Berch passed the night in anguish, drowning in exhaustion. Sleep dangled before him like a rope that could pull him to safety from a burning pit, but always just beyond his fingertips. If he tried to lie down and close his eyes, he found himself perpetually fidgeting, scratching at itches that could not be quieted. How he wished he could shut down his mind, but it raced on and on like some indestructible automaton, cranking out an endless stream of banal thoughts. I wonder if anyone has ever actually bored himself to death!

Bitterly, he noted how lucky he was to have separated himself from Digtry this night. The way he was feeling, he knew he would be sorely tempted to throttle him, grab the Droom elixir, and chug it. At the moment, he would gladly become like the Droom rather than continue in the pale twilight of semi-consciousness. At least the Droom were alive and not imprisoned in this wraithlike existence between life and death.

He spent most of the night walking around or sitting on some mound of dirt where the grass had long been worn or eaten away. Several times he thought daylight was kindling in the eastern horizon but it was only the moonlight catching the silver highlights of wolf fur.

Few of the wolves bothered to sleep. The sight of hundreds of these beasts milling under the full moon made an unsettling spectacle, especially when one of them would raise its throat in a long, haunting howl. Others would then join in and the mournful, yet proud, song of the wolves would resound across the plain.

He looked again at the sky. This time there was no mistake. Even with his watery vision, he could tell that the darkness really was dissolving. Evidently, time was still capable of advancing after all; it had not gotten stuck in some inescapable rut.

Before the sun yet shone, the wolves formed into their disciplined ranks, peering anxiously into the gloom. While they did so, a great, long bellow sounded across the plain. At that signal, the bison horde started forward from all directions. A low rumble swelled. Pillars of dust spiraled above the dimly lit plain as the bison attacked.

Berch’s heart sank. Digtry had failed! The miracle man had run out of miracles. Berch had bet everything on Digtry. Worse, he had bet assets he did not own and to which he had no rights. He had bet the lives of an entire population of creatures; as if he had the wherewithal to cover that bet. At his urging, the wolves had passed up their chance to go out on their own terms, with their dignity intact. He had come all this way to the Fourth Realm in hopes of cleansing his guilt over one slain wolf only to betray the entire pack--a sin a thousand times more terrible. The anger and betrayal in the eyes of the wolves seared Berch to his soul.

Yet none of them said anything. Standing in crisp, straight lines, they waited silently, grimly, for the orders of their commanders. A few of the younger ones could hold back no longer and leapt forward to meet the attack. But older wolves dashed after them, snapped at their heels, and brought them back to the ranks. The wolves would maintain order to the end. They stood in their lines, muscles quivering, while the bison thundered toward them.

Then Ubor charged out into the open. He turned and faced his troops, his eyes burning, fangs bared. He gave no windy speech of inspiration but simply leaned back and opened his throat to the sky, letting loose a dreadful howl. A chorus of answering howls and snarls arose from among the barrows, defying the thundering hooves and bellows of the bison. Ubor sprang forward to meet the enemy. The wolves surged forward in perfect order. Wave after wave shot out across the plain toward the east.

Beyond despair at his contribution to the sad tale of wolf genocide, Berch forced his creaking joints into action. Cursing the Tishaarans for never providing him with a weapon, he instinctively stooped to pick up some stones. But it reminded him so much of the episode in the August Mountains that had gotten him into this mess that he bitterly cast them aside.

The wolf charge left him alone in the reeking dirt of the barrow, far behind the battle. Bare-handed, Berch chugged toward the moving wall of death in his pained, limping gait.

As the bison ring closed in from all directions, the wolves attacked on only one small front, sending all their forces in rapid-fire waves at one section of the bison lines, hoping to drive a wedge in it and break through. At this point, the bison and wolves tore into each other savagely. The wolves leapt on the backs of the shaggy brutes, snapping and the throats and eyes of the great beasts. Others ducked down, nipping and slashing at the haunches while dodging horns and hooves. The bison used their horns to deadly effect, or simply trampled their smaller, quicker adversaries with their sharp hooves. The limp bodies of wolves flew up into the air while others were pinned to the ground thrashing in their death throes. Bison fell and rolled in the dust.

The close quarters and gridlock favored the heavier bison, whose solid ranks ground forward relentlessly. When Berch finally caught up to the action, he found himself pinned in the crush of wolves being driven backward. His jaw clenched, he pushed his way through the failing ranks of wolves until he reached the front lines. He had no idea what to do next. All he knew was that he could not stand idly and watch another wolf die. As a bison lunged to gore a wolf to his left, he grabbed the beast’s horns and tried to twist it to the ground, rodeo style. The bison shook its massive head, tossing him into the air as if he were clump of grass.

Berch landed hard on his back in the middle of furious fighting. Before he could rise, a hoof caught the edge of his ribs. Berch doubled over in pain, still gasping for air from the hard landing. Bison towered over him, blotting out the sky. He threw his arms up to shield himself from their lethal hooves.

At that moment, a tremendous explosion shattered the air and echoed across the plain. The combatants froze in confusion. Clutching his badly bruised side, Berch rolled out from under the legs of the bison that now stood still in shock. Although many beasts obscured his view, he could see some of the cascade of sparks raining down from the lookout on the ridge where they had left Belfray. Brilliant flames shot into the sky, followed by the delayed crackling and thunder of explosions. From that distance, Berch could not make out any distinct forms, only swatches of red accented by flashes of polished silver gleaming in the sun. They were diving for cover, like beetles exposed by the overturning of a rock.

So Digtry was right again. The knights of Droom were there, just as he predicted, lurking like jackals around the edge of the battlefield, scavengers here to dine on the broken armies on the plain. Why couldn’t Digtry have been right about a plan to prevent this bloodshed? All Berch could think about was that the Droom did not matter to him now. He wondered fleetingly where Digtry and Belfray were. Were they with the bison? Had they been lurking around the lookout? Had they been able to steer clear of the Droom?

It did not matter. They were no longer part of his world. His world had shrunk to a few square feet on the battlefield, and it was his good fortune to be able to die on that battlefield, skewered and crushed by bison, rather than roasted on a spit in Droom.

But he had not been alone in spotting the red and silver before they had scurried out of sight. So instinctive was the beasts’ hatred of the Droom, their mortal enemy since beyond memory, that those who saw them broke off the attack without thought. The white-hot animosity that had fueled the battlefield charges of both bison and wolves carried on the battlefield waned, particularly as each side recalled the words of warning that Digtry and Berch had delivered. Howls and bellows and snarls and death rattles gave way to furious cries of “Droom! Droom!”

“Stop the attack! It’s true after all!”

“Stop! Stop! The Droom are here!”

“The silver and scarlet!”

“They have tricked us into an ambush!”

“The wizard was right!”

“Yes, that is what the little wizard said,” said one of the bison captains. “He said the proof would be if we saw Droom lurking around, and there they are. He was right.”

“My father always said you should listen to wizards!” cried another, followed by a round of boisterous agreement.

“Wizards are always right!” said others. “Why did we not listen?”

Bison and wolves stood alongside each other, scanning the hills where the fire now faded.

“Droom! Droom!” boomed the deep voices of the bison. Furious at the thought of being duped by their ancient enemy, they stamped the ground and bellowed. Chama led a new charge across the open plain toward the lookout. That meant Berch had to scramble for safety twice, first when the big animals around him wheeled and thundered after their leader, and a second time when the bison attacking from the other sides of the encirclement arrived and followed the assault.

Shouts of “Droom! After them!” and “Death to Droom!” could barely be heard above the roar of hooves.

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The bedlam subsided into a dull tremor. As he stood by the bewildered wolves, watching the herd rumble away, Berch felt something familiar about the whole scene. After a few moments, the memory came to him. He could not have been more than nine years old when he cowered under the trestle of a railroad overpass as a freight train roared overhead. Yeah, that was it. He would never forget, not even in the realmlands, the deafening noise and the shaking of the trestles, and his fear that the bridge, the train, and the entire world were going to come crashing down on him. And then the fading patter after the final car passed. The comforting stillness as the storm faded away. The reemergence of the serene world and how he suddenly found himself savoring the ordinary calm that had surrounded him for all but a few moments of his life.

Working under Chama’s supervision, dozens of bison scraped shallow pits in the trampled earth around the barrows that had left a giant scar in the midst of the prairie grasses of the wide plain. When they had finished, the workers stepped back and took their places among the gallery of heavy bison heads that faced the ditch, the line stretching as far as the eye could see.

Opposite them, just outside the barrows that had been their prison for months, stood the wolves. Unlike the bison, that assembled in random fashion like the trees of a forest, the wolves lined up in razor-sharp lines, by platoons. They stood completely motionless as they watched a mixed regiment of wolves and bison nudge and carry, as gently as possible, the bodies of the 13 bison and 18 wolves that had been victims of this senseless battle. There were no words communicated in memorial, for animals draw no comfort from words at such times and find them disrespectful imposition upon sacred silence.

Berch, Digtry, and Belfray observed the solemn proceedings from the lookout high atop the ridge. They stood in respectful silence far out on the ledge where the mourners could see them, until the bison and wolves had swept the last pile of dirt over the grave.

The mood remained somber as the three retired to their campfire down the path from the lookout, in among the limestone outcroppings, away from the winds that gusted across the open plain. Yet each bore the satisfaction of having helped avoid a catastrophic slaughter.

“So how did you manage to flush out the Droom and save the day?” asked Berch, still wincing from the pain of a broken rib.

“I claim no success,” said Digtry, quietly. “Had the timing been better, that grave out there would be smaller. Or nonexistent. Nonetheless, give Belfray his due. He saved the day. The bison and wolves owe much to him.”

“What made you think the wolves would listen to me and hold off their attack until morning?” asked Berch. “That was really touch and go.”

“That was your job,” said Digtry.

“In my present condition, I wouldn’t trust me to tie my shoe. If not for Belfray’s message, I would have failed. And you know, I came this close to forgetting all about the note.”

Belfray seemed to be struggling to hold his tongue. Berch knew why the young Tishaaran was awfully proud of whatever it was he had done, and was eager to get some recognition for it. Yet his Tishaaran upbringing forbade him from calling attention to himself--at least during the times when he recognized that he was doing so. Although he knew it was nasty to let him dangle, Berch could not help it--seeing Belfray tongue-tied was too much fun.

Finally, though, he relented. “So how did you save the day, Belfray?”

“He lit the bonfire on the lookout,” said Digtry, as if that explained everything.

“Digtry asked me if I could do it right under the nose of the Droom,” gushed Belfray. “Now there are not many who would say yes to that without blinking an eye.”

“You blinked, as I recall,” said Digtry. “But you came through when it counted. It made sense that the Droom would post observers on this lookout. No other point commands the entire plain. The plan was simple: Flush a few Droom into the open. Then set off fireworks to draw attention to them.”

“I hauled as much wood up here as I could,” said Belfray, nearly spitting in his excitement. “Still no Droom. Then I--”

“Brave deeds sound more noble when another tells it,” chided Digtry. Turning to Berch, he explained Belfray’s mission. The Tishaaran was to provoke the Droom to come out into the open where the beasts could see them. But while Belfray lay hiding among the crevices in wait for them, the wary Droom held back on the far side of the ridge. In the early morning hours before the battle, he despaired of their arriving at all.

At last early in the morning, just as the bison started their attack and the wolves launched their countercharge, the sleepless warriors crept into the woods at the edge of the plain. Although the ferocious sounds of battled convinced him it was already too late, Belfray went ahead with the plan. He lit a torch, raced over to a pile of dried wood that he had built, and tossed the torch upon it. The Droom, unsure of his intentions and fearing that he was giving a signal of some sort that would reveal their position, rushed to stop him.

Had they simply stayed put, the plan would have failed.

“But they tried to stop me,” Belfray broke in breathlessly, unable to contain himself any longer. “I dodged them long enough to throw Digtry’s magic powder into the fire--”

“It’s not magic,” objected Digtry.

“--and you saw what happened. Oh, the power of that explosion! Why, Berch, it nearly took my head off.”

“That explains where your eyebrows went,” Berch noted.

“What, are they gone? exclaimed Belfray, feeling his face. "Well, that is a small price to pay, I guess. It worked. Suddenly everyone on the plain was looking up here and the Droom were exposed.”

“And the Droom just let you go after that?” asked Berch, doubtfully.

“Just let me go? Why, I should say not! I had to run for my life! I had to jump off ledges so steep I can scarcely believe my legs did not break upon landing. I have more bruises than I can count. But I escaped.”

“Well, you saved the day,” Berch conceded. “And none too soon. They were fighting to the death down on that plain until the fireworks flushed out the Droom. Speaking of the old silver and red, how did the bison come out in their attack on them?”

“There was no attack,” said Digtry. “The Droom withdrew in haste as soon as they were discovered.”

“They ran?” snorted Berch, with contempt. “The ‘most powerful nation in the realms’ ran away like rabbits? Bunch of gutless wonders.” He bore the pain of his own sore ribs and his washed and bandaged wounds proudly, as medals of honor.

“Do not underestimate them,” warned Digtry. “The bison are lucky the knights chose not to fight. The slaughter would have been fierce and I expect the bison would have gotten the worst of it. But Droom prefer to conquer with minimal loss. When they found more resistance than they had expected, they withdrew to fight another day.”

“Well, there it is, ” announced Belfray, importantly. “Our mission is fulfilled. We have not only found the wolves and discovered why their emissary had come to us, but we helped to save them in the bargain. We repaid a centuries old debt and all of Tishaara can walk more proudly today.”

“Well said,” said Digtry.

Belfray grinned widely, enjoying this rare affirmation from Digtry and his moment in the limelight. “So Berch, now that this is over, what are you going to do? Have you seen enough of our fair world, or do you still hold a taste for adventure?”

Berch started to shake his head, but the motion made him so dizzy he stopped. The only thing I want is sleep and it seems to the one thing I can’t get.

“The elixir will wear off one of these days,” said Digtry.

“Promises, promises. Tell the truth, I don’t care what I do now,” said Berch. “I did what I came to the Fourth Realm to do. I wouldn’t mind getting back home to the farm, but that doesn’t seem likely. Come to think of it, the farm ain’t even there for me anymore. Should have been auctioned off months ago. I guess I don’t see much else to do than check around for Roland and Sloat and head back to Tishaara.”

“And you, Digtry?” said Belfray.

“Oh, I know Digtry’s plans,” said Berch. His smug confidence dented Digtry’s unflappable posture. The little man’s eyebrows shot up.

“You plan to keep sticking your nose into other peoples’ business.” Berch chuckled at the shock his breach of etiquette gave Belfray. But his ribs were so sore that it hurt to laugh. “Well, isn’t that what wizards are supposed to do, Digtry?”

Digtry smiled. However, Berch saw no joy or amusement in the smile. In fact, he thought he detected a tremendous weariness, a heavy sadness behind the eyes. Digtry seemed suddenly old, almost ancient.

“Really?” gushed Belfray. “You are a wizard?!”

Digtry shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.”

“Well, Berch, you are cleverer than I thought!” exclaimed Belfray. “How did you figure this out?”

“I didn’t. But you hang around animals long enough, you learn stuff. Seems the bison had Digtry pegged.”

“You mean we have been traveling with a Fourth Realm wizard all this time and did not know it?” cried Belfray. “A real, live wizard?”

“Ahhh,” said Digtry, with a shrug. “Wizarding is not all that it’s cracked up to be.”

“You mean you can do magic and spells and all that?” asked Belfray.

Digtry bristled. “Do you ever use those ears, or are they merely decorative? For the last time, I have no magical powers. Only a few bits of accumulated wisdom. That’s all that makes a wizard a wizard.”

Belfray persisted in trying to pin down Digtry’s plans. “Will you accompany us back to Tishaara now that our mission is completed?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Digtry merely laid back and closed his eyes.

Berch normally would have left the secretive little wizard alone, except that he was still puzzled by some of the details of the bison-wolf clash. “So was it the Droom who killed all those bison calves and pinned in on the wolves?”

Digtry sighed heavily and said, “If I answer this, will you leave me alone?”

Both agreed to do so.

“The Droom could never have framed the wolves on their own. They have a rather distinctive smell, especially to those whose senses are well-developed. The bison would have smelled out their involvement from a realm away. No way the Droom could have covered it up.

“Someone else had to have set it up. Someone extraordinarily clever and highly motivated. Someone who could get to the bison without being detected by expert noses. That means a person with no scent whatsoever.”

“But all creatures have a scent,” insisted Belfray.

Digtry shook his head. “You got no body, you got no scent.”

Belfray’s mouth flew open and his eyes nearly jumped from their sockets.

“That Fifth Realmer? But how could it kill all those calves? It cannot actually harm anybody. Not on its own. The realm bounds, you know.”

“There never were any dead calves. If the bison would have taken the time to investigate, to actually count their number, they would have discovered that.”

“But how-” began Belfray.

“Dreams,” said Berch, finally understanding what Digtry was hinting at.

Digtry nodded. “This whole massacre came to them in their dreams. As high-strung as those bison are, a determined spirit would have no trouble getting them to bite on an image of dead calves in the jaws of wolves.

“Here’s the worst of it. That Fifth Realmer somehow has a deal going with the Droom. Bad enough it has Brookings and Raxxars under its command. You add Droom to the mix, well, who can stand against that?”

“How do you know the Droom and Ishyrus are in league?” asked Belfray, ashen-faced.

“I don’t. But I know this. That Fifth Realmer summoned the Raxxars to some purpose up here in the Fourth. They almost certainly passed through Droom. As you well know from experience, no one passes through Droom without their permission. Therefore, we can assume that the Raxxar army that traveled into Droom had permission to pass."

Belfray looked utterly baffled. “But does not everyone say that the Droom spurn all alliances, all treaties?“

“They do,” said Digtry.

“Well, then, how do you explain this alliance?”

“Can’t,” said Digtry. “All I know is that my mission isn’t done. It has barely begun.”-