• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Then Siward was an avalanche upon me.

"You prat!" he screeched, losing all composure. "I'll beat you into pudding!"

I wanted to respond with something clever, but he was quick to make good on his threat. My only response was a series of unintelligible grunts punctuating each of his blows. I looked desperately around for King, hoping he had not only dispatched his enemies, but could also rescue me from Siward.

But King had his own troubles. Both of the kidnappers wielded swords now, two blades to one, and King's back pressed the wall. To his credit, he was a good swordsman, but the weapon seemed awkward in his grip. It had been too long since he had fought like this. Then one of the kidnappers struck him a smart blow to arm, knocking his sword down. Both villains' blades flicked toward his throat.

"On your knees, hero," mocked one of the swordsmen. Siward held me by the collar and turned to look.

King was amazed and uncertain. He hesitated, then slowly knelt, defeat in the old warrior's eyes.

"Down, you cur," ordered the other man. The first grabbed King by the shoulder and pushed him down onto his hands.

"King!" I cried.

He looked over at where I lay beneath Siward's giggling bulk. All three kidnappers laughed mockingly, congratulating each other with glances. King peered across at his dropped sword, his expression hopeless, his head hanging low. He looked utterly defeated.

But then King hunkered down, finding the balance between his hands and feet. He lifted his head slowly. The kidnappers were busy grinning at each other, so I was the only one to see King show his teeth in a smile that would have terrified me had it been cast my direction. The swordsmen didn't see King look up at them, a renewed fire in his eyes. He tensed, ready to spring.

"Rahr!" growled King, lunging at the first kidnapper's leg.

The man shouted in pain and beat ineffectually at his attacker. "He bit me! He bit me!" he repeated in disbelief.

"He's raving mad," shouted the other, raising his sword.

Then they heard King's low, awful growl, and saw King's eyes, his teeth bared and bloody.

"Merciful gods, it's a werewolf!" cried one. Two swords struck the ground at once, and the kidnappers fled so quickly that one of them slammed face first into the statue of the cat goddess, knocking himself senseless. The other ran somewhat farther, screamed, then fell with a great thump. I figured out later that he had stumbled over Lonny, whom he thought to be the unfortunate victim of King, the werewolf.

Siward's reaction was every bit as sudden as those of his companions. "Werewolf!" he screamed.

Siward ran three steps and promptly tripped over a chair that mysteriously slid beneath his legs. Dauna appeared, slapping the babbling Siward with the feathered cap. "Who's squashed now, little bug?" Whether to stanch the wound to his dignity or to preserve his dwindling sanity, Siward chose the better part of valor and fainted.

The rest was a boring parade of arriving watchmen, a tearful and huggy Betha, and plenty of questions. The earlier thrill kept us awake for the first hour or so, but then Dauna's yawns melted into sleep. King carried her home in his arms, and I barely made it back under my own power.

"You must stay the night here," said Betha to King. The hero opened his mouth as if to argue, then shut it again. Betha was still the bigger dog.

I had just enough strength to show King to the guest bedroom. We said good night, and I turned to leave. But I stopped a moment at the door to look back at him, thinking I had something to say but finding no words. He didn't see me.

I watched him lie down on the bed with a heavy sigh, then turn heavily onto his side. A few more uncomfortable shifts, and King climbed off the soft feather bed to crawl onto the rug, circle three times on all fours, then curl up to sleep comfortably.

*****

Father returned four days after we rescued Dauna. He wouldn't let us out of his sight for days. The first time I saw King was at Chesley's trial. The court was