It had to be now. Today. A storm was coming, its chill breath foreshadowed the darkness to come. The pass would close any moment, he'd wasted too much time here. By jaw or by claw, Bayne would be on the right side of that wall of ice by first light tomorrow. With or without his bargaining tool.

But it was more than just the coming storm thickening the air. More than the festering wound of his mountain, bleeding silverbane into the air like a noxious fume. An unnatural stillness infected this valley today. Every bird and beast felt it, too. And they'd had the sense to turn tail. Unlike the little vixen and her silver-grubbing horde below.

Silverbane was nothing to a mowrath. It might blunt their senses somewhat, prolong the inevitable, but it was no deterrent to mature mowraths. And, at last, they were stirring awake. He relished what that meant. After all, he'd been the one to plant them here long ago.

Except, he'd hoped to be long gone by now. For all his patience, the silver fox kept eluding him. If he wanted her, he had to get to her before the mowraths did.

The wild thrash of his pulse filled his ears. He locked eyes with Saska, jerking his head towards the valley. They had one shot to get this right.

Saska bounded over, her tail low and ears back. Blunt, unwargish ears and fur unlike his kith. All a constant reminder of what she was. An outsider. But a useful one.

Her tongue flicked uncertainly over her nose. But she understood. She was the only one who could get close enough. With all the silverbane fouling the air, the three males were at a great disadvantage. Saska's blood was impure. Invulnerable to silver poisoning.

Now or never. His glare shifted back to the fox.

She was distracted, unprotected, and, for once, in the perfect place. Half her horde had departed at first light and, of those that remained, half smelled sick. But all would be dead in minutes.

The south side of the camp was the quieter and the silverbane ache was fainter there. Not that it bothered Saska. All that water in the pit—that wound—lessened the effect of the silverbane. The north side was, however, nigh unbearable even from this distance.

His ears fell back as a bell rent the air. It spurred Saska into a lope down the jagged rocks, her tail whipping as she balanced and leaped. She was a lithe creature, her fur tinged reddish brown. She didn't fit into the landscape at all. Not like the rest of the Ruinik's Hek wargs with their gray and white pelts.

Even the silver fox matched his mountain more than the small warga. The thought irritated him, his jaw clenching.

The seconds flicked palpable down his spine, the countdown like a scratching ache.

Far below, men were crawling out of the ground like insects, their leathers sodden and black. Rot followed them up from the depths, rising like steam in the cold.

He sensed Forx tensing beside him and he turned to see what the other two wargs were glaring at.

Adrenaline zipped through his muscles as he watched a mowrath drag it's roots from the ice to peer, as though with eyes, down from its rocky perch. More and more mowraths began uncoiling themselves. Readying for action.

Forx let loose a wary growl, his fur rolling up along his spine. A natural reaction of one predator to another. But the mowraths ignored them—there was easier prey to be snatched.

Mangart's fretful eyes tracked Saska's descent.

Bayne shifted on his feet. His claws flexed restlessly, glare darting between the fox and Saska.

The warga was silent as a cat, her paws invisible to the stalking mowraths. Like he'd taught her. She was quick and nimble—he'd giver her that.

The human camp was like a hive of discordance and noise—a beacon of vibration and smells. It was they that'd roused death from the ice.

Bayne's mane ruffled, his paws itching to dive after Saska and do the work himself. A snarl of impotence rumbled low in his chest. He sent a small prayer to Brek and promised the god anything if he would only give him Saska's immunity to silverbane. Oh, what a force of action he would be then. No longer this pacing, waiting, creature he detested. What would he do if a mowrath snagged Saska?

He shook his fur out and growled, at the mercy of the gods.

Mangart uttered another whine and Bayne shifted his eyes from the encroaching mowraths to the silver fox. She stood frozen, horror-struck. So she'd finally noticed the creeping mowrath.

The wargrex bared his fangs. If she ran, the mowrath would unfurl a net of roots at her. But if she didn't run, she wouldn't see the imminent danger behind her.

A man lingered at her back, of whom she appeared unaware. By the predatory look of him, he was stalking the fox, too.

The wargrex froze, his nose flaring. One of the dog masters by the smell of him. The men that'd slithered out of the pit earlier were racing for the kitchens. A godsawful scent of boiled roots and cabbage sent his stomach rolling.

A burst of urgency lanced his gut as he measured Saska's distance from the silver fox. The warga wouldn't get to her in time. Look behind you! he wanted to roar at the fox. But she was too focused on the mowraths, not on the predator grinning behind her.

A bark of rage and dread burst form his chest, his breath clouding fast as his muscles bunched in mock charge. But the human girl far below had eyes and ears only for the mowraths.

It was too late.

Quick as a snake, the dog master kicked her in. Then he caught his balance and backed away from he pit.

The girl's scream was brief and abrupt in the phantom silence. A red haze clouded Bayne's vision as he locked eyes on the man. He'd kill that little troll turd. It enraged him that he didn't have time to hunt the fokker down.

The man, having derailed weeks of waiting and careful watching, finally noticed mowraths, too. He gave a shout of terror and bolted. Mangart lunged forward, but the wargrex halted him with another bark.

Leave him. The mowraths would have him.

Mangart didn't seem so sure of that, but he obeyed.

The wargrex found Saska's reddish fur as she snuck towards the pit.

The deadly roots and thorny teeth of the mowraths slid past the silent warga who was all but invisible to the encroaching colony.

Bayne paced and then sat and then paced again.

She reached the pit and, after a brief pause, snout twitching, shifted into her human skin. Quick as a blink, she dropped down the ladder.

Down in the camp, Hekki's blooms glutted themselves on human flesh.

All three male wargs stood like gods on the cliff as the carnivorous plants blazed trails of carnage in the snow. An insidious wave of snaking, tentacle vines and grasping roots. Their lobe leaves clawed along the snow. Screams erupted from the valley. Shrieks that were ripped short by gaping maws fringed with razor fangs. They snapped shut, fangs meshing, blood spurting.

Beside him, Forx and Mangart padded restlessly, inflamed by the smell of blood.

He knew of some warg packs in the far south that enjoyed human flesh, but that was a line he'd never crossed himself. Nor any of his pack, not even Bolrus. Still, the scent of blood warmed his nose, his stomach gurgling feverishly. Blood was blood and not many predators could resist fleeing prey. Mowraths were no exception.

But his glare was fixed to the pit, his mane bristling.

Even as the screams died down, he watched for Saska and the fox.

Nearby, the snow was imbrued with blood and the encampment lay in silent ruin. Nothing moved below except the mowraths prowling back to their lairs.

Only three men had escaped—cowards all. The master of dogs and his hounds among them. His glare flicked briefly to stalk them into the treelined mist.

No matter. He had that one's scent. He would not forget it.

Forx was watching them, too. Likely thinking what he was. No warg would ever leave kith like that. But what did his kind know of humans except for their greed and mercenary hearts.

He shifted into half fettle, his snout blunt enough to form words. But he kept his fur thick against the cold. His fangs remained sharp, the silverbane preventing them from retracting fully. A reflexive safeguard against the danger.

Forx and Mangart watched the crawling mowraths intently, their ears forward. Only Mangart's tail was animated.

Movement at the pit snagged the attention of all three. Saska hauled herself out of the hole, the silver fox draped over her shoulder. She froze midway out to survey the bloodied encampment and the sated mowraths disappearing back into the treeline like a receding black tide.

Then she darted along the fringe of trees. The sodden weight of the fox and all the silverbane armor made the warga's pace awkward and slow. When she reached them, she was out of breath. Mangart shifted so that he too was in half-fettle like Saska and Bayne.

The males backed away as Saska laid the girl in the snow atop the ridge. Bayne felt the silverbane like a cold ache in his teeth. An ache that was shooting pain into his skull. "Her armor," he gritted out, "get it off."

Saska mumbled an apology and hurriedly stripped the girl. Then she flung the armor down into the valley.

Instantly, the ache dimmed.

"What about her clothes?" Saska asked. "She's as cold as ice and wet to the bone."

Bayne stepped forward, his mane ruffled with a strange, niggling awareness. This was the closest he'd ever been to a human. Invisible hands tugged insistently at his scalp and he backed away, ignoring the warm tingle at the tips of his fingers. Something he didn't recognize shifted quietly beneath his skin. He ignored that too, determined not to touch her. "Go back," he finally answered Saska, "and find that silver cloak of hers." It would serve as warmth and proof of her rank. "Strip her down and wrap her up."

But the girl in the snow interrupted them with a groan and mumbled incoherently. Saska and Mangart froze to listen. Forx, too. He was the only warg still in full wolf fettle.

Mangart cocked his head and leaned closer. "What's she saying?"

Saska looked up at Bayne. "Something about a herb, I think. She wants basil."

"Basil?" Mangart looked thoughtful. "You know, my nan makes the best pigeon basil stew."

Forx eyed his son with a look that evidenced his doubt of Mangart's being in possession of a full quiver of arrows.

Bayne knew his face mirrored Forx's. "I think you've been around the silverbane too long, Mangart," he muttered. He jerked his head impatiently at Saska. "You waiting for that cloak to run up here on its own?" He couldn't stand being so close to all this silverbane.

With a sheepish mutter, she spun away to race back down into the valley.

Bayne crossed his arms and glared at the unconscious fox. Her brow, faintly lined with worry, alluded to some hardship. With her locks of silver, she looked almost wargish. The wargs of Ruinik's Hek were all gray or silver-furred, including him. All except Saska who was not of Ruinik's Hek.

Her looks needled his conscience enough that he forced himself to think of his father instead. Instantly hate settled back into his chest.

Mangart scratched his chin, eyeing the girl. "Young for a leader, isn't she?"

"My thoughts exactly," Bayne replied. She must've ridden many cocks to the top, perhaps even their king himself. No one of rank, who was this young, attained such power without having powerful allies. It was all the proof he required that she would make a very valuable bargaining tool.

"She's very pretty...for a human."

Bayne clenched his fangs and bent a glare at Mangart. "Then strip her down and keep her warm if you're feeling ruttish."

With a grumble, Mangart tugged the girl's clothes off and, once she was out of her wet things, he and Forx arranged themselves around her to keep her warm.

From the corner of his eye, he watched them envelope the girl's blue-tinged flesh. Weak, mortal flesh. His teeth felt like they were going to crack from all the gnashing. His shoulders stiffened, the sight of her curled between the two males disturbing him for no reason. Evoking an irrational urge to swat Forx and Mangart away, so he could warm the girl himself. He shook his mane, untangling the knots in his shoulders with a long sigh.

The silverbane was making him cockeyed and addled. He forced himself to focus on Saska, watching her sneak around some buildings. And then, as if catching some scent, she bolted for a group of tents. Brek's teeth! She was taking her beggarly time. The pass would close before they ever got moving again.

The warga sniffed around and finally stopped in front of a tent, half collapsed. Bayne's eyes narrowed as she darted inside. Not long after, Saska bolted out with a bag over her shoulder and an armful of white fur. When she reached the top of the ridge again, her tail was quivering excitedly.

Bayne's brow lowered as she drew near. A little black head suddenly poked out of the white cloak with a pitiful yip. "Is that...a wolf cub?" And not just any wolf by the look of it.

"He certainly smells wolfish," Saska replied, handing the heavy white cloak to Mangart. Then she gently cradled the shivering wolf cub. "So beautiful and healthy."

"Where's its mother?" Mangart asked, wrapping the girl up in the cloak. "A suckling in such fine fettle would have a mother nearby." He paused to think. "All the dogs ran off when the mowraths attacked, but its mother would've stayed close."

"She did." Saska nodded toward the silver fox. "I think she's its mother. I think this is Basil."

Mangart made a face. "Rather an unfortunate name for a wolf."

Forx grunted in agreement.

Bayne studied the wolf cub, intrigued. How had the silver fox managed to keep the cub fed out here in this desolate place? More than that, Mangart was right, it was not just alive but thriving. His hand came up to his mouth, his thumb claw skimming thoughtfully over his lower lip. Then he glanced back at Saska, eyeing the satchel slung over her shoulder. "What's that?"

She swallowed and glanced down at her feet. "I brought it along to carry the cub in."

The bag was saturated in the girl's scent. So was the wolf cub. It shot into his brain, staggering him. With a harsh grunt, he expelled her scent as though the fox herself was silverbane.

Meanwhile, Saska shoved a thick cap into the satchel and nestled the cub in the fur lining before closing the flap. But the obdurate little snout stuck out, nose flaring in the direction of the fox. Definitely its mother.

Useful. It would make her biddable.

He shifted back into full wolf, his large paws settling deep in the snow. He gestured for the other three to get moving, the girl slung over Mangart's back and Forx in the lead.

Bayne moved in behind his wargs, his eyes skating over every shadow under every tree. He could protect them better if he was unfettered by burdens. And most predators in the outland struck from behind.

They moved like a blur over the hard-packed snow. Without her armor, the girl was like a feather. Mangart moved as though he barely felt her on his back.

Good because Bayne was loath to touch her himself. He knew, deep down, he couldn't allow himself to. And he refused to examine that too closely.

With a deep bark, he spurred the other three faster.

The pass would close any moment now. And he didn't like the look of the clouds approaching from the north.

His need was twofold, though. The threat of the pass shutting him out was paramount. And then there was the more insidious need to escape.

This cursed place sucked at his strength and spirit, drop by slow drop. He moved as fast as his drained thews could manage. But it wasn't just the silverbane he was trying to outrun.

He could feel his father's ghost calling to him from below the mountain. And he couldn't get away fast enough.