The central plateau of the island was only about half a mile across, but it was covered by dense forests and crossed by grassy avenues which were cunningly arranged to lead visitors around in circles and away from the centre. What was more, their compasses were useless, possibly caused by a large lode of magnetic rock deep within the island.

     Coming across one of the hundred yard long, ten yard wide avenues, the first instinct of the visitor was to examine the marble statue they saw at one end, enticingly leading them away from the direct route to the centre, and when they saw that it was nothing more than a marble statue and left it behind, they might not necessarily remember what direction they’d originally been travelling in and so go off in a slightly different direction. Whereas, otherwise, a visitor would keep as close as possible to a straight line as he made his way through the forest until he came either to the cliff or the lake in the centre, therefore, the avenues, designed and positioned by an intelligence far beyond that of a mortal human, kept them wandering around in circles, getting nowhere and giving them the impression that the central plateau was much larger than it really was.

     “I thought you said this island was only a mile across!” said Arroc angrily as they climbed over the fallen trunk of a jigsaw oak, named for the shape of its leaves.

     “That’s what it looked from the carpet,” replied Dennis defensively. “I’d have sworn it wasn’t much larger than that.”

     “Well we’ve been walking for at least three miles and we haven’t gotten anywhere,” protested the trog as he pulled his sleeve away from a clump of bramble. “Just trees, trees and more trees. More trees than I ever saw in ma life. And those bloody statues! If nobody lives here, where did all the statues come from?”

     “Somebody lives here,” said Naomi. “The others came here to meet someone. And someone must have deactivated our carpet.”

     “Someone or some thing,” said Teasel to herself, staring nervously into the dark and gloomy forest.

     “Perhaps this is how they punish unwelcome visitors,” said Arroc darkly. “Perhaps they’re cursed ter wander through the forest for the rest of their lives. Never to escape, never to find rest, until they collapse from hunger or disease.” He glared at Naomi. “And it were you who brought us ter this accursed place. You who doomed us ter this fate...”

     “Nobody’s been doomed to anything,” replied the black girl angrily, her green eyes flashing in the gloomy forest light. She was also growing steadily more alarmed by the gradual return of the trog’s accent. “There’s someone living here, and if we keep on it’s just a matter of time before we meet them.”

     “An’ what do we say ter them when we meet them?” demanded Arroc. “Excuse us fer trespassing on your island, o great and powerful sage. Excuse us fer coming where we’re no wanted...”

     “For the sake of all the Gods, shut up!” said Dennis, rubbing his temples wearily. “You’re giving me a headache! We’re all in this together, and we’ll have to stick together if we’re to get out of it. We won’t get anywhere arguing with each other. So unless you’ve got something constructive to say, I’d appreciate it if you’d just SHUT UP!”

     The trog and the black girl glared at him, then glared at each other, and then they turned and walked in silence, speaking not a word to each other as they continued on their way through the dense forest.

     A few minutes later Teasel gave a cry and pointed at something off to their right. Approaching it cautiously, they saw that it was the badly decomposed body of a human male. Just under six feet tall with long ginger hair and a beard around what remained of his head. He was dressed in leather and slennhide armour and the remains of an ironwood sword was lying beside his outstretched hand, its blade dried and cracking from damp and neglect. The nome gasped and put a hand over her mouth at her first glimpse of the rotting, maggot ridden corpse, and Naomi backed away in disgust as the smell of it reached her, making her turn her head to avoid breathing in the foul, corrupted air.

     “Wonder what he died of,” said Dennis as he prodded it cautiously with the point of his sword.

     “He was fighting when he died,” said Arroc, “and that looks like clawmarks in his armour.”

     “A wild animal?” said Dennis. “But the body hasn’t been eaten. A wild animal would have dragged it back to its lair and eaten it.”

     “Not a wild animal,” said the trog, his anger rising. “Guard creatures, trained ter attack and kill intruders. Wolves perhaps. What d’ye say now, human?”

     The black girl gulped nervously. “Alright, it was a mistake to come here,” she admitted. “It was impulsive and stupid. I’m sorry I got you all into this.”

     “You didn’t force us to come,” said Dennis, however. “We chose to come. Even you, Arroc. You agreed to follow the others here, so I don’t want to hear any more bellyaching out of you. Understood?”

     The trog grunted and turned away, and Naomi flashed a grateful smile at the soldier. “Come on, let’s get away from this poor chap,” said Dennis. “He gives me the creeps. And everyone stay on your guard. We could meet trouble at any minute.”

     The trog nodded, raising his scimitar warily, and they moved on into the forest.

     They had just arrived at another of the grassy avenues when they heard the howling for the first time. Teasel jumped in fright, reaching for the knife she wore in her belt, and Dennis drew his sword. “Wolves!” he said. “You were right. And they’re close. Best face them here where there’s room to fight.”

     “Stand with your backs to the statue,” said Naomi. “It’ll give us some cover against attacks from behind.”

     Dennis nodded and they ran across to the statue, expecting the wolves to come bounding out of the forest at any time. They made it, however, and felt comforted by the solid bulk of bronze behind them. Now they could only be attacked from one direction.

     Arroc picked Teasel up and sat her on the arm of the statue, where it was thrusting a long spear towards an unseen enemy. “Meaning no disrespect,” he said, “but you’d only get under our feet. You’ll be safer up there.” The nome nodded gratefully.

     Dennis saw movement out of the corner of his eye, the rippling of powerful muscles under a coat of glossy black fur, and he jumped back, raising his sword, but it wasn’t a wolf. It was some kind of big cat. A leopard perhaps, or a panther. It had a dense coat of silky black fur and bright green eyes and it seemed to radiate a kind of feline amusement as it stared unblinkingly at him.

     “Naomi?” asked the soldier, and the cat nodded. He looked behind her and saw her tiger skin nearby, discarded on the grass. “Damn!” he muttered. “Missed it!”

     “Here they come!” cried Arroc, and he turned to see about a dozen wolves emerging from the forest about fifty yards from them. They called them wolves, but only a couple of them bore any resemblance to the denizens of the forests and tundras of the planet Earth. The others belonged to other varieties of the astonishingly diverse predator. Some of them were butterfly wolves, their bristly 'wings' of laterally jutting fur banded in striking colours, and others were crowlags, their wicked beaks opened wide as they screeched a challenge at the four soft skinned prey animals cowering in front of them.

     Large though they were, though, the last towered above even them, and the teamsters quailed at the sight of it. It was a bull wolf. As large and powerful as a bull, it had cloven hooves instead of claws and bore wide, forward pointing horns on the sides of its head, but this was no plant eater as they could see as it opened its jaws, revealing rows of long, daggerlike fangs. This was a predator. The most feared and dangerous of its kind in the world.

     Its pelt was mottled black, yellow and brown, excellent camouflage in the forest undergrowth in which it lived, and its eyes blazed a cruel, ferocious yellow as they fixed hungrily on the small group huddled around the statue. Dennis laid his sword aside for the moment, fearing it would be useless against such a huge creature, and instead put an arrow to his bow, hoping he'd be able to hit it in a vulnerable spot. Against a creature like that, it was probably the only chance they had.

     One of the crowlags stepped forward, its knees bent as if preparing to pounce, but the bull wolf turned its massive head and bellowed a warning, making it skitter back like a whipped dog, its tail between its legs. Dennis and Arroc gripped their weapons with sweaty hands. Obviously the largest animal meant to lead the attack, and when it leapt, all eleven feet of it, seven feet tall at the shoulders, it would crush anything that got in its way. The teamsters braced themselves to move fast. The creature looked at them with one eye, then turned its head to look at them with the other. It raised its great snout and sniffed the air, getting their scent, and it growled deep in its throat, a sound that sent prickles all the way up Dennis’s spine. Gods, he thought. We're all going to die.

     Then it began moving forward, picking up speed slowly like an express train and even sounding like one as its breath came in great snorting gusts. The other wolves followed behind, spreading out to encircle the teamsters and attack from other directions, but the humans gave them little attention. Their eyes were fixed on the lead animal which was now charging like a thundering juggernaut, its great head lowered to bring its horns to bear. Dennis shot his arrow, and saw it sinking up to the fletches in its hairy shoulders, but it had no apparent effect on the creature. He just had time to fit another arrow and let it fly as well, and then he threw himself to the side as the creature crashed past, one of its horns catching his breastplate and spinning him around to fall amongst a tangle of feet and claws.

     One of the crowlags came at him, its slavering beak and outstretched claws forming a terrible triangle of death as they descended upon him. His soldier’s instincts took over, though, and he snatched a dagger from his belt, thrusting it up into the mountain of carnivorous flesh. The blade penetrated its heart, killing it instantly, but its forward momentum bowled him over, slamming his head against the hard bronze of the statue.

     He was dazed for the moment, but the soft padding inside his helmet protected him from the worst of the impact and it was only a few seconds before he was climbing back to his feet to see Arroc swinging his scimitar with murderous efficiency, slicing a wolf almost in half with its massive blade and then turning it to crack the skull of another with its huge, clublike hilt. Naomi, meanwhile, was wrestling with the other crowlag, biting and clawing with her tiger teeth and claws. Both she and her opponent were already covered with blood, and one of the butterfly wolves was moving into position to take her from the other side. Between them they’d tear her apart. Dennis wanted to go to her aid, but he was forced to defend himself as the bull wolf came to a skidding halt, turned and charged back at him, waving its head in mad fury.

     Had he been standing out in the open it would have been the end of him, but the creature couldn’t leap with its full strength without braining itself on the statue. He dodged out of its way again, and only then noticed that he'd run right into the path of a common wolf, which slammed into him before he had a chance to defend himself. It knocked him back against the hard bronze, the cold bulk of the statue saving him from being bowled over again, and the wolf clawed at his chest as it tried to raise its jaws high enough to rip his throat out. He drew his sword and thrust it upward into the wolf’s belly, showering himself with blood and guts, but no sooner had the wolf fallen away than the bull wolf was on him, its powerful jaws clamping down on his arm and driving the links of his chain mail deep into his flesh.

     He screamed in pain and raised his sword, but before he could use it the creature lifted him into the air and shook him like a rag doll, threatening to tear his arm out of its socket. Its murderous yellow eyes glared at him in insane rage and then it threw him up into the air like a dog with its toy, raising its head to impale him on its horns on the way down. Dennis had time for one gibbering prayer as he reached the top of his arc and began to fall...

      The creature was knocked aside, though, and Dennis fell on its massive hairy flank instead, rolling off it to land hard on the ground. He scrambled back to his feet, feeling various parts of his body aching in protest, and saw Naomi wrestling with it, her claws raking its belly while her jaws searched for the vulnerable part of its throat. As the excitement of the battle took hold, her cat form had grown even larger, larger than any real cat that had ever lived, and she was now the size of a racehorse. Large enough that no normal wolf could survive more than a moment against her. She was still outmatched against the bull wolf, though, which would have disemboweled her if the leg that kicked her had had claws instead of hooves. Naomi was momentarily thrown clear, but she picked herself up and threw herself back against the creature, climbing onto its back and biting hard into the back of its neck. The bull wolf kicked and bellowed but was unable to throw her off and the two antagonists danced off into the open grass, blood spurting and fountaining between them.

     Only Arroc seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. Keeping his back firmly against the statue, he hadn’t yet suffered so much as a single scratch. His short, stocky body had a low centre of gravity which, together with his widely spaced legs, made it virtually impossible to knock him down. Two wolves were crawling miserably away from him, one of them trailing intestines from the gash in its belly, and another lay dead at his feet, its skull smashed like an eggshell. The one he'd hit on the head with the hilt of his scimitar was staggering around drunkenly, shaking its head which bled heavily from the wound above its left eye. The other wolves were hanging back now, having learned that he was to be treated with respect, and they limited themselves to merely lunging forward now and again to snap at him before pulling back to safety.

     Then he saw that Naomi was in trouble. She was weakening fast, blood pouring from a dozen wounds, and there was a triumphant note in the bull wolf's bellowing as it sensed the approach of victory. The trog’s anger at the black girl was instantly forgotten and he abandoned his relatively safe position to go to her aid. “Bakhorgha!” he cried, his eyes burning like fire under his heavy slennhide helmet and his trophy cords flying around his head. “Bakhoth! Bakhir! Bakhaargh!”

     He leapt forward, his scimitar opening a hole in the circle of wolves facing him, sending one of them whimpering away with blood flying from a gash across its head. A second later he was at the cat’s side, standing protectively over her as the bull wolf pawed the ground, snorting in preparation for another attack.

     A butterfly wolf tried to clamber up the statue to reach Teasel, its massive jaws snapping hungrily just inches away from the terrified nome as she scrambled higher. Then an idea hit her and she reached inside her clothing to find a small box containing a quantity of fine white powder. She threw a pinch of the powder at the wolf’s quivering, slavering snout, and a second later the carnivore was convulsed by a fit of sneezing that sent it falling back onto the grass, where Dennis ran it through with a quick thrust of his sword. Teasel laughed gleefully as she tucked the box of sneezing powder safely back into her pocket, keeping a hand on it in case she needed it again. Captain Wain, knowing all about the infamous Pastoran sense of humour, had warned her against playing any tricks on her teammates in case it ‘damaged the team spirit’, but she hadn’t been able to resist carrying a few little bits and pieces, just in case they came in useful. Her humour died away, however, as she remembered how dire their situation still was.

     The lesser wolves drew back, filled with doubt and uncertainty. Their assault had resulted in the deaths of several of their number without bringing down a single one of their prey, and they were hesitant about risking any further losses. They showed no sign of giving up, though. They were hungry, and the four teamsters were the only things to eat on the island. They were simply changing tactics. None of them wanted to tangle with the bull wolf, which was now fighting both Arroc and Naomi, so they circled around Dennis and Teasel, keeping them hemmed in, and every so often one of them lunged forward, trying to take the soldier off guard. Dennis fended off the attacks, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do so forever. Gradually the wolves would wear him down. He would grow tired and careless, and eventually he would make a mistake. And then there’d be no-one to stop the others from climbing up the statue after Teasel...

     The bull wolf, meanwhile, was charging at Arroc, who danced nimbly to the side, swinging his scimitar as he did so. The heavy weapon smashed into the side of the creature's head, breaking off one of its horns, and at the same time Naomi leapt again, using the last of her fading strength to climb onto its back. Arroc's blow had half stunned the giant wolf, dulling its reflexes, and the giant cat was able to get her jaws into the side of its neck where they clamped down hard. Blood gushed as she tore through muscles and blood vessels, and then she threw herself clear as the creature bellowed in mortal agony. It staggered a few paces sideways, shaking its head as though its skull was full of bees, and then it fell heavily to the ground.

     Arroc and Naomi helped each other back to the relative safety of the statue, where Dennis looked over the cat’s injuries. Some of them were deep, but the rate of bleeding was lessening and none of them seemed to be life threatening. She was weakening, though, and having trouble staying on her four feet.

     “We’ve got to get rid of them now!” said the soldier, staring out at the remaining wolves. “Right now, or none of us is getting out of here alive.”

     “Have you got an idea?” asked the trog hopefully.

     “No,” admitted Dennis. “I was hoping you did.”

     He picked up his bow, still lying where he’d dropped it, and fitted an arrow. Most of his arrows had spilled out of his quiver when the wolf had knocked him down and were lying on the grass about ten feet away, hopelessly out of reach. He had three arrows left, and that meant three dead wolves if he aimed well, but what about the rest? Maybe a few more deaths will scare the others off, he thought hopefully. It’s the only chance we’ve got.