Prince Wolf

by A. Katie Rose

  Rygel tried again. His bloody sword raised, pointed at the onrushing Tongu. I waited for the impact –

  Nothing happened.

  Bar flew up, out of the roaring chaos, diving down again, his eagle’s maw wide and bloody. His bared talons bared dripped gore. Rearing onto his powerful, lion hind legs, he reached out, almost casually, with extended eagle’s talons. His colossal wings still whipped up the dry dusty sand into his enemies’ faces. Each taloned foot crushed a Tongu within their clutches. A third died as his savage beak ripped him in half. A single hound sought to slide behind him and hamstring him. Bar’s speed in spinning not only took my breath away but also that stupid mutt’s life.

  Arianne’s scream tore my eyes away from my griffin, my heart in my mouth. Several Tongu slipped behind Rygel and Shardon, seeking to seize her into their embrace. She they needed alive. They thought to seize her before Rygel and Shardon could wheel and protect her.

  Her reins forgotten, Arianne hung desperately onto the pommel of her saddle as Rufus lay about him with deadly hooves and teeth. How had I doubted he ever softened into equine mush? Ears flat to his skull, he kicked a Tongu full in the chest with both hind hooves, only to spin and crush the skull of yet another in his powerful jaws. Hands reached to pull her from her saddle, but the flashy bay’s body swung hard around, knocking them flat. His deadly hooves stomped their bodies into the bloody dust. Why did ever I worry about him? His edges were as sharp as ever.

  Tuatha’s savage snarl warned me in time. A Tongu crept up behind me, over the top of the rocks that sheltered me. He raised the heavy net in his hands. I whipped about and threw my dagger in the same movement. Gagging on the knife in his throat, he collapsed backward, out of my sight, his net caught upon the rocks.

  I see, I thought. Both of us, Arianne and me, they needed to catch alive and unharmed. They wished to bring me to Brutal, as decreed by their contract. They thought their triumph but a mere moment away.

  I itched to throw myself into the battle. How could I, Ly’Tana, stand by and let my boys fight while I stood and gaped like a blooming idiot? Tuatha. Only Tuatha stopped me in my tracks. I dared not leave him even for a moment. A single bite from one of those hounds and Tuatha was one dead pup. I could throw myself on Mikk’s back and, like the twins, use him as my weapon. I might even free up my sword. Yet, I knew what that meant. It meant leaving Tuatha alone and without defense.

  I bit my lip and groaned. Yet, I couldn’t set him up before me, my attention diverted, for risk I’d be taken from behind. I bit my lip, my willpower torn asunder. I want to fight, but I can’t leave him!

  It felt to me that hours had gone by, but in reality I knew that but a mere five, perhaps six minutes had passed since the first hound appeared. The battle raged on, the desert sand soaking up spilled blood, thirsty for more.

  Yet as many as we killed, still more snarling hounds and hissing assassins took their places. Only bloody black legs and blood-flecked foam on bared teeth saved the now unarmed Left and Right as their stallions still fought for the lives of their riders. Shardon still lay about him with silver legs splashed with blood, Rygel’s clothes and sword dripping red with gore. Tor’s mare bolted in mindless panic, bearing a helpless Tor out of the chaos and deadly madness, perhaps saving his life. No Tongu or hound gave chase. Corwyn’s roan, once fearless in attitude and battle, now fought in the hope of breaking free and bolting on the heels of the grey mare. Keeping Corwyn alive was but an afterthought.

  Of our pack horses, I saw no sign.

  Mikk still fought for my life. Above me, he reared and plunged, loose, free to bolt if he wanted to save his own skin. Behind him, I, and Tuatha, lay safe from those who sought my life. None, not human, not canine, got past his slashing hooves, his bloody teeth, nor his undying loyalty, to harm me. The thirsty sand drank deep of the blood spilled under the deadly rain of his vengeance.

  Could the fight have turned in our favor? Flinging my hair from my eyes, Shardon had none near him to kill, nor did Corwyn’s exhausted gelding. Kel’Ratan’s sword split the skull of only one Tongu that thought bravery alone won battles, his stallion on all four feet and blowing hard. Mikk, too, took the chance to snort and rest a moment. Bar screeched and banked around, circling, ready, but didn’t charge the hesitant Tongu.

  The hissing Tongu and their shadowed hounds couldn’t fight past the deadly teeth and hooves of our mounts. They hung back hissing as they offered and discarded plans to take us down. Hounds slunk, whining, out of danger, ducking behind their master’s booted legs. Surely they wouldn’t call a time-out and retreat, perhaps to fight another day? Yet that very hope rose in my heart.

  The black serpent-shadow roared. Wings that put Bar’s to shame unfurled from its back. Yellow eyes sparked red fire. Rising, it uncoiled from itself, rearing high, calling to its worshippers. It prepared to fight, and demanded its followers follow. Like a horn, it sounded the charge, offering heart where heart was needed.

  Tongu, who wanted nothing more than to flee, suddenly turned. Hounds, racing away from our horses’ sharp hooves and Bar’s fury, turned around. Their fangs skinned back from white fangs. Where I thought the tide had turned in our favor, it now shifted into the Tongu’s. The enemy advanced under the call of its leader, its focus sharpened, its determination filled. In battle array, the enemy closed ranks and advanced.

  Bar dropped from the sky between their advance and me. He whipped and screamed, turning this way and that, his talons cutting anything they touched into red ribbons. Many Tongu and hounds, outnumbering us by five to one, raced past him to engage us once more.

  Deep within my mind, I heard a horrid snarling. Maybe that goddess-awful daemon got into my head and gloated. No, wait, I thought, my head cocked. That snarling sounded familiar. Raine? Is that you?

  From two sides, wolves hit the battle broadside.

  I ran out from behind my rock shelter, slashing a Tongu that came for me, gloating, across his unprotected belly. Not waiting to see him stagger about, trying to hold in his spilling entrails, I lunged for another Tongu who stupidly kept his back to me. While he watched the wolves attack in astonishment, I cut his throat for him.

  That’ll teach you to stand and gawk, I thought with glee. Yet, I couldn’t help but stand and gawk myself. The sight amazed even me, and here I thought I’d seen everything.

  I gaped, my chest tight, as a furry tan and grey and silver wave charged, bristling, over sand dunes and hillocks, ears flat, teeth bared, hackles raised. Though they ran at top speed, I still recognized them.

  Digger, snarling bitterly, lit into a hound that clung to Mikk’s right flank. He took it down, his fangs buried deep into its throat. The hound died, hind legs kicking helplessly. Leaping up and over his kill, Digger lunged for a Tongu who saw him coming and tried fruitlessly to run. Digger’s full weight brought him to earth, where powerful jaws snapped his neck, just behind his thick skull.

  I wheeled, raising my knife at the sound of thrashing and a low cry from behind me. Thunder took down a Tongu who sought to creep up on me, rope in hand, while I watched the battle, bemused. Thunder all but covered the man’s body with his own, dwarfing the assassin. Pumping purple, his heart’s blood gushed from the Tongu’s scarred throat.

  Silverruff howled, calling all to his cause and lit into a Tongu who crept up behind a now rapidly tiring Mikk. That bad boy stood no chance, for Silverruff outweighed by half, and his powerful jaws crushed the man’s bald skull.

  With Thunder effectively protecting my back, I looked around, safe for the moment, amazed. Savage killers from birth, the wolves made mincemeat of the slavering, drooling mutts. Those well-trained hunters stood no chance against the merciless jaws of the wolves they once descended from. Trackers rather than true killers, the Tongu hounds were trained to slay helpless human victims. Fighting wolves with greater jaw strength, speed and sheer viciousness was quite beyond their training and experience. Several mutts bolted for the rocks, tails between their legs, yelping in fear an
d terror.

  Darkhan, his rage high and voiceless, careened into several hounds that threatened Rufus and his beloved Arianne. The hounds, hit from the side and behind by a force and fury greater than their own, rolled over and over in the sand, helpless. With a speed that belied his huge size, Darkhan ripped their throats in swift efficiency. A few dogs tried to flee his wrath as he ripped open their fellows, but he was quicker than they. As they fled he not only brought them down, but also two Tongu who rushed to rescue their stricken mutts.

  Little Bull leaped high and fast, taking down both an assassin and a mutt that threatened Shardon’s right flank in a ruthless leap, killing both with sharp efficiency. Shardon wheeled around, front hooves high, stamping the life out of a Tongu who had hidden himself behind a desert rock and thought he could bludgeon Rygel from the rear.

  Thunder deserted me to chase after a Tongu who dared attempt to hit me on the head with his cudgel. If he succeeded in knocking me unconscious, I was ready and available to take captive. The luckless assassin died under Thunder’s huge jaws, screaming as much as his maimed throat allowed him.

  Shadow raced to my side, slaying a hound that crept to my unprotected rear, breaking its neck with one crushing bite. I had no time to thank him before he lit into a Tongu with yet another silly net. That brave idiot died with Shadow’s fangs biting deep into his vulnerable temples. I’d no idea a human skull could crack like an oyster. The man’s brains spurted out from his jaws like so much pudding, coating me with oily, grey-matter. I winced in disgust, brushing brain from my clothes. Yuck, I thought. How nasty is that?

  Dire and Lightfoot, fast and clean, clamped down on the throats of the Tongu who thought they could pull Left and Right from their saddles. Spinning, the black stallions raced beside their wolf allies. They stamped, slashed, and cut down the Tongu who tried to escape. As far as I saw, none did. Black stallions and wolves did their work well.

  Nahar leaped from almost a sitting position, taking a hound that crept up to attack at Kel’Ratan’s flank. Kel’Ratan swerved, raising his sword, only to lower it again as his pal Nahar killed the beast. His jaws bloody from his kill, Nahar grinned up at my cousin, his fangs dripping red, laughing.

  Unable to help himself, Kel’Ratan grinned back and saluted him, fist to chest. Together, they loped side by side, cutting down stray Tongu or hounds, whichever lay in their collective path of destruction.

  I stamped, furious. I wanted to be in there, fighting alongside my boys. Mikk, still leaping and wheeling, offered no opportunity for me to vault aboard. Ordering him to stand still, to allow me to mount, only increased the threat to him, and to Tuatha. With an effort, I quelled the urge to shout a command for him to cease and allow me up. I glanced behind me.

  Tuatha, that wicked hell-child, still snarled, a furry black spot of white fangs and blue eyes filled with hate. Thus far he obeyed me, and remained sheltered under the rocks. No hound or Tongu seemed to pay the slightest interest in him. Dare I leave him and join the battle?

  No.

  He was Raine’s adopted son, and if I was Raine’s mate, he was my son by default. My mother instinct surged. Never would I leave my son unprotected. Raine’s son.

  My child.

  Our son.

  Quelling the urge to join the fight, I stayed put, my knife out, ready to kill or be killed. I could not, would not, risk harm might come to him by a stray hound or Tongu assassin. With my dying breath, I’d defend my firstborn child to the last.

  Corwyn’s roan also wheeled, Corwyn’s sword raised high, as White Fang’s fangs ripped across the throat of an assassin who sought to stab Corwyn in the back. White Fang’s fangs dripped red with blood. I half-wondered, my brains not working properly, should we perhaps change his name to Red Fang?

  Scatters Them scattered many hounds, chasing them across the desert sand as they fled in terror of his dripping jaws. Warrior Dog fulfilled his name by killing several dogs and at least three Tongu. Alun’s friend, Black Tongue, reddened his previous black tongue in the blood of a Tongu and a hound, red saliva dripping from his muzzle. Kip, frantic that he couldn’t find Tor, ripped and killed anything he that stood before him. At least three Tongu and five dogs died in his search for his beloved street urchin.

  Aboard a rearing plunging Shardon, Rygel raised his hands, both hands, again. Lightning stabbed from his pale, slender fingers toward the serpent-shadow still cast over the nearby hills. What had changed? Rygel’s magic hadn’t worked before. What made him think it would now?

  Yet, it did.

  His lightning hit. The shadow screamed.

  More lightning flew from the blonde wizard’s power.

  The shadow with evil serpent’s eyes howled.

  Yellow irises with that reptilian vertical pupil squinted shut in pain. A dark mouth filled with fangs opened in a hideous yawn.

  Rygel, as merciless as ever, sent strike after lightning strike into the black abyss. The daemon seemed to absorb every strike into its body as though devouring it. Yet, each time it did so, its vast form diminished. It shrank. Its howls of agony increased.

  Before me, the Tongue line wavered. Assassins faltered, lifted hands to protect exposed faces, their hissing throats stilled. Daggers and swords fell to the featureless sand, forgotten. Hounds halted mid-step, whining, heads down, tails caught between hind legs. With the source of their courage, strength and purpose now flailing about, helpless and under siege, they tasted fear. In a disorganized group, they backed away, their growling dogs crouched at their boots.

  Under Rygel’s guidance, Shardon galloped toward it, more red-black than silver. His mane dripped blood. His white teeth pulverized an assassin who seized a sword and sought to cut his Tarbane left front leg out from under him. Tongu hounds fell from his flanks to be smashed into furry pulp under his hooves. With his head lowered to increase his speed, Shardon’s ears lay flat against his skull. His flowing mane dressed Rygel in living liquid quicksilver. His hooves hurled sand in a shock wave behind him. Magic light flashed from Rygel’s hands, striking the snake vomited up from hell.

  Ahead, the monster recoiled, jerking, howling in agony.

  When I first beheld the monster, the daemon, I swore it was a dark, oily mist, fluid, ever changing – a shadow. Yet, now, as the tide of battle changed, it now appeared solid, a black venomous serpent that owned substance and eyes and wings and mortality. Under Rygel’s onslaught, now it owned a mortal body that might be killed.

  Bar, wings out to their fullest, front feet bloody and extended for battle, hit it from its left flank. Eagle talons raked it from head to shaking tail. His lion hind legs with razor-sharp claws slashed it down the side. Silverruff, Digger, Darkhan, Little Bull, Scatters Them and Thunder all hit it in a furry wave on its left flank. Bloodied fangs bit deep. The combined weight of perhaps half a dozen wolves bigger than yearling calves caused it to stagger sideways.

  From its other flank, Warrior Dog, Black Tongue, Kip, Lightfoot, White Fang lunged into the fray. As one creature, they bit, slashed with their claws, hurled their hundreds of pounds of angry furry weight into its unprotected side. Staggering, it fell back from this new onslaught. Its huge maw widened.

  I reckoned the beast couldn’t withstand the combined assault from magic, the air and the wolfish menace all at once. Kel’Ratan, Corwyn, the twins and even Tor, forcing his fearful mare into the fray, galloped to the forefront. Behind them, Arianne steered her gallant Rufus behind them, her glorious eyes dark with fury. Somewhere, she had gotten hold of a knife. She held it, like one born to battle, with it in her right hand.

  I could not, I would not, be left behind.

  With Mikk, loose, on my right I ran forward. Something slid beside my ankle. I glanced down, raising my weapon. I dropped it again, in a hurry. Despite my command, to stay behind and remain safe, Tuatha bolted from his refuge. I grinned down as he glanced up. We shared perfect communion. Together, horse, whelp and me, we three, in perfect step, ran into battle.

  A Tongu assass
in spun out of the chaos, offering me a throat to cut. As he stumbled behind me, I slashed another across the eyes, effectively blinding him. Bar flew in out of nowhere, raking assassins and mutts into chopped meat. Kel’Ratan, with a hoarse shout, galloped out of the churning dust only to vanish into the thick, roiling cloud. Tuatha snarled a warning. Yet, the hound that crept up to my right flank yipped in panic and fled, its tail tucked. Perhaps it thought it faced a full-sized wolf rather than one smaller than it.

  From the midst of the battle, Darkhan burst up and out.

  Black, red, a killer of killers, he charged the daemon. His powerful legs flung sand and small rocks out behind him in sharp puffs. His massive shoulders stretching and bunching in his great effort to put on even more speed. What was he doing? Did he intend to take on the creature all alone?

  Arianne screamed aloud in sudden pain, in wretched grief.

  Leaping high, his jaws wide in a roar of rage, ears flat, Darkhan struck the daemon. Straight into its gaping maw he dove, his paws digging fissures into its flesh. Clawing, scraping, scrambling, biting, he forced his way in deeper and deeper until only his tail showed.

  The daemon screamed. Not in rage or fury or challenge.

  It screamed in raw panic. Its body writhed, squirming in agony.

  I had no time to think of what could be happening to the wolf buried within the innards of a daemon. Our enemies, panic in their eyes, dropped weapons from hands. They bolted, skinning out from the dust cloud, their hounds at their sides. Away from us they fled, running as hard as they could. Rather than allow them to escape, we kicked all into higher gear. Those mounted dug heels into flanks. Those of us still afoot ignored the dust and noisome clouds of noxious dust and ran forward, slamming into bodies that could fall under the steel edge of a good knife or sharp fang.