They didn't bother with a barricade against beasts that could jump over anything shorter than 10 feet. And the higher tier pack members even more.

  Instead, they went the other way. Littering the field in front with gopher hole like pit traps and snares.

  A few broken branches were deftly carved into spikes to slow the beasts down if they tried to rush the gaps between boulders.

  Andrew found them half finished, a Pahadi scout having followed their trail, and the not infrequent markers they'd left behind.

  He and a 10-man squad of Hastati, their dished tower shields strapped across their backs with a trio of pilum sticking out above it and their short leaf-bladed spear in hand, but half a walking stick as they struggled on the steep inclines.

  They’d made up the time beautifully. But then, they hadn't needed to stop to harvest delicate herbs either.

  "Sir Andrew, welcome."

  "You’re expecting company My Lord?"

  Ethan nodded his head towards the now removed wolf hide stretched on a crude frame of lashed sticks with a hunter carefully scraping excess flesh from the hide.

  Another three hunters were tossing small, bloody chunks of meat out into the trapped field, Andrew having been directed well around it.

  "Wolves. And not a few of them." He spent a short minute laying it out. Fat, food sources and fairly significant signs of passage, once they started looking for them.

  "Not that I object to putting more of the mangy mutts down,” Ethan hid a snort. Who in the former Band would? “-but did you need me for this?" He asked, his voice dropping to include just the two of them. Not in defiance, but in confusion. And with a bit of mostly hidden displeasure.

  Ethan walked away from the line and the men, now twenty stronger, working on it. "Of course not Andrew. How could I know about now when I left the orders then? No. I just thought you might have gotten soft with a week in the tropics."

  "You are all heart, Ethan."

  "Of course." They shared a soft laugh, though one with a bit of an undertone. Andrew was shivering a bit. Adaptation wasn't always pleasant. There was even a term for it. Rift Shock. "More seriously Andrew. I wanted to hear your report." He raised a hand, stopping the half-formed complaint. "Yes, yes, I could have asked tonight where it was warm. But you do need to reacclimate.” Now or later. “And I want to know how large the hurry attacks grew to. It's one thing to hear rumors, quite another to see it ourselves."

  Andrew nodded, if with a bit of a long-suffering grievance. The prick! "It was getting bad Ethan. Very bad. A few more days and we'd have been forced out, not left. There were over five hundred ants in the last surge. Six of those monster snakes in the attack before that."

  Ethan winced. Rifts didn't like those who tried to live in them. And sooner or later, their irritated response would rise to a level that forced you out. But wait for a period outside and it would reset. Mostly. It was rare, but rifts could close on their own. Searching for better shores as one older Knight had put it.

  But this time, they didn't have a week to wait. And so long as it didn't overwhelm them, more attacks weren't such a bad thing.

  "Any levels?"

  "Well I didn't." Ethan stared at him, eyebrow raised.

  He smirked, "A considerable number of the newer recruits leveled. Most of my tens are now eleven and one recruit, he ascended after that assault on Poisenridge, just hit thirteen."

  Ethan whistled softly. Ascended and up 3 levels inside of a year? That was damn near unheard of. "You marked him?"

  "Of course. Dropped a word to Conner on the way by." Poor bastard. The current recruits only thought he was hard on them. It took real potential to release the full sadism the older man hid. Mostly hid, he amended. "Boy has too much potential to let him squander it."

  The gleam in his eyes and tilt at the corners of his mouth gave Andrew away. There was something therapeutic about having others to share the pain.

  They talked for another few minutes, running through the various details, casualty lists, 5 down, 2 permanently, rift tactics, the ants apparently ran across the bottom of the branch road at one point and hit him from two sides at once, and most importantly, the good. Which he raved about... the bastard!

  "Fine, fine." Ethan sighed. Waving the younger man away in faked anger.

  "Now, what's taking them so long?" He mused, walking back towards their improvised line. With a pack member missing and the smell of blood on the wind, they should have been attacked long since.

  Something wasn't right.

  "Cato." He subvocalized, waiting several seconds for the man to materialize beside him.

  "Take the other Pahadi with you-" Seven tier 2 mountain fighters and scouts, two had guided Andrew up, were a powerful force in their own right. "-and find out what's going on."

  The man nodded, letting out a soft warbling bird call as he broke into an easy, ground-devouring jog. Arcing well around their prepared killing ground and quickly joined on the way by his class mates.

  Ethan watched them for a minute, then turned back to the remaining men. "Get a fire going. Some roasted wolf steaks and a bit of hot tea will do us all some good."

  He didn't have to tell them twice.

  ___

  "You got to see this, Milord!" Cato's voice carried over the meadow less than an hour later. Not exactly loud, but pitched to carry.

  Ethan was on his feet with the first sound, spear in hand. But it wasn't panic in the man's voice, it was excitement.

  He opened his mouth, then closed it as men were already scrambling to put out the fires, tighten straps and even having the presence of mind to pull the skewers free, and pour additional cups of tea for the fast-approaching scouts. The scouts tore into both without having to be offered twice.

  But they did it without stopping.

  Urging the lot to follow quickly as they bypassed the wooded draw they'd picked as the wolf’s lair, running down a mostly bare ridge line in a chilly crosswind for several hundred yards, before ducking over and down a rock spur, and up another ridge. Startling a dozen beasts of as many species in the process. From more of the large deer, to rabbits, a pair of snow-white foxes and even a solitary brown gulo gulo.

  But at the repeated urging of the scouts, they didn't so much as slow.

  Though they did give the weasel-looking gulo gulo a wide berth. Damn things put truth to the old saw. It's not the size of the beast in the fight, but the size of the fight in the beast.

  They moved over a ridgeline and through a stand of scrub Kermes oaks. The gnarled, bramble-like branches reached from six-foot crowns to the ground in a nearly impassable thicket barrier. Nearly. They were spread sufficiently far apart to offer small, usable paths.

  If you were in armor at least. Thorns and jagged branches scraped and scratched at his armor, leaving bits of sap behind that Ethan just knew would take hours to scrub free later.

  But he didn’t slow, moving quickly, and regretfully noisily through. Not that it mattered. Howls and snarling barks fought with a breathy bray and sharp cracking impacts from up ahead of them more than masked it.

  "There Milord." Cato offered half a minute later from where he squatted, hunched down behind a boulder. He pointed down a twenty-foot rockface, not a cliff with large boulders and broken steps that he could run down if needed. Though back up would be considerably more difficult.

  A truth he might put to the test soon enough, because milling in the valley below was a veritable horde of wolves. Near a hundred of the bastards, the mottled colors of the tier 1 beasts mixed with the pure white of the tier 2 evolution. Frost wolves.

  And they weren’t lairing. In a slow, but deliberate circle, the more mottled, lesser ranked pack members were rushing towards a gap in the rock face, biting and snarling at whatever was inside, before moving onward.

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  A gap with a fair amount of white edged stones and disturbed earth around it. A casualty of the recent shake then?

  Before he could do more than wonder, a wolf was sent flying out of the gap, and not a small distance either, slamming into the ground a good 20 feet back and rolling a half dozen times before coming to a slow, but permanent, stop.

  And framed in the gap stood a majestic, shaggy white coated beast. An Aetherhorn! Lucky to see, the legends said. But he wasn't so sure the beast's luck was holding this day.

  And what a beast it was! Its back was taller than a man's head and its two prong-like horns jutted several feet above even that. That, that didn't look like a second tier beast.

  And it proved it moments later, and those horns weren't just for show!

  Wolves darted in and out, snapping at legs or shoulders before attempting to dart away.

  A twist of its head gutted one beast, and a bucking kick shattered another's skull before it reared back and stomped down with two cloven hooves to crush a third.

  It was rampaging over the beasts, but if they drew back fast enough, it wouldn't follow, staying squarely in the breach, and despite its strength, it couldn't do it for free. Its luscious white coat was tinted with crimson, and at least some of it was its own. Seeping slowly from a half dozen bits or tears.

  Then it disappeared back into the gap, and another, slightly smaller specimen took its place. It wasn't untouched either, sporting several wounds as well. This wasn't the first rotation. And while the number of wolf corpses down below was not few, they were wearing the majestic beasts down.

  Ethan snorted. They'd just have to see about that! Fucking wolves.

  "Prepare to volley, Sir Andrew."

  The man grinned widely as he pulled his great curved horn recurve from its case in his left hand, a half dozen arrows in his right. He placed one carefully on the string, held in place with his left finger as he gave a glance up and down the line. Waiting a few extra seconds for the less experienced Alpine Hunters to follow suit. Then nodded. "With me!" He stepped out, not bothering to be quiet, the arrows went into the earth at his feet even as he set his feet, then drew and "Volley!" fired in one smooth, even movement.

  And over 30 arrows flew with it. Slamming into the unwisely massed beasts below. Even inaccurate men could hit beasts huddled together for warmth. And with those hits Ethan’s eyebrows shot up... it was one thing to see it on goblins; they weren't known for being durable. But the composite bows in tier 1 hands? Ones that were still rather lacking in skill and skill ranks were still driving arrows through thick, ice-reinforced winter coats of the frost wolves, and if it wasn’t with ease, they were still doing it.

  Many of the men in front of him were wearing armor made from these beasts! He knew damn well how tough they were!

  Ethan drew a deep breath as more beasts emerged from behind rocks and scrub trees. Looking upward at the recent interlopers, anger and curiosity on display, but no fear.

  This was no wandering swarm, he could tell. But the king of these parts. Or at least aspiring to be so. And willing to fight even a Tier 3 to prove it, much less some humans.

  Then the second volley hit. Then a third. As fast as they could pull their bows!

  And it wasn't going to be enough.

  Ethan shrugged his shoulders softly, glancing to either side where tall spears and unlimbered tower shields waited. "It will come to us soon enough, Lads. Are you ready?"

  They slammed a fist to chest, bright-eyed and eager.

  He grinned back. Carefully hiding a small spot of worry. It was one thing to drag a tier 3 down. But if you wanted to take its place, would you have a tier 3 of your own?

  “Half Decade of Hastati on each flank. Keep them off the hunters for as long as you can.” By then they’d have switched to spears. But he’d keep them on their bows, the surprisingly deadly bows, for as long as possible.

  “Phalangites, spread out. And play wack-a-mole with me.” He didn’t give them time to question it, stepping forward and flipping his spear around to bring the iron-shod ferule to bear in a two-handed overhead smash.

  Right into a leaping frost wolf, unable to dodge in midair, it slammed downward, short of the edge, slammed into the rock face and rolled the rest of the way down. Ethan stepped back, eyes carefully watching for more threats as he absently wiped a patch of frost free of the spears haft.

  To his right he watched one of those long spears darting out to slam into another leaping beast. Tier 1 reflexes, if high tier 1, were sufficient for leaping and slow hopping up the face, beasts. Even the occasional tier 2 ones.

  And where spears blocked or stabbed to keep them off, arrows soon followed.

  But the tide was coming in. He could feel the twists and shifts of momentum. And they weren’t entirely good!

  Wolves began to work their way around the edges. From up or down hill, they circled, after a few failed charges on the Hastati, to flank them. But where the scrub oaks and their bramble-like thicket were nothing short of obnoxious on the way in, they were a Godsend now that the shoe was on the other foot.

  Ethan turned abruptly and thrust to the rear as the rattling crackle of bent and broken branches grew especially loud. Skewering the wolf that was brought to a slow walk with deep scratches lining even its tough hide.

  Just not as tough as Greater Demon Scales on cured hide of the same.

  But it was another draw on his attention as he shifted forward and backward, and even so. “To Spears!” With practiced effort, he pictured every fourth Alpine Hunter in the line. They stepped back, dropping bows onto their leather cases and pulling spears from where they stood, iron ferrules several inches deep in frozen soil.

  And the flows balanced, and that was in the Humans' favor. Because wolves were still falling with admirable regularity. Just so long as the Humans could maintain separation, no wolves darting in among them and, well, wolf packing them they would win this.

  And apparently someone, or thing, figured that out as well.

  AHHHHWWWWWOOOOOOOOOOOO

  A truly massive, pure white wolf appeared in the center of the valley below, raising its muzzle to the sky and releasing an outpouring of rage. Its breath was a visible mist of white that radiated such an intense cold that Ethan could feel frost forming on his skin forty feet away.

  Cold, rage and sheer volume had many men flinching away, in pain, shivering or just plain intimidated. They flinched beneath the flail-like blow of presence and sound. Nor was it just intimidation, a pulsing red light burst into illusory flames on the backs of every wolf present.

  Many men flinched. But not all. Andrew’s signatory black arrow shaft with pure white fletching appeared in the beast’s chest. But not deeply. Not with most of two feet still visible. Ethan hid a grimace. Tier 3 then. He twisted his shoulders, preparing, because this was about to get dangerous. “HOLD F-“

  Then he froze, and the entire clearing with him.

  They’d both forgotten in the carnage. This was no duel. No two-party battlefield.

  It was three-cornered! And the third announced himself in a streak of red lined white, slamming into the side of the Alpha Winter Wolf and sending it rolling, its lingering howl turning into a startled yelp. The left flank of the wolves dissolved beneath the head-down charge of a 13 blood-streaked, frost-encrusted Aetherhorns, ramming attacks driving in, then hooves and even teeth continuing where momentum gave way.

  “Spears!” Ethan bellowed, all but one in four. It was too close, and all but Andrew insufficiently accurate to fire into the increasingly chaotic melee. Andrew called to the rest. “Pick targets to the rear!”

  But it was also a chance. Tactics said to stay high. To pick them to death from a position of strength. The Aertherhorn were not his men. And he’d already helped them more than could be expected for strangers.

  And yet.

  Morale was to the physical as ten was to one.

  They were almost there. He could feel the pulse. The wolves’ morale was at a tipping point, and if they broke them now, then they could do what victors always did to fleeing losers.

  Slaughter them!

  And he’d run a day in full armor for a chance to slaughter wolves!

  “With me! Charge!” he bound down the rock face. Jumping from rock to rock like one of their goats, and at the bottom came down spear first into a wolf, kicking its neighbor away before it could decide to bite or run.

  And he wasn’t alone. Spears and a few shields smashed into the new flank, beasts stuck spinning, to fight the Aetherhorns or humans, then lost the chance to do either as fear stole what little courage they had left, and sent them fleeing, yelping and frothing at the mouth from the fight.

  And into a still withering arrow fire.

  Most of them at least. There was one that would not get a chance. The black shafted arrow broken off in its chest, its once pure white coat mud flecked and caved in to reveal red coated bones, its teeth were bared in defiance. Its eyes still vicious and full of light. Unbroken and unresigned. Unwilling to consign itself to the void.

  But the largest of the Aetherhorns didn’t care. With a snort, it reared up on its hind legs, one final time, and with a two-legged stomp, crushed its skull and put that light to bed.

  Yelps and screams continued for a few final moments as spears and stomping hoofs finished off the wounded and flights of arrows picked off runners. But the wolves were too fast, and the underbrush too thick farther down, for that to last.

  Quiet descended on the blood-soaked valley.

  Quiet thick enough to cut with a knife as the bloodied but riled Aetherhorns faced off against the humans. Comrades for a moment, but strangers still. As different as Species and kind could be.

  Ethan paused, then again, maybe not. With a soft chuckle, he reared back and, with undisguised pleasure, kicked a wolf corpse.

  The Aetherhorn Herdleader considered him, its third tier strength unmistakable at this range, as even its breath punched the very air. Then, delicately raised a leg, and kicked a wolf as well. Ethan patted the air, palm downward and slowly lowered his spear till the blade faced the earth, and his men followed suit.

  “Easy now.” He took a step, not backward. That was rarely safe with any beast. But to the side, downhill. And away from the gap.

  Hackles began to come down, if slowly, and Ethan nodded to himself. Why would the kings of the peaks fight in a valley? Nothing could keep them here if they didn’t want to stay.

  Another step to the side, and his angle shifted enough to see through the gap, and up into a mostly pristine valley, one dotted with other, smaller Aetherhorns, their prong-like horns having a distinctive curve, and a half dozen much smaller creatures with no horns at all, stumbling about their legs.

  Oh yes. Stepping away slooowly.

  The Herdleader watched him then with a head flip and a huffing exhale, sent his herd away.

  All but one. It had not been a bloodless charge, and one once majestic beast collapsed, blood more than just streaking its sides and with a wolf savaged leg that would no longer hold its weight.

  Ethan sighed. Taking another step away. A pity, but nothing they could do. Approaching the beast now would be-

  Andrew, his bow cased again on his back and his spear thrust into the ground, moved towards the wounded beast, pulling a roll of bandages slowly from his pouch.

  -Stupid.

  “Sir Andrew.” Ethan offered without moving his lips. A warning, but not a command. Andrew had earned that much. “Do not get yourself killed!” That was a damn tier 3!!

  And it was staring directly at the knight. Its eyes unblinking, undecided perhaps? Ethan hoped. At least its horns weren’t lowered.

  “Just going to help.” He offered softly, a slow, but steady pouring of nearly pointless platitudes emerged from his mouth, as step by stupid step, he approached the wounded animal.

  Then reaching it, he knelt down, ever so slowly, comforting words drizzling freely.

  But Ethan didn’t find them comforting. Not under the Herdleader’s stare.

  Not at all!

  ___