Night of Wolves Read Online Free PDF Page B

smile and threat. Bonebite had once vied for the position Redclaw now held. They’d fought for the honor, but instead of killing him as was custom, Redclaw let him live.
    “Wolf should not kill wolf,” he’d declared, his first law of the pack. He’d killed plenty enforcing the rule, but none in the pack were intelligent enough, or brave enough, to point out the contradiction. Bonebite had resented him for the longest time, but Redclaw treated him like the proud warrior he was, and after a time, the wily old wolf had accepted his role, and appeared to even appreciate the younger warrior’s skill and leadership.
    “Whenever we fight, we must win,” Redclaw said, turning back east and squinting in search of his scout. “Why let orcs fight fair against us? They deserve nothing. They are food.”
    “The fight weans out the weaklings,” argued Bonebite.
    Redclaw glared at him. Bonebite’s snout was covered with scars, his nose nearly white with them instead of its original black. One scar ran straight across his eye, the hair around it never growing back.
    “Even our weaklings are stronger than the best of man and orc,” he said. “One day you will fall, Bonebite. Would you have me hail you a warrior, or a weakling, when we consume your flesh?”
    “Neither,” said Bonebite, and he let out a laugh. “I will be too tough and dry by then. You will choke.”
    “I’ll moisten your flesh with the blood of men. Now quiet. I see my scout.”
    “I see only the fire in the sky.”
    “Then your eyes already succumb to the weakness of age. I hope the rest of you is not the same.”
    Bonebite growled but said nothing. Racing along the plain came Redclaw’s scout, running on all fours. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth.
    “They’ve come from a hunt,” said his scout, the aptly named Swiftheel. He panted and reached out his hand. A nod from Redclaw and Bonebite gave him a dried stomach full of water.
    “Better,” growled Swiftheel after drinking. “The orcs are tired, and will soon be fat and lazy from eating. The time is right.”
    “How many are they?” asked Redclaw.
    Swiftheel let out a little yip, as if amused his pack leader thought their numbers would matter.
    “Four times I counted to fifty.”
    “Has their camp been moved?”
    “No, they stay in the ravine. They must feel safe there.”
    Redclaw let out a howl, alerting the rest of his pack.
    “Their safety is their doom,” he snarled. “We will seal both sides. Tonight we feast on the flesh of hundreds of orcs, brethren! With me! To the bloodshed!”
    He raced off on all fours as over a hundred more gave chase behind him. The distance was a little under three miles, but they crossed it swiftly. In the cool of night they could run forever; it was only the fire in the sky that made them pant. If they had not been outnumbered, he might have held the raid at night, but he had to hit them unprepared. He had ambitions far greater than the Wedge could offer, and to fulfill them, he needed a pack large enough to endure. When the howls sounded across the land of humans, he wanted them to know fear.
    The ground steadily grew rockier, and Redclaw slowed his pack. Up ahead was the ravine, dipping down into the land like a great scar. The orcs had built a wall at either entrance, but the camp was new enough that they had not yet reinforced it, nor built rudimentary towers to keep watch at its top. He didn’t know why they had encroached his land. Perhaps they fled one of the other orc tribes, or they had been scattered and forced their way by the other vile races within the Wedge, the hyena-men with their short, thick claws, or perhaps the bird-men with their cruel beaks.
    Whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. They’d come into Redclaw’s ever-expanding territory, earning their fate.
    A quick growl, and Bonebite veered to the side, leading half his pack to curl around the ravine and assault from the rear. Redclaw slowed his pace, wanting to give