfire, the scouts, and their wulfbunde. The prints were hidden with corps technique. Karn pointed at the prints. Blood bobbed his head, sniffed, stared into the forest.
“What do you see?” Karn asked.
Blood coughed.
“Take me.”
The two wove through the trees and underbrush. The air was clear and warm. The forest floor was covered with leaves fallen from recent storms, tracks from smaller animals. There was an occasional low rumbling the two felt in their feet-the distant power of the volcanic Lords of Doom. Karn listened, but he did not hear the voice of the Forsaken. Blood kept his nose close to the ground, walking easily.
Karn and Blood found a small clearing, similar to the area around the scouts’ campfire. In the center of the clearing was a cairn made of rocks, covered with dried blood. A pair of corps knives formed a crescent, handles stuck in the ground, tips touching. Drawn into the dirt between the handles of the blades was the glyph of the Forsaken’s wulfbunde. His grave.
Karn touched his upper canines to his lower lip. Blood sniffed around the stones, poked his muzzle toward the glyph, jerked away when Karn slapped him with the rod.
“You know not to touch the sacred mark,” Karn said. Blood growled low. Karn raised the rod, let the lash dangle. Blood sidestepped away. The two glared at each other. Karn replaced the rod at his side.
Karn bowed to the small monument. “Masters and wulfbunde have turned our backs and accepted the judgment of Canus,” he said.
Karn studied the clearing and the empty forest, sloped his shoulders, walked into the brush.
Blood bobbed his head as Karn walked past, brown eyes on the scout. Karn stopped, slapped his side for Blood to follow. The wolf stood, did as commanded, sniffing the trail. He quickly found the trail leading away from the blooded monument.
The covered tracks, in wider circles, continued to lead around the patrol’s campsite. Karn again heard the howl of the Forsaken. The night was half gone. Karn slapped his hand against his thigh, walked faster, then loped, like Blood, through the forest along the trail. The howl was closer, with the rustling of leaves and branches the only other sound. Karn increased the pace, right hand knuckles down on Blood’s back, knife still in his grip. The uniform of the corps stuck to his sweaty body. Karn kept his eyes wide, his body loose. He tightened the grip on his knives.
Blood followed the trail. Karn followed Blood. The ground was more firm. The Forsaken was better able to hide his circling tracks. Blood stopped, sniffed the air, peered into the darkness. Karn stopped a pace ahead of his wulfbunde, searching the night forest. Blood turned around, sniffing the air, turned back. He coughed.
“What do you-?”
The Forsaken howled in Karn’s ears, bare hands clawing his chest, canines tearing at Karn’s throat. Karn fell to the ground, brought his knees up, pushed the Forsaken away, howling in return. The Forsaken fell on his back, growl cut short. Karn sprung to a crouch as the Forsaken turned on his belly and launched himself forward. The Forsaken drove Karn stumbling backward into a tree.
The black wolf was the first to arrive, standing at the edge of the clearing. The brown wolf was second, then the mottle-furred. The last was Arana’s wulfbunde.
Blood moved toward his master, was cut off by the sudden circle of other wolves. Blood dodged, but was blocked again.
Arana’s wulfbunde licked at the fresh wounds from Karn’s lashes. Blood shied away, tried to dodge around the circle again, finally sat, watched the fight.
Karn tried to drive his daggers into the Forsaken’s back. The Forsaken opened his arms wide, preventing the curved blades from reaching his flesh, and bit Karn with his filed canines. Karn dropped to his knees, bodyweight forcing the Forsaken’s arms down. The Forsaken spat and snarled, drove a knee into Karn’s face, knocking the scout’s head back against the tree. Karn dropped his knives.
Karn growled, swayed. The Forsaken pulled Karn to his feet, bit deep into the man’s shoulder. Karn howled, shook his body, but could not free himself from the Forsaken’s teeth. He beat the Forsaken with his fists. Blood ran from his wound into the Forsaken’s mouth.
“Wъlfbunde!” Kara called, desperate.
Kara brought his fists against the Forsaken’s ears, struck again, and again. The Forsaken’s bite loosened. Karn kicked and pushed the Forsaken back. Karn tried to raise his hands in defense, but his left arm wouldn’t work. He kept his right hand up, left dangling, helpless. The Forsaken shook his head, fixed his eyes on Karn, charged, and knocked Karn to the ground.
“Wulfbunde!”
Blood looked to each of the other wiilfbunde, toward Karn. Arana’s wulfbunde bit his paw, dragged a line of blood in the dirt. The black wolf bit her paw, did the same, then the brown, then the mottle-furred. They each crossed the lines with another, forming crosses of blood.
“Wъlfbunde!” Kara cried. He held the Forsaken off with his right arm, slowly losing strength against the other man’s weight and insane rage.
The Forsaken’s jaws opened wide over Karn’s throat. Karn’s own blood dripped from the Forsaken’s canines. The Forsaken’s jaws closed, canines puncturing Karn’s neck. Kara raked stiff fingers and sharp nails across the Forsaken’s eyes.
The Forsaken yelped, threw himself backward, twisted to his feet, and ran into the forest.
Blood moved toward his master, but was blocked by the other wolves. He growled at the other wiilfbunde. They bowed their heads, backing away from the crosses. Blood watched them lope off into the cover of the forest.
Karn’s eyes opened, hand lowered to his throat. His life seeped around his fingers. He tore a strip of cloth from his shirt, pressed it to the wound. He rolled on his side.
“Get help.” Blood licked his muzzle. Karn patted his hip, where the rod dangled from its loop. “Go.”
Blood stood and stepped toward Kara. He coughed, yelped. Turned to go, turned back. Karn raised himself up, holding the bandage with his right, left arm dangling. One-handed, he wrapped the loose ends of the bandage around his neck, brought them around, binding.
“Go,” he said. Blood yelped, sat, did not move, eyes on Karn’s wound. “Fine, wъlfbunde. Help me up.”
Blood forced his muzzle under Karn’s arm. The scout pushed himself up, braced by Blood’s strength. Karn stood. He turned his head. The bandage held, the outer roll still white. He touched his left arm, pinched his bicep, the back of his hand. He moved his left shoulder. The wound there had stopped bleeding. With his right, he tucked
