The weather at least was reasonably kind and so the three headed off under clear skies to confront the Dark One who was threatening their village community.

One thing was bothering Ahren. 'Why is Selsena helping us? Couldn't she just gallop away? Or can you control her with your thoughts?'

Falk rubbed his beard and answered. 'Firstly, she's been my companion for more years than I care to remember. We'd go through hell and high water for each other and have done that many times. Secondly, SHE WHO FEELS created the Titejunanwa to protect the forest and all its inhabitants from the Dark Ones. It's her vocation to help us'.

Ahren had to digest this information first. In the humans' stories, unicorns only appeared as protectors of maidens, or proved the purity of a heart by boring into the subject with their horn. If it remained whole, then the person was without malice.

And there were rainbows. In every story with unicorns you had rainbows. The creature standing before Ahren and that Falk had told him about didn't fit into the legends that he had heard.

When you looked at Selsena carefully, she appeared almost stocky. This was down to her broad chest which contained the three hearts. The breast cage under her hide seemed to be made of a continuous breastplate although Ahren couldn't be sure. The one on her head could be clearly seen and gave the animal a much more martial air than what was described in the legends. They walked further northwards, far further north than Ahren had ever marched with Falk.

'That's why I hadn't noticed the wolf', Falk realized. 'Since you've been with me, I've rarely come to this part of the forest. The wolf's lair is still further north. It's too far to get there and back in one day. We're going to have to sleep in the open after the hunt'. And he pointed at the heavy rucksack on Ahren's back. The apprentice was heavily weighed down today because they had taken far more equipment than usual, including many healing creams and bandages.

Ahren swallowed and tried to think of something else. He was carrying the lion's share today partly because his master was wearing the pieces of armour that he had produced from the dirty bundle. Ahren's theory was that he had hidden the bag somewhere in the forest but the old man had refused to confirm this. The neck piece protected the lower part of Falk's head, and the metal pieces enclosed his underarms and lower legs. He'd tied the sword to the middle of his back so that his movement would be as free as possible. The snow was up to the middle of Ahren's thighs and he followed in his master's wake on a path that had been ploughed in the snow by Selsena's quiet steps.

Selsena stopped around midday and Falk listened to her. He nodded and said, 'this is it. Somewhere within a thousand paces is the lair, and the Blood Wolf is there. Let's put on the Earth Paste'. Ahren fished out the two little jars as silently as possible and they began applying the brown paste, which oozed the smells of the forest. Meanwhile Falk ran through their strategy one more time.

'Selsena will draw the beast out into the open. I'll try and land one or two arrows. Ahren, you stay in the background. Only shoot if one of us gets into distress, you just have to hit it so that it's distracted, then we can regroup. If we're lucky my first arrow will do the trick and it'll all be over in ten heartbeats. Then we can head back home'. He tried to smile encouragingly but he could only manage a grimace.

'Understood?'

Ahred nodded and Selsena snorted.

'Right, then. Let's get this over with'.

They moved forward slowly. Step by step, then stopping and listening. The Elven horse corrected course a few times, whenever she located the wolf more precisely.

After what seemed like an eternity she stopped and bowed her head so that her horn was pointing towards an enormous, fallen tree. The roots of the colossus had ripped a huge clump of earth out of the ground, which now stuck up into the sky like a little mountain, laced with its pattern of roots. Below this was a dark cool hollow shaded from the sun and prying eyes. Something dark rose and fell at regular intervals and Ahren knew that his was the wolf's chest.

Slowly they separated. Falk moved to the left, Selsena to the right and Ahren stayed where he was until they had formed a semi-circle above the hollow, each ten paces from the next. With shaking fingers Ahren took an arrow and lightly tensed the bowstring so that he would be quick off the mark when the time was right. It was biting cold and yet his hands were damp with sweat and he could hear the blood roaring in his ears. He felt at the mercy of the murderous creature – something he had never felt before. If Falk and Selsena were to fail, then he too would be killed by the Blood Wolf. He felt he was handing over control of his life, which was almost more frightening than the death machine they were about to attack. If he hadn't trusted his master quite so much, he would have fled by now. Instead, he looked one last time into the calm grey eyes of the old Forest Guardian, who looked back at him before deliberately selecting an arrow and setting it in position. A short nod of his grey head and it began.

Selsena stood on her hind legs and let forth a loud neigh which contained within it a wave of defiance which she communicated through empathy to her partners. Ahren felt the strong impulse within him and ground his teeth in agitation.

The wolf reacted immediately. In one flowing movement it was up, throwing its head back and answering the challenge with a loud, nerve-wracking howl. Snow fluttered from the trees and Ahren's teeth hurt.

So far, so good, he thought and held his breath. The creature had reacted as they had expected and already Falk let an arrow fly, which headed straight for the wolf's invitingly upstretched neck. The arrow landed with a horrible crunch and Ahren was on the point of cheering when the wolf spun around and tried to bite the arrow, which hadn't seemed to have done it any harm.

Falk shot again, this time straight at the eyes, which the wolf had fixed on him. Again, there was another horrible noise as the arrow hit one of the burning red half-moons, extinguishing it forever. But the angle was wrong and the arrow lodged downward behind the cheek instead of boring into the brain.

The next part of the plan involved an assault by Selsena, who was to land on the wolf's back and distract it. She was already racing for the Dark One but the wolf turned around and plunged with incredible speed towards Falk. Falk fired another arrow, which hit the Blood Wolf in the breast and a second later the monster took an almighty leap while letting forth a furious howl of pain. The black body of fangs and claws was on top of Falk in a fury of blood lust before he had the chance to shoot off another arrow. With a furious growl the fangs sank in and it began to bite.

Seeing the situation, Ahren screamed with all his might as he prepared an arrow, but he was afraid to shoot in case he hit Falk. Selsena was still at least five paces away when the Blood Wolf raised its head, the left arm of the old man between its powerful jaws, and it tossed its head from side to side so that Falk was thrown about like a rag doll. Branches were smashed and his master's body, which was being tossed wildly around the place, was rammed at least once into the trunk of a tree. Then Selsena, who was less hesitant than Ahren, attacked. With a neigh of fury she rammed her horn all the way into the wolf's flank and threw it down. Falk was thrown, screaming upwards in an arc before landing with a thud on the forest floor. Before the beast could catch Selsena, she had jumped away to prepare herself for another assault.

Now Ahren understood what his master had tried to explain to him. The Blood Wolf was much faster and stronger in close combat. No matter how terrifying the ramming attacks of the Titejunanwa might be, she would have practically no chance of defending herself once the wolf had her in its grip.

An evil intelligence flashed forth from the Dark One's remaining eye. It made no move to follow the magical horse but turned to the injured Falk instead. In frustration Selsena emitted another challenge, but this time it seemed to have no effect on the black animal. Without hesitating, it fell upon Falk again, who had turned on his back and was laboriously trying to draw his broadsword, as his arrow had been snapped by the wolf in the first attack.

Ahren saw in horror that the wolf would be faster, much faster. Without thinking, he tensed the bow as far as he could and let the heavy arrow fly. The missile struck the wolf on the right shoulder, just as it was looming over Falk. More surprised than injured, the monster turned its head. The Blood Wolf hesitated, unsure as to whether it should finish off the prey that was lying there invitingly or if it should make for the second archer. Ahren shot a second arrow, which landed harmlessly in the beast's hide while he screamed incoherently, less as a challenge and more as a way of counteracting his rising panic. The wolf made a decision and prepared to spring forward, which would have brought it effortlessly onto the defenceless apprentice, but Falk finally pulled the broadsword out of its scabbard.

'Paladinim theos duralas', he called and the Dark One threw itself in a rage at him.

Falk plunged the sword into the beast's chest but because he was half under the animal it didn't penetrate far. He couldn't release his hands from the grip without losing his final weapon and didn't have enough strength to push the blade in deeper. The wolf lowered its head past the steel which was sticking into it and was about to rip Falk's head off. Sobbing, Ahren set another arrow in order somehow to help his master, when Selsena came galloping up. A flash of light from the low setting sun shone through the branches and caught the horns of the silver animal before the armoured head smashed into flesh and bones and with an almighty crash, the wolf was thrown forward and down into the old Forest Guardian's broadsword blade. Smoothly the sword slipped as far as the hilt into the wolf's breast.

With a final howl, and as if struck by lightning, the wolf collapsed in a heap, pulling Selsena with it, as her horn was stuck in the creature's spine. An unnatural silence filled the air for a moment, broken only by the irregular panting of the terrified apprentice, who was rooted to the spot, afraid of what he might find in the hollow.

It was only when the body of the wolf gave a sudden jerk and he heard a muffled, 'boy, a little help would be great', that he came out of his paralysis and hurried to help his trapped master.

Selsena, who must have been stunned for a moment, rose unsteadily and loosened her horn with a disgusting, squelching sound from the flesh of her enemy. Her bony head was spattered with blood and bits of the wolf, and Ahren looked away with a shudder.

Whoever made up these stories about unicorns had never seen a Titejunanwa in action.

He got down to work with a groan and started pulling Falk out from under the wolf's corpse. Sometime later and with a combined effort they succeeded in freeing the old Forest Guardian. Once he was up on his feet again, he pulled the blade out of the cadaver, wiped it dry on the hide and murmured to the sword, 'you haven't let me down yet', before slipping it back into its scabbard.

'Master, what was that you called out earlier?' asked Ahren curiously. The wolf had reacted to the call immediately and violently.

'We've just slain a Dark One that has been wreaking murderous havoc around the world for half a millennium and you want a lesson in Elfish?' his master replied humorously.

Ahren realized that he wasn't going to get a sensible answer today.

Instead, Falk gripped his hand and said, 'yes, thank you, Ahren. Things would have turned out very differently without you'.

The boy was bursting with pride, at least until his master tousled his hair as if he were a child. The old codger could really spoil things at a moment's notice. A feeling of happiness surged through his thoughts when Selsena started laughing at them both, and one heartbeat later they were all laughing their heads off, glad to be still alive.

He awoke with a start, wide-eyed and his face bathed in sweat. An old oath had been renewed, spoken by a voice he had thought lost forever. He looked over at the complicated network of lines, spirals and convoluted signs, which almost covered the marble floor completely. He could still hear the singing reverberating in the air. Quickly he spoke a simple spell while with a gruff movement of the hand he shooed away the servant, who had rushed to him when he had awoken. With full concentration he stared at the barely visible lines that led towards the west. He smiled and began adding a new sign to his magic web.

Now he knew where he must look.

A short time later they had lit a fire but Ahren was still shaking like a leaf. Falk watched him sympathetically and said, 'Your body has to become used to the excitement. You'll feel better soon'. Ahren wasn't sure if he ever wanted to get used to the feeling of being in mortal danger but kept the thought to himself.

Falk rubbed his left shoulder absentmindedly. His movements were still stiff. After all, the wolf's attack had almost ripped his arm off. Only the old man's athletic constitution and the underarm armour that the wolf had bitten into had prevented him from being torn apart - literally.

'Have you decided yet which part you want?' the old man asked abruptly.

Falk responded to Ahren's questioning look by pointing with his knife at the spread-eagled shape of the Blood Wolf. 'That is a Dark One. Tradition grants you the right to a trophy and you've certainly earned one'. The boy's thoughts turned to the grey Fog Cat cloak that Falk wore at any traditional occasions. Falk could never be considered a pompous person and so he had wondered a few times over the preceding months why he owned such a cloak at all. But the great satisfaction that came with conquering such a strong opponent explained the desire to have tangible proof of such an achievement.

Ahren walked slowly around the cadaver, half afraid the Blood Wolf could come back to life. If this encounter had taught him anything, then it was respect for the opponent.

He circled the mountain of fur and was considering whether he could use one of the fangs as a dagger when he heard a curious little whimpering sound. He turned around and went gingerly towards the source of the sound. It seemed to come from a part of the pit where the wolf had been lying. Although he watched out where he was walking he kept stepping on dry bones which cracked and snapped under his boots. The skeletons of older prey lay all over the place and there was a strong smell of old blood emanating from the back of the lair. Ahren was about to turn back when he heard the sound again, which he now identified as a weak whimpering. A little puppy was lying among the bones, curled up in a protective hollow, with its snow white fur. It looked up at the boy with its golden yellow eyes while it weakly called for its mother.

Ahren was overcome by a feeling of guilt mixed with an instinct to protect and he sank to his knees, unaware of the blood from the remains of the slaughtered animals which soaked through his leggings. He gingerly stretched forward a finger, ready to pull it back at the least sign of aggression.

But the little thing just sniffed at him, whimpered timidly again and looked past Ahren towards the entrance. Before he had a chance to regret the decision he pulled off his cloak, wrapped the whelp in it and took the bundle in his arms. The little thing didn't protest, just snuggled into the boy's chest and closed its eyes.

Selsena had sensed the turmoil within the apprentice and warned Falk that something wasn't quite right. The pair had stood up and were waiting at the edge of the hollow for him. The old man looked down at the boy with a stony expression. 'Ahren, what do you have there?' The tone in his voice could have cut through rock.

'A whelp, master', said Ahren carefully and pulled back the cloak a little so that the little head became visible and blinked its eyes at the bright world. Ahren turned so that the animal couldn't see the body of its mother, and climbed out of the depression.

Selsena pranced nervously on the spot, threw her head back, and the wave of emotions that she let forth, a mixture of hatred and pity, were as disturbing as those he felt himself. She gave a neigh of protest and galloped off, disappearing into the undergrowth. Falk looked angrily down at Ahren, reached a calloused hand out towards the whelp and pulled out his dagger with the other.

Did he really want to kill the whelp? The boy retreated several paces, Falk in pursuit.

'Give me that!' The order was like the crack of a whip.

The little thing whimpered and Ahren shouted defiantly, 'no!'

Falk rolled his eyes and checked himself with difficulty. Holding the dagger in his hand, he said calmly and slowly, 'that is a Dark One. We kill Dark Ones'.

Ahren turned away so that his body was between the blade and the little ball of fur that was snuggling into him for protection. He couldn't, he wouldn't give up the whelp. His head and his heart told him that there couldn't be any relationship between the horrifying beast that had only a few short hours previously tried to slaughter them, and this needy little creature. He looked at the little face with the pointy ears and pink tongue which was now licking his chin.

'But he doesn't have red eyes', he argued stubbornly. All Dark Ones had, like the Adversary, who imposed his will on them.

'Not yet', responded Falk heatedly. 'But his master will call him at the first new moon, and if he falls into a rage and tastes blood, then they'll turn red. And then he'll be ten times as difficult to kill. He might even tear apart one of your friends. What do you think now?'

Ahren was filled with a deep-seated rage. This whelp had to pay for the sins of its mother, without having the chance to live its own life, free from the sins of the past. He saw himself, locked in his father's hut, with no hope of rescue. Until Falk came. He had saved him. And now he of all people was adamant that this living creature couldn't be saved. To Ahren it seemed like a betrayal. He stood up straight and said in a firm voice. 'I claim this whelp as my trophy. I shall save him and he shall live'.

Falk was about to say something but then shrugged his shoulders and put his knife away. A deep sadness was etched on his face.

'Good, then I won't keep you back. Sometimes the younger generation has to learn the hard way'. Then he sat down by the fire and stared into the flames. Ahren sat down warily on the other side of the fire and held the whelp close to his chest.

For the rest of the evening the master and his apprentice sat in an uneasy silence. This silence continued as they made their way home the following day. When they arrived at the cabin that afternoon, Ahren was in a dilemma. He could hardly take the wolf with him into the village as long as everyone was in a panic and waiting behind their locked doors for the whelp's mother to attack. But he had to get food or the little thing would starve. That meant he would have to leave the whelp alone with Falk. The apprentice chewed on his lip before finally saying, 'I want you to swear that you will do no harm to the little one'.

Falk grumbled, as though he had expected that and said, 'Alright then. I swear by the THREE that I will not harm this animal either directly or indirectly until its eyes are red. Then I will kill it'.

That was more than Ahren had expected and he had to admit it was a fair condition. So he simply said, 'thank you' and put the whelp down on the floor of the cabin.

Falk raised his eyebrows and nodded silently. The whelp ran over to him as if to sniff his hand and the boy could have sworn that the old man was on the point of stroking it before deciding to wave it away.

But he didn't want to push his luck and said nothing more but set off for the butcher. As the door closed behind him he could hear his master complain, 'if the little boy pisses in the cabin, then you're going to clean it up with your Godsday suit, do you hear me?'

Ahren smiled all the way to the village. Falk had regained his gruff nature and that was a good sign.

The following days were a tough struggle as Ahren tried to improve the whelp's health. He had to work out the correct mixture of water and cooked meat pulp so that the little thing could keep his food down. He used all his knowledge of healing herbs so he could add the correct plants that would help the young animal to survive the adaptation. By the sixth day it was clear that the wolf would make it and that lifted a load off Ahren's mind.

His master kept his promise but did not help the boy. The old man spent a lot of time outside with Selsena, who refused to come nearer than twenty paces from the cabin. Ahren felt her attitude didn't help the situation but it didn't throw him off continuing to raise the whelp.

Falk had been paying him the apprentice wage since the Autumn Festival. Ahren hadn't touched it up until this point but now he bought everything he needed that would help provide for his little, furry friend. The new moon was ten days away and then his master would realize that Ahren had been proven right. The boy wouldn't even consider the possibility of failure and its consequences.

The two Forest Guardians were acclaimed as heroes among the villagers, as they had driven away the shadow of the evil one from Deepstone. There were a few doubters who claimed that the wolf had never existed and this had just been a trick to curry favour among the community. Falk nicked this rumour in the bud by unceremoniously dumping the head of the beast in the village square. Ahren could imagine who had been spreading these malevolent rumours but he was too preoccupied with looking after the whelp and anyway he didn't really care.

Ahren played as much as possible with the young wolf, held him close every night and fed him with such earnestness that it nearly brought tears to Falk's eyes. The tragic end was fast approaching and he could only hope that the boy would get over it. The animal became ever more restless as the new moon approached. It snarled for no reason and snapped at Ahren a few times when they were playing. The boy reacted with stoic equanimity, cut a few strips off an old cloak, wrapped these around his arms, and continued playing.

Falk respected his apprentice's determination and remembered the previous year's Apprenticeship Trials when a timid young boy with a broken arm stubbornly defied a far stronger opponent.

And so the day they had both been fearing arrived. The young wolf was irritable and tried to leave the cabin at every opportunity. Ahren became more and more frustrated. Falk finally took pity on him and decided to give the young boy's plan a chance. 'What do you intend to do?' he asked.

Ahren jutted out his chin and said, 'I'll chain him up if necessary'.

'That won't work', said Falk. 'That's already been tried. The frenzy ensures that he'll snap the rope, or the animal will strangle himself on it'.

'It's been tried already?' Ahren was stunned.

'Not just once. A hundred times. Without success. I'll admit, most of the animals were older when they were found. You've had an unusual amount of time for him to get used to you. But no, it has never worked. Either the animals escaped, or killed themselves in the process, or ripped apart their minders. First there's the frenzy, and if they then drink a drop of blood, it's too late. The eyes change colour and a new Dark One has been created. Herbs are useless during the frenzy too, so you can't drug them'.

A heavy silence hung over the room. Ahren could think of only one way out. 'Then I'll hold on to him for the whole night'.

Falk looked doubtfully at the young animal, which was pacing the room and growling. The wolf had grown to the length of his arm over the previous ten days.

'You want to hold on to a wolf in frenzy for the whole night and stop him from getting one drop of your blood into his mouth?'

'Of course'. Ahren was warming even more to the idea. 'I'll stuff my arms with material, hold his head in an arm grip and I'll hold his tummy in a grip with my other arm. I'll always stay at his back, so he can't bite me. He won't be able to strangle himself in my arms, the stuff is too soft and I can adjust the strength of my grip. And he won't be able to escape either'. The boy beamed at his master.

Falk rubbed his eyes wearily. 'Ahren, that might work for an hour, then you'll get tired and make a mistake'.

But his apprentice was already gathering together the strips of cloth he had worn when playing during the previous few days. He tied them tightly to his arms with strips of leather and lay down beside the young wolf, who tried to jump to the side. He quickly had him in the grip he had described to his master and now he was lying on his side, the animal pressed closely to him. The whelp was growling quietly but not moving. The young boy's face filled with a triumphant grin and he called out, 'it's working!'

Falk stared at him, too tired and sad to discuss the matter anymore. 'Alright. We'll do it like this. You hold on tightly, I'll sit over there on the stool with my dagger. As soon as your insane plan fails, I'll do everything I can to save your life'.

The finality with which Falk described the failure of his plan was like a slap in the face. He avoided making eye contact with his master for the rest of the day and concentrated on perfecting his arm protectors while the night slowly approached.

'Ahren, it's time', said Falk in an unusually soft voice. Dusk had settled over the forest and the sparkling landscape of snow outside had transformed into a collection of faint, grey shapes. Soon there would be the total darkness common to new moons.

The whelp had been standing in the corner for some time shaking and growling at the two of them. Ahren gave a tentative nod and then strapped the padding to his arms. The old man watched him for a while and finally started giving him advice. The construction of cloth and leather straps had to be snug to the arms without cutting off the blood supply but not so loose that the wolf could use the wriggle room to twist around in the apprentice's arms and rip out his throat.

Ahren moved slowly towards the young wolf, speaking reassuringly to him. Meanwhile, Falk was tensely chewing on his lips. There were two major weaknesses in Ahren's plan: there was the danger that his strength would not last, and the wolf might succeed in turning. The frenzy would last until sunrise and this was a night in the middle of winter.

For Falk the result was not in doubt. The padding and the leather jerkin would, in the eyes of the master, only protect the boy until he intervened. And that would be at the moment the animal was lost to the great Betrayer. He had tried to persuade Ahren to wear a neck guard to protect against a throat bite but the stubborn boy would hear nothing of it because if his neck were stiff he wouldn't be able to keep a constant eye on the animal.

At last the apprentice picked the whelp up quickly and carried him to his bed. He lay down with his back to the wall so he could use the stability of the wood and crossed his arms over the front of the wolf, one arm bent around the animal's neck, the other around the stomach, just above the hind legs. The wolf began to defend himself and snarled dangerously but Ahren continued to speak soothingly to him.

Falk was close to tears as he saw the heart-breaking inevitable conclusion that was drawing nearer. He took the stool and sat two paces away and in full view of Ahren. He had pulled out his dagger, but held it hidden. 'I'm here boy', he said in a hoarse voice, 'as long as it takes'.

Ahren looked up in gratitude to his mentor. The wolf wasn't as strong as he had feared and he had no problem preventing his attempts to escape. This gave him courage.

The light faded noticeably and Falk placed a big log on the fire, which would burn for many hours. He could see from his stool with the flickering light of the fire how the young animal was struggling harder to escape from Ahren's grip. The growling was becoming deeper and more threatening and the young boy's body was swaying from side to side with the animal's movements.

Beads of sweat appeared on Ahren's face as he noticed that the wolf was producing more strength then he could have imagined. His arms were beginning to hurt and he had to keep reminding himself not to injure the whelp by squeezing too hard.

The evening moved on inexorably and it was now completely black outside the cabin. The animal was struggling incessantly in his arms, snapping the air, trying to twist and turn, scratching with his paws. Ahren tried to keep pressed against the wall so he could preserve his strength. The padding on his arms was holding, as were the leather leggings but the kicks were painful nonetheless. Any time he thought he had adjusted to the wolf's resistance, the whelp would increase his efforts. The burning in his arms had now spread to his shoulders and back. He was panting and much to his consternation the little body in his arms didn't seem to be tiring, but rather gaining in strength.

Falk stood up and came towards him slowly with the drawn dagger.

'No!' the boy screamed at the top of his voice and gripped harder. Then he saw that his mentor was holding a goblet in his other hand. He approached Ahren from above and poured some water laced with herbs down his throat, being careful not to come too close to the wolf's fangs. At first Ahren hadn't wanted to drink anything for fear it was a sleeping potion but then he smelled the Life Fern and Wolf Herb. He drank down the herbal tea greedily, knowing it would give him strength and ease the pain. He tried to reach the Void although all the muscles in his body were tense.

Soon the herbs did their job and he fell into a sort of trance. The whelp struggled in his arms but the boy was steadfast. After some hours, with the night already half over, the wolf suddenly became limp and gave up all resistance. Bathed in sweat Ahren smiled at Falk and said, 'that wasn't so…', when the little body nearly exploded.

Falk could see from his stool that the animal's eyes had rolled completely to the back of the head. His mouth was foaming, and it was obvious that the wolf wasn't just content with escaping anymore. Its claws were seeking out the body of the boy, every movement was aimed at injuring him and sinking his fangs into the Ahren's flesh. Falk sat as taut as a bowstring on the edge of his chair, ready to intervene as soon as this drama was over. He only hoped he would be able to save the boy.

Ahren was now sobbing uncontrollably and using every sinew in his body to resist the attacks. The wolf's claws were tearing deep channels in the material protecting his arms, and the leather on his legs was beginning to wear away under the onslaught. The Void seemed to have blown away and Ahren couldn't find the necessary concentration again. His whole body was in pain and a wave of exhaustion overwhelmed him. He caught sight of his master's face, which reflected what he already knew. He was going to lose. His strength would give way and at some point, he would make a mistake.

And then Falk will kill the little fellow to save me…this thought reignited Ahren's resistance. Sobbing uncontrollably he held on to the whelp, who relentlessly carried on with his work of destruction in Ahren's arms.

Countless heartbeats passed by, but the paroxysms continued. Paw swipes left their first bloody gashes on his legs where the leathers had worn through and soon his arms would suffer the same fate.

Falk looked on sadly as his protégé's resistance weakened and he quietly prepared to bring the whole thing to an end. He stood up, but instead of moving to the distraught boy, he walked to the window. He tilted his head and opened the heavy wooden shutters that kept out the winter. The world beyond the cabin was pitch black, a thick carpet of cloud hid the stars. An impenetrable wall of darkness was before him, as if nothing else existed except for the cabin and the hopeless battle raging behind his back. A cold blast of air came into the room and then an outline appeared from the dark night. The light from the fire in the cabin shimmered on Selsena's hide as the Titejunawna approached and looked through the window at the scene playing out in the room. Falk stepped aside to take up his watch again.

Ahren kept control of the wriggling body with whatever strength he had left. There were tears in his eyes and blood on his arms and legs. Now he had to keep his eyes on the wolf's head with even more concentration. One lick of his lifeblood and all would be lost. Ahren's determination was beginning to crumble and the morning was still so far away.

Then Selsena was standing at the window and her inscrutable, grey eyes were locked on to his. Peace arose within Ahren like the mist rising in a forest clearing on a warm spring morning. Serenity and an unshakeable quietness flowed through him and gave his limbs renewed strength. The whelp on the other hand seemed to be quietening down. The animal's efforts were still hurting Ahren but he seemed to have lost the determined ferocity which had marked his earlier behaviour.

Falk looked dumbstruck from one to the other, the dagger still in his hand, and for the first time was uncertain about what the next few hours would bring.


Falk awoke with a start the following morning. He was still sitting on the stool and had a stabbing pain in his back. He must have dropped off at some point. The last few hours of the previous night had crawled painfully slowly. The struggle between the exhausted boy and the similarly spent wolf had lessened to no more than brief twitching of the muscles. The closer it had come to morning, the quieter it had become in the cabin, and at some point the effort must have taken its toll on Falk.

Selsena was still standing at the window, looking at the boy. Up until now, Falk had avoided viewing the scene, fearful of what he might see, but when he turned around he was met with an astonishing sight. The two bodies were lying entwined on the blood-soaked mat. The apprentice's arms and legs were covered in cuts and scratches, his clothing and padding hung in shreds, or lay scattered across the bed. The boy's face was pale and drawn with dark rings under his eyes. His chest was gently rising and falling, much to Falk's relief.

The whelp was breathing too so there was only one more thing Falk had to do. With his knife drawn, he glanced at Selsena, then crept closer and bent over the young wolf. With the tip of his knife a finger's width away from the animal's heart, he carefully lifted an eyelid of the sleeping creature.

The whelp's pupil was golden-yellow! Falk recoiled as if he had been hit. Ahren stirred in his sleep and snuggled up closer to the soft fur of the whelp, who grunted contentedly. Falk stood up and stared down at the sleepers. Then he turned to the window and said to Selsena, 'sometimes it's the older ones who need to learn new things'. He patted her on the neck and the laughter and the joy of the one echoed in the soul of the other.

Ahren slept the whole day through and the following night, as did the little wolf. Early the next morning he was woken up by a rough tongue and an animal smell as his new companion licked his face devotedly. He sat up with a giggle and waved his hands around wildly. For a few heartbeats he was quite woozy. Then he began to remember what had happened and his aching body did the rest to remind him of the events that had just taken place.

The whelp jumped up at him, let out a high whimper and looked at him with loyal golden-yellow eyes. Ahren picked up the little thing and noticed that his arms had been bandaged. He pulled back his blanket and his thighs too had been expertly covered in white linen. He smelt at the bandages and recognized the scent of Red Leaf, which promoted the healing of cuts and scratches.

The whelp sniffed the dressing curiously, gave a big sneeze, then jumped from the bed and glanced back over his shoulder at the boy with an offended look. Falk wasn't in the room so Ahren stood up to mix together the meat stock for the wolf. Ahren's stomach was grumbling with hunger. He poured the rest of the stock into the bowl, added a few herbs that he had cut up and put it down in front of the little nipper's paws. The whelp sniffed at the bowl and within an instant had devoured it all. Then he looked up at Ahren and began whimpering again.

The boy scratched his head and said, 'we have a problem'. The food was all gone and now there were only vegetables in the house. The snow storm and the hunt for the Blood Wolf had put paid to food hunting so he couldn't make any more of the meat stock.

Ahren made a practical decision and heated the stew that was still hanging over the fire. It filled his own stomach and he tried to make a few carrots as tasty as possible for the hungry rascal. That was only partially successful. He finished his own food as quickly as possible so he could rustle something up for the hungry whelp. He was getting dressed when the door opened, and Falk came in weighed down by a large bundle. 'Good, you're awake', he said in a deep voice, then dropped his bundle on the table.

The wolf circled him and started jumping up at him, whimpering.

Then Ahren realized, he wasn't jumping up at Falk, but up at the table.

The master quickly took out a packet with waxed paper and threw a large chunk of meat at the wildly wriggling wolf, who immediately got stuck into it.

Falk nodded and said, 'just as I thought. I didn't think he'd be happy with the stock since the Frenzy. This meat has been well cured – we don't want to provoke anything – but I think the danger has been averted'. It was only now that Ahren noticed that his mentor had a firm grip on the dagger so he could draw it quickly.

Ahren was about to speak angrily but his master interrupted him.

'Boy, this is absolutely uncharted territory. Never before has a Blood Wolf survived the Frenzy in the company of people', he said severely. 'And never before have the people who kept guard over him survived', he added drily.

Ahren closed his mouth, hesitated, and then asked cautiously, 'what does that mean?'

He was afraid of the answer, but Falk smiled. 'Selsena says the aura of the Adversary is gone and also the latent rage. After she had calmed down, it was this anger that had kept her away from us over the past few days, but when she saw the danger you were in, she wanted to help'.

Ahren strained his neck to look out but there was no sign of the Elven horse. He really wanted to thank her because without her at least one of the three who were in the cabin at the moment would no longer be alive.

Falk indicated with a look and said, 'she's wandering around the forest and recovering. Projecting such strong feelings over such a long period demands a lot of energy'.

The whelp had eaten everything up and was jumping up at the table again.

Falk groaned and produced another piece of meat, which quickly found its way into the creature's mouth. 'Now I've got two gluttons in my cabin', he complained. 'From what I can see, you've got a common Ice Wolf here, except that this one will probably grow bigger than most others'.

'Does that mean he'll grow as big as his mother sometime?' asked Ahren in amazement.

Falk laughed. 'Probably not. Don't forget, she was five hundred years old and her longevity was a side effect of the rule of HIM, WHO FORCES'.

A shiver ran down Ahren's spine. In the Midlands the name of the Adversary was rarely mentioned and only on formal occasions. Even if HE had been conquered, his name was considered a bad omen which attracted Dark Ones, and the Border Lands with the Pall Pillar in their centre were too close to be taking that risk.

He caught Falk's searching look, which was trained on the wolf, and he realized that this had been another test to see if the animal would react to hearing the name of the being that had put a curse on him.

But the only reaction was a contented grumble coming from the bundle of fur.

The two sat there in contented silence, watching the second piece of meat disappear like the first one, into the whelp's stomach.

The animal turned to the table again with pleading eyes and Falk produced the last piece, which was fresh and bloody. The Forest Guardian looked at Ahren intently.

'No point in putting it off. This is another test. After this one, the little thing is welcome. Agreed?'

He stretched out his hand over the fur-ball, who was still jumping.

Ahren's heart was in his mouth. Dumbstruck, he could only nod as he gripped his master's calloused hand. Falk firmly grasped his hand and dropped the piece of meat.

Ahren held his breath as the young animal attacked the tasty morsel - only to chew at it half-heartedly and with little enthusiasm. He threw them an offended look with his sad, soulful dog eyes.

Falk loosened his grip on Ahren's hand and burst into a hearty laugh. 'It seems we have a gourmet among us. He doesn't seem to enjoy the taste of blood. I take everything back', he stuttered and snorted and laughed. 'This is no normal wolf but a shrinking violet and that's fine by me'.

Ahren got down on his knees and embraced the whelp.

'Master, what's the Elfish for 'saved'?'

'Culhen' came the answer.

Ahren placed the whelp's head between his hands and the pup looked back at him with loyal eyes.

'Welcome, Culhen', said Ahren ceremoniously.

And he was answered by a wet tongue licking him across the face.


Thankfully, the rest of the winter passed without incident and normality returned to the daily lives of the Forest Guardians. Culhen displayed such a joyful trustfulness that even nervous villagers were persuaded that he wasn't dangerous and once Keeper Jegral had intoned the blessing of the THREE over him, all doubt was vanquished.

The only snag was Sven. If cowards can sense anything, then it's the weak point of their enemy, and so it came to pass that he made several attempts to trap the whelp or to entice him away. Ahren knew what Sven was up to and he raged when he imagined how Sven might torture the whelp.

Falk approached the issue in his usual practical manner. 'The little thing will soon be able to take care of himself and then the problem is solved. And anyway, he has to learn that he must always stay by your side. Otherwise he'll be good for nothing when you're working and from the spring on he'll have to stay in the cabin'.

And so Ahren began to train the dog hard under Falk's watchful eye.

'He's extremely intelligent for a wolf. Of course he's inherited that from his ancestry', said Falk. 'This is your one opportunity. His brain is like a sponge that soaks everything up because he's so young. He can learn things now in a week that in the future will take you months or even years, and with a lot of effort, to teach him'.

The boy needed no motivation to spend as much time as possible with his new companion, and so they would practise from dawn to dusk. Stalking, hiding, reading tracks. His master even turned archery into lessons for boy and whelp. He would paint the tip of the practice arrow with a discreet scent and whenever Ahren's shot went astray, the little wolf would have to find the arrow and bring it back. It went without saying that Ahren was over the moon about this and by the time spring arrived, both apprentices, boy and wolf, were a very good team.

Vera doted on Culhen and with her help Ahren gave him various herbs to eat with his food, just as he had done with the meat stock that time. The young wolf had become familiar with the flavours when he was a whelp and so he could tolerate the aftertaste, although he only ate the prepared meat if he got a piece of cured beef as a reward. This was his absolute favourite food, the first food he had been allowed to eat that morning. And so Ahren always made sure he purchased some from the butcher, even if cost all of his apprentice's wage. Ahren was intent on making Culhen big and strong as quickly as possible so that Sven would pose no danger for the animal. The combination of fortifying and stimulating herbs along with a big portion of feed was a resounding success, and the miller's son efforts eased off considerably, the bigger and heavier the wolf became.

Spring returned to Deepstone at last, and with it the Spring Festival which marked the end of winter and the beginning of new life. It only lasted for an afternoon and was characterized by religious ceremonies. It was the smaller counterpart to the Autumn Festival. Keeper Jegral was the focus of the community at this time and knew how to use his position to improve the community spirit within the village. The villagers cleaned up the chapel, they spruced up the square, and did little favours for the needier citizens. A friendly but firm word from the priest and a table might be repaired for free, or a hole in a roof filled in with no money changing hands.

On the day of the festival itself there was a long ceremony of prayer and the names of those who had not survived the winter would be read out. Then the new arrivals, who had been born during the long winter and would experience their first summer, were named. It was always considered a good omen in the community if the second list were longer than the first.

The final part of the ceremony was dedicated to all those entering their sixteenth summer. They would place their hands on the triangular rock that jutted out from the chapel altar and swear to protect the community and to respect the THREE. And with that they would become fully-fledged members of the village, capable of making their own decisions.

The previous year Ahren had yearned for this moment with every sinew in his body but now he was indifferent to it. He stretched secretly on the wooden bench to look down at Culhen, who yawned as if in response. The boy smiled affectionately at the wolf and then began daydreaming. Next year he would be standing up there swearing the oath but nothing would change and that was good. He was contented for the first time in his life and he was grateful for that.

He tickled Culhen between the ears, and the wolf laid his snout on Ahren's thigh. Everyone streamed out once the prayers were over except for the Godsday scholars. Unfortunately, the Spring Festival fell on a Godsday this year and so they had to attend lessons while the others celebrated outside.

Likis strolled over to Ahren and ruffled Cuhlen's head. Ahren was relieved that his best friend and the wolf were getting on famously. The merchant's son secretly slipped out a bundle from under his jerkin and within a heartbeat the chunk of meat, which the slender boy had smuggled into the chapel, had been gulped down.

'I thought he might be hungry', he murmured with a crooked grin, 'this is going to take another while yet'.

Culhen was now giving Ahren a begging look and looked every inch the loyal if starving wolf but Ahren only grumbled, 'greedy guts!'

The wolf had already grown up to his knee and had the corresponding appetite. Falk had now been roped into helping to get food – the wolf easily devoured every portion placed in front of him.

'Students, gather together', called Keeper Jegral and the seven young people and the wolf obediently marched forward. Luckily Jegral liked the reformed Blood Wolf too and so the animal was allowed to stay by Ahren's side during the lesson. The priest indicated to them to sit – today's lesson would take place in the chapel. The sound of festive laughter could be heard from outside and occasionally the unenthusiastic pupils looked wistfully over their shoulders to catch a glimpse of the world outside.

The Keeper cleared his throat and waited until he had the undivided attention of the group. The spring sunshine lit up the inside of the Godshouse and the play of colour reflecting from the Keeper's silk gown scattered dancing flecks of light around the space, which was painted a simple white. The pupils sat in the first row of the pews, which occupied the whole room. Jegral stood in front of them, and behind him was the simple block of white rock that served as the altar, and the triangle made from ordinary grey material, which represented the rock of the gods. Every community possessed such a rock.

'As I promised you before, we will now delve more deeply into the story of the long sleep of the gods', said the Keeper in a serious voice.

'This part of the story is rarely addressed but you should at least get the chance to ask questions about it'.

He grasped his book that had been lying on the altar and began to read aloud from it. 'The gods created the Custodian and then fell into a deep sleep.

The Custodian began to perform his task loyally. He kept watch over the creation, just as his rulers had ordered. But after eons and eons of watching, the Custodian began to feel jealous. He became jealous of the peoples he had been guarding, for he had never received a word of thanks.

Jealous of the gods who had realized their plans and were now lying in a deep slumber. Jealous of the fact that he too wanted to create a people and beings with his own will but knowing he did not possess the power for such a creative act.

And so, he fell into a rage and turned against his creators.

He took to himself some animals and FORCED them into a new form. He put them under his power by substituting their free will with his own will. But the peoples of the gods rose up against these abominations which had no place in the harmony of creation, and began to hunt the false creatures, which they now named the Dark Ones. And so the Custodian's rage grew greater and he began a war against the peoples of the creation. The Dark Days had started.

He forced ever more creatures into a new form and altered their purpose. Even among the thinking peoples he did not desist and controlled the weak-willed amongst them within his power. The peoples looked with horror upon their enslaved brothers and sisters and named them the Low Fangs. He raised powerful armies of Dark Ones to destroy everything that resisted his will.

And he was named HE THAT FORCES'.

There was a deathly silence in the room. The laughter and music from outside seemed out of place, almost surreal. The students looked at each other nervously. No one wanted to ask a question about the terrible events the priest had just described.

Ahren would have had a question last year, but since then he had found the answer. After his fight to free Culhen from the curse of the Adversary he had been so exhausted he couldn't think any more. The gods had created a whole world. Was it surprising that they had ended up making one mistake? Once it became obvious that nobody was going to ask a question, the priest sighed and said, 'then let us continue'. He raised his voice and carried on. 'The peoples fought against HIS army of Dark Ones but the Custodian's power was too great, the enforced shapes of the enemy too ruthless.

And so, the peoples pleaded to the gods for support. For it was clear they would be defeated. The gods heard their cries of pain in their sleep but they were unable to awaken. And so they dreamed and gave to the priests the gift of magic.

The priests selected those who had a gift for magic and taught them too how to bend creation. And so, the magicians were born.

With the assistance of the magicians, the Betrayer's army was held back but the victory was only short. HE WHO FORCES touched the spirit of some of those who knew magic, he brought them under his control and so had magicians fighting in his ranks.

And so, the triumphal march began again.

Again, the peoples pleaded for support but the gods were exhausted and their sleep became deeper, so deep that the priests could hardly make contact and many prayers went astray until finally the gods heard.

HE WHO MOULDS selected those people with a special gift, and granted them the ability to protect their innermost from the force of the Betrayer. He gave them immortality so that neither age nor hunger nor thirst nor sickness could harm them, only the vulnerability of the body remained.

SHE WHO FEELS gave each of them a soul-animal to accompany them, as companion and custodian, as protection against the conflict of the coming days. She combined the disposition of Paladin and animal into one spirit so that their love for the creation would never be torn asunder.

HE, WHO IS gave them weapons and armour, forged from the depths of his flesh so that they could defend themselves and protect their vulnerable bodies from death.

Thirteen were chosen, and their power was as great as the Custodian's, and it was divided equally amongst them, so they would not succumb to the same temptations as HE WHO FORCES had done.

And the peoples called them the Paladins.

The strength of the gods weakened further, and their sleep became deeper and deeper'.

The youngsters became restless, each of them had heard stories and legends concerning the heroic deeds of the Paladins, who had fought in huge battles and dark caves, many hundreds of years earlier when the Dark Days had been at their worst. These men and women had turned the tide in their favour and thwarted the certain destruction of the Creation. The youngsters were now calling for Keeper Jegral to relate some of these tales but he only smiled gently. 'I'm sure the elders will be only too happy to tell you the stories later this evening around the bonfire'.

In order to calm the chatter, he read on. 'The years passed and slowly the peoples of the gods gained the upper hand.

But the way was long, for a large part of the world lay in the darkness of HIS dominion.

The centuries of strife exhausted the souls and minds of the Paladins, and the gods again showed their mercy.

With all their remaining strength they dreamed up the soul-mates until their sleep became a dreamless blackness and the people were left on their own.

Whenever the spirit of a Paladin was at breaking point, they selected a soul-mate with whom they entered into an eternal bond.

And as soon as a child was born, then the Paladin began to age so they could pass on their task to their daughter or their son and find peace after centuries of battle and sacrifice.

Generation upon generation fought for victory against HIM, WHO FORCES and the war was successful. Paladin followed Paladin and each one carried their burden with pride.

After three hundred years HE, WHO FORCES was surrounded, his troops defeated.

But on the eve of victory, HE sent forth his mightiest servant and put all his strength into a mental attack on the spirit of a soul-mate.

He sent her images of slaughtered children and promised to protect her son if she surrendered to his power'.

Sobbing could be heard from among the pupils but the Keeper continued relentlessly. 'Her spirit broke, torn between her love for her partner and her fear for her son, and so she took a dagger and stabbed her partner to death in his sleep.

And so, the thirteenth Paladin was dead and with him each succeeding child of each Paladin. His companion disappeared into the night and was never seen again.

When the new morning broke, the will of the Paladins was broken. Only as thirteen could they destroy the power of HIM WHO FORCES and so the mightiest magicians of the peoples with the help of the twelve Paladins cast a spell on the weakened Adversary, he having used up all his strength in the night of blood.

The creation was saved and the enemy spellbound. And so, the Paladins have kept guard until the present day. They left their companions, for their vulnerability through their soul-mates had been revealed, and remained behind alone and ageless in the world'.

Keeper Jegral closed the book and now spoke without notes. 'These great men and women have made an enormous sacrifice to protect those they love, and all of us. After all these centuries they are still out there, guarding us. Their names have been forgotten, just as they had wished. We only know of a few today, and they have made their own way'.

Ahren had already heard of the War Emperor from the South, who, according to rumour, was a Paladin. But from what had been reported, he didn't exactly sound like one of the gods' defenders, and so he had put it down to mindless gossip.

The priest looked around the group and saw he could not expect a discussion after such a heavy lesson.

'The THREE be with you', he intoned and dismissed them with a wave of the hand.

The darkened mood was instantly forgotten and with a cry of joy, the boys and girls tumbled outside and into the festivities.

Ahren set off home to the cabin that night in high spirits. The food had been delicious and he had joked around with Likis and Holken and exchanged glances with some of the girls. Falk and he had achieved hero status and the white wolf at this side attracted looks.

He danced around Culhen playfully and the wolf, for his own part, ran barking and jumping between his legs. The light from the village shone from behind them, as the celebrations were still in full swing.

Suddenly the wolf pricked up his ears and stared into the darkness. Three shapes appeared out of the darkness in front of them. Sven and his cronies, armed with wooden planks, spiked with nails.

The three moved menacingly forwards and Sven snarled, 'it's payback time'.

Ahren almost burst into laughter. He'd been expecting something like this and his master had always drummed into him, 'know the methods and goals of your opponents, and you have a big advantage over them'. Ahren had only drunk a little. This wasn't like the Autumn Festival. He wasn't going to make the same mistake again. He strode fearlessly up to the three boys, Culhen by this right leg. After the events of last winter he wasn't afraid of the three.

The attackers looked at each other uncertainly. They hadn't expected such a reaction. The first one raised his arm somewhat hesitantly to prepare to strike but Ahren kicked him in the standing leg and the bully landed in the dirt, his cudgel clattering harmlessly on the path.

The attackers froze for a moment, then Sven and his other crony tried to attack him simultaneously, but Culhen was snarling and baring his teeth threateningly. In this way he kept the second attacker in check, so that the trainee Forest Guardian could concentrate on Sven.

The coward dropped back a step and prepared to strike but Ahren was already too close. He grabbed the hand holding the cudgel and twisted the miller's son's arm swiftly behind his back. He could only form a strange looking o-shape in his mouth as he was forced into a summersault and landed with a crash on the trampled earth. Ahren calmly picked up the two cudgels and turned to his last opponent, who was staring scared-stiff at Culhen.

'Well?' asked Ahren and threatened him with a weapon in each hand.

The rascal gave a quick scream, dropped his cugel and took to his heels.

Ahren flung the piece of wood into the undergrowth and walked calmly onwards without looking back at the groaning boys.

He had hardly gone twenty paces further when he heard a voice among the leaves. 'Good work, boy'.

Ahren looked quizzically at the edge of the forest and Falk stepped out of it. 'Master, you're not still celebrating?' The apprentice had headed off earlier and had left Falk, deep in conversation with Mistress Dohlmen.

'I'd been keeping an eye on those three and it was obvious they were up to something. Just wanted to see if you needed help'. Falk shrugged his shoulders.

He walked beside Ahren with an arm on his shoulder and so they continued towards the cabin.