XII. The Wolf

Sikander thought that night would never end. As he lay on the windswept hillside in darkness, coiled inside a ring of standing stones, the cold wind seemed to slice between his scales and into his very bones. He watched the moon chase in and out of running clouds and shivered. The vixen he had befriended the day before lay fast asleep between his paws. Sheltered there from the worst of the wind and warmed by the Sandragon's breath, she had soon dozed off. But it seemed that sleep would never come to Sikander. Lying in the darkness, time seemed to slow down, to drag almost to a halt.

At last, a few hours before dawn, Sikander drifted into a light sleep, but it did not really refresh him and when pale sunlight began to brighten the eastern sky he felt as though he had not slept at all. Still, he was glad that the night had passed and quietly uncurled, slid out of the stone-ring, arched his back, stretched out his wings and yawned a great dragon-yawn of shimmering pale blue flame. The vixen opened her eyes too and trotted up to Sikander,
"Good morning Sandragon."
"Good morning to you, little vixen."
"So you are up. To the east then."

Sikander nodded. He lowered his shoulder so that the vixen could climb up onto his paw, then up the incline of his leg and onto his back, where it was broad and flat between his wings. The dragon peered over his shoulder to see if the fox had settled properly, then opened his wings and took a few running steps down the steep grassy slope. He quickly gained speed and swooped into the air with a rush of wind, then banked towards the sun, just rising over the horizon, below a low ceiling of clouds.

The two creatures flew out of the hills across a rolling green land, then out over a stretch of dark rough sea, and onwards bearing south-east until they came to a range of high mountains crowned in snow. Sikander wondered if these might be the walls of Roof of the World but when he asked, the vixen just laughed and said "Sandragon, those are but ripples beside the bastions of the Roof of the World."

On and on the fox and dragon flew, crossing the mountains, then foot-hills and on across a broad plain patchworked with fields and forests, till once again they came to the sea. They passed a city which seemed afloat, enchanted, in a great lagoon. It had rivers for streets and canals for alleys. Only its great squares and palaces stood clear of the water. Sailing ships and barges plied slowly in and out the city and Sikander would have loved to stop to explore the churches and houses, the dark corners and tall towers. Flags of red and gold flew from towers and rooftops - their mark a winged lion with one paw resting upon an open book. But the vixen had no time and said "Fly on dragon, don't stop now, fly on".

East and south-east they flew, day after day. Every morning they set off soon after dawn and travelled without halt until a little before sundown, usually near a river or stream, in woods if there were any to be seen, or under whatever shelter was to be had if not. The fox went hunting every evening and sometimes got some supper and sometimes did not, but for a fox that is normal fare, so she never complained.

As they flew on further south the air grew warmer and the dominant colours of the land below turned from green to tan and brown, to ochre and gold. They crossed seas of a deep dark steely blue and one day a school of dolphins raced below them, sliding in and out of the glittering sea with such speed and grace that it filled both the dragon and vixen with delight. On they flew, across land and sea, sea and land.

After many days' flying, as they flew across a barren land of stony prickly desert, a barrier of white cloud appeared on the horizon. And as they came nearer to the cloudline, the landscape below grew greener again, with broad valleys filled with grasslands and winding rivers, villages ringed by orchards of apricot and peach, plum and cherry. Summer palaces stood in walled gardens filled with roses, irises, lilies and daffodils, with ponds covered in lotus-pads, overhung by willows and tall stands of bamboo.

As they crossed this rich and pleasant scenery the vixen could scarcely conceal her excitement and at last one evening they reached a city such as Sikander had never seen before.

The city was walled with ramparts built of huge stone blocks, laid with neither mortar nor cement but so finely dressed that a razor would not slip between one and the next. Four great gates faced the points of the compass, each flanked by massive watch-towers. As though to boast that no enemy could ever even come within striking distance, the watch-towers were entirely covered in sky-blue mosaic picked out in lapis-lazuli, marble, porphyry, polished granite, gold and other precious metals, stones and gems. The wonderful mosaics were of lions and gazelles, princes, warriors and hunters, kings and queens, eagles and bears. A fierce pair of dark dragons faced eachother across the head of each gate.

Within the walls the city was a maze of narrow streets and alleyways winding between palaces and mosques, baths and libraries, squares and cloisters, fonts and fountains. Onion-shaped domes studded every quarter, many covered in gold or in the same blue stone as the city gates. Slender minarets soared into the sky from the corners of the mosques' enclosures and gardens. As the sun set behind the hills surrounding the city, the pink and red light of dusk glittered on the domes and turned the walls to orange and purple.

The vixen and Sandragon came down to land in an olive grove near the top of one of the hills overlooking this great city. From there they could see doves swooping down into their cotes as the sky turned darker and the first stars appeared. The setting sun left a glowing blood-red trace of its passage on the horizon and the rising moon was a bright silvery-white disk.

As the vixen skipped down from the Sandragon's back, her one word, "Home!", held all the joy of a creature returning from a long hard journey to the comfort and safety of its own land. She stood for a while looking out at the city, then turned to the dragon and said,

"Now, you have kept your part of the bargain, and soon I shall keep mine, but first I must ask one last favour of you."

"And what is that ?" asked Sikander.

"Nothing Sandragon, nothing but a kiss."

Sikander thought this a very strange request, for a dragon hardly knows what a kiss is, and the idea of a dragon kissing a vixen was something he had never heard or dreamt of. But as it seemed to cost him nothing, he closed his eyes and lowered his head to the vixen so that the creatures' lips met. When Sikander opened his eyes there was no longer a vixen standing before him, but a slim young princess with long hair black as night, pale skin and dark eyes glittering like stars. She wore a long robe of fine dark red damascened silk and smiled at him. In a voice as clear as a crystal bell she said:

From princess to vixen and back I stepped,
With a Sandragon's kiss an old promise was kept.
The spell was broken as foretold when cast,
From a dark dream I'm woken and now home at last.
Dragon you kept your word and now I'll keep mine:
Head south, ne'er stop climbing till you see blue ice shine.

And with that the fox-princess turned away from the Sandragon and strode away down through the olive trees towards the city, laughing and singing as she went. Sikander was sorry to see his travelling companion go. A twinge of loneliness struck him as the princess vanished down a path winding between the olive trees towards the city walls. Almost as though to fly away from that painful feeling, Sikander turned away and set off, flying fast away from the city, bearing south as the princess had told him to do.

The city and its surrounding farmland soon slipped away behind Sikander. As he flew on, the hills below grew taller and steeper, the woodland covering them thicker and darker. The moon rose higher and flooded the land in bright silver light, giving the forest below and the few ragged clouds above an air of strangeness and enchantment which grew all the stronger when the Sandragon heard a weird howl rise and fall somewhere below him, to be answered by another, far off away to his right, and then another and another from the woods he had flown over just a moment before. Sikander looked down and around trying to see what creatures might be making that sad and strange noise, but there was no sign of any animal moving in the shadows between the oak trees below. Sikander flew on and heard the howling again, nearer now.

Then suddenly the Sandragon saw a great white stag running between the trees. It looked the noblest creature he had ever seen, powerful and tireless, a broad stand of antlers sweeping back from its head out over its shoulders. The stag ran fast and stopped for no obstacle, leaping across fallen tree trunks and streams, over bushes and brambles, going and going, never slowing. Just as Sikander began to wonder why and where the stag was running he noticed six small dark shadows following it, sliding in and out of the darkness between the trees, as though tied to the fleeing stag tight as its own moonshadow, but some distance behind. Sikander swooped lower down to get a better look. The six shadows were six hungry wolves. They never changed their pace, but ran on like dark arrowheads following the stag, neither gaining nor losing ground.

The chase went on thus for a long time and in the end the stag began to tire. Sikander could see his anger and impatience - he ran on still, but it was clear that he was sick of the chase and wanted to be rid of the wolves. But there was no losing them. At last the stag stopped and wheeled around, lowering and shaking his head, snorting in fury as the wolves reached him. They fanned out all round and prowled in, snarling and growling. But they couldn't get near enough to attack the stag properly – whenever one of the wolves came within range the stag whirled around, lashing his head down and sideways, whipping his sharp antlers at the wolves so that they had to skip smartly out of the way to avoid a lethal wound.

This stand-off lasted a few minutes, then the stag changed his mind back and started trying to get away from the wolves again. He broke out of their circle and charged off through the woods, but the hunters were ever at his heels and would not let him go. For three times the stag made a stand against his attackers but could gain no advantage against them, nor they against him – and for three times he broke out and ran on again through the moonlit woods.

At last he ran into a broad clearing surrounded by thickets and thornbushes too high to leap over, too thick and tangled to crash through. It was an arena with only one way in or out, and the wolves were there to make sure he could not get away through that gap. The stag could see he was trapped and with a look of grim anger he turned to make his last stand against the wolves closing in on him.

By now, after nearly an hour running at full pelt through the forest, the stag's energy began to fail him: his antler-lashes were weaker and slower than before. Two of the wolves moved in to attack together, one from the left, the other from the right. The stag butted fast at one then the other, but he was not quick enough to see a third hunter approach from behind. This wolf, the biggest, quickest and sharpest-eyed of them all, got a clear line of attack and with a savage bite he badly wounded the stag, mauling one of its hind legs. The fight went out of the stag from that wound. He knew he had no more chance and in a few moments the wolves were upon him. It took them only a little longer to kill the stag and only when it was lying dead on the ground did tiredness seem to catch up with the wolves too - they all lay panting on the ground, looking at their prey, recovering their breath before turning to their supper.

Sikander landed on a hillock just outside the ring of thornbushes and from the shade of a cluster of huge oak trees he watched as one of the wolves got up and moved towards the dead stag lying in the moonlight. The wolf had barely moved a step before the leader-wolf raised his head and snarled. Driven by hunger, the younger one paid no heed to the warning and moved another step closer. Then the leader stood and with teeth bared leapt at the other, who danced out of the way and backed off, leaving the leader to start eating first, to enjoy the best of the meat before he allowed his pack-mates any nearer.

As Sikander watched the wolves begin their supper a large raven came down out of the night-sky with a rustle of feathers and landed beside him. It was a dark-greyish black all over, but for its head and chest which were lighter. The bird had a tough look about it and standing beside Sikander, the raven's head would have been higher than a man's knee. It looked at the Sandragon, as though weighing him up, then down at the wolves, gorging themselves on the fresh meat, their faces red with the stag's blood.

"What splendid creatures." said the raven, in voice that to human ears would have sounded like a caw and a croak.

"What dreadful creatures." replied the Sandragon.

"Oh, hunters such as these would fill anyone with dread if they chose him for a meal. They fear no creature and will hunt almost all, no matter how fast or how big, and once the hunt begins, they will run day and night, never ever stop till they bring their prey down."

"Good hunters, perhaps." said Sikander, "But to me they look cruel and savage animals."

The raven croaked three or four times and Sikander rather thought the raven was saying something that sounded like a rasping "Ha ha ha".

"Well," croaked the raven, "I never thought I would live to hear a dragon call a wolf bad."

"And why not?"

"For you dragons are held the very symbols of cruelty and evil. But how men manage to consider wolves bad, is quite beyond me."

"Raven, just look down there, see those wolves covered in gore. They destroyed that noble stag without mercy and are tearing it to pieces. That is why men say wolves are bad."

"No dragon. Men know as well as I do that wolves have all the virtues that they most admire, and in greater helpings than any but the best of men.

Wolves are loyal to their kith and kin to the bitter end. They are determined and pursue their target without relent. They have foresight and planning, but their minds are quick enough to change and adapt the strategy of the pack in the heat of the chase, should conditions change. Wolves are the gentlest and most playful of parents, they think of their cubs before they think of themselves.

At times, in deepest mid-winter when there is next to no food, the wolves will take sheep or cows from mens' flocks or herds. Silent as the snowy night they slip past sleeping shepherds and leave behind nothing but silence and a bright red visiting card.

Men call wolves bad for another reason. They cannot bear the idea of a better creature than themselves, so they call the wolf bad and pretend to ignore the wolves' qualities, so as to turn their children and other foolish men against the wolves.

But the truth is that wolves are the best of creatures, they kill only what they need to survive, either for food or, if given no other choice, to defend themselves from attack. A wolf never lies and always leaves a taste of his meal for his friends, such as I have the honour to consider myself."

As the raven gave his sermon on the nobility of wolves, the pack-leader finished his bloody meal and came up to the raven and Sandragon under their patch of oak trees. To Sikander the old wolf looked at first like a big grey and white dog, with piercing yellow eyes and an air of strength and calm that seemed unshakeable. But as he came nearer Sikander percieved the difference between this wolf and any dog – it had an air of wildness and independence such as had no dog Sikander had ever seen.

"Good evening, little dicky-bird." said the wolf to the raven, "Perhaps, if you have finished serenading our guest, you may care for a spot of venison. There is a scrap on the shoulder which I fancy should be to your liking."

The wolf seemed to smile as he extended this invitation to the raven and it was clear that the raven did not at all mind being made fun of by the wolf – they were old friends. "Your kindness knows no bounds, my Lord Deerbane. I shall not wait a moment to accept your kind offer, or your noble friends down there will polish the last bone till it shines like a Coldstream toe-cap. Dragon, please excuse me, the main course is growing cold, and scarce."

The raven spread his wings and flew down to the clearing to help the wolves finish what was left of the stag. As he flew away the leader of the wolf-pack turned to Sikander and said:

"Welcome to my marches, dragon. A visit from such high creatures of myth as yourself is a rare honour here in our leafy province. I am told that when a dragon is abroad it is always with good reason, so please think it no impertinence if I ask you what brings you here."

It seemed that the wolf could not lose a shade of courteous irony when he spoke, but Sikander had taken heed of the raven's words and so thought it best to see if the wolf might be able to help him on his search.

"Thankyou for your welcome. I happened to see your hunt as I was flying past and stopped to see who would get the better of the fight. Then as you dined, your friend the raven detained me with high praise for you and your pack."

"Ah, the raven. With a meal before him his tongue is sweet as honey. But if the quarry gets away he overflows with unwanted advice. He sees clearly, but sometimes forgets the value of silence. But dragon, if I may be so bold, was it mere chance that you brought you over these woods, or did some reason bring you here from home?"

"There was and is a reason. The words of a Shadowhawk drew me from my dreamdesert home to bear flames to a Phoenix, whose last resting place I am told is on the Roof of the World. I am searching for that place. Would you by any chance know which way to go?"

Now the irony left the wolf's voice and was replaced by a solemnity that was almost gloom, as the creature replied.

"Your heading is right, dragon - the Roof of the World lies many long miles to the south, hidden behind soaring cliffs of snow and ice, walls behind walls make a freezing labyrinth of frost and stone. That is the domain of Fimbulgard the Icedragon and he suffers few to cross his high passes. Only the creatures that live at those great heights know the gateways to the Roof of the World.

As for the Phoenix, we saw lights in the sky mark his passage but a week ago. Last time we met, a year or more ago, he sent for resinous fir-wood, ash and birch and long-seasoned oak. But he was in a sorry state at the time and I fear the path was not long before him. If you bear him a gift of fire then lose no time here in idle chatter dragon, fly on."

Sikander looked at the wolf and saw from his eyes that these were no lightly spoken words, so he bowed his head to the lord of the wolves, leapt into the air and set off again through the night, flying ever south.