Doomstalker by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online

could still find my way to that berry patch and show that it is on Laspe ground.”
    Marika saw her dam was growing angry. She tried to think of a way to calm her. But Khronen stepped in instead. “That is neither here nor there, now,” he said. To Kublin, he added, “She will never grow comfortable with males who do not whimper and cringe when she bares her fangs.” Back to Skiljan, “You have something on your mind, old opponent?”
    “I overheard what you said to the pups. I suspect that something which so stresses the tradermale brethren might affect the fortunes of my pack. It occurred to me that you might advise us in ways we might serve ourselves as a result.”
    Khronen nodded. “Yes. There are things I cannot say, of course. But I can advise.” He was thoughtful for a time. Then he said, “I suggest you look to your defenses. It may be a harsh winter. I would suggest you invest in the best iron arrowheads, knives, and axes.”
    “You sell them too dearly.”
    “I am selling nothing. I am telling you what I believe the wise huntress would do if she were privy to the knowledge I possess. You are free to ignore me, as you so often do. Equally, you are free to buy. Or to make your own arrowheads and whatnot of stone, faithful to the old ways.”
    “You were always sarcastic, were you not?”
    “I have always been possessed of a certain intolerance toward attitudes and beliefs held by the huntresses and Wise of the upper Ponath. Clinging to ways and beliefs obviously false serves no one well.”
    Skiljan bared her teeth. But Khronen did not submit, as a male of the Degnan might.
    The pack’s attitudes toward tradermale tools and weapons certainly baffled Marika. They dwarfed the stone in quality, yet seldom were used. Each summer the Wise and huntresses bought axes, arrowheads, knives both long and short, and even the occasional iron plowshare. Whatever they could afford. And almost always those purchases went into hiding and were hoarded, never to be used, deemed too precious to be risked.
    What was the point?
    Skiljan and Gerrien traded all their otec furs for worked iron that summer.
    And so that summer laid another shadow of tomorrow upon Marika’s path.
     
    Chapter Three
    I
    The first enraged tentacles of the blizzard were lashing around the loghouse. Down on the ground floor, the argument persisted still, though now most of the spirit was out of it, most of the outside huntresses had returned to their loghouses, and those who remained did so purely out of perverse stubbornness.
    Marika was just wakening, right where she had fallen asleep, when old Saettle left the press and approached the foot of the ladder. She beckoned. “Pups down here. Time for lessons.”
    “Now?” Marika asked.
    “Yes. Come down.”
    Shivering, those pups old enough for lessons slipped down and eased past the still snarling adults. Saettle settled them on the male side, according to age and learning development, and brought out the books.
    There were six of those, and they were the most precious possessions of the loghouse. Some had been recopied many times, at great expense in otec furs. Some were newer.
    The pack, and especially those who dwelt in Skiljan’s loghouse, was proud of its literacy. Even most Degnan males learned to read, write, and cipher. Though not consciously done as a social investment, this literacy was very useful in helping Degnan males survive once they were sent forth from the packstead. Such skills made them welcome in the other packsteads of the upper Ponath.
    Early on Marika had noticed the importance of motivation in learning. Males, when young, were as bored by the lessons as were most of the female pups. But as the males neared adulthood and the spring rites which would see them sent forth from the packstead to find a new pack or perish, their level of interest increased exponentially.
    The central thread of pack education was the Chronicle, a record that traced pack history from its legendary