Tart of him wanted to take them back out to the forests and the surviving pups and bitches but they were so close now. Man-packbrother and the others would find the woman and the answers would be there

for them. He yearned for the forest but more than that, he yearned to stand with man-packbrother. To help the humans. It was not a feeling that was easy to accept but it was there and could not be denied.

It was something he wished he could express to the pack but there were no sounds or expressions to convey it. He knew they didn't understand why they were here, just that their pack leader was and they trusted him to be right. And so they would follow him again, back to the fires, the pain and the bad scent that covered everything. But they would return by another route and try to avoid the worst of the burning wood, to where man-packbrother had run with the strange humans whose faces were wood and who had nothing where their souls should be. He feared these humans. They were blank.

Thraun nuzzled each one of the pack in turn, feeling their soaking fur against his muzzle and easing their remaining fear. He would be with them. He would protect them. Now was the time to act. Tet they were so reluctant to go, cowering still in the dark, their eyes fearful. But he needed them with him, to give him strength.

He made to move back out into the horror but they wouldn't follow him. He padded back to them, standing above them where they crouched, heads low to the ground. They couldn't stay here and he struggled to make them understand that. Hiding in the dark was not the way of the wolf. The pack hunted, the pack ran free.

He growled, demanding they get up, requiring their obedience. He was the dominant male and they had to obey him. And slowly, their respect and fear of him overcame the need to escape what lay beyond the dark alleyway. Heads still hung, limbs still shivering, they rose.

The pack were ready again and he led them out of the dark place and back into the firelight and noise, the scent of the evil gale assailing his nostrils, the sounds of clashing metal and the cries of humans becoming loud again in his ears.

Howling to give them strength, he ran in front of them, searching the air for the scent of man-packbrother. Thraun knew where he had run to and as they closed on the place where the land met the water once again, he knew he would turn away from the terror the pack had suffered.

But the conflict had moved.

All along the waterside, the human dwellings burned, their heat crackling the air and making the rain steam as it fell, fizzing in the

sky. He couldn't see man-packbrother but knew he was there. What he could see were prey and the humans that rode them.

With a bark, he led the pack to attack, leaping and closing his fangs around the throat of a prey, feeling the warm gush of blood and its anguished movements as it sought to shake him off. The rider called out and swung his sharp which stung as it bounced from Thraun's impervious hide.

Thraun dropped from the neck of the prey and, in the same move, sprang to take the human, giant paws thumping into his chest and bearing him to the ground where the weak creature fought uselessly while Thraun tore at his throat.

The mingled blood tasted good but there was no time to feast on prey and human flesh was not to his liking. He lifted his head and saw the pack surrounding their prey, which reared, pawing the empty air while its rider clung to stay on. He watched as one circled to a flank and drove into the rear legs. The beast collapsed, its cry of pain loud, its rider tumbling to the ground, momentarily and fatally helpless.

With the human dead, Thraun barked them to him and looked for the next target. The riders and prey were aware of them now, and more turned to fend them off while the clashing and shouting continued behind them.

Thraun's heart froze as he saw a man with mist over his soul staring at them. He had no sharp and was all the more terrible for it. Thraun made to dart forward but was blocked by one of the pack. Barking to scatter them, he ran at the man, leaping as globes of fire erupted from his hands, sailed over Thraun's head and landed behind him. With his jaws clamped on the man's face and his paws raking his chest, he heard the awful yelps and whines of the pack.

He bit down to finish the human, turned and ran, pulling up short when he saw them. They hadn't scattered as he had asked, the proximity of prey and blood had been too much. And now three were down and one staggering. All were ablaze, all in agony, all dying. Thraun looked on helplessly as the unnatural fires ate at their fur and flesh, stole their voices and stopped their bodies. At the last, one found Thraun's eyes and as the wolfs gaze dimmed, he read the message in them.

Betrayal, wrong death.

Thraun sat by the burning carcasses and howled, heedless of the enemy around him and not caring whether he was attacked or not. He

had let them down. The pack were gone and it was his instincts that had cost them their lives. He had failed them just as he had failed-

A stab of long buried memory flashed through his desperate mind. Of a small human. Another man-packbrother, covered in white, his eyes closed, his chest not moving.

Confused, Thraun had neither the strength for revenge nor flight. So he lay where he was, last guardian of the dead pack, and watched the prey and riders flow around him as if through eyes that saw slowly.

And with every heartbeat a word, a word, gained in intensity and dominion. Deep inside, he knew he could not ignore it.

Remember.

Arlen turned this way and that in his saddle as he sought some way to enforce order. He and his men had spilled on to the dockside past raging fires and collapsed buildings to encounter a batde in full flow. College cavalry were set against Protectors, the violence of the fighting shocking as it flowed over the cobbles of his docks. Men roared, horses screamed, and spells crashed on all sides, flaring over shields or pouring their might over helpless victims.

The eye-watering odours of scorched wood and flesh filled the air through the pouring rain. Swords clashed together or against armour, the ringing echoing in all directions, and in the firelight great slicks of rain-diluted blood ran towards the sea, men and horses splashing dirough them as they engaged their enemies.

In the harbour, the Ocean Elm was sailing clear, sails full, driving her on to the lake while to his left, another batde near the Calaian Sun was taking place in front of tumbled and splintered warehouses and the flames that swept a hundred feet into the night sky. The noise was deafening, the sight appalling and Arlen had no idea how to stop it.

Around him, his townspeople had faltered, their energy draining away as they saw death surround them. Some of them had run away and Arlen couldn't blame them for doing so. Only his guards had formed up in proper defence and they had been attacked on two sides, some falling prey to Protectors beating a path back to the centre of the town, others by Dordovans determined to stop them. Eventually, he had withdrawn and now the survivors looked to him for help.

One of the men he'd sent to assess the spread of fighting through the town sprinted up to him, gasping for breath.

'Report,' said Arlen.

'It's everywhere,' said the youngster, not more than twenty years of age and scared half to death. 'There're fires burning right through to the jail and into the Salt Quarter. One side of Centenary Square is ablaze with fire carried on the wind and there's fighting in a dozen pockets.' He stopped, breathing hard. 'Protectors are marauding all through the town and the Dordovan mages are casting at them from rooftops and windows. Our people are on the run. There are hundreds heading north to the castle but I don't think they'll stop there. It's like the whole place is falling down. What will we do, my Lord?'