What happened before
 

The sun was nearly gone behind the distant hills.   The horrible stench of dead men and horses steamed from the hushed battlefield.  The short powerful man who stared at the stone fort like home was unaffected by the stench; he had become used to it a long time ago.

His shaggy black hair sprouted out from under an Aquilonian helmet.   Once his ancestors had painted their bodies for war, but this man had no more paint than a few strokes on his swarthy face.  His body was armored in steel and iron, and  a silk loincloth clothed his lions beneath the steel.   His black eyes smoldered in hate and frustration as he glared at the stone building.

It was nearly four stories tall, the last being a small defensible platform surrounded by a five foot tall stone retainer wall.   Ten hours ago the fort had bragged of a defensive force of fifty armored knights.  Now most of those men were dead or dying on the bloody field that surrounded the fort.  And still the Picts were no closer to taking the fort than they were before the battle.
 

Behind the armored man was two score of dark silent warriors.  These men were naked and painted as Picts had been in the old days; the days before they had learned to work  iron.   They were like horses waiting at the gate before a race.   Waiting for a single word to pour down on the stone house and slay those who remained within.

"His magic is strong," said a man standing to the leader's left.   He was a small Pict, old and warped of body.   His face was lined from age and the teeth in his mouth were blackened and broken from a lifetime of chewing genbocci, a narcotic drug known to grow in the deepest part of the Pictish wilderness.   This man was a shaman.   It was his job and responsibility to recognize and counter magic when it stood between the Picts and their victory over the weak Eastern civilized nations.

"Ours must be stronger.   What have you done?" asked the war leader.   He was Warlor, the Blood Hawk, of the Hawk clan and one of Gorm's favorite lieutenants.   The feather of a hawk was tucked under the helmet, behind one ear, and this feather was dipped in red to signify that he was a chief.   Now he was impatient.  It was not often that his aggressions against the Eastern nations, that is those civilized countries east of Pictland, were halted for so long.   This was the third day his warriors had failed to take the great stone house.

The killing had gone on as usual on the field surrounding the fort-home.   The problem had been when his forest wolves had tried to climb the stone walls.   No sooner had they neared the top when they fell asleep, and then they fell from the wall to be killed or mangled on the ground below.   The sleep barrier had been impossible to breach.

Krorn, the old shaman had labored for two days and night for a solution to the sleeping defense.   Now he came to the war chief with good news.

"I have prepared to potions.  I have doused these red bladed wolves with magics and herbs.  Their minds have been clouded by the grey smoke so no sleep can overtake them.   They are filled with the rage to kill, even more so than any normal Pict warrior.   No magical sleep can close their mind, no mercy shall turn their blades.  They will climb up the walls and kill, kill, kill!" said the old man with a delicious smile on his face.

"Yeah, that's what I want to hear!  That's what I want to see!  Send those dogs in," laughed  Warlor.   "Send them in now!"

Krorn turned to the men waiting behind him.   Like Warlor he was of the Red Hawk clan, but these men were Wolves.  Most were Red Wolves, with a few Blue and white among them.   In their black eyes shone the madness of the smoke.   The shaman pointed to the wall and barked the command to kill.   Though they wanted to howl, only a deep groan rumbled in their throats.   As one man they ran toward the old stone fort.

Up the makeshift wooden ladders that were already placed against the aging block walls.   Up without a sound they scampered over the retainer wall and dropped lightly to the wooden walkway that ran around the large circular wall of defense.   There were five men on duty.   Two died before they knew that the Picts had crossed  the sleep barrier.   Of the last three, only one man lived long enough to sound an alarm.

The wolves were in!   Blood squirted from slashed bodies.   Heads dropped to the ground caved in to the neck.   The smoke made them stronger than normal.   They killed the remaining defenders in a frenzy of feral bloodlust that only a Pict can know.   Men, women and children fell to their blades.  Babes were slaughtered like lambs.   A few of the wolves were killed by the civilized defenders who refused to surrender to their fiendish fate only to fall to the slaughter of   Pictish fury.   17 warriors  made their way through the musty rooms of the old stone fort in search for the master of the place.   They paused briefly to kill his woman and her children.  When they burst into his hidden chamber they paused, stunned by what they saw even through the immunity of the smoke.

Poised in the center of a thaumaturgical circle was an iron grey haired man.  He glanced over his shoulder at the bewildered Picts, grunted a word and returned to his work before him.   Standing in a volume of fog and steam was the outline of a horrifying creature.   Its pale white snout poked through the mist armed with rows of yellow fangs.   Blood red eyes glared  balefully at the wizard who kept it bay with a barrage of magical incantations.   The beast, or demon for no such creature could have been born naturally, roared and lunged toward the wizard, and its scream froze the wild men of Pictdom.

Not long were they frozen as a huge mailed figure hurled against them, his sword cutting the first among them nearly in half.   Several of the Wolves were knocked back by a brutish shoulder.   This was the wizard's last human guard.   A large,  powerful warrior in perfectly constructed chain mail.  His sword cut into the Picts, killing several more before they could snap out of their stupor and converge on the warrior as a howling mob.     The mailed warrior staggered under the weight of so many bodies.  Grasping the blade of his great sword toward the point, he surged forward and pushed the pack back in one terrific effort.  This gained him some room to swing his sword and two more Picts died howling.

But they were soon on him again, chopping with their axes and stabbing with their knives.   The warrior dropped his sword and drew a shorter blade to return the stabbing.   The Picts hacked and hacked at his armored body until he dropped to one knee, and then fell into a heap of raw bleeding flesh under broken chain.

With the wizard's last defender slain, the Wolves turned toward  the target they had been sent to kill.

Grinlos Dalimantra leaned forward and squinted into the fire and smoke.   His grey face was close to the perimeter to his protective circle, and if he were to go beyond those carefully painted designs on the stone floor, he would place himself in jeopardy from the demonic forces that were stirring beyond.

Dimly, he was aware of sounds and sights around him.  He heard the Picts   pounding on the door.  He heard the warning grunt of Jaxa, his personal bodyguard.  Beyond Jaxa he detected the feeble bleating of the young goat he was going to sacrifice to the demon he was summoning.   He heard the fire crackle and the smoke whisper.

No, not a summoning, but rather a conjuring.   From the soul stuff of a distant dimension; a place where demons were birthed and grew, Grinlos molded together a soul of sorts.  A savage, relentless, ruthless soul as was needed to sally forth and kill without abatement.  With his other magics he had already fashioned a body.  This hideous reptilian-cat monstrosity stood frozen beyond his circle of protection as it waited for the demon soul to inhabit it.   The blood of the young goat also waited to animate the demon into life in Grinlos' dimension.

All these things focused Grinlos' mind on the task at hand.  Somewhere in the back of his brilliant mind he was aware that his household was being slaughtered by Picts.  Somewhere he heard the screams of his family and the groans of his butchered men.   None of that mattered.  None of that was a factor in what he was trying to do.  What he had been trying to do for three straight days and nights.   All was lost without his monster.   No Aquilonian troops would ride to the rescue of his mystic keep.   No god would lend a hand for a rebellious sorcerer.   If his household could not be saved, then it could be revenged.   On that purpose, Grinlos hurled the might of his vast intellect and sorcerous knowledge.
 

Directed by Ginlos' commands, the monstrous soul stuff seeped into the body the sorcerer had prepared for it.  Only blood was needed to seal the spell.   Grinlos turned grimly to the bleating goat.   A quick thrust of his dagger would finish his work.

A Pict hatchet sliced through the air and thudded against Grinlos' back.  He arched up in pain and shock, and horror as he felt his own blood spray from his wound.  Another blade pierced his left shoulder and another split open his right thigh.  Grinlos half turned and stared balefully at the Picts, but they held no fear of him.  The Smoke kept them immune from the wizard's effects.  Several of them threw back their arms to hurl more weapons at Grinlos.

The goat was no longer necessary.  The wizard's own blood  had landed on the statue and merged with the demonic soul stuff within its stone cold body.   Grinlos lurched forward, breaking the circle, and wrapped his arms around the thing he had created as it grew more and more alive.   His soul was sucked into the monster as easily as the blood had been, and Grinlos was gone.

The Picts swarmed across the room.  It was their intention to hack the wizard's body to pieces.   Instead, they found the fangs, claws and demonic strength of a monster spawned  to kill them.   Blood sprayed on the grey stone walls as these two forces met.

***************************************************

Circle of Men

The forest was dismal.  A light rain fell through the tall trees and muddied the
sparsely grassed floor.  Boun paused as he walked along a well worn path.  His
nostrils quivered as he picked up the scent of Man.   In a moment he
transformed from a carefree hiker to an alert scout.  More than a scout, he had
become a beast, nearly quivering with anticipation of whatever danger that
might be advancing on him through the trees.

Then he relaxed.   The scent was a known one.  It was his friend, Gar of the Saber tooth Clan.
 

In a light hearted mood, Boun toyed with the idea of staging a mock ambush of
his friend.   He discarded that idea because the wet weather had made him lazy
and reluctant to slide into the damp bushes.

Gar reached him quickly at a dog trot.   He raised his spear in salute to the young
beast-man.

"Ho,  Boun.  I see you."

"I see you, Gar of the Saber tooth clan," replied Boun with an easy smile.

Gar  stopped a few feet short of Boun.  His tall powerful body was wet from rain
and sweat.   He was a magnificently muscled fellow, big like most of the Saber tooth clan and bigger than the average Pict.  His naturally black hair was dyed
tan, a tradition of his clan.   Because the great Saber tooth tiger's pelt was tan, so
did the men of its clan totem dye their hair the same color.  His black eyes
danced with dark lightning, and his face was handsome for a Pict.   When he
smiled his teeth where white and perfect.   Around his neck he wore a throng of
teeth taken from his enemies.

He was armed with spear, knife and hatchet.  All made of flint blades,
hand-crafted by tribal experts in flint knapping.  Many of the Picts, who had
been a Stone Age people before they discovered how to work copper from
begrudged contact with the Hyborian nations, had taken to iron, bronze or steel
weapons after the conquests of Gorm.   The men of the Saber tooth clan
remained true to the ancient traditions.   And where other Picts lived in waddle
huts or tents of hide, the Saber tooths kept to their dark caves.

"My great bear of a cousin has grown strong, Boun.   I thought you might have
gone already," said Gar.

"Kak is almost fully recovered.   Yeah, I'm going to leave soon.   Not before
saying farewell," retorted the young beast-man.   Nearly a year ago, Kak had
been shot down by the arrows of the Ferret clan.  Kak had been protecting his
sister, Wela, from rape and abduction.  Boun had avenged the attack and had
elected to stay by his friend's side until he had recovered his strength.   Since
Kak was the leader of his family, Boun had remained to make sure the family was
adequately protected in the wild Pictish wilderness.  Kak's Pictish vitality had
nearly returned him to health.  His wounds had been severe and his recovery
had taken a long time.

Gar leaned on his spear and stared mightily into Boun's eyes.   After careful
hesitation he spoke.

"You saw the face of your woman on the Forest Woman?"

It wasn't really a question.   Gar had been with Boun when he had caught the
forest sprite.   Both of them had seen the face of their soul mate on the head of
the Forest Woman.  Boun frowned and nodded.

"Me too!   But I don't know where she is.  She isn't around here, that's for sure.
When you go, do you want company?"

Boun considered the request.   He had been alone much of his life, but not all of
it.  He remembered with fondness the many years he had roamed the woods at
the side of his father.   It wasn't a bad way to be with friends.   It occurred to
Boun that Gar might be a bit of a liability, for all his Pictish skill in the woods he
was not nearly as accomplished as Boun, but the companionship of a man as
friendly and entertaining as Gar was tempting.

Boun laughed,  "It seems we are still chasing the Forest Woman, Gar.  Sure, let
us take to the trail together."

***********************************************************

Word had come from Wela that something hideous was menacing her new clan.
A little less than twelve moons ago,  Kak's sister had gone to the blankets of her
new husband, a powerful warrior of the Red Wolf Clan .    At the parting she had
behaved appropriately, smiling at her new mate, though some of the sharp eyed
members of her family saw her cast a forlorn glance at Boun.  The beast-man had
said nothing except to wish her well in her new life.   No one voiced the
suspicion that Wela had a place in her heart for Boun.   Perhaps because it was
clear that she was not in his heart.  Besides, her marriage to the Red Wolf Man,
Zard, had already been arranged.

On the day that Boun and Gar were going to leave the territory, a runner arrived
at Kak's cave with a plea for help.   His paint ran freely on his body, washed by
his sweat.   He glared at Kak with savage eyes and grimaced   with displeasure
when he saw the fresh healed scars on the clan leader's body.
 

"I am Gtor, son of Patok.   Many of our warriors have been killed.   Something
attacks us from the White Lizard Swamp.   And that glory dog, Gorm, has
drained too many of our men for his eastern conquests," said the Pict.

"You've come to me quick enough.   My sister just entered your clan a year
ago," barked  Kak.   He didn't like the way this dog stared at him.   He was half
inclined to slap him out of the cave.  Still, the mating of his sister with a Red
Wolf man had been an effort to bring an alliance between his clan and theirs,
and Kak was reluctant to bruise that new alliance.

"How many men have you lost?" he asked in a low voice.

"Ten!  And nothing to show for it.   Something kills them in the night and
slithers back to its lair before we can catch it."

"Ha!  What slinks so quietly in the night that a Pict can't track it?" laughed
Tofan, a warrior of Kak's clan.

Gtor leaned toward Tofan, sneering, and spat out, "You could do no better, fool.
Sorcery, that's what it must be!"

Tofan snarled, resenting Gtor's sneering attitude, "Then why come to us, you
dog, if we can do no better."

Rage wet his face purple, but the Red Wolf Pict controlled himself.   He wiped
his sweating face with a rough hand and took a few deep breaths.   As he did,
Gar and Boun trotted out of the woodland path that lead from the forest to the
caves where Kak's family lived.

Bidg, grandfather to Kak, stepped forward and held up a peaceful hand.   Gtor
squinted at the elderly Pict.   He knew Bidg to be a man of wisdom.   His council
was one of the reasons he had come to the Saber tooth Picts.

There was a black twinkle in Bidg's eyes as he noticed Boun and Gar enter the
main cave.   He turned and looked at the red wolf man.

"What do you want, Gtor?" he asked simply.

"Advice if you have it.   A way to hunt and kill the beast.  Not just killers.  We
have killers in the Red Wolf clan," snorted Gtor.   Pride swelled in his voice.  He
drew himself up to his full height.

"That is no secret," admitted Bidg.   "What you need is a great hunter.   A
special hunter to hunt a special beast.   Ah, here comes Boun and Gar."

As they walked up to the men, Boun smiled at Bidg, an old man whom he liked.   His forest trained eyes noted  the wildness in the old man's eyes.  In that wildness he saw a warning.

"Wagh!  No man can hunt this beast.  Its from some black Hell, I say," shouted
Gtor.   He edged a bit closer to Bidg.  Again he grimaced, as if he were in pain or
had something painful to say.

"You know that our shaman is dead," he said softly.  A whisper so that no
enemy could hear.   The shaman of each clan was a powerful force.  A clan
without the protection of a shaman's magic, or the benefit of his wisdom, was a
fruit ripe for plucking.   It was a weakness not to have a shaman, a weakness
Gtor was very reluctant to admit to, but his clan had recently cemented good
relations with the Saber tooths, and his chief thought it might be possible that
their new allies might be of help to the Red Wolf Clan in their recent  misery.

Bidg frowned.  "Old Kerno dead?  Ye, I thought as much.   Without his
protection the devils of the forest are creeping up on you.  What about his
disciple, Lued?"

"Gone to the east with Gorm's raiders.   Lured by the promise of blood and
booty.   Perhaps he lies dead in some Aquilonian field," growled Gtor.

Kak, listening to their whispered conversation, stepped forward and pushed
himself between Gtor and Bidg.

"Do you think we'd risk our shaman for you?   Are you mad?!"

Gtor blanched, then reddened with rage.   "Mad to think that we could be allies
with you stupid Saber tooths," he snapped back.   Both men bristled as the killer
rose in their breasts.   Bidg stepped between them quickly.

"Peace, peace you two.  Snarling like two dogs over a bone.  Peace!" the old man
said.   His voice was stern, and the two warriors stepped back from each other,
fuming with dislike though reluctant to shed blood at that time.

"Kak is right.  I can't stay to long away from my people.   Still, my own
apprentice is not far from maturity.   Young Prut has mastered enough secrets.  I
may be able to leave long enough to take a look at your problem," said Bidg.

"No, grandfather.   The risk is too great," exclaimed Kak.   For over fifty years the
Saber tooth clan had relied on Bidg for spiritual and practical guidance.   He was
a family treasure, not be wasted on a Red Wolf problem.

"The risk may be too great to ignore.   The forest is filled with pockets of evil
and death, Kak.  We must do our part to cleanse those pockets," mused Bidg.
He rubbed his forefinger in the hollow between his lower lip and his chin.   "It
may be destiny that I help in this little thing."

Kak stared at his grandfather.   Then his eyes narrowed in understanding.  "You
think of Wela!   Always she was one of your favorites."

In an instant Bidg transformed from a considering mood to an authoritative one.
He glared back at Kak.  "Do not presume to second guess me, boy!   My reasons
are greater than you know."

The hulking warrior snarled deep in his chest, but declined to rebuke his
grandfather's words.   His anger burned for a moment, then he shrugged his
thick shoulders.

"I'll go with you then," he said.

Bidg shook his head.  "No, you are needed here.   Let the clan lose only one head."

"You can't go alone," growled Kak.  "In this I will not be faced down."

"No need to argue," replied Bidg.   "Let Gar come with me.  And Boun,  if he is of
a mind."

Grinning, Gar stepped forward quickly and agreed.  Things had been a little too
slow lately, and his savage soul yearned for action.

Boun remained silent.  He considered Bidg's words with caution.  He was not
obligated to help the Red Wolf Clan.   In fact, neither did he owe the Saber tooth
Clan any obligation.  He was their friend, nothing more.   And he had intended to
leave soon in a direction of his own choosing.

"Walk with me," said Bidg.

Boun could hardly refuse.   In the past months he had spent many hours with
the old Pict shaman.  He had learned many things, and he genuinely liked the old
man.   He nodded and followed old Tree Bark out of the main cave.  They walked
slowly down a beaten path.   The air was still misty.  The forest smelled musky.
Even the birds were dull.

When they had gone awhile Bidg spoke again.

"I may have need of an exceptional hunter.   With the blood of Jhebbal Sag in
your veins, you are that hunter."

Boun stopped and faced the old man.  "Is that your only reason?"

"What else could there be?" said Bidg with a shrug and a smile.

Boun remained silent.  He thought of Wela, and the time he had spent lying with
her.   Did the old man suspect that he had planted his seed in her?

"You have stayed with us a long time, Boun.  Longer than I expected.  I'm sure
you have your reasons....." said Bidg.

"It is no secret, Bidg.   I wait for Golim Sag to return to Pictland."   Boun had not
forgotten that the son of Jhebbal Sag had hunted and slain his father, Yumak the
Breed.   Of all the people in the world, Boun had loved his father most.  Yet,
revenge was not the only motive  that forced him to seek Golim Sag's life.  There
was also self preservation because the Jhebbal Sag shaman had sworn to kill
Boun as well.  In fact, Golim Sag had sworn to slay any with the blood of the
Beast-God in their veins.

Boun had hoped that Golim Sag would return home to the Pictish Wilderness.
So he had waited in the friendly forest of the Saber tooth clan.  But the enemy
had not come home.  Golim Sag was one beast that wasn't returning to an old
familiar water hole.   Boun had grown weary of waiting.   If Golim Sag was
content to remain in the East in the company of Gorm, then Boun would go there
to find him.
 

"Golim Sag might never return," said Bidg.

"I begin to believe that," replied Boun.   And then there was Wela.  Kak's young
sister who took Boun's seed into her womb.   Sometimes the young beast-man
wondered what had become of that seed.

"I would like to see my granddaughter again.  I hear she had birth a fine son, and
I would like to see him as well," said Bidg slyly.  "If you are going away, you
might go by way of Red Wolf territory."

Boun couldn't resist smiling at the old man's perception and craftiness.

"It may be a dangerous path, but its as good as any other," he agreed with a
gruff laugh.

***********************************************************

Zard of the Red Wolf Clan stood firmly outside the waddle roofed hut that
housed his woman and child.  Like nearly all Picts, he was short, though he was
more densely muscled than most.  His face was dark and brutal and the racially
constant blackness of his eyes stared into the greater blackness of the forest
night.  He was armed with fine steel weapons, an Aquilonian short sword, mail
coat and spear.   A steel bladed hatchet dangled from his belt.   On his head was
a cap that had once sat on the head of a Bossonian soldier.

The skulls of many enemies adorned his hut.    Beneath his armor a panther hide
clothed his skin.   His swarthy arms and legs were laced with the tracks  of war.
He had fought long and hard in Gorm's horde, and now he had come home to
rest a bit.   He should have known better than to hope for rest, for there was
none in the wildness of the Pictish forest.

Something was out there.  Something pale and horrifying because it struck, killed
and fled without restraint.  Trails that vanished without reason.   A monster that
couldn't be tracked.   His tribe was swollen with fear, and its warriors had begun
to skulk in their huts, unable to face the frightful horror of night.   Zard sneered
at his own fear and waited for the monster to come once again into his village to
claim its share of life and blood.

Inside the hut, Wela squatted with her sun browned arms curled around her milk
laden breasts.   She, too, was frightened.   The sister of Kak the Mighty sat on
her heels in dreadful apprehension of sudden death.   Though she admired the
courage and strength of her husband, in her mind's eye she saw the face of
Boun.   This was a time that needed the best of men.   She feared that despite his
brave intentions, Zard would be slain by the pale beast as quickly as any other
warrior, and then the beast would devour her and her child.

She rolled off the pile of tiger skins that was her bed and crawled to the opening
of the hut.  Peering outside, she studied her mate in the thin light of a cycle
moon.   She noted with growing pride his squared shoulders and proudly held
head.  His darkly scared face was turned from her; it looked out into the primeval
forest as he stood on guard to protect she and her son.   His face was not as
handsome as Boun's, nor was he as tall or well formed, but Wela was beginning
to appreciate the presence of this strong warrior.   A war raged within her breast
as she compared the beast-man to the Red Wolf warrior, and while it was true
that she would feel safer in Boun's presence, it was also true that now she
belonged in Zard's hut, and it was Zard out there standing guard, not Boun.

Somewhere in the forest a panther screamed.  Wela tightened a sweaty grip on
the flint knife her brother had given her when she had left his cave.  She saw
Zard flinch, drop into a crouch with his spear held out front on guard.   But it
was only a panther, and Zard soon relaxed and resumed an upright position.

Though he stood vigilant all night, the monster never came.   In the morning,
Zard sat down on a nearby rock, his nerves shaken by the night long vigil, and
wiped his greasy forehead with the back of his hand.   There was safety in the
daylight, but soon another night would come.

************************************************************

A cool breeze lifted a tuft of fur on its neck as the stag poised above a small
stream that intersected the forest path.   An queasy quietness settled down
among the trees with the late spring heat and the sullenly burning noon sun.
The stag was a huge beast; it stood proud and regal, and peered majestically at
the small party of Picts jogging slowly up the trail.

The three men jerked to a stop.   Gtor, leading the group, grinned savagely and
reached for an arrow.  The other two men, Gar and Bidg, stared at the buck with
unblemished amazement.   None of them had seen such a magnificent animal
before.

No words were spoken.   The men were captured in the focus of a rare moment.
Gtor drew back his string, delirious in the joy that he would kill such a great
animal.   The old shaman blanched as he realized that the Red Wolf Pict was
going to shoot the stag.   There was not enough speed in his aging nerves to
stop the killer, but Bidg knew that to kill this stag, obviously a special beast,
perhaps a spirit buck, was wrong.

A large, sun tanned hand closed on Gtor's left hand, containing both the arrow and the
bow in it.  Gasping, Gtor tried to snatch his hand away from the powerful vise
that held him, and he turned to curse at his captor.   It was Boun.

"Are you mad?" asked the youth.

In anger, Gtor released the arrow.  It hit the ground as Boun pushed the bow
downward.   He backhanded the Pict off his feet and on his ass.

Stunned by the open handed blow, Gtor rolled and came up into a half crouch
with his steel knife in hand.   As a great welt reddened on his dark face, he
surged at the beast-man.

"No!" barked Boun as he avoided the knife and laid a heavier blow on Gtor's
head.  The Pict fell to the grass unconscious.

The great stag had not moved during the brief fight.  It continued to stare at the
human party.   An ordinary buck would have bolted by then.   This buck was far
from ordinary.

"A child of Jhebbal Sag," murmured Bidg.   He made a sign with his hand that
was sacred to the Beast-God and looked questioningly at Boun.

"Yes.   Wait here, Bidg, I will talk with him.   If this fool recovers before we are
finished then hold him back," said Boun.

"Ha!  I doubt he will recover soon from that blow," laughed Gar.

Boun walked slowly to the stag.   When among men, the beast-man never
walked as proudly as he did then in the presence of another Prince of the Wild.
He held his head high and flowed across the grass with a sensuous fluidity that
only a wild animal can achieve.   The stag waited for Boun with a deep, quiet
dignity.

The two Saber tooth Picts watched as Boun and the stag communed.  Gar's
sharp eyes noted several wounds on the buck's silver tinged brown hide.   After
several minutes, Boun returned to his friends, and the stag disappeared into the
dark green foliage.

Boun stared sourly at the unconscious Red Wolf man when he returned to his
comrades.

"What was that all about?" wondered Gar.   He had known Boun for over a year
but he still asked the question cautiously and with a smile.   Gar was still a
superstitious Pict, and he had just witnessed something out of the ordinary.   He
was sure that the stag had been a child of Jhebbal Sag, and the experience of the beast filled Gar with wonder and fear.

"A message," replied Boun.   "That was Head Held High.   I think he fought the
creature we are looking for."

"What did he say about it?" asked Bidg.   The shaman took it for granted that
Boun could converse with the beast.   It was well known that the Children of
Jhebbal Sag and other beasts who remembered the ancient god could converse
with each other.

"A strong fighter.  Something unnatural about it.  Maybe some black magic
involved.  Or demon magic.   He wasn't sure.   The creature is reptilian.  It was
hungry and tried to eat Head Held High's mate.   Apparently the monster was
too confident.   When they fought, it was surprised at Head Held High's
strength.   After a brief fight it fled.   Their fight was many miles away.   The stag
is a good traveler."

"So the monster is a coward!" exclaimed Gar.

Boun shrugged.   "Why fight a needless battle?   Not many predators will do
that.   Not when there is easier prey to kill.   Fighting equals just gets you
wounded or killed.   Its not the intention of a predator to fight, its intention is to
kill and feed.  Cowardice is an invention of men."

"Well said," commented Bidg.

"Also, Head Held High felt that the monster wasn't really...," here Boun paused as he
searched for the right word, "...interested in fighting him."

"What do you mean?" asked Bidg.

"I'm not sure.   The great stag felt that just feeding on meat wasn't what the
monster wanted to do.   He felt that the monster broke off the fight not just
because he found Head Held High to be a formidable opponent, but because it
just wasn't worth it to the monster to continue.
the monster is a selective killer."

"Well," laughed Gar, "we know he likes Wolves."  He walked over to the Red
Wolf Pict and nudged him with his foot.  "It will be a little while before this idiot
recovers," he said with a barking laugh.

"We need him to get through Wolf territory," said Bidg.  He squatted by Gtor's
head and gently massaged his neck and throat.   Soon the unconscious Pict
sputtered and opened his black eyes.   When the confusion vanished from his
face he scowled at Boun.

"We have to return to the trail," said Bidg softly, but there was iron in his voice
as well.

Gtor rolled to his feet.   He was a strong warrior, and no Pict liked to be
manhandled.   His cunning eyes measured the height and strength of Boun's
powerful body.   The Red Wolf Pict decided that if vengeance was necessary it
would have to be at a more opportune time.

"Let's do it then!" he snapped.

*********************************************************
 

The vast green wilderness of Pictland was separated by large tracts of land
controlled by clans.   It took the party two days to leave the hilly lands of the
Saber tooth Tiger clan.  They passed briefly through Weasel territory before
entering the large country of the Wolf.   This was a far reaching country of
forests, spotted with grassy plains and an occasional craggy hill.   The Wolf
country was divided into many villages, each defined by some sort of secondary
characteristic:  Red Wolves, Crazy Wolves, Timber Wolves and the like.

Boun's grandmother had been a member of the Blue Wolves, but their country
was far to the east.   Red Wolf territory was basically unknown to him.

Bidg commented that he had never seen the land so sparsely populated.  They
moved silently and swiftly, as swiftly as was possible for the old shaman, but
rarely saw hunters or warriors along the way.  Just a beautiful wilderness trail
filled with animals, green lushness and clear blue skies.

"Gorm sucks our land dry of warriors," mumbled Bidg as they squatted by a
softly smoldering campfire.   Night had darkened the blue skies.   The birds were
silent.   It was soon time to go to sleep.    Tomorrow would be another hard day
on the trail.

"They say he conquers the East.   He is a great war leader," said Gar.

"Bah, what good is it to conquer the East.   Better to keep your own country
strong," retorted Bidg.

"No one is left to invade the land of the Picts," grunted Gtor.   "They all fear to
cross Thunder River and the like."

Bidg shrugged. "My life is nearly over.  What do I care?  Gorm will have his way
no matter what I say."

"You have good years left ahead of you, old one," said Boun.   He didn't mix
with their conversations much, mostly because he had no opinion about Gorm
and his conquests.   He reached over and laid his large hand on the old shaman's
scrawny shoulder.

"Maybe, maybe not," laughed Bidg.  "My life has been a full one.   What will fill
your life, Boun?"  Over the smoldering campfire he gazed into the depth of
Boun's smoldering  eyes.

"Golim Sag," said the beast-man softly.  He glanced at the Red Wolf man
suspiciously, as if to gage whether he should speak in front of him.  Who knew
where the followers of Golim Sag's cult were?

"Beyond that?" asked the old man.

"It is difficult to look beyond that.  I suppose I should search for the woman I
saw when I found the Forest Woman.   Thinking of her brings a warm feeling to
my heart."

"It brings a warm feeling to my loins," laughed Gar.  He, too, had seen the face of
his true love on the head of the Forest Woman.   Though he had looked for her,
he had failed to find her in all the Saber tooth Tiger territory.

"I may have to search through all of Pictland to find her," exclaimed Gar.

"I fear my woman will not be found in Pictland.  She was no Pict," Boun informed
them.   "I wish my father had seen the face of the Forest Woman.  She wouldn't
have escaped his chase."

"Your father had no woman?" asked Gar.

"Women here and there.  Some women on the trail that knew him.  An occasional
fancy woman in the Aquilonian borderlands.   None to make him truly happy,"
said Boun.

"What are the fancy women of Aquilonia like?" wondered Gar.

Boun smiled at his friend.   "Pretty, soft and willing, if you can pay their price.
My father would leave me for days when we reached Terton.  That's a trading
post near the Pict border.   I could smell their perfume when I waited for him, but
as a boy they gave me no mind.   Yumak kept their beds hopping though."

"Your father was a Blue Wolf man?" asked Gtor.  He spoke hesitantly because
he had already felt the weight of Boun's heavy hand.

"Yeah, though he was a half breed.  Yumak the Breed he was called.  No greater
man has ever lived," said Boun proudly.

Gtor received that news with doubt, but wisely said nothing.

"Every son thinks his father is great," observed Bidg.

"You never saw Yumak on the trail.  Like a true wolf, yet big as a tiger.  There
was no beast that avoid his hunt.   No man he couldn't down.  It took many
warriors to kill him."

"With the blood of Jhebbal Sag in him it is no wonder," mused Bidg.  "What of
your mother,  Boun?"

"A green eyed wench of Hyperborean blood.   I know her not.  My father took
me from her people when I was very young.   Her name is unimportant," said
Boun, "why do you ask?"

"You are three generations removed from the Beast Lord.  I wonder why his
blood is so strong in you.  Perhaps, your mother carried some of his blood in her
veins just as your father had," explained Bidg.

"I don't know.  My father spoke very little about her.  She wasn't a Pict so I
doubt she carried Jhebbal Sag's blood," said Boun.   As a boy, Boun had
thought about his mother many times.  The best he had been able to  remember
was a beautiful, pale face and deep sea green eyes.   Beyond that he had
remembered very little as a boy and nothing more as a  young man.

A cat screamed in the night.    Something was killed.

"A mystery, then," declared Bidg.   Boun shrugged and lay back to rest.
Conversation died then as the weary travelers went to sleep.   Sleep came hard
to the beast-man as he thought about the things they had talked about.   In the
Womb of the Mother there had been little time to think.  Life was lived to the
fullest each moment.  Thinking was a way of avoiding life, a pseudo life that
divorced a beast from the reality of his existence.   He had been taught to do in
the Womb, but before the Womb he had been taught many things by his
father.   He remembered their speculative conversations covering a variety of
subjects.  Many of these subjects were of no practical value, but added a quality
to their life that went beyond hunting and fishing.  Now, over a year out of the
Womb,  Boun began to think like a man again.   His mind wandered into idle
speculation at times rather than remain calm and alert, and he wasn't sure that
was a good thing.

In the morning they entered Red Wolf territory.

*********************************************************

Wolves were a roving clan.   Their territory was a vast hunting ground over
which the various divisions of the clan wandered in search of food and the hunt.
Because of this their huts were temporary, not solid caves like those of the
Sabor tooth Picts, and anything of permanence was not valued by the Wolves.
Because the weather was hot, the people stood around nearly naked, men and
women in strips of hide around their loins and very little else except paint and a
few ornaments.   Usually, the women stood behind the men, especially when
strangers walked abroad.   From behind the muscular backs of their mates, these
women cast a sultry eye at the two young warriors who strode proudly into their
camp.   The unmated girls could almost smell that both Gar and Boun were
without mates, and the sight of two very eligible men watered their mouths.

Nor was Gar and Boun unaware of this attention.  However, it was in their best
interest not to smile or cast inviting glances at these girls, since they were
strangers in the Wolf camp.  It was too soon to invite trouble as well as a girl
with their handsome smiles.

When they passed Wela and her mate, Gar did flash her a brotherly smile.  Bidg
nodded toward her softly, and Boun barely glanced at her and the telling swell
of her breasts.   Boun was a primal beast, first among men, but in the pack of
strange beasts it was always better to hold one's head high and keep your eyes
on the male rivals in the pack.

Gtor took them to the chief of the clan, a short muscular man of middle years
whose skin was littered with battle scars and paint.   A large red tipped feather
jaunted proudly from his greasy black mane.  This was Dehar.

"Hah!" greeted Gtor with his hands held up and empty.   The chief returned the
greeting.

"You have done well, Gtor.  I greet you, Bidg, shaman of the Sabor tooth Picts,"
said Dehar, his voice a rhythm of grouchy gravel.

"I see you, Dehar, war leader and chief of the Red Wolves," replied the old man
ceremoniously.

Dehar squinted at Gar and Boun.   He recognized Gar, having seen him before in
a peaceful meeting with the Saber tooths, but the tall youth with brown hair he
did not know.   His bushy black eyebrows grew bigger in a frown.

"Who is this boy?" he asked abruptly.   It was nearly an insult.   Clearly, the war
leader of the Red Wolves was irritated by the proud stance of the beast-man.  Or
he resented a man standing so tall above him.

Boun did not consider himself a boy.   He had thought himself a mature man when he had emerged from the Womb of the Mother.   That assumption had been false.   Since that time he had discovered that he was still growing.  Physically, although he was of nineteen summers, he was adding inches to his height and breath to his shoulders.   He was well over the six feet he stood a year ago.

He suspected that he was maturing further along other paths as well.   Still, who was this man to call him a boy!

Boun leveled his stare at the chief.   For a moment their eyes met in a contest of
wills, and in that moment Dehar realized that this was a man who could kill him at
will.   Still, he did not fear death so much that he would lower his eyes before so
young a man.

"This is Boun.   He has come to help you in your need.  He is a great hunter.  His
father was Yumak the Breed, and his grandmother was Saga of the Blue Wolves.
Though he does not use the name, he might be called Boun Sag," explained Bidg
in a tone of diplomacy.

"Sag?" murmured Dehar.   There were few bloodlines that led to Jhebbal Sag.
That old god was receding with the old times.   Dehar knew of only one human
offspring of the Beast-lord, and that was Golim Sag.  He had heard of Saga,
though he thought she was dead.   He was uncertain that this boy was her
grandson.

"We will welcome Bidg and Gar of the Sabor tooth clan.  We welcome Boun as
well," said Dehar with a ferocious smile.  He looked away from the youth and
centered his attention on Bidg.   "You have come to help us?"

"What else?   Its too long a walk for these old bones just to talk," replied Bidg.

"Good!  Come, let us go to a clear place and sit," said Dehar.   He led his guests
into the woods until they came to a clearing.   Here he sat down with his high
warriors and offered his guests meat and mead. As the men sat in an irregular
circle refreshments were served by a crew of nearly naked wenches. Most of
these women were swarthy skinned Picts chosen because of their beauty and
youth, but two of them were women from the civilized lands taken captive in
Gorm's invasion of the East.   One had blonde hair,  and the other looked a bit
oriental.

For a while they talked.  Bidg could see the strain on the faces of these savage
warriors.   Something was frightening them, and a Pict was very hard to
frighten.   The savages grunted and groaned as they ate like pigs at a trough,
and it took several minutes before Dehar broached the subject.

"There is a monster killing us." he said.   His dark face was grim as he clutched a
steel bladed knife in his hand.   "It kills men, women and children and takes no
wound."

"Not a natural beast," commented Bidg.

"If it were natural, our hunters would have killed it by now.   It kills us in the
forest, it kills us at night in our beds.   It kills us while we stoop to drink water
from the brook.   It kills us in ones, twos or threes.   It kills and eats."

Bidg slapped his thighs and frowned.  "Then it is time  we kill it."

"It cannot be found," said a warrior.   His name was Grento, First Man among the
Red Wolf hunters.

"You have no magic with the loss of your shaman.   If it is a magical beast, then
it will take magic and spirit wisdom to hunt it," said Bidg.

"Hah!" ejected Grento.

Dehar glanced at Boun.  For the first time he spoke directly to the youth.  "Is
there magic in your hunting, Blue Wolf?"

"If it stinks, I can smell it.  If it walks, I can track it.  If it flies, I can see it.  That
has been my way until now," replied Boun.

"And if it doesn't stink, walk or fly?" asked Grento.

Boun shrugged.  "We will see."

Gar chuckled at his friend's reply.  He was sitting next to Boun, and turned his
face from looking at his friend to look at the oriental slave who, at that moment,
chose to lean over and fill his earthen cup with mead.  It was then that Gar
received the shock of his life, seeing the woman's face clearly for the first time,
and wondering what impossibility of fate had grafted onto her the face of his
Forest Woman.   Ordinarily, all Picts are a stolid group, especially in the
presence of rivals or enemies because it is a show of weakness to reveal either
surprise, fear or stupidity to other men, but when Gar saw this woman's face his
jaw dropped to his chest and his black eyes widened with a mixture of horror and
lust.

"Every night there is a kill," continues Dehar.  "The pack of my brother, Hime the
Scalper, has been nearly destroyed, and now the monster preys on my tribe.   Let
us prepare!"

Boun, ever alert, noticed the amazed mask on Gar's face and nudged him gently
with his shoulder.   As quickly as he had revealed his emotions, the young Saber
tooth Pict clamped down on his control.   Perhaps, some of the Red Wolf Picts
had seen the emotion he had revealed, but perhaps they thought it was only a
young man ogling a beautiful woman.

The woman noticed the way that Gar had looked at her, and in a brief moment
the dullness in her brown eyes was replaced with a spark of interest.  Her life
among the savages had been hard for the her for she had been raised in the
perfumed air of civilization, and even harder had been her life in the possession
of a brutal warrior like the Strong One.  On this young Pict's face she had seen
something of a true emotion, a caring for her that she had never thought to see
again away from her father's house.  For a moment she had been touched by that
emotion and her hopeful response to it, but that moment passed when Gar's face
became grim again in the same manner as the other savages sitting in the circle.

He did not notice the Gtor's shifty eyes smiling at him as if the Red Wolf Pict
were a man who knew something.
 

Gar was silent through the remainder of the meeting.   Normally, he was a
talkative fellow, friendly and open, but at the meeting he kept his sullen eyes on
the face and form of the woman.  He examined her more closely under narrowed
eyelids, drinking in everything he could see of her.  She was of black hair and
deep brown eyes.  Her skin was burned a yellowish brown from the forest sun,
and Gar had never seen such a slant to a person's eyes before.  Her form was
more willowy than the short, stocky bodies of most Pict women, and her breasts
were a bit smaller, though  shaped in a wonderful way that resembled a pear.
The woman seemed to notice the attention he was giving her because she cast
him several side glances when she thought the Red Wolf men might not be
looking.   Gar winced  when she was fondled by a Red Wolf warrior as she bent
over to give him a piece of meat for at that moment their eyes met in a flash of
painful contact.

Gar tossed a turkey drumstick into a bowl before him and wiped a greasy hand
on his face.  What a monstrous twist of fate that this Red Wolf captive should
bear the face of his Forest Woman?

He was uncertain what to do.   Obviously she was the property of some Red
Wolf man.  If he were to admit that she was a special woman to himself, then that
man would have a special power over Gar.   It would be dangerous and
inappropriate for Gar to try to take the woman by force.  Perhaps, at a later time
in a quick raid he might do so.  The problem was he couldn't wait that long; he
wanted her now.
 

While it was training and necessity that carved an iron control over his emotions
in the presence of other men, like most other Picts, that control was not so
strong when it came to curbing his appetites.  Gar was a savage, and as a savage
he was sorely tempted to just take what he wanted when he had to power to do
so.   Physically he didn't have the power to take the woman yet, but his mind
began working on a plan to steal her.

When the meeting was over he stood up with the rest of the men and watched
the woman run away with the other serving wenches.  He had not spoken to her.

"I see you have strange women as your servants," he said in a low voice.

"Yes," replied Grento, "brought back as spoils in Gorm's invasion of the East
along with fine weapons of steal.  Softer and more pliant than our bitches.   Did
you like one of them?"

"I like all women," said Gar with a laugh, "and never had one with yellow hair or
slanted eyes before.   That might be a reason to join Gorm's slayers."

"Those bitches are the property of Mahtar, the Strong One.   Dehar likes to have
them serve his guests.   They will run back to Mahtar's hut now and service
him," said a warrior with a brutal laugh.

"Hah," said Gar.   He forced a smirk on his face as he laughed at the warrior's
remark.   He would have to meet this Mahtar.   And soon!

**************************************************************

It was still several hours away from the fall of day.   Bidg, Boun and Gar prowled
around a few of the sites where the monster had attacked and killed several Red
Wolf families.    The tracks were unknown to any of the men.   There were
elements of various creatures such as an alligator or big cat, but these elements
were forced together into a confusing pattern that refused to be identified.  Also,
the tracks disappeared mysteriously soon after the killer left the kill site.   Boun
picked up a very faint scent that lingered around the kill site.  Following the
spoor, Boun was frustrated that the scent also vanished with the tracks.  There
was no trail to follow.

"Not a normal beast," mused Bidg.   The old man took out some powder from his
medicine pouch and sprinkled it on the tracks.   He stared at the tracks for a full
minute before sitting back on his heels.   His face was wrinkled with concern.

"Gotta be a demon of some sort.   Some fiendish killer from Hell.   When its done
with its killing it returns to the evil place it came from," Bidg informed them.
 

"How will we find it, grandfather?  How will we kill it?" asked Gar.  Though he
asked those questions his mind was still thinking of the strange foreign girl.

"I do not know," replied Bidg gravely.  "I will meditate on this problem and ask
the spirits of our ancestors what to do.  We must hurry because it will be dark in
a few hours."

Bidg informed them that he would have to find a proper place to meditate, and
that while he was in meditation he would have to be guarded because he was in
a foreign territory.  In his own land he was friendly with the spirits of the forest
and would have been protected from harm while meditating.  Here, in the hunting
grounds of the Red Wolves, Bidg no such familiarity.

The old Pict spent about a half hour before he found a place.  It was high on a
grassy hill.  Here and there huge boulders projected out of the ground and a tall
tree spread its shade upon the soft grass.  Bidg dropped to a cross-legged
position beneath the tree to begin his meditation.

"Stay near, Gar.  You too, Boun.   I do not fear death, but if I am killed by some
wandering beast or human fool, this problem will not be solved," he said to them
gravely.  Both young men agreed to do so.  They moved off a few dozen paces
to give the shaman some portion of privacy.

The old man began by humming to himself.   Even Boun's unusually sharp
hearing couldn't pick up any distinct words.   After a few moments of trying, the
grandson of Saga stopped eavesdropping and turned his attention to the forest.

It did not remain there for long as he noticed that the young man beside him was
growing more and more agitated.  Gar had begun to pace around a huge rock,
pausing only to slap the rock with his open hand now and then.   This was not
normal behavior for the usually happy-go-lucky Gar.

Boun was not one to pry into the affairs of others.   Gar's nervousness was
disturbing to him, however, and prompted him to intrude uncharacteristically.

"Do you sense danger, Gar?" he asked softly.

"Danger?" murmured the Sabor tooth man, his faced clouded with a question.
"Danger?  You mean to my grandfather?"

"Yes.  Is there something you have thought of  that you think endangers Bidg or
our hunt?  You are tearing up the ground with your pacing," said Boun.

Gar stopped and stared at Boun.  For a moment he thought he might confide in
his friend and tell him about the strange girl with the face of the Forest Woman.
He wanted to explain to Boun how he was wasting his time standing around
there when every muscle in his body wanted to run to the hut of Mahtar and
take her away.  His mind was full of her strange, slanted eyes and the curve of
her beautiful face.   He wanted to do more than just take her away.  The powerful
juices of his young virile body inspired him to take her as a man takes a woman.   He
clenched and unclenched his fingers as he thought of that Red Wolf, Mahtar
possessing her.

As was mentioned before Gar was a savage.  At heart,  he was a good man, as
savages go, but he was still a savage.  In his world if there was something he
wanted, it was required only that he go and get it.  If he was strong enough and
quick enough he would be successful.   In his barbarous heart he saw Mahtar,
the Strong One as standing between him and the woman with the face of the
Forest Woman.  Blood red rage was seeping into his brain as he barely held
himself back from racing to do battle with the Strong One.

Hah!  Strong among the weak limbed Red Wolves, he thought.

"No, Boun, nothing that endangers Bidg.  Just something I need to do.
Something personal," growled the Saber tooth man.   He looked up at the late
afternoon sky and saw that darkness was only a few hours away.   Perhaps,
then.

Boun considered this.  "If your need is so great go and satisfy it, Gar.  I am able
to protect Bidg this day."

Gar glanced at the Boun.   He had nearly bolted at his friend's words, but the
thought of his duty to his grandfather stayed him.   That was an obligation not
easily thrown off.

"Bidg will be angry if I leave.  He set me to watch over him," replied Gar.

"I can handle anything that comes along," Boun assured his friend.   He spoke
evenly without pride in his voice.

It was his perfect chance to get away.   He glanced over at his grandfather and
struggled with his conscience.   He wondered how far he could trust Boun.   He
felt that in a fight he could trust the Blood of Jhebbal Sag, but in domestic
matters Gar was uncertain which way Boun would react.   If Gar stole the woman
away from the Red Wolf it might cause serious trouble for himself, Bidg and
Boun.   Would Boun consider the ache in Gar's heart and loins important?

Then Gar remembered that Boun had seen the face of the Forest Woman too.
He felt certain that Boun would have some sympathy for him in this matter.

"I have seen a woman revealed to me by the Forest Woman.  She is in the hut of
a Red Wolf warrior.  I go to get her," explained Gar in short brutal tones.

"I thought it might be a woman.  What else?  The strange, slanted eyed
woman?," said Boun.   "Go if you want, Bidg will be safe with me.  But be careful,
Gar.  What man gives up his women easily?"

"I'd offer to buy her if I could but what if the Red Wolf refuses.   I think it is
better to just take her," said Gar.

"And if she doesn't want to go?"

Gar's black eyed widened in surprise.  That had never occurred to him, and he
wasn't sure that it mattered.   The Forest Woman had revealed her to him so she
must be his.

"She'll want to go," he said with a broad smile.

"Try to negotiate first, Gar.  Or better yet let Bidg negotiate for you," suggested
Boun.

"Bah, Bidg may be a long time communing with our ancestors.   Every moment I
wait might be a moment that Red Wolf ape plows his seed into my woman,"
barked Gar.  His decision was made.  With a half salute, the young Saber tooth
man trotted away.  Boun watched him go with a half frown and a half smile on
his face.   He recalled that his father had once remarked that lust was an
unstoppable force.

It was no longer his concern as he returned his attention to guarding the
shaman.

***************************************************************

The late afternoon sun drifted low in the west.   Shadows lengthened in the small
clearing as night descended on the forest.   Boun leaned against one of the huge
boulders and watched the shaman from several yards away.   Bidg had been
meditating for several hours with no signs of awakening.   Boun, who had never
meditated, wondered what the old man was doing.   Clearly he wasn't asleep, yet
neither was he awake.   The son of Yumek shook his head in weak irreverence.
Would any good come from an old man dozing?

He scarcely heard the pad of a huge paw.  Boun came alert in an instant and
stared into the blackening forest.  The first thing he saw was a pair of pale
green-yellow eyes.  They shone with an internal light as the beast emerged from
the cover of the trees and tramped out into the clearing.   Boun nearly blanched
when he saw the great saber tooth tiger.

It was huge.  Bigger than any cat he had ever seen before.   Old and gnarly, its
tan hide stretched across huge steel coiled muscles.   Enormous shoulders
sloped down to a smaller, more compact hindquarters.  Most fearsome of all was
the tremendous head, the twelve inch tusks that reached lower than its chin.   Its
cat stench swarmed across the space between them and filled the human with
instinctual dread.

Boun shook himself free of that dread.   This was one of the old ones.
Somehow it was not surprising that it was a saber tooth tiger.   Boun glanced at
the old shaman and understood the appropriateness of the tiger's appearance.
He wasn't sure that the tiger wasn't a menace to the shaman, and since he was
sworn to protect Bidg, Boun stepped quickly between the tiger and the old man.
Whatever apprehension he had felt earlier was gone as he glued his eyes to
every movement the tiger made.   There dawned in his mind a light as he realized
that this was a Beast of Jhebbal Sag, and because of that he might be able to
communicate with it.

The monstrous cat shifted its gaze from the young man to the old man.   A
curious sound rumbled in its great chest.  This was not a growl, not a warning,
but rather a prelude to speaking.   It came as no surprise to Boun when words
came from the tiger, nor was it a surprise that he understood them.

"I see you, Man-Beast of Jhebbal Sag," rumbled the saber tooth tiger.   There
was a slight smirk in his voice, as if the tiger knew that he was a greater animal;
as if he knew that Boun had no chance of defeating him in unarmed ritual combat
between the two of them, both a prince of their kind.  Still, the smirk was a small
one, and Boun simply ignored it.

"I see you, great Saber tooth.  What is your business here?" asked Boun.   The
words were less spoken than thought, and they were in a language that had been
spoken far more frequently in the primordial beginnings of the world.

"The old man mumbles a call.  His puny man-apes have honored my vanishing
people.  I have crawled out of my slumber to answer those questions the old
man asks," replied the tiger.

Boun glanced quickly back at the shaman and saw that Bidg had his eyes
narrowly open.  The old Pict was aware of what was going on.

"And what are your answers, Great Tiger?" asked Boun.

"Fight with stone the spirit that drives the stone."

This sentence was spoken harshly, decisively and in a different voice than the
tiger's normal speech.  It was as if another spoke through the Great Beast.

Boun waited for the saber tooth tiger to say something else.  Instead, the great
beast lifted its gargoyle head and roared.  Boun had to steel himself from taking
a step back before this frightening declaration of ferocious power.

"I am Invincible," said the tiger, giving Boun his name, "it is not often that I
prowl the forest in these days of my old age.  I do not recognize you, beast of
Jhebbal Sag.  What is your name?"

Boun did not fear to give his name to this monster.  He had no superstitions to
guard his actions.  He answered promptly.

"I am Boun."

"Boun, the Man Beast of Jhebbal Sag. A new Beast!  It has been a long time
since this world has seen a new Beast.  All the others are old.  You are a cub in
many ways," mused the tiger.

"I met some others in the Circle of Challenge," said Boun.  These other Beasts of
Jhebbal Sag had all been powerful animals in the prime of their lives.  Unbeaten
was also powerful, though he seemed much older than those Boun had met
before.  Even older than Old Silver, the Beaver Beast of Jhebbal Sag.

"All old, though not as old as me," laughed the saber tooth tiger.  "Not nearly as
old as me."

"Must a Beast of Jhebbal Sag as old as you heed the calling of Golim Sag, the
son of the Beast God?" whispered Boun, fully aware that he was taking a risk of
offending the great saber tooth tiger.  Would Invincible be provoked by the
notion that he must obey another?

"Hah," roared the beast, "let him call babes like you first before matching his will
against me!  Do not presume that I am weak or the servant of any man-ape
because I have come to aid the old shaman.  Another, far stronger than Golim
has sent me."

"Who is that?" queried Boun.

"Not for you to know, pup.  Yes, pup that you are, you are not yet aware of your
own strength.  Enough!  I grow weary of this talk, and wish to return to the
slumber of the mundane," growled the saber tooth tiger.  He slowly turned away
and walked majestically into the blackening forest.

Boun did not dare to call after him.  Instead, he waited for the tiger to disappear
before turning to Bidg.

"See what your meditations have brought down upon us," laughed Boun.  "A
visit from the killer beast you worship."

"And with him came the answer to our problem," said Bidg as he climbed stiffly
to his feet.

"How so?"

"You will see.  When he spoke to you I heard his words clearly in my sacred
trance.  We must prepare for tonight when the monster comes.  It will be a night
of spirit fighting and stone smashing," said Bidg grimly.  Looking around he
noticed that Gar was not there.

"Where is my grandson?"

"A matter of great personal importance drew him away," said Boun softly.

Bidg stared at the Man-Beast with narrowed eyes.  "Great personal importance!
Not only has he abandoned me, but he missed the greatest opportunity that a
Saber tooth Pict can have, and that is to see the great tiger of the woods.  He is a
fool."

A fool in love, thought Boun, but said nothing more.

"No matter.  We have work to do.  I will reckon with Gar later," grumbled Bidg as
he stormed away, walking toward the Red Wolf village.  Boun followed him
quietly.

*******************************************************
 

The two of them walked through a forest path back to the village.  They were a
strange pair.  Leading was the unusually tall Boun, and he had to shorten his
long strides unless he quickly outdistance his much shorter companion.  As
Bidg walked he fussed and poked through one of his medicine pouches until he
came up with the artifact he had been searching for.

Glancing over his shoulder, Boun saw that it was a whistle of sorts fastened to a
long leather loop.   The shaman hung the loop over his head and let the whistle
dangle on his chest.   This task accomplished the old man made better time and it
was not long before they had traveled through the dark wooded path and
arrived at the Red Wolf village.

The sun was nearly down in the west.   It was a strange sight that greeted them
as then entered the collection of waddle huts, lean-tos, and temporary domed
structures made of skins stretched across an oval of willow wands.   The village
was silent, and at each shelter was at least one Red Wolf warrior.  This Pict
stood guard, waiting for death to surge forth out of the blackness of night.   This
man also tended a fire, though sometimes the fire was tended by a boy, as if the
fire were something that could stop that which had so far proved unstoppable.

As they passed the hut in where Wela lay, they saw her mate, Zard, standing
by the door.   The savage Red Wolf Pict caught Boun's eye as he passed, and
the man-beast thought he saw a glare of hatred in Zard's face.  Boun wondered
what Wela had told her mate, and if Zard held some plan for revenge against
Boun who had taken his mate's virginity which was something the Red Wolf
warrior would have wanted to take himself.   Then the thought left Boun as he
and Bidg marched swiftly on.

Bidg stopped in the center of the village.

"We must wait for the killer to come.   When it does we must be on it before it
leaves," the old shaman said grimly.

"Do you know where and when it will come," asked Boun.

"No!  We must be alert.   I will enter a seeing trance so I may feel the presence of
spirits that do not belong.   Then, perhaps, I will know when the killer has come.
I think not before it strikes, though," said Bidg.

"How will we kill the killer?" asked Boun.

"We must kill the spirit that moves the stone.  You smash the stone.  I will drive
the spirit away, back to the hell it came from," barked Bidg.  "Enough!  Let me
meditate."

Bidg sat cross-legged on the ground and went into another trance immediately.
Boun could do nothing else but stand and wait.  He listened with ears that were
more perceptive than a normal man's.   Yet he heard nothing unusual.  Folding
his arms over his sun browned chest he waited.

***************************************************************

Gar found his way to the hut of the Strong One.   And in doing so he realized
that it would be very difficult to take the woman from the pict.   As he came upon
the Red Wolf village he noted that every hut had an male armed with steel
weapons standing outside it, and each hut and man was placed in a way that
allowed at least two other men to see him at all times.  Gar recognized this as a
way of preparing for an attack on the village.  Unfortunately it made his problem
more difficult because the hut of Mahtar was also under the surveillance of two
other Red Wolf Picts, and any thought Gar had of taking the woman away from
his rival was canceled by the proximity of these other Picts.
 

So there was nothing more for him to do but wait.   As the forest grew black, Gar
squatted on his heels next to a tree that stood behind the hut of Mahtar.   His
brown fingers squeezed the handle of his stone axe white with frustration as he
forced himself to be patient.

It there was one place where any Pict could be patient it was when that savage
was on a hunt.   Securing food in the wild often meant remaining stationary for
long periods of time as the hunter waited for game to cross a trail or come to a
water hole.  In tracking game through the great forest of the Pictish Wilderness,
it was an unfortunate fact that sometimes the trail was lost which required that
the hunter retreat and try to pick it up again.   These things taught the woodland
savages a sort of patience that Gar used then as he waited for something to
happen that would facilitate his acquisition of the woman.

Within two hours it was completely dark.   Suddenly, Mahtar the Strong called
to the women within his large waddle hut.   Gar was overjoyed to see the oriental
woman poke her head out of the entrance.   Her master spoke to her in a low
voice and pointed in the direction of a stream that flowed nearby in the woods.
There was fear in her eyes as she looked at the darkness beyond the village, and
clearly she did not wish to venture into the forest especially with the probability
that the monster was abroad as it had been nearly every night for the past week
or so.   Mahtar would not leave his post so he commanded her harshly to go and
get more water.  His throat was dry, and he wanted a drink.   He pushed her
toward the woods with a commanding grunt.   To the Strong One it was the
purpose of his women that they obey him.

So with great reluctance, tip toeing on dainty feet, Su Ling, the woman with the
face of the Forest Woman, left the hut of Mahtar and ventured cautiously into
the forest.   Gar couldn't believe his luck as this happened.   His handsome face
split in a wide grin as he backed away from his post and melted into the forest
shadows.

Su Ling forced herself to venture into the blackness of the forest.  She was very
afraid.  In the darkness she imagined something menacing lurked.  Every sound,
every black image, every smell screamed danger.   Out of sight of her master, she
leaned against a great tree and sobbed.  She nearly collapsed from fear.   Surely
her death was imminent.

After a long moment of frozen doubt, she began to think again.   If she could get
the water quickly, perhaps she could return to the village before she was struck
down by some night monster.   It was her only hope.   She groped through the
forest until her eyes began to adjust to the pitiless darkness.   With a goal in
mind, her legs grew stronger and she made her way to a small clearing where she
knew the stream flowed wide.

Great storm clouds above parted and the moon shone brightly on the clearing.
Su Ling filled the water skin, tied off its mouth and rose from the stream.
Though there was no sound, she knew something was behind her.  She held
back a scream and squeezed her eyes shut as hard as she could.   She clutched
the water skin to her breast and waited for the attack she felt must come.

"Woman," she heard a man say.   Relief flooded her frozen muscles, and she
turned her head toward the voice.  It was the strange youth.   He was standing in
the moonlight, tall, strong and handsome for a Pict.  There was a tender smile on
his face.   Tenderness was something she had nearly forgotten, then she
remembered his interest in her back at the council feast and grew fearful of his
intentions with her.

"Yes," she whispered.  She hunched over, timid before him.  What could she say
to this young savage?   In her mind he was as brutal as the rest of his kind.  How
she longed for the civilized comfort of her father's house; and how she longed
for the protection of his warriors.   He had been an important merchant and
ambassador from the Eastern Empire.  Bitterness returned to her as she cursed
the bad luck that had placed her in the path of the invading Picts.   The red
handed savages had swarmed into the Aquilonian trade town of Greniubium,
killing everything that resisted them and enslaving anything that had taken their
fancy.  Unfortunately, Su Ling had taken the fancy of the mighty Mahtar.   Better
off had she  been killed with the rest of her family.

"I am Gar!   I want you to come with me.  I want you to be my woman," said the
Saber tooth man.   There was no romantic frill to his words, no silly chivalry to
his attitude.  Simply, he was a man who wanted a woman.

"I cannot," she whispered in fear, "I belong to Mahtar the Strong.  He will beat
me to death if I flee him.  He has done this before.  Another girl he had taken in
conquest fled him.  He caught her and clubbed her to death before his other
slaves.  I cannot flee!"

Gar's upper lip curled in a snarl.   "Mahtar is not important in this matter between
us.  I want you to be my woman.  I have seen your face on the head of the Forest
Woman.  You must be my mate.  Yes, I want you to be my woman, and I want
you to want to be my woman.  That is the matter between us."

She turned from him, still clutching the water skin as if it gave her some small
emotional comfort or stability.

"You don't understand.  You are strong.  A man.  You cannot understand a
woman's fears.  I am so far away from home," she cried.  There were tears in her
black eyes as she glanced at him again, over her shoulder.  Something in those
eyes or in those tears moved Gar to a strange feeling he had never felt before.  A
soft, painful feeling that forced him to step forward and gather the girl in his
arms.

"I want you to come with me.  I will treat you well.  If  Mahtar, or any other try to
stop us I will kill him."

She heard the words and felt them growl in his chest as he held her close.  For a
moment she believed him.  It was beyond reason that he could be right.   Could
he take her away from Mahtar?

Her hope was shattered by a sarcastic laugh behind them.  They whirled and
saw two Picts standing at the edge of the moonlit clearing.  The two men were
mighty Mahtar and Gtor.   The Strong One stood with his fists on his hips, while
the other lurked a few steps behind with a satisfied smile on his lips.

"See, Mahtar!  I told you the Saber tooth fool was going to steal you slave,"
said Gtor.

"Yeah, you were right.   This idiot thinks he can take something that belongs to
Mahtar.   The only thing he will take is a short trip to Hell," bawled the Strong
One.

"How is it that you have abandoned your post?" asked Gar.

Mahtar took a few steps forward.  "Gtor told me of your plans.  How he knew I
don't know and don't care.  Probably, he watched you closer than I did, for what
do I care about a Saber tooth cub like you.  It was his plan to send the wench
out for water.  I ordered one of my kinsman to take my place in the watch.   That
order was not taken lightly by my kinsman, but I see it was worth it to give it.
Now I have found you out, Saber tooth, and now I shall tear your head off your
shoulders for daring to steal from Mahtar the Mighty."

During the speech, Gtor stepped to the side and aimed an arrow at Gar.  At such
a short distance there was little chance he would miss.

"Man to man, Saber tooth.  You and me!  No weapons," roared Mahtar.  He
started to walk toward Gar, making no attempt to draw his steel ax or knife.   Gar
left his own stone ax hang from a leather string that was slung over his
shoulder.  There was no need for either of them to say anything else.  Gar didn't
wait for Mahtar to reach him; instead he leaped forward to engage the Red Wolf
man.

In his madness Gar met the Red Wolf man breast to breast.  They smashed
together and seized each other in powerful brown arms.  Gar was mad with the
desire to punish this man who had mistreated Su Ling, but there was a madness in
Mahtar's eyes that radiated from a core of savagery and strength that  dwelled in few men.  Mahtar swept the young Saber tooth man off his feet and hurled him
against a nearby tree.

For a moment everything froze.  The bright moon illuminated the small clearing.
Gar slouched against the tree, sucking in air as he tried to regain his senses.
Mahtar grinned maliciously, his lips peeled back on strong yellow teeth.   Gtor
lowered his bow as he observed the fight with glee.  Su Ling crouched in fear,
holding her face with two trembling hands.

Then Mahtar was on Gar again!

The Red Wolf man's hand palmed Gar's face and sunk a thumb bluntly into his
left eye.   He smashed a stone hard fist into Gar's stomach, then slammed the
youth against the tree trunk again.   In sheer delight, Mahtar slapped Gar a few
times with a callous palm.   With a brutal laugh, Mahtar picked Gar up and hurled
him across the clearing.

Gar rolled on the thigh high grass and came up to his feet automatically.
Stunned by the ferocity of the strong man's terrible attack, the youth shook his
head furiously in an effort to clear his senses.  He heard Mahtar's laugh and saw
him charge through his one good eye.   From somewhere deep in his fighting
heart, Gar summoned a sliver of clarity.   Ducking Mahtar's outstretched arms,
the Saber tooth man slipped halfway behind his enemy and grabbed his left leg.
With a wrestling trick he had learned as a boy, Gar toppled Mahtar on his face
and pounced on the strong man's back.  Immediately, he tried to secure a lock on
Mahtar's throat.   Sheer strength  pressed Mahtar up  and the Strong One
resisted Gar's hold until he hooked an elbow into Gar's face and rolled the youth
off him.  Leaping to his feet, Mahtar kicked his young foe many times.  Gar
curled up to protect himself from these punishing blows.   He knew if Mahtar
would catch him cleanly with any of those kicks he would knock him out.
Covering up was his only option, and as he did it he wondered in disbelief as to
how quickly he had been beaten down by the Red Wolf man.

Mahtar laughed again and stopped kicking Gar.  He stepped back a few paces
and grinned down at the youth.

"Get up, pig!   Face your end on your feet," roared Mahtar.

Slowly, Gar uncurled.  His body was bleeding and bruised.
As he struggled to his feet he thought of Su Ling and how he had failed her.
The world was spinning when Mahtar came at him again.   The immensely strong
Red Wolf man lifted Gar off his feet in a bear hug, pinning his arms to his sides.
In a strangely lucid moment, Gar could smell Mahtar's foul breath on his face.
He tried to bite the Red Wolf man's nose, but Mahtar curtailed that attack with a
savage head butt.

Mahtar spoke no more to the young Saber tooth.  Instead, he applied a steady,
almost inhuman pressure to Gar's arms and back.   He slobbered and growled
and squeezed until the strong one's efforts launched a bolt of panic through
Gar's stunned brain.  As his left arm broke under the pressure, agony slashed
through his body.  The pain grew hideous as Mahtar continued to squeeze and
the broken arm dented under the relentless pressure.  Gar felt a rib go, then
another.  His heart was near to bursting and blackness was settling over his
eyes.

Somewhere he heard Gtor laughing.  He heard Su Ling sobbing.  There was a
crash through the underbrush and the next thing Gar heard was a scream.
Immediately, the pressure was gone,  and he fell to the grass in a boneless heap.

Whirling, the Strong One saw the monster bite off Gtor's head.  The beast of
stone spit out the head and charged at the remaining Red Wolf man.   Mahtar
seized his steel axe and met the monster's charge with a tremendous blow on its
hideous head.   The metal blade snapped on the beast's skull, causing not even a
knick on its dull grey surface, and the monster surged on to attack the Strong
One.  Yet, so powerful was Mahtar's blow that the demon's attack was deflected.
Instead of its fangs catching Mahtar's head, it simply collided with the Red Wolf
man.  Both of them fell back and tumbled on the forest floor.

Mahtar lay unmoving, knocked unconscious from the impact.  The monster
lurched to its feet and paused a moment to look around.  Blood dripped from its
grey fangs, and the light of madness in its eyes seemed to light up the meadow.

Su Ling screamed as the monster noticed her.  It sniffed indecisively in her
direction as if uncertain if she was worth the effort of an attack, but the madness
in its eyes was undiminished and it rushed toward her with a savage snarl.

Somehow Gar was back on his feet.  A sweat soaked right hand fumbled on the
handle of his flint ax.  A few painful steps placed him between the monster and
the woman.  There was no time for thinking, no noble thoughts that guided Gar's
blind actions.  Rather, Gar was guided by the pure instinct of a barbarian
protecting his mate.  Just as Mahtar had done, Gar swung his ax with terrible
force on the skull of the attacking demon.  The same instinct that was driving
him to protect Su Ling guided his ax.  Where Mahtar's metal blade had broken on
the head of the demon, Gar's stone ax buried deep in its skull, smashing open its
head and dropped the monster in its tracks.

Somewhere, blinding and tearing came the scream of a tortured soul.  Lightning
burst from the broken skull and blazed up across the night sky.  Gar fell on his
back, unconscious and Su Ling was tossed several feet into the air into a bush
nearby.  Then the clearing was silent.

Several hundred yards away, Bidg lifted his head in surprise.   Standing beside
him, Boun heard the same scream.  He looked down at the old shaman with
surprise in his eyes.

"The monster is dead!" exclaimed Bidg.  "I feel its death cry in my soul!"

"How can that be?  Who killed it?" wondered Boun.

"Hurry, let's go see," said Bidg.  Without error he ran directly toward the
clearing where Gar had slain the monster.  Boun ran behind him.  There had been
several Red Wolf men nearby, and they came along as well.
 

The moon sprayed its silver light over the clearing as Bidg, Boun and a few Red
Wolf warriors burst free of the forest.   Bidg nearly slipped on the smear of blood
that was all that remained of Gtor.   Boun steadied the old man by grabbing his
shoulders.   Beyond the Gtor smear lay the mighty Mahtar, unconscious, but
alive.   Two more unconscious humans lay on the grass: Gar and Su Ling.  What
interested Bidg most was the broken body of a stone statue near Gar's still
form.   Its shape was that of a monster, and the old shaman recognized with
horror the arcane symbols carved into its ashen hide.  Buried in its misshapen
head was the flint hand ax of the young Saber tooth warrior.   All this Bidg took
in at a glance.  He laughed, his voice hoarse and unpleasant.

"Impervious to metal, yet destroyed by a true Pict's weapon: stone," he
murmured as he stepped gingerly over to the broken monster.

He shook a rattle at the monstrous husk, shrieked a few magical words and
danced a wildman's jig before he felt comfortable enough to kneel by the
monster and read the symbols that identified it.  When he was done he became
conscious of Boun squatting beside him.  The Red Wolf men were still at the
edge of the forest; none of them dared to come closer.

"Only Gtor is dead," said Boun.  "The other three are unconscious!"

"Ha!  Gar slew the monster before it slew him," laughed Bidg.  "Invulnerable to
steel as any good monster must be when conceived in a civilized land.  Yet here,
in the wildlands we have men who still fight with the old weapons.  Stone and
muscle!"

"Was it slain so easily then?" wondered Boun.

"Apparently so.  Gar brained it with his axe.  None of the Red Wolf men carry
stone axes anymore.  Their failure to do things in the old way killed hundreds of
their clan," said Bidg softly.   "Let us not say this to the Red Wolves.  Instead,
let Gar be a great hero.  It will serve our purpose greater."

Boun stared at the old shaman.  There was a savage wisdom in his words born in
the barbarian need to turn each thing into an advantage.  He nodded silently.

Bidg left the monster and examined Gar.  He gasped in concern and worry as he
ran his fingers over the young warrior's body.

"Gar is badly hurt.  His arm is smashed.  He needs to be helped immediately," he
said.  He went to Su Ling briefly, but found she was relatively unharmed.  He
never looked at Mahtar.

By that time more Red Wolf men had come to the clearing.  Led by Dehar they
seeped toward the monster.  Bidg rose and confronted them.

"Behold!  Your monster is slain.  It was Gar of the Saber tooths who killed it.   See
his axe in the brain of the stone demon!   There is your proof.  There is the
story.  Here, at my feet, bruised and injured, is your savior!"

So cried Bidg.  The Red Wolf men murmured among themselves, wishing that it
had been one of their clan who had killed the monster but they were unable to
dispute the evidence before their eyes.

"This is the truth.  Take Gar to our village and care for him," said Dehar.

"Let it be done," said Bidg solemnly.

*********************************************************

Bidg did not trust his wounded grandson to the harsh handling that was offered
by the Red Wolf savages so Boun carried Gar back to the village.  Mahtar and
Su Ling were returned to the village by a few of the Strong One's cronies.

It cannot be said that the Red Wolves were ungrateful for the deed that Gar had
done.  A fine hut was cleared out so Bidg could have a place to work on the
brutally beaten youth.  Several women, experienced in tending wounds, were on
hand to help the old shaman.   While Bidg went about his work quietly, Boun
squatted outside the door to the hut and glared at the Red Wolf men until those
that had chosen to linger about were dispersed.

It was not long before Wela came running to see how badly her cousin had been
injured.

"Boun!" she cried.   "Is he alive?"

Boun unfolded from his crouch.   Wela was not alone.  Behind her trotted Zard.

"Yes.   Bidg is tending him now," said the Man-Beast of Jhebbal Sag.

"Away," she cried, pushing the giant youth aside, "Grandfather might need my
help."   She ducked into the hut and left Boun standing with Zard.

Their eyes met, and in that moment Boun realized that Zard had no knowledge of
what had gone one between he and Wela.  The Red Wolf warrior was looking at him frankly, without suspicion or malice.  Eye contact broke when Zard nodded.

"Gar did a great thing," commented Zard.  "Its to bad he won't live to claim his
fame."

"What do you mean?" asked Boun.

"He has angered Mahtar.  Stealing a woman from Mahtar is a fool's deed.   The
Strong One will kill him."

"Will your leaders permit this?  Gar saved your people." asked Boun.

"It is said Mahtar caught Gar stealing his slave.   Mahtar has a right to kill him.
What can our leaders do?" replied Zard with a shrug.

Boun studied the Red Wolf man.  "Do you think Mahtar should kill Gar?"

"Gar is Wela's cousin.  He is a hero of the day.  I do not wish to see him die for those reasons.  But," he shrugged again, "it isn't up to me.   Let me ask you a
question.  Will you stand up for your friend, Gar?"

Boun paused and considered the question carefully.   He was about to reply
when Bidg came out of the hut.  The old shaman glanced quickly at Zard, then
tugged on Boun's arm.

"Come with me, Boun.  We must talk," the old man said.  They walked a dozen
yards away and came to a halt under a tree that was away from the other huts of
the village.

"I heard what Zard asked you.  It is an important question.   Mahtar, the Strong
One will not let this go, regardless of how Gar helped his tribe.   There will be a
confrontation.  Gar is too injured to stand up for himself, and he will not let go of
his forest woman, " Bidg said softly.

"I have stood by him thus far, old father.  I don't know how much good I will be
against the whole tribe," said Boun.

"Bah!, don't worry about the whole tribe.  I will handle the tribe.  The question
was can you handle the Strong One?" rattled  the old shaman with a touch of impatience.  "Will you handle the Strong One?"

"If it comes to that, I will," said Boun.  He spoke evenly, confidently.

"So be it," grunted Bidg and he walked back to the medicine hut and ducked
within.

***********************************************************************

Boun slipped through the darkness in answer to the call.   He was troubled.  It was not the darkness of night that troubled him for Boun had always seen better in the night than other men, even better than his father who could make his way through an unknown forest on a moonless night.   Now, with greater ease, Boun walked deep into the woods, away from the Red Wolf camp.   He had heard the call in the night.   He walked until a familiar odor reached his nostrils.  When he broke into a small clearing he was not surprised to see the enormous saber tooth tiger drinking from a clear brook.

If the great tiger knew that Boun was there he gave no indication of it.  He continued to lap the water with slow delight.   Boun hesitated to advance further into the clearing.  He was stopped by something he had not felt in a long time.   Fear!   Encased in those long powerful feline muscles, the wicked claws and the enormous tusklike fangs was a power that Boun could not hope to match.   The youth knew he was in the presence of a creature that could kill him with impunity.   Knowing that, he was afraid.

The great tiger, Invincible, had called him.   Well, he had come too far to let fear stop him now.  Boun walked quietly into the clearing.   The saber tooth elder raised his massive head from the running brook.

"Ah, the man-cub,"  said the great tiger  in  language that had been old before the first man spoke.

"I heard your call, old tiger.  I am here," said the tall youth.

"Call you I did.  Here you are, Man-Cub of Jhebbel Sag.   The first such man-cub in many, many years.   I had thought that your father, Yumek the Breed, would be of the Best.   Not so, but perhaps his cub might be," said Invincible.

At the mention of his father's name, Boun grew a bit bolder, and a bit less afraid.  "You knew my father?"

Invincible roared.   It was just a little roar, but it made Boun step back a half step.   "I knew him, you cub.   I knew him just a little.   He was unfit to be the Best.   Can you be better?"

"I do not seek to be better than my father.  I can only be the best Boun," replied the youth.  Speaking of his father gave him strength.   It was almost as if he felt his father's strong presence beside him.

"You must seek to be the Best.  I don't think you know what that means yet.  Even after slaying the panther novice in the Circle of Beasts.   Beware the panther, Boun.  They do not think lightly of your slaying one of their finest.

"But I did not call you hear to speak of panthers, weak tree crawlers that they are.   Tomorrow you will enter another circle.   A circle of men.   It will mark you as the Best of men.   You must fight the man-bull, Mahtar the Strong, to prove to Jhebbal Sag that you are superior to all your race."

"Does Jhebbal Sag hold Mahtar in such high regard?   I do not," said Boun.

"Mahtar is strong, determined and dominant.   These things Jhebbal Sag holds in high regard.   The great Lord of Beasts is not so much concerned with good and bad as are ordinary mortals.   You should not be, either," admonished the great tiger.  "You will learn these things."

"I have already decided to fight Mahtar," Boun informed the great tiger, "for Gar."

If the saber tooth could have shrugged, he would have done it then.  "Gar is just a finger pointing  the way.   Part of the preparation for a greater event."

"And that great event is?"

"To show the men that a Man-Beast of Jhebbal Sag is among them.   Few humans will recognize this as well as the Picts."

Invincible paused.  His baleful, yellow eyes shone brightly in the moonlight.   "You don't fully understand what you are.   What we all are.   I don't fully understand what you are because you are a man, not a tiger.   These things are for you to learn.  Now they are a mystery.   The fight tomorrow will help solve some of the mystery."

"Mystery?" repeated Boun.   Most of his initial fear was gone now.  He squatted close to the old tiger.   Invincible was an ancient beast, and still an immensely powerful one.   Boun had no trouble imagining the great cat alive at the dawn of time.

"The Mystery of Jhebbal Sag.   The mystery of his Beasts.   We are the Beasts that stand above all.  The biggest, the best.   I am Invincible, all that any saber tooth tiger wants to be, must be.  I am the Lord of my Kind," said the great cat with a thunderous roar.

"Who are you?" challenged the ancient tiger of the youth.

After a moment of thought, the youth replied: "I am Boun, son of Yumek."

Boun spoke quickly, without thought.

"Yes," snapped Invincible, "that is the problem."

"It is the truth," insisted Boun.

"It is a small part of the truth," countered the great tiger.   "Go back to the humans and learn some of the greater part!"
 
 
 

****************************************************************

Dark, savage faces glowered in the burning light of the great campfire.   These were the men of the Red Wolf clan.   All the prominant men sat together in the great circle  of Picts that surrounded the accuser and defendants.   The further away a man sat from these chiefs the less his status was until those that sat behind the parties to be judged were the youngest and most inexperienced warriors.

The head men sat grimly, eyeballing the men in the center of the circle.   With sullen resentment, they considered the difficult question before them.  It was not a matter that could be settled with a quick ax stroke, and these woodland savages were more used to simple solutions.

"Red Wolf men!" bellowed the Strong One.   "Let Mahtar protect his own.  Do not stand between my ax and a thief."

Of course, the problem was that the thief was a man who had saved the clan from a dire menace, and that was a deed that the Strong One himself could not do.

There was no question in the minds of these chieftains that Gar stole Mahtar's slave.  To believe the contrary was impossible because the Saber tooth youth claimed her for his prize, and it was further rumored that the slave woman was Gar's  forest woman.  The fact that he had tried to steal her was understandable; the fact that he got caught was a crime.

Mahtar the Strong One stood with one of his brothers.   This man, Bloody Jut, would testified that Mahtar had set a trap to catch a slave thief.  The chieftains listened to this testimony, and some of them who strongly supported Mahtar grunted in agreement, despite Jut admitting that he had not been a direct witness to the theft.

The defendant, Gar, was not in the circle.   He was too injured from his battle with the Strong One to stand.  In his place was an odd pair to the savage circle: one an old man and the other a near giant among the middle sized Picts.

Bidg was not in his finest raiment.   Far from the Saber tooth caves, he had traveled light and quick to answer the cry of help from the Red Wolves.   Around his neck was a string of tiger claws weighed down by a green emerald pendent.   An owl feather jutted from his greasy black hair,  and in one gnarled hand he held a witching stick.   Now, as so many black, hostile eyes turned to him he shook that magic stick.

"Is this the hospitality and gratitude of the Red Wolves?   To accuse and threaten a smashed man!" Bidg cried out indignantly.   He shook his head with disgust as he stared around the circle.

Many of the Red Wolf men flinched before Bidg's outburst.   Even Bloody Jut, a savage killer feared by all except his more powerful brother, took a step back because Bidg was a magic man, a shaman, and the power of the Curse was his.

"You, Jut, claim to speak truth.   Is it not true that your brother abandoned his post to follow the trail of a slave woman?   Shouldn't he have stood guard and protected his family and tribe?" shouted Bidg, pointing his wand at Bloody Jut.

Jut frowned, unable to answer.   A dryness came to his mouth, suddenly, as if by magic.   He looked to Mahtar for guidance and found strength in the Strong One's continued defiance of the shaman's power.   Mahtar stood with his arms akimbo sneering at Bidg.

"Our hut was not unprotected.   I and my brothers remained.   Besides, what could two more warriors do against the monster?" asked Jut.

"Nothing!" roared Bidg.   "Only Gar stood against the monster.   Better you had asked Gar to stand with you then chase slave women in the dark."

"You chase rabbits when the hunt is for deer," growled Mahtar.   "I ask for justice against Gar.   That is what we are talking about now."

"Better you ask for forgiveness from Gar.  In slaying the monster he saved your life too, ungrateful one!" Bidg said slyly.

The Red Wolf chieftains mumbled.   They knew that the Saber tooth shaman spoke the truth.

"You should be happy to give Gar the woman," concluded Bidg.

Mahtar's eyes glowered with hate.  He was not a man to give any man anything.   His hate was so great that he took a step toward the shaman.   Then another, until Boun stepped forward to stand between the Strong One and Bidg.

Instantly, the circle became electrified.   The ferocious passions of the Red Wolf savages enflamed as two big human animals menaced each other.

Boun felt strange.   One moment he was standing calmly, reflecting on what was happening, and the next he became conscious of the circle.   In a flashback he remembered the Circle of Beasts, and with that memory he bristled at the Strong One's impertinence.   His heart beat strongly with the need to assert his dominance.   Within the circle, Boun started to remember that he was a great Man Beast of Jhebbal Sag, and that anyone who challenged his dominance was to be beaten down.

Mahtar noticed the change in Boun instantly.   For the most part, Boun had remained silent during his time among the Red Wolves.   It was almost as if he had kept in Bidg's shadow.   He had been brought up in relative isolation by his father, and rarely felt comfortable in the presence of a large group of people, especially people he did not know.   When he had been among the Sabor tooth Clan he had felt comfortable for the first time.   That had been one of the reasons he had stayed with them for so long.

The Man Beast of Jhebbal Sag glared into Mahtar's eyes.   Aggression lit up his eyes.  He curled his lips back from his teeth.   His great, powerful hand that could tear bark off a tree clenched and unclenched as a brutish growl rumbled in his massive chest.   Everything about him invited combat and suggested challenge.

Mahtar nearly stepped back.   His confidence was almost shaken, his nerve nearly broken.   For a moment he felt the prey instinct; the need to yield to a stronger, killing force.   But Mahtar the Strong One had killed too many men himself to be intimidated easily.   He shook his head a few times and remembered that he was the strongest man in his tribe.

"I will give the Saber tooth cur nothing.   If I like I will go to my hut and kill the woman," threatened the Strong One.   In an act of bravado he spit in the dirt in front of Boun.

Bidg knew then that the only solution to this problem would be to kill Mahtar.    Dehar, the Red Wolf chief, realized the same thing and rose to his feet.   His mind was in turmoil because of conflicting feelings.   He had never liked Mahtar, who could be called the bully rather than the strong, but it was also true that Mahtar added greatly to the strength of his tribe.   The Strong One was known far and wide as a fierce killer, and many warring parties from other tribes hewed a wide path away from the Red Wolves because they knew that Mahtar was waiting for them.

"Gar has asked for the woman.   Mahtar has refused to give her up.  Instead, he charges Gar with theft.   Let the gods decide whose will is to prevail," said Bidg.   He stared directly at the Red Wolf chiefs, and at Dehar in particular.

Mahtar laughed.   "Send Gar out.  We will fight for the woman."

"Bully and ingrate!   What a coward you are to fight a smashed man!   The gods will curse you and your people, and the animal spirits will flee your woods and leave it barren of game," shrieked the shaman.   He jumped up and down and shook his baton at Mahtar and the entire circle.

Many of the savages  leaped back, frightened with the old fears.   No man among them could take the curse of a great shaman lightly.   Some of the ferocity drained from their faces and left them pale in the burning firelight.

"If Gar cannot fight what is there to do?" asked Dehar.

"Here is Boun!   He is Gar's blood brother.   If  Gar is wounded, let Boun fight for Gar.  It is good.  The gods will be pleased!"  cried Bidg.

Mahtar said nothing.    The savages around him mumbled and sneered, laughed and cheered as they considered the fight.

"Unless the Strong One is afraid of a youth," suggested Bidg with a sly smile.

Mahtar shook his fist at the old shaman.  "Mahtar fears no man.   I will break this boy as I have broken all the other men who dared to face me."

"Then let it begin," suggested Bidg.   He waved his wand toward the circle, and it came to rest pointing at Dehar.   The final decision remained with the chief.   In truth, there was no choice Dehar could make but to let the fight take place.   Everyone wanted it, most of the Picts thought Mahtar would win, and if there was one person who had some doubt about the whole issue it was the Strong One himself.   What little doubt he had was not enough to persuade him to back down.

"Let them fight.   Fight in the circle.   Mahtar for himself, and Boun for Gar," decreed Dehar with as much dignity as he could summon.

All the warriors  rose.   Bidg backed away from the two combatants until he joined the circle of savages.   Somewhere a man began to beat on a drum.   Most of the warriors shook their hatchets or clashed them on their steel knives.   Outlined in the dark of the night by the great center fire stood Boun and Mahtar.   Dehar gave the sign for the fight to begin.

Mahtar was a seasoned fighter.   He had killed many men in his day.   Most of those men had died because the Strong One was so much stronger than they.   Some fighter's instinct told Mahtar that he could not depend on that advantage today.   When he came at Boun, he did so cautiously, not eager to match his strength against that of the young giant.

They circled each other for a minute, each waiting for an opening.   When none came, and the taunts of the spectators became to abusive, Mahtar darted in and tried to seize one of Boun's legs.   Boun dropped down and clinched with the Strong One near the ground.   Each wrapped their strong arms around the other, and for a long moment each tested the strength of the other.
Mahtar wrenched against the youth's arms with everything he had only to be stopped by the awful power of those long bronze arms.   It was as if he was grappling with a gorilla.   Boun snarled and hurled the Red Wolf man away.

Mahtar rolled and came to his feet.   His body trembled slightly from exertion.   Fear was creeping into his heart as he realized that this boy was as much stronger than he as he was stronger than normal men.     Then he remembered he had not discarded his knife, so he drew it even knowing that Boun now had the right to draw his own blade.   If Mahtar were to win this fight he would have to do it with a weapon.

Boun was disappointed that the Pict pulled out his knife.   All the instincts of Jhebbal Sag urged him to fight with his bare hands, feet and teeth against an opponent in the Circle.   These instincts were so strong that Boun would never pull his own knife.   He met the Red Wolf man with his bare hands.

Mahtar was a good man with a knife.   He slashed, thrust and stabbed at Boun with enough skill and speed to back the big youth up a few steps.   Boun never tried to catch the Pict's arm; he waited until his opportunity came and open handed Mahtar with a roundhouse right.   Mahtar staggered a bit, stunned by the blow, and then Boun seized Mahtar's knife arm.   His powerful fingers slipped on the Pict's sweaty forearm and failed to gain a secure hold.   Mahtar recovered from his stun, lunged forward and smashed his fist into Boun's face.   The youth took it on the right cheek and seemed unaffected.   The two combatants broke apart.

As the men fought, the circle of savages reacted like a living thing.  When the combatants clinched and strained against each other, the circle rolled forward, contracting on them like water down a hole.  When Boun and Mahtar broke apart, the circle oozed back to give them room to fight.   Additionally, as they fought, the two men had to avoid the great fire that served as the natural nucleus of the circle.

Boun and Mahtar grappled and released several times.   Though he might be the better man, Boun knew he was fighting one of the best of men, a lion among savages.   To beat this man would be no simple kill.     When they slammed together, Mahtar's great strength and sweat slimed body prevented Boun from securing a good hold, and while they grappled Mahtar gouged with his fingers, butted with his head, stamped with his foot and slashed with his knife.   Boun had been educated in fundamental brawling by his father as a boy, and that knowledge was barely adequate.   He wondered  if his father would have had a tough time with Mahtar.

Locked in the vise of a grapple, Mahtar tore at Boun's face, the fingers of his left hand stabbing at the youth's eyes.   One of Boun's hands was  wrapped around Mahtar's waist and the other was busy keeping the knife away.   Mahtar laughed, breathlessly.  He thought his fingers would spoon out Boun's eyes.   Instead, with a quick jerk of his head, Boun caught Mahtar's thumb in his mouth and brought his large white teeth down on it.   Blood spurted.  There was a dull cracking sound.   There is a panic that accompanies being bitten, even if the bite is a small one.   Such a panic bombarded Mahtar's mind.   He pulled away from Boun's face and stared at his thumbless hand.

Boun let him stumble back a few steps.   The feral youth tasted Mahtar's blood in his mouth and was pleased.

The Strong One gathered himself.   He could not surrender.  This was a fight to the death.   Both men knew this!

Watching from the circle, Bidg was surprised that the fight had gone on so long.   After all, Boun was the Man-Beast of Jhebbal Sag.  Surely, no mere man could stand against him.   As the brawling wore on, Boun became frustrated and was tempted to draw his knife  for he knew that with one quick accurate thrust he  could end the fight.   As much as Mahtar failed to cut Boun severely, he opened himself to counterattack, although Boun knew the Strong One would not have been so careless had Boun been using his knife.

The end came closer when the two bruised and bleeding fighters collided and Boun managed to get a decent grip on the wrist of Mahtar's knife hand.   This time the youth had cleverly dried his hand with a handful of dirt.   The Man-Beast squeezed unmercifully.   Even the bones of Mahtar's thick wrist twisted together under the pressure.   Mahtar squirmed, wiggled his knife in a desperate attempt to cut Boun's arm and reached for Boun's eyes with his thumbless left  hand.   A grim smile painted Boun's face as he interlocked his fingers with those of the Strong One's.   Then, frozen in time, they were locked in place by the dynamic straining of their over muscular bodies.   In that moment, Mahtar held his own against the Man-beast, until his moment passed and Boun broke and twisted the Strong One's left hand in a supreme, savage effort.

To his credit, Mahtar didn't scream.  He grunted with pain and tried to push his knife into Boun in one final effort to survive.   Boun smashed the heel of his hand into Mahtar's face, stunning, then stepped forward, turning inside Mahtar's arms until he had secured the Strong One's limb in an arm lock his father had taught him.   Snap!  Mahtar's arm shattered.   Boun twisted into Mahtar again, loping his right arm behind Mahtar's head and around his neck.   With a merciless tug he broke the Strong One's neck.

The Man-Beast of Jhebbal Sag stepped away from the body as it fell limply to the ground.   All around him, caught up in the excitement, the circle of Picts exploded in weapon thrashing and screams of delight.   Boun raised his face to the night sky and released a roar that had not been heard since man had first walked on a primeval Earth.
 

It was the deep throated roar of a king bull.   It stunned the circle of Picts.   This circle suddenly grew wider as the Picts back pedaled away from the man-beast.   Then the Picts were absolutely terrific when from the black woods  the roar of a giant saber tooth tiger answered Boun's victory cry.    The Red Wolf Picts cowered like frightened dogs.

Never had the Picts, members of a savage, brutal race,  seen such a man as Boun.  Naked, huge, dominantly male, skin gleaming over rippling muscles his image brought one name to their lips.   Whispered at first, then chanted, that word was, "Jhebbal Sag".
Boun rubbed his face.  His thoughts were unclear; his mind brutal and primitive.  They were declaring him Man-Beast.   In this woodland, perhaps the last realm of the Beast-Lord Jhebbal Sag, men recognized who and what he had become.   And now he himself finally understood.

*************************************************************************

Boun's victorious fury passed.   With long strides he broke through the circle, scattering the Picts, and loped directly to Mahtar's hut.   He entered and spoke to Su Ling.

"Go to Gar.  You are his woman now," He said, ignoring the whimpering of Mahtar's other women.

Su Ling scrambled to her feet, staring at Boun with uncertain eyes.  "Go!  I have spoken truly," barked Boun.

Boun stepped outside the hut and saw Jut glaring at Su  Ling with a hatchet in his hand.  The Man-Beast of Jhebbal Sag snarled instinctively and waved Jut away.   The Pict jumped back, startled, surprised that he felt the same fear that he had felt earlier when the old tiger had screamed.  Jut turned aside and, timidly, let Boun pass.

Boun escorted Su Ling to Gar and happily reunited the couple.  Su Ling seemed to understand that her best bet for a better life lay with the young Saber tooth man.   Perhaps, she felt the truth of the Forest Woman.   She joined Wela in caring for Gar.

Outside Bidg waited for Boun.

"What is in your head now?" the old shaman asked.

"To find my own Forest Woman.  To find happiness such as Gar has," said Boun softly.

Bidg nodded solemnly.   "What about Golim Sag?"

Boun snorted.  "Golim Sag is a bad thing.  He is a corruption of Jhebbal Sag.   And, I do not forget my father's death.   I will hunt him down  and kill him."

"Ah, Boun, but which will you do first?" asked Bidg with a twinkle in his eye.

"I will head east when Gar is better.  Whatever comes to me I will do," said Boun.

"Gar cannot be moved.  His injuries are too great.  It is good that you stand by him in the midst of these Red Wolves," said Bidg with a smile.
 

*************************************************************************

At last the time came to say farewell.  Gar was healed enough to journey home in the company of a few Saber tooth warriors who had arrived to escort him.  Boun stood with Bidg on the outskirts of the Red Wolf camp.

There was a new maturity in the young man.  Boun had lost the last of his youth in the Circle of Men.  Now, he stood taller, almost majestic, with the pride of the Beast Lords within him.

"People will not know you after you leave the land of the Picts," said Bidg.   "In civilization they will not recognize the Man-Beast of a god they do not know.   Is it wise to go?"

Boun shrugged.   "If they do not know, then I will teach them."   There was a warm silence between them.

"Have you seen the child?" asked the old shaman.

Boun looked down upon Bidg from his great height.  He nodded.

"It is a large, healthy baby.  Wela is proud," continued Bidg.

Boun stared at the woods.   "She is happy.  Zard is her man.  She will make a good mother."

''I think so.  And I will keep my eye on that child," pledged Bidg.

Boun placed a large hand on the shaman's bony shoulder.

"I may not see you again, old man," he said.

Big laughed, "Then again, you may, young man."

Boun laughed also.   Later, the forest called him and the Man-Beast of Jhebbal Sag disappeared into its green darkness.

copyright by Rod Hunsicker 4/29/01
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