The snake-like thing was as thick as a broom handle and dark purple. Blood clung to it but was absorbed almost at once. Somehow the figure had thrown the snake-thing through his head. Coiling on itself, the snake-like thing came back at Cerril's face. Three hooked claws clacked together at the thing's end.

Still paralyzed, unable to defend himself, Cerril watched in terror as the clawed appendage bit into his face. Unable to fight back, he felt himself pulled around, falling into a helpless pile of loose limbs on his side. He stared up in revulsion, realizing that the purple snake-thing was the dead man's tongue, expelled over those sharp, bright teeth.

The thick purple tongue lashed out again, leeching onto Cerril's face. Despite the lethargic numbness overlying his need to escape, the boy felt the tongue suckling at his cheek, feeding on the blood that welled into the wounds it had caused. Cerril couldn't move to defend himself, couldn't even scream.

The tongue pulled free after a moment and slid under his chin, the dark purple flesh hard and cold against his skin. Then the tongue bit deep, sinking into the fevered blood that hammered against his throat. Even as the renewed assault of pain hit him, darkness quick and feathery as a raven's wing swooped down and blotted out Cerril's senses.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The wind howled along the mountainside, coming in from the east in great swirling gusts that hammered Haarn and whipped his hair. A chill hung in the air, but warm layers mixed in with it, letting the druid know the storm wasn't going to be an easy one, and that it was almost upon them now.

He climbed with steady grace, managing the thinnest of grips with practiced fingers and toes. Straining, he forced his body up the sheer side of the mountain. Pausing to regain his breath for a moment, he gazed down at Druz Talimsir.

The woman climbed the rope he'd set for her, but he still moved upward with more alacrity than she did. Her hair hung in sweaty clumps around her shoulders.

Stubborn, Haarn told himself as he watched her, and proud.

Both of those were good traits, if exercised with proper restraint. His mother would have been pleased with her spirit, but Haarn knew his father would have faulted Druz for her self-aggrandizement.

Druz gazed up at him in defiance.

"You're not waiting on me."

Haarn nodded and turned back to his attack on the mountainside, knowing the wolf pack waited for them. He could smell the stink of them, and he'd heard them growling among themselves, stoking up their courage to attack him and the woman. They were hungry, and a storm was blowing in. Wherever they holed up to wait out the storm, the wolves wanted to do it on full stomachs.

He reached up and caught another hold, shifting his head a little to avoid the mud that slapped under his left eye.

"Are they still there?" Druz asked.

"Yes."

Haarn estimated that less than three feet remained to the top.

"What makes you so sure?"

"I can hear them."

She was silent for a moment then said, "Then they can hear us."

"Yes."

"They'll be waiting."

"They already are," he said.

The rope slid against the rough stone fronting the mountainside as Druz pushed up.

"They think they can kill us," Druz said.

"Yes," Haarn replied.

He pulled the other end of the rope she'd climbed up to him. As she'd climbed, he'd held onto the other end, managing a rope loop, and took it up higher to find a new place to tie on.

Small trees and brush spotted the mountainside's edge. Haarn chose a thick-boled fir tree and tied the rope fast. Below, Druz swapped ends of the rope again and began climbing the final ten-foot stretch. Breathing out, knowing that their climb up the mountain had given Broadfoot plenty of time to come up the other side and provided a distraction for the wolves, Haarn pulled himself up onto the ledge. The bear traveled faster than Druz could have.

The wolf pack remained hidden in the shadows of the brush crowning the mountaintop. Despite their silence, Haarn smelled them even over the howling winds. Their anticipation and hunger colored their odor.

Druz threw an arm over the top of the ledge and began hauling herself up. Wariness tightened her features as she glanced around the promontory.

Haarn kept his voice soft and low. "They're biding their time."

He opened his senses to the forest world around him, searching for Broadfoot.

Ah, he thought, there you are.

The bear's scent threaded the air and Haarn didn't think the wolves had noticed it or considered its presence important.

Druz started to draw her sword.

"No," Haarn said when he heard the rasp of steel against leather. He turned to face her.

She cut her eyes toward his, her sword half out of its sheath. "If they rush us there's no place to go."

"No, there isn't," Haarn said, stepping forward. "We know that already, and so do they."

He walked beyond the shelter of the trees and out into one of the clearings atop the mountain where the rocky strata had proven impossible to dislodge. Standing in the center of the huge rock shelf half-buried in loam, trees, and brush, the druid spoke a few words of a prayer then inscribed a series of arcane characters in the air before him.

The characters glowed an eerie blue for a moment then dissipated as if torn apart by the winds.

Haarn felt the power of the spell invade his mind, opening corners of understanding to him that he could never quite remember afterward. The spell was an old one to him, but it had never quite become too familiar. A quiet filled his thoughts, then it was invaded by an angry series of throaty growls.

"What are you doing?" Druz asked.

Haarn ignored her. If his spell was going to work, he had to stay focused. He concentrated on the growling noise, knowing that it came from the wolves. As his enhanced senses sharpened, he recognized that there were eleven distinct voices among the pack. Three of them were male.

What is man doing? a soft voice asked.

Watch, a strong male voice answered. Wait.

When will we eat? My cubs are hungry.

Soon. We all eat soon. Rush now, we may have to chase their bodies to bottom of mountain.

Druz Talimsir stepped up beside Haarn. Her fist still wrapped around her sword hilt.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I'm going to talk to the wolf," Haarn replied.

The mercenary looked at him. "We're not here to talk to the wolf. We're here to kill it. We had an agreement."

"Yes," Haarn agreed, "but I don't want to kill them all if we don't have to."

"They hunt as a pack. All of these animals are man-killers."

Even caught up in his spell as he was, Haarn couldn't miss the vehemence in her voice when she called the wolves animals.

"The wolves follow a leader," he told her. "Take the leader away and you can change the pack."

"We may not have a choice about how many of them we kill."

"I'm working so that we will," Haarn said, but he didn't know if it would work.

The lead wolf strode from the darkness. As he moved into the opening, a fierce blaze of lightning lit the heavens. The wolf growled. Dark fur stood up in a spiky ridge along his back. The wolf's gait was the crooked movement Haarn was familiar with, the hindquarters following the forelegs at an angle.

With the spell in place, Haarn understood the wolf's growl.

Human, the lead wolf snarled, twisting his head sideways and flashing his fangs in open threat.

Food, a female voice said. She emerged from the shadows and flickering lightning reflected in her eyes. Kill humans, Stonefur. We eat.

Quiet, the lead wolf ordered.

Stonefur moved with rolling precision that seemed too loose to stay together, as if he were a puppeteer's device and the strings had become worn and frayed.