Book 1 - Doomstalker by Glen Cook Page B

were more subdued, for they sensed
that the news was bad. Skiljan’s report was terse.
    “Nomads attacked the Laspe packstead. They managed to
breach the palisade. They took the stores and weapons and tools,
fired the loghouses, and ran away. They did not kill everyone, nor
did they take many of the pups. Survivors we talked to said the
nomads have taken the Brust packstead and are using it as their
base.”
    End of report. What was not said was as frightening as what was.
The Laspe, without stores or tools or weapons, would not survive.
The Brust, of course, would all be dead already.
    Someone suggested the Laspe pack’s huntresses be brought
into the Degnan packstead. “Extra paws to bear arms when the
nomads come here. And thus the pack name would not die. Come summer
they could take new males and rebuild.”
    Skiljan shook her head. “The nomads are barbarians but not
fools. They did slay every female of pupbearing age. The huntresses
forced them.” She looked at the huntress who had spoken as
though
she
were a fool.
    That was the meth way—savagery to the last in defense of
the pack. Only those too young or too old to lift a weapon would
have been spared. The Laspe could be stricken from the roll of
upper Ponath packs.
    Marika was amazed everyone took the news with such calm. Two
packs known obliterated. It had been several generations since even
one had been overrun completely. It was a huge disaster, and
portended far worse to come.
    “What about the nomads?” someone asked. Despite
tension, the gathering continued subdued, without snarling or
jostling. “How heavy a price did they pay?”
    “Not a price dear enough. The Laspe survivors claimed
there were ten tens of tens of attackers.”
    A disbelieving murmur ran through the gathering.
    “It does sound impossible. But they left their dead
behind. We examined dozens of bodies. Most were armed males.”
This assertion caused another stir, heavy with distress.
“They wore fetishes identifiable as belonging to more than
twenty different packs. We questioned a young male left for dead,
that the Laspe had not yet tortured. His will was less strong than
that of our recent guest. He had much to say before he
died.”
    Another stir. Then everyone waited expectantly.
    Skiljan said, “He claimed the spring saw the rise of a
powerful wehrlen among the nomads. A rogue male of no apparent
pack, who came out of nowhere and who made his presence felt
throughout the north in a very short time.”
    A further and greater stir, and now some mutters of fear.
    A wehrlen? Marika thought. What was that? It was a word she did
not know. There was so much she did not know.
    At the far end of the loghouse, the males had ceased working and
were paying close attention. They were startled and frightened.
Their fur bristled. They knew, whatever a wehrlen was.
    Murmurs of “rogue” and “male silth”
fluttered through the gathering. It seemed Marika was not alone in
not recognizing the word.
    “He began by overwhelming the females of an especially
strong and famous pack. Instead of gathering supplies for the
winter, he marched that pack into the territory of a neighbor. He
used the awe of his fighters and his powers to overcome its
huntresses. He added it to the force he had already, and so on,
expanding till he controlled scores of packs. The prisoner said the
news of him began to run before him. He fired the north with a
vision of conquest. He has entered the upper Ponath, not just
because it is winter and the game has migrated out of the north,
but to recapture the Ponath from us, whose foredams took the land
from the ancestors of the nomads. The prisoner even suggested that
the wehrlen one day wants to unite all the packs of the world.
Under
his
paw.”
    The Wise muttered among themselves. Those who had opposed the
sending of Grauel to the packfast put their heads together. After a
time one rose to announce, “We withdraw our former objections
to petitioning the silth. This is