Redclaw shifted closer, checking his positioning. By the time they reached Yellowscar, he would be within grabbing distance of an oarsman. The other side would be similarly attacked, and Yellowscar could surely handle the man with the pole. Half the boat would be bleeding in the water before they knew they were under attack. He felt his anticipation rise, saliva building on his tongue. Closer, closer…
He was just about to reach out when Yellowscar burst from the water and howled at the top of his lungs. The oarsmen jerked back, and Redclaw’s swipe missed. Furious, he paddled closer to the boat as the humans cried out in panic. The boat was a confusion of bodies and arms. Snarling, Redclaw grabbed the side and hoisted himself up. The man with the oar had dropped it to grab a blade, and he swung it with strength born of desperation. With no room to move, and no desire to fall back into the water, Redclaw endured the slash. It tore into his flesh, but his muscles were thick, and his hide tough. Blood spilled across his fur. He slashed the oarsman, trading him blow for blow. The human had only weak skin, and beneath his sharp claws, it shredded and tore. An eyeball flung loose from the human’s skull, and Redclaw felt disappointment as it plopped into the water, sure to be lost and eaten by fish.
His fury growing, he lunged at the men in the center, the three of them keeping their backs together and their swords thrusting. They wore light armor, like the scales of fish, and his claws caught and pulled. One went down, the blow surely breaking bones. Another tried slashing at him to protect his comrade, but two wolf-men attacked from the other side. Just like that, the defense collapsed. More and more of his pack climbed aboard, tossing bodies into the water so the rest could feast.
At last they were dead, and Redclaw stood in the boat’s center. The blood-haze faded from his mind, and once more he took in his surroundings. The village’s dock was within sight.
Grabbing a crate, he hefted it into his arms and dumped it into the river. The rest followed his example, filling the river with old meats, filthy grains, and blocks of salt. Finished, he looked about, and when he saw the body floating face down, his fury swelled anew.
“Dirtyhide,” he said. His voice was calm, belying his fury. He searched for Yellowscar, found him at the back of the boat, his mouth hanging open with a dumb expression. Redclaw let loose a howl and leapt at him. His claws tore two great stripes across Yellowscar’s chest, soaking his claws with blood. Yellowscar moved to defend himself, but Redclaw grabbed his throat and squeezed. Knowing struggling was useless, Yellowscar lay there, the thin layer of water along the bottom of the boat soaking into his fur.
“You gave us away!” he cried.
“I wanted them afraid,” Yellowscar argued.
“And I wanted them dead! Dirtyhide died. I warned you, Yellowscar. Three times is your failure, and how many did you kill this night?”
“Two.”
“Two? You are pathetic. You are weak.”
He picked him up and hurled him into the water. When he tried to come near, the others nipped at him and chased him away.
“The territory of Redclaw is no longer your home,” he decreed. “Step one foot in my land, and we will cut you, bleed you, and leave you for the vultures. Do you understand me, Yellowscar?”
Yellowscar ignored them, instead paddling toward the human side of the river. When he reached the shore, he turned back and howled.
“I will come for my pups. I will come for my mate. You will not banish me, Redclaw!”
“You are banished, Yellowscar! And I will take your mate as my own, for her fur is soft, and she deserves a stronger mate than you.”
Yellowscar howled again, this one mixed with anger and helpless anguish. Redclaw responded in kind, and his cry was louder, stronger, and it humbled the banished wolf-man.
“Come,” he told his brethren. “We shall return home. The humans will suffer now, and they will worry. Let us see how the Gathering has gone, and if Bonebite has earned us another ally.”
They swam west, back into the Wedge. Redclaw looked back only once, curious to see if a pair of yellow eyes watched them from the opposite shore. There were none. Yellowscar was gone.
7
“Careful with the boat,” Jerico said as Darius guided them across the Gihon. “I doubt either of us could do much swimming in platemail if you capsize us.”
“I can remove my armor in less than twenty seconds. Can you?”
“A handy skill with the ladies, I guess.”
Darius shot him a wink. “I didn’t think that would be something a paladin of Ashhur would know much about.”
Jerico laughed. “Just watch the river. I doubt any comely lasses are waiting for you at the bottom.”
They stowed the boat amid the tall reeds growing by the river’s edge. From there they checked their armor, tightened it, and began their trek.
“Keep that shield on your back,” Darius said as they jogged. “Last thing we need is your glow giving us away.”
“Perhaps you should have ducked into the river. I wonder which is noticeable from farther away, my shield’s light, or your smell?”
“Your insults are like those of children.”
“Didn’t you tell me I should adept to my audience?”
Darius hit him with an elbow, which clanged against his platemail. Jerico grinned and smacked his shoulder. For a long while they ran, the minutes passing by in relative silence. The river faded behind them, soon just a barely visible line of trees. At last they stopped for a breather, and Jerico wondered at how many miles they had crossed.
“I think I know why elves only wear leather,” Jerico muttered as he tugged at the undercoat of his armor.
“We’re slower to arrive, and slower to be killed,” Darius said. “Fair tradeoff.”
“From what I hear, they’re tough to kill as well.”
Darius shrugged. “Well, they’d be even harder to kill in plate. Must you always debate?”
“Must you always be right?”
“It’s my charming trait. What’s yours?”
“The red beard.”
Despite the heaviness of his breath, Darius laughed.
“Fair enough. I see no wolf tracks here, and the night is strangely void of their howls.”
Jerico shifted the shield on his back and then gazed west, which was a long stretch of flat ground leading to where hills grew like bumps atop the wedge. In the starlight, he saw only grass and rock.
“It is strange,” he agreed. “Did we pass their camp, perhaps?”
“I doubt that. They run faster and farther than us, so it’d make sense for them to keep distance between their pack and the river. Last thing they want is easy surprise by our soldiers. But still, why the silence? Surely there’s at least one pack out there hunting.”
“What if they’re hunting us?”
They both glanced about, and Jerico felt the hairs on his neck rise.
“Your god warning you of impending danger?” Darius asked.
“No. You?”
“No. Then we’re not being hunted…yet. Come. In time, the wolf-men will have to…”
The cacophony of howls stunned him quiet. It came from their north, the wild sounds crying to the moon. Their volume was so great both paladins shivered, their mouths dropping open in surprise.
“It can’t be,” Darius whispered.
“We have to see for certain,” Jerico said, swallowing his fear.
“But there are hundreds. Hundreds!”
“And we will get as close as we can to know for sure.” Jerico struck Darius across the chest with the back of his hand, an almost playful gesture. “You aren’t losing your spine on me, are you?”