Morning had come to Nospherus, and the harsh light of the desert sun burnished the jagged peaks of the mountains.
Guin woke to the sensation of a cold, wet nose thrust hesitantly at his hands. His eyes opened with a start and he jumped to his feet to see the Wolf King standing beside him, his fur shining white like high-mountain snow in the glow of morning. The great wolf stared at him with large, silver eyes.
“I was dreaming.” Guin spoke to the beast with casual familiarity, as though he had been living here on the Dog’s Head, running with the wolf pack, for many years. “I dreamt I was a king. There was a shining crown upon my head, and holy priests draped the purple vestments of royalty on my shoulders in the high temple of Janos. And the people—there were great and joyous crowds, and they were calling for me, calling my name.
“I remember seeing the Dawn Star. I clasped it in my hand, and when it slipped free and sought to escape I chased after it, against the wishes of my people who would have me stay. I threw down my crown and my scepter and my robes, until I was free of all tokens, a simple warrior once more.
“I remember walking on a long, red road, though I know not where it led. Then suddenly a strange wizened fellow appeared before me. He had one eye in the middle of his forehead, long flowing whiskers, and the body of a goat from the waist down. He wore a triangular cloth upon his head, and in his hand he bore a gnarled, crooked staff.
“Even as I looked upon him his single eye flared red. He struck me with the staff, yelling, ‘Fool! Go back! Take back the throne of the dragon…’”
Guin scratched his head, puzzled. “I’m sure the old goat-man was Jarn Fateweaver. But what could it mean—the message, and the dream?”
The wolf gave no answer; instead he silently nuzzled Guin’s arm with his nose, drawing the warrior’s attention to the breakfast he had brought for him. Guin smiled and patted the great wolf on his head. Then he busied himself peeling off the sand lizard’s rough skin. Then, breaking the sweet cactus in two, he began to eat. Despite his incredible adventures of the day before, Guin had rested well, and his limbs felt full of energy. All his fatigue had been wiped away.
The Wolf King stood quietly watching the ravenous warrior devour the wild morsels that made up his breakfast. Occasionally Guin glanced up to marvel at the silvery-white animal before him that seemed to combine the magnificence of a wild beast with an awareness that was somehow human—and yet possessed an aura of power far greater than those of such mortal creatures.
When the leopard-man had finished eating, the Wolf King gazed deliberately into his face as if to ask him if he was satisfied. Then, nuzzling Guin once more with his nose, he turned and began to trot away. Guin sat, watching him go, but when the wolf saw that he was not moving, the great animal promptly returned and with an air of irritation put his jaws on Guin’s hand and tugged, taking care not to bite too hard. Then he trotted away again in the same direction—towards the peak of Dog’s Head Mountain—his white tail swaying back and forth behind him as he went.
“First you’re my savior, now you’re my guide. When will the wonders cease?” Guin asked, rising to follow the retreating wolf. “Maybe old man Jarn sent you? I wonder if you know that I have just two and half days to find the Lagon and bring them back to the Sem? But then, if you’re going to show me the right path to follow, you may well convince me that you’re not sent by Jarn, but are Jarn himself, in one of his hundred forms. Come to think of it, the old man’s whiskers in my dream this morning were white like yours.”
Jarn or no, you and the cyclone that brought me here were both heaven-sent. Someone up there is telling me to do something, here on the slopes of the Dog’s Head, that much is clear.
Guin shook his head. He was forgetting where he was: Nospherus, a land forsaken by the gods. Sandstorms, even cyclones like the one the day before, were not all that uncommon, though certainly most were smaller than the roving cataclysm that had carried him into the mountains. It might just have been a coincidence that the cyclone had been moving in the direction he wished to go, mere chance that it had picked him up and taken him along his path. It may also have been presumptuous of him to assume that the Wolf King had been sent on some divine mission, for that matter. Everything that had happened in the last two days could be no more than the whim of fortune. And the Wolf King’s strange behavior—well, beasts such as he that had grown to an incredible age were known for their wisdom and strange powers of perception. He could be acting entirely on his own, for purposes known only to him.
There was no need, thought Guin, to be overly superstitious about the events of the past day, uncanny though they seemed. It’s the future I need to think about. He followed the Wolf King, while his eyes ceaselessly darted across the slopes and rocky hollows, looking out for danger.
After a short distance the Wolf King stopped and peered back to make sure that Guin was following. Seeing that the leopard-headed warrior was indeed keeping pace a ways behind him, he turned back around and set off more quickly than before, glancing back after every five or six motad to make sure that Guin still followed. Though Guin now found himself walking quite fast, he knew that the wolf was going much slower than he could have, for Guin’s benefit.
The course they took went steadily uphill, toward the mountain’s peak. They seemed to be headed for the narrow pass that crossed directly over the head of the dog, weaving between the high crags that jutted out on either side to form the ears. Guin had come a considerable way up the mountainside while fleeing from the wolf pack the night before. Still, the winding path they now took up the last stretch below the summit was surprisingly long and steep. The two ears appeared almost close enough to touch, yet no matter how long they walked they never seemed to reach the top.