A Wolf Story by James Byron Huggins

would serve the Dark Lord. For there was nothing else. Always there would be mysteries, questions that he could not answer. But on this day, in this hour, he could choose who he would serve... by faith.
    His choice made, the path was clear.
    Silver eyes turned to his enemy.
    "Words of a dying fool!" growled Baalkor, blasting frost from his jaws in an evil cloud. "Will you listen to one who is at death's door? I am stronger! The Dark Lord is greater than your worthless Lightmaker! I have beaten you."
    Aramus lowered his hard shoulders before he spoke.
    "No."
    For a long moment Baalkor pondered the response, a hideous haze shadowing its head.
    Then slowly, from somewhere within, it seemed to summon an awesome and terrible power, as if it were calling the Dark Lord himself forth from some nightmarish throne of darkness. A snarl that began deep in the dark wolfs chest trembled the snow and ground beneath it. And the black head lowered, whispering the names of fallen foes. Then in a nightmare it moved, exploding in a devastating rush.
    Almost instantly the black and red avalanche was upon Aramus, who was unprepared for such a blinding attack. Gaping fangs reached his throat, and a paralyzing roar froze his heart.
    * * *

     
    eleven

    Even as the dark form descended upon him, Aramus moved, spinning sideways to narrowly evade the monstrous force that crushed the ground where he had stood. Only at the last moment did Baalkor's fangs follow, leaving a deep searing wound along his ribs.
    Instantly its huge paw lashed out, striking him forcefully across the face. Yet in his fury Aramus did not feel the pain, only a rage that flamed within him, a rage to turn and destroy this evil beast that had come against them.
    And as Aramus frantically struggled to regain his balance, Baalkor suddenly threw its great weight full against him, colliding with terrific force.
    Aramus was stunned. The painful impact blasted the breath from his lungs and sent him sprawling onto his back, dazed and disoriented. And then the beast was above him, jaws ready to descend, a gaping maw of ragged swords that could sever his head from his neck.
    With strength born of desperation Aramus brought his hind legs up, raking savagely to disembowel his evil foe. And they found the soft underbelly of the beast, tearing furiously.
    In rage and pain Baalkor turned to the side, seeking to escape the young wolfs tearing claws. For one fleeting second the weight above Aramus lifted, and with a tactic he had long used in play against his brothers, he twisted violently, dislodging his foe. Then in a quick spin he regained his stance, retreating with a roar.
    Enraged, Aramus dimly recognized the taste of blood on his fangs, and he knew that, somehow, he had also struck in the deadly encounter. But his leg almost collapsed beneath him as he retreated, surprising him with the depth of his wound. And he frantically tensed his muscles, willing the leg to regain strength.
    Baalkor seemed to gloat in its unavoidable victory. It was master here, it knew, and in a moment it would crush the life out of this thing, this servant of the Lightmaker who stood between him and the world.
    Aramus circled back, seeking an opening, but Baalkor advanced with unnerving calm. It seemed to savor the moment, as if its victory were already complete. A mocking smile touched the black lips, curling them to reveal glistening jaws tinged with his blood. Aramus remembered the horrible face poised in the night.
    And then, with a thrill of panic, he realized that he was about to die. He was going to die out here in this frozen glade. All those long hours his father had spent teaching him to survive seemed so useless now. He had sensed Baalkor's irresistible strength when it collided against him. It was like black granite, carved from the walls of Hell itself, driven by supernatural rage. Aramus realized that the beast was only toying with him, not even touching the true power hidden within its massive