Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [154]
With a growl, Canthus leaped to the defense of his master’s home.
This loyal hound, however, was accompanied by a thousand drooling, aroused, and fiercely hungry wolves. The Pack set upon the army of the northmen. A hundred raiders died without knowing what killed them, for the Pack approached from the rear of the battle. Slowly, as the screams of the dying and the snarls of the killers spread across the field, the raiders turned from the castle to behold canine doom inexorably loping toward them.
The wolves approached from the north, where the attack had been weakest. On the opposite side of the castle, the Bloodriders had already breached the palisade, and fighting raged in the courtyard. But here, the palisade still stood, and the stone bulk of the keep rose directly beyond. Here, too, much of the slope leading to the castle consisted of sheer cliffs of weatherworn rock, unclimbable by even the most determined of attackers.
The raiders now turned to save themselves, ignoring the castle. In a flash, the wolves were among them, and each northman who confronted a wolf with his weapon found two more creatures setting upon him from flank and rear.
The blows of sword and axe killed many a wolf, but the Pack rolled forward with single-minded determination, always following the form of the great moorhound that inspired them.
As the carnage continued, the blood-letting drove the wolves to the height of frenzy. More and more, the raiders simply fled, and quickly a wave of panic spread. Within a few minutes, the enemy had been cleared from the northern side of Caer Corwell.
*****
A great carnivore leaped at Grunnarch, but he split the creature’s skull with a crushing blow from his axe. He turned in time to see Raag Hammerstaad, fighting nearby, move too slowly to avoid the rush of another of the beasts.
The wolf sank ivory fangs through Raag’s beard and into the flesh of his throat, tearing out the windpipe and jugular. The Isles of Norheim lost their king in that instant, but Grunnarch was more concerned with the loss of an entire army.
All around him, the raiders had begun to turn their backs and flee these unnatural attackers. Another of the snarling canines threw itself at the Red King, and once again his battle-axe saved his life.
But Grunnarch had little spirit for this fight. A bolder warrior than he it would be hard to find, should the enemy be a man, with flesh and blood and weapons and armor. But too often during this raid, the enemy had been rain, or insects, or crags of mountains. And now these wolves.
It seemed as though the land itself fought against the northmen, and this thought gave the Red King profound misgivings.
He looked about him, seeing more and more of his men fleeing from the Pack. In a moment, he saw that he would be surrounded by the rampaging horde.
With little regret, Grunnarch turned his back to the wolves and joined the flight. His attention focused not on the army of Thelgaar at the castle, or even the status of the fortress itself.
Instead, Grunnarch fled toward his longship on the beach of the firth. Foremost in his mind was home.
*****
The prince steadily moved across the courtyard toward the approaching mass of the northmen. He ignored the vast numbers of the enemy, focusing his attention solely upon the Beast. The remaining fighters of the Ffolk, remnants of the companies that had fought in the castle’s defense, now emerged from behind barricades, and streamed from within the buildings.
A hundred fighters of Gavin’s company, grimly determined to avenge the death of their captain, fell in behind Tristan. A score of dwarves, anchored by the staunch Finellen, emerged from the gatehouse and marched to his right. The Sisters of Synnoria emerged from the stables, lances leveled, to the left of the prince.
Those men-at-arms surviving from the castle’s garrison and from other companies also swarmed into the courtyard. Soon the number of Ffolk behind the Prince of Corwell nearly matched that of raiders standing with Thelgaar Ironhand.
For the