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sliced through his thick fur. And he remembered another night not so long ago, in a forest far from this lonely place, where he had first seen the enemy of his pack, that dark destroyer of lives. For the horror of that sight had forever scarred his heart....
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    It had been a good day for the males of the pack, a day of hunting and playing, and the Elders had run ahead to scout for fresh trails, leaving the young wolves alone in the night, listening to the distant howls that slowly ranged across the hills and then turned toward them again. It was a time for frolicking in the snow, wrestling playfully in tests of strength. And the surrounding forest had been forgotten, along with the death that walked its darkened corridors, when, suddenly the night about them grew eerily still.
    In a single breath the young wolves sensed the deadly change and fell silent, searching the night for sight or sound of an enemy. And even as they raised their heads to test the air, the scent of something strange and hideous reached them on the wind. With the first faint smell, they tasted its hate. And swiftly, silently, they huddled together, afraid even to breathe. The forest about them became heavy and cold as a tomb. Then the scent grew stronger, as if some ancient abomination had stepped forth from its hellish grave. And the wolves shivered, shoulder to shoulder, listening anxiously for the howls of their fathers approaching.
    Darkness fell so thick that Aramus could barely see beyond the trees that enclosed him, but he did not need his eyes. He knew the beast was already beside them in the night, so near he could feel its black breath warming the arctic air. The young wolves trembled with fear, and Aramus searched the night with wide eyes, dreading what he might see.
    Long moments passed, and the scattered howls of their fathers grew nearer. Then, from within the shadows, Aramus saw something emerging from the forest gloom, a nightmarish face of dark flame framed by Night.
    Shrouded by living darkness, a pair of hungry eyes peered at him for a long moment. Then slowly, more horrible than the malignant stare, a grin of jagged jaws spread beneath. A long time the ghastly sight was poised in the night. And Aramus caught the shocking scent of something dead, or living in death.
    Suddenly the Elders broke into the nearby clearing at full cry. The malignant, sinister eyes blinked angrily, hesitating, and then vanished. Aramus sensed the thing pass close beside him as it moved deeper into the shadowed forest. And as surely as he breathed, he knew that here was a beast who lived only to slay the living.
    When the Elders had rejoined them, the frightened young wolves excitedly t old their fathers of the harrowing ordeal. Gianavel, Aramus' father, listened patiently as his son spoke, his deep gray eyes unreadable. But the old wolf would sometimes turn his massive head, glaring into the darkness, as if challenging what dwelt there. And as Aramus finished his tale, his father turned to him again.
    "I know this one," Gianavel spoke slowly. "He is an old and evil wolf. His name is Baalkor, and he has slain many of our kind. He is a sworn enemy of all who worship the Lightmaker. If we hadn't returned, he would have attacked you. But even Baalkor is no match for the strength of the pack, so he fled."
    Aramus glanced fearfully at the forbidding forest. Every shadowed pit of the betraying darkness seemed to conceal that unearthly beast, its nightmarish shape hidden ... waiting.
    Then he heard Gianavel's commanding voice again.
    "There are still some things I haven't told you about the Dark Lord, my son. You know already that many have surrendered to the darkness. There are wolves and lions and countless other beasts that make war against the Lightmaker. But now, I see, that the time is upon us when 1 must tell you more.
    "All those who worship the Dark Lord are led by an evil alliance of three, known as the Dark Council. And it has sworn