Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [136]
The black clouds spit another deadly bolt, and panic began to spread through the ranks of northmen as the fighters turned to watch the crackling attacks. Soon the northmen saw the pattern and fled in panic from the path.
And so the lightning crashed, upon the shore, and the moor, and the castle road. It splintered great chunks of the ground, blistering turf, and slaying any northmen foolish enough not to flee.
In minutes, the road to Caer Corwell lay open.
*****
A thousand wolves sat, immobile, in a great circle, staring intently at the duel for mastery of the Pack. Erian snarled in triumph as he felt the moorhound’s neck between his jaws. The spikes of the iron collar bent and snapped against the crushing power of the wolf’s bite. Finally, the collar itself snapped and fell to the ground…
…baring the soft, thin torque of silver.
A flash of fight and fire burst outward from the torque, singeing the inside of Erian’s mouth. With a startled cry, he sprang backward. Rage fogged his vision. His tongue felt as if it had been seared by flame.
Canthus lunged at his foe, unaffected by the blazing wounds around his neck. The great werewolf was still shaking his head in pain, choking as if trying to spit out a sliver of bone. This time the moorhound’s teeth found flesh. The power of the goddess surged through those teeth as they tore off an ear and punctured a red, glowing eye.
The wolf cringed backward, yelping, but Canthus turned without mercy and bit the monster in the shoulder, driving it to the ground. Then his widespread jaws flicked forward and he buried his teeth in the soft flesh of the werewolf’s neck.
Canthus felt his teeth tear skin and flesh, and he tasted salty blood pumping through his mouth. He heard the rush of air as his murderous bite finally cut the great beast’s windpipe.
The wolf sagged, finally collapsing completely, but the great hound held the even greater body aloft by the neck.
Canthus looked around, wondering what would happen next.
XIX
BESIEGED
LARIC STARED UP at the tiny figure, poised on the brink of the tower so far away. Strong and arrogant, he throbbed with the vitality of the sister knight whose life he had extinguished.
Yet now that knight was forgotten, a mere morsel in comparison to the fresh strength now emanating from the woman on the parapet. His hot, liquid sockets fixed their gaze upon the black robe and flowing black hair. Hunger surged within him, forcing the memory of his recent repast from his mind.
That one, he vowed, cracking his blackening lips into a wide smile, he would have. Could he but slake his thirst with her blood, Laric knew his own strength might grow to match that of the Beast itself.
*****
Kazgoroth, too, looked at the tiny figure on the distant tower, and the body of Thelgaar Ironhand twitched with mindless rage. Only with great concentration and effort did the Beast prevent its real body from emerging. Hatred inflamed the Beast’s mind, and gave it determination for vengeance.
This human would die in Kazgoroth’s own clutches.
Still, the Beast’s inherent caution warned it against a rash attack. The human must be a druid, for she had great command over the forces of the goddess. Kazgoroth knew even Genna Moonsinger, Great Druid of the isle, could not match such a display of magic.
This new druid required caution.
Thelgaar Ironhand left the rest of the battle to his underlings, and disappeared into his tent to plan.
*****
Looking down from the gatehouse, Tristan saw the raiders plunder Corwell Town. The army lay like a great blight upon the pastoral view he had known all his life.
The rearguard had almost reached longbow range. The Lord Mayor stood in the middle of the fray, surrounded by the loyal men of his militia. His brown horse, apparently, had fallen.
As the archers unleashed their first volley, the thrust of a northman’s sword cut the mayor,