Part 43 (1/2)
Blaine was too tired to eat. He picked his way through the others till he found Kath's litter. ”Has she woken?”
”Not yet.” Bear's gruff voice answered. ”We'll keep watch over the Svala.”
”As will I.” Annoyed, Blaine found a spot nearby and dropped his bedroll. Shrugging his harness from his shoulders, he set his sword close to hand. He tugged off his boots but was too weary to remove his chainmail s.h.i.+rt. When the flagon of mead came his way, he took a long drink but he could not be bothered to eat. Desperate for rest, he curled within his bedroll, pulling his cloak up over his head. Sleep claimed him before he'd even shut his eyes.
A scream split the night.
Blaine bolted awake, reaching for his sword.
All around him, men scrambled from bedrolls, reaching for weapons and armor.
Low clouds shrouded the sky, obscuring the moon, too little light to see by. Blaine stood with his back to another warrior, his sword held at the ready, straining to find the threat.
”Where did it come from?”
”To the left.”
Blaine peered into the dark, unable to tell friend from foe.
Another gut-wrenching scream, this time to the right, but there was no clash of steel. It seemed the perfect ambush.
Someone yelled, ”A b.l.o.o.d.y gore hound! A gore hound's got Seigen!”
Fear spread like lightning. The beast hunted them. The thought s.h.i.+vered through Blaine's mind. He shuffled backward, needing to feel another man at his back.
A lone howl ripped the night, evoking terror in the dark.
”Stay!” The man at his back whispered a command. ”It's just a diversion.”
A diversion! ”You mean those things think?”
”They think and they hate. Gore hounds hunt for the thrill of it, playing with their food before they eat. And they always hunt in packs.”
And we're the b.l.o.o.d.y food. Blaine gripped his sword, straining for a glimpse of the beast.
The attack came without warning. A man screamed to his left, a b.l.o.o.d.y gurgle full of death. Blaine spun, just in time to meet a rush of fangs. He parried the fangs with a warding slash from left to right. Fear lent strength to the cut. Blue steel bit deep, a snarl of pain. Hot blood splashed across Blaine's face. A claw raked his sleeve but his chainmail held true. Blaine twisted his sword and the thing fell dead at his feet.
He wrenched his sword free and moved to a crouch, standing at the other man's back, poised for the next attack.
Terror stalked the night.
Blaine strained to see in the dark, every sense on edge.
Somewhere to the left, a man whimpered in pain. ”It hurts! It hurts!”
Torven yelled, ”Form a circle around the Svala!”
Someone lit a glow crystal, a pale beacon of light. ”This way!”
Blaine shuffled toward the light, his sword at the ready. They formed a circle around Kath's litter, weapons bristling outward, a desperate defense against the beasts.
Another scream, more proof the hounds remained on the hunt.
”It's eating me!” A man's voice screeched in the darkness. ”Help me!” The voice shrieked in terror. ”Kill me!”
The screams preyed on Blaine's mind. ”We can't just let him die!”
”Hold your ground!” Torven shouted over the shrieks, holding his men to their positions.
Blood-curdling screams turned to pitiful wails. The victims took forever to die. Snarls filled the night, the sounds of bones being crunched and men being eaten alive.
Sweat trickled down Blaine's back. Every scream conjured a fresh horror. The night seemed to last forever. Silence eventually prevailed, but the men refused to be fooled. Holding their swords at the ready, they kept their position. The vigil sapped their strength and strained their nerves, but the painted warriors held their ground, as brave as any sworn knights. The dawn light saved them. A glimmer of gold streaked the sky, giving proof that the beasts were gone.
Most of the men dropped to their knees in weariness and thanks, but Blaine staggered forward, needing to know the cost of the fight. Torven joined him, giving names to the dead. Seven men killed, one of them half eaten from the boots up. Blaine looked away, a horrible way to die.
Torven knelt, closing the eyes of the mangled corpse. ”Sebold was my friend.” He eased a dagger from the dead man's hand. ”Such torture is deliberate. The cursed gore hounds are nothing but pure hate.”
Blood spattered the trampled gra.s.s, most of it human. Amongst the slain they found only two gore hounds. The creatures reeked of evil. Everything about them was wrong. Snout like a wolf and teeth like a saber cat, the cursed hounds were the size of a small horse. Strong and vicious, the twisted beasts were clearly designed to kill. Kicking one with his boot, Blaine made the hand sign against evil.
”I heard you killed one.”
Blaine nodded.
”Good fighting for a bare face.” Torven moved on, scouting the battlefield, Blaine a shadow by his side. The eagle faced warrior knelt among the trampled gra.s.s. ”Too many paw prints. We've caught the attention of a hunting pack.” His face turned grim. ”They'll be back.”
”What about the dead?”
”Food for ravens.”
Blaine's disapproval must have shown from his face.
Torven scowled. ”It's our way.”
Others were already moving among the dead, scavenging weapons and food.
”So how do we fight them?”
”With steel and with guile. These are no ordinary beasts.” Torven raised his voice to a shout. ”Tarly and Pren, skin the hounds. We'll rest an hour and then move out.”
No one argued. The two painted warriors set to work skinning the beasts. Blaine sat huddled with the others, gnawing on a strip of dried horsemeat. No one talked. Their faces said it all. Streaked with weariness and grim determination, they'd pit swords against the terrors of the night. He wondered how many would survive. The battle for the north had begun, but instead of soldiers they fought nightmares that prowled on four legs, making meals of men. Blaine shuddered, thankful for his blue steel sword.
53.
Duncan Darkness swirled overhead, shadows darting among the stalact.i.tes. Chained to the floor, Duncan drifted in a haze of agony. Knives studded his body, a hundred stabs of silver. So much pain, it seemed as if his body was nothing but hurt. He begged the G.o.ds for death, or perhaps he'd already died, dead and gone to h.e.l.l, trapped in an eternal nightmare, the torment of the d.a.m.ned.