He stabbed with renewed vigor. By the gods, he wasn’t going down without a pile of bodies at his feet! Two different yelps greeted his effort, and then the door blasted open. Desperately wishing he had a shield, Gregory met the advance. He cut one down, and he used its falling body to stall the other. His sword could cut and wound, but the wolf-men lunged with such energy that even killing one would not prevent it from crashing into him. The two families screamed, and Gregory tried to make his stand.
“Gregory!” Jeremy shouted. A wolf-man grabbed hold of Gregory’s arm, and he screamed as he felt muscle tear. He stabbed his sword up to the hilt in the wolf-man’s chest, and then spared a glance behind. Something was crashing through the broken boards on the window. Jeremy fell back. It was no wolf-man. Darius hit the floor, spun, and swung his sword in an upward arc. A chasing wolf-man howled, its body cut in two. Gore splattered the floor, and the two families screamed.
“Take the window!” Darius ordered, physically grabbing him and flinging him behind. His burning blade made quick work of one wolf-man, and it kept a second at bay. Gregory joined Jeremy at the window, and when the first tried to climb through, they stabbed it with their swords, knocking it back. It seemed few were there to take advantage of the opening, not with the front doors unguarded.
“There’s too many!” Gregory shouted, leaving the window to join Darius’s side.
“Really? I never noticed!”
Darius braced with his back foot as the wolf-man lost patience and charged, impaling itself on the burning blade. The dark paladin kicked the body off in time to battle a second, this one smaller, faster. Claws ripped off the armor from his shoulder, tearing the leather strap in two. Blood ran, but Darius fought on, his scream drowned out by that of the wolf as he hacked through its collarbone and into its chest.
They heard cries from the other rooms, and Gregory could only imagine how the rest of their men fared. Where was Daniel? Jon? Letts? Was the priest dead, or had he simply exhausted his repertoire of spells? And what of Jerico? Still the wolves rushed through the hallways, seeming endless in number. Would they fight all night, never to know victory?
“Gregory?” Darius asked, standing before the door with his shoulders slumped, gasping in air during a momentary reprieve.
“Yeah?”
“Is it me, or am I hearing trumpets?”
Gregory paused, and sure enough, he heard the same brass sound.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Good,” Darius said, taking up his sword as another wolf-man turned the corner and rushed for him. “I was worried I’d lost so much blood I’d begun hearing things.”
15
Jerico didn’t want to imagine the carnage within. He didn’t want to face the failure of his poor positioning, of letting the self-proclaimed Wolf King through. But he went inside anyway.
“Ashhur damn you to the Abyss,” he whispered. Redclaw had had only a moment’s time, but he’d used it well to suit his desire. Blood splattered the walls. People screamed, and men and women lay dying on the floor. The wolf-man tore through those that fled, trying to hurry up the stairs or to the exit. Jerico rushed in, ashamed of his pause. There was no time to take in his surroundings, no time to dwell on his failure. Only one thing mattered: Redclaw’s death.
“Do you hear their wails?” Redclaw asked, whirling to face him, a torn arm hanging limp in his grip.
“I do.” He flung his mace, the flanged edges striking the Wolf King across the side of his face. “And I hear yours, too.”
He charged, shield leading. Only a fool would consider him unarmed without his mace. The glowing surface slammed into the wolf-man, its holy light burning. Redclaw howled, and despite his training, Jerico felt joy in the sound. At least ten lay dead or dying because of the creature. Hopefully Ashhur would forgive him for taking delight in Redclaw’s death. He punched with his gauntlet, braced his knees, and then lunged again. His shield struck the Wolf King’s chest, accompanied by a flash of light.
“I am no pup!” Redclaw roared. Despite the pain from its contact, he slashed the shield anyway, shoving it back and denting its surface. “I am no fool! You will die, human. We will be free, free to roam, free to feast! The western lands belong to your kind no longer!”
“The blood on your face says otherwise.”
Redclaw snarled, and Jerico ducked underneath the desperate strike. Bending down, he grabbed his mace, spun, and struck the wolf-man on the underside of his chin. The blow rocked him to his heels, and Jerico followed it up with a shield to the face. Blood splattered across the metal of his armor. The paladin couldn’t deny the immense satisfaction. So many dead. So many dying.
“We are too many,” Redclaw said, but his voice was nearly a whimper. He staggered away, his weight leaning against a wall. One eye had swollen shut from the thrown mace, and blood dripped from his nose and teeth.
“I know,” Jerico said, not worried about the remaining few who heard him. “But we stood strong anyway, wolf. You know we beat you. You’ll die knowing it, as I’ll die knowing we crushed your pack. This land is ours. Go back to the Wedge.”
Redclaw tensed, Jerico braced his shield, but then the wolf-man tore to the side, rushing past him and out the door. The paladin thought to call him a coward, but insulting a fleeing creature seemed both petty and pointless. It’d be like calling a dog a dog and thinking it’d care. His armor feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds, he staggered back to the door. The last of his adrenaline was fading, Ashhur’s lent strength seeming to fade. He’d faced their best, and won. At least he knew that.
Stepping out from the tavern, he looked to Hangfield’s. He expected it destroyed, to hear the cries of the dying, or even worse, the sound of feasting. Instead, the creatures appeared in disarray. Wolf-men were looking about, and many rushed from the main door. Before Jerico could begin to wonder why, he heard the heavy sound of a trumpet, shockingly close. Glancing the other way, he saw a squad of twenty soldiers on foot rushing toward the wolves, armor shining and swords raised high. An older man led them, his hair and beard gray, but his battle-cry sounded youthful enough. Jerico laughed and wondered if he’d somehow lost his mind.
The soldiers crashed into the back ranks of the wolves, who clearly lacked any leadership. Keeping tight battle lines, the humans waded through them, pressing toward the house. Jerico took up his shield and joined in. The wolf-men had already suffered tremendous casualties, and against the reinforcements, however few, they were unprepared. Jerico heard the soldiers singing as they fought, and he sang along. His mace struck once, twice, bringing down a wolf-man, and then his shield led him on, smashing aside two more to link up with the soldiers.
“What miracle brought you here?” he asked as the wolf-men surrounded them, forming a loose perimeter that was unable to punch through their shields.
“If it is a miracle, it’s a damn poor one,” shouted the older man. “Because all you got was me, paladin.”
“I’ll gladly take it,” Jerico laughed. With him in the lead, he broke the wolf’s line, using his shield to fend off two attackers hoping to bury him with their weight. The way to the house clear, they rushed in, cutting down a few stragglers trying to flee. Inside, he found Darius, who saluted with his gore-coated blade. It seemed even the dark fire was struggling to burn away all the blood.