The Search for the Red Dragon - James A. Owen [92]
There was nowhere to run. And there was no possibility of combat. The companions were clearly outmatched.
“You wear the Hoods,” growled the graying wolf they all assumed to be the leader. “The Hoods of Law.”
“Yes,” Laura Glue said, emboldened by the creature’s ability to speak and, seemingly, reason. “They are the right color, so you have to leave us be, growly wolf.”
The wolf stared at her for a moment, then made a raspy chuffing noise and swayed its head from side to side.
The great creature, they realized, was laughing.
“Little Daughter of Eve,” said the wolf, “I am Carthos Mors, and I obey the Law of Centrum Terrae, set down lo these many years between my great-great-grandsire and thine own ancestor, the Queen of Sorrows. You wear the Hoods. You bear the color. And we are sworn to protect thee.”
As he spoke, Jack was hastily repositioning his cloak to cover himself as much as possible. Charles placed a steadying hand on his friend’s shoulder, and John and Bert drew up more closely behind Laura Glue.
“Protect us?” said Aven. “Protect us from what?”
The other wolves had already begun to growl, raised their hackles, and looked skyward. The answer to Aven’s question was above, in the trees.
The silence of the forest canopy was suddenly broken by a fierce chittering sound, as the huge winged monkeys dropped from the treetops where they had been tracking the companions’ progress.
Snarling, Carthos Mors and the other wolves leaped to the attack, and the companions fled for cover.
Shouting, Aven directed the others to the remnants of a structure that was thirty or forty yards off the path. It had once been a house but had long ago been burned, and all that remained were the foundations and a few charred trusses. There was also a great stone fireplace and chimney, which Aven herded Jack and Laura Glue into, drawing her long knife as she did so.
John and Charles handed Bert the Geographica and the History, picked up stout branches, and took up defensive stances alongside Aven.
Laura Glue was more awed than frightened by the spectacle taking place before them. Jack, for his part, was thrilled, and only slightly distracted by the fact that their hiding place smelled strongly of burnt gingerbread.
From their vantage point, the companions were able to see the fierce battle. The monkeys were roughly the same size as the children, with wings that were broader than the men were tall. Their teeth gleamed, and their claws slashed out wickedly at the defending wolves. And most fearsome of all was the fact that the monkeys’ eyes glittered with a fierce, feral, almost evil intelligence.
Carthos Mors and the other wolves took up a V-shaped formation that kept rotating fresh wolves to the front of the battle—which meant that only the thick ruffs of their backs were exposed to the cutting, slashing claws of the monkeys.
The monkeys’ ability to fly gave them a huge advantage—in a surprise dropping attack. But for sustained combat, against an organized opponent, it was soon clear they were outmatched. After a few minutes of fighting, the monkeys shrieked their dismay and abandoned the effort. In moments they had disappeared into the tops of the trees.
After assuring themselves that it was safe to break formation, the wolves dispersed into the shadows, except for Carthos Mors, who approached the companions. To their surprise, he again addressed Laura Glue, as if she were their natural leader.
“Daughter of Eve,” the great wolf began, “thou should have no further fear from thine enemies. We have honored the Law. What else might we do for thee?”
“We got to cross your island and go to the next one,” Laura Glue said. “We’re supposed t’ follow the path.”
“Then we shall guide and protect thee,” said Carthos Mors, bowing. Without another word, the wolf turned and began to walk down the path. Laura Glue followed him first, then the others, albeit a bit more reluctantly.
In the undergrowth, the companions could see the shapes of the other wolves, pacing them, protecting