Tyrus cursed softly to himself. “Ahead . . . keep going!”
“We should find a position to defend ourselves,” Baylen suggested.
“The Cruithne is right,” Kiranrao joined. “We don’t want to be attacked on all fronts.”
“You don’t understand their tactics,” Tyrus snapped. “The baying is to unnerve us. When they attack, they will attack after it has gone silent.”
The sound was achieving its intended purpose, Paedrin realized. The howling came from every direction now and he thought he could see slips of shadows through the dark maze of trees.
“We’re heading right toward a Dryad tree,” Phae warned, pointing. “That way.”
“Follow me,” Tyrus said, altering the course immediately. They were going back the way they had come, circling the other direction. Paedrin was sure of it.
“We’re heading back, Tyrus?”
“Trust me,” he said. “Don’t trust your senses. We’ve shifted directions multiple times already. Without the sun, you have no way to trust your bearings. Just follow me.”
They plunged into the woods deeper and suddenly the baying stopped.
Everyone looked around in bewilderment and fear. The look on Annon’s face was full of dread and Paedrin noticed his friend’s fingers start to glow blue.
“Not yet,” Tyrus ordered. “Follow.”
“What about our defenses?” Baylen asked.
The Paracelsus turned on him. “You’re about to understand it firsthand, Baylen. There are no defensive positions. You stay alive. That’s all you think about.”
“How many do you think there are?” Kiranrao asked.
“We only heard their pack chiefs. I counted probably eight.”
“How many are in a pack?”
“A dozen to two dozen each,” Tyrus said grimly. “They’ll go for your throat. Be ready, but keep moving. We disrupt them by advancing and not waiting. Faster!”
Before they could go another step, black shadows sprang at them from the twisted line of trees. Paedrin whistled in warning, spinning away from the others to launch himself at the first ranks. They were dogs, but not dogs—huge hounds with jet-black pelts. The beasts were as tall as ponies and ribbed with muscle and short black fur. Paedrin saw the gleam of snapping teeth and realized in horror that each of the monsters had two heads. There was no growling or yowling, just charging fetid breath and snapping fangs.
Paedrin felt the whole earth slow into a syrupy haze. He vaulted forward, one arm aiming backward, his sword arm pointing out. He leapt at the first of the beasts with a rush of magic and launched himself like a spear. He impaled the beast right in the fork of its neck, plunging the blade into its heart. The impact of the thrust nearly buried the blade, so he quickly tugged it back and swung around again, for another was snapping at his legs and the other at his arm.
Paedrin could not describe the feeling of calm that centered deep inside his chest. All his life he had trained in the Bhikhu temple, sparring and conditioning his body to perform feats of delicate balance and harsh fury. There was no time to think or plan. There was no moment to analyze. A hundred Vecses had charged into their midst and Paedrin slashed and ripped at them with passion and lethal skill. He saw blinding flashes of blue flame and heard cries of terror and intense emotion.
There was pain. Certainly, there was pain. There was no way he could prevent injuries from such a flood of snarling, snapping monsters. He flung himself one way and then the next, not staying put long enough for the beasts to focus on him. He noticed that none of the Vecses had eyes, but deep sockets that were glassy smooth like teacups. Even though they had no eyes, each beast had two snouts that seemed to know exactly where he was, just as his blind vision could also see them. He recognized that their noses were sensitive and he could easily disable a beast with a sharp blow to the nose, or smashing the pommel of his sword against them. He felt gashes on his legs and knew he was bleeding. But none of them could pin him down or gain access to his throat, despite how many hurtled at him like darts.
Paedrin slashed and turned, spraying blood from another monster as he impaled it with the Sword. He was starting to tire. There was a constant rush of new beasts, each one hungrier to drink his blood than the one before it. He fought off his weariness, wondering how the others were doing but not daring to see. Yelps of pain came as fire engulfed some of the hounds in wave blooms of heat.
There was nothing but rage and determination inside Paedrin’s veins. He would not back down. He did not want Tyrus to summon them to flee. He was determined to slay every last creature that came at him.
“We should find a position to defend ourselves,” Baylen suggested.
“The Cruithne is right,” Kiranrao joined. “We don’t want to be attacked on all fronts.”
“You don’t understand their tactics,” Tyrus snapped. “The baying is to unnerve us. When they attack, they will attack after it has gone silent.”
The sound was achieving its intended purpose, Paedrin realized. The howling came from every direction now and he thought he could see slips of shadows through the dark maze of trees.
“We’re heading right toward a Dryad tree,” Phae warned, pointing. “That way.”
“Follow me,” Tyrus said, altering the course immediately. They were going back the way they had come, circling the other direction. Paedrin was sure of it.
“We’re heading back, Tyrus?”
“Trust me,” he said. “Don’t trust your senses. We’ve shifted directions multiple times already. Without the sun, you have no way to trust your bearings. Just follow me.”
They plunged into the woods deeper and suddenly the baying stopped.
Everyone looked around in bewilderment and fear. The look on Annon’s face was full of dread and Paedrin noticed his friend’s fingers start to glow blue.
“Not yet,” Tyrus ordered. “Follow.”
“What about our defenses?” Baylen asked.
The Paracelsus turned on him. “You’re about to understand it firsthand, Baylen. There are no defensive positions. You stay alive. That’s all you think about.”
“How many do you think there are?” Kiranrao asked.
“We only heard their pack chiefs. I counted probably eight.”
“How many are in a pack?”
“A dozen to two dozen each,” Tyrus said grimly. “They’ll go for your throat. Be ready, but keep moving. We disrupt them by advancing and not waiting. Faster!”
Before they could go another step, black shadows sprang at them from the twisted line of trees. Paedrin whistled in warning, spinning away from the others to launch himself at the first ranks. They were dogs, but not dogs—huge hounds with jet-black pelts. The beasts were as tall as ponies and ribbed with muscle and short black fur. Paedrin saw the gleam of snapping teeth and realized in horror that each of the monsters had two heads. There was no growling or yowling, just charging fetid breath and snapping fangs.
Paedrin felt the whole earth slow into a syrupy haze. He vaulted forward, one arm aiming backward, his sword arm pointing out. He leapt at the first of the beasts with a rush of magic and launched himself like a spear. He impaled the beast right in the fork of its neck, plunging the blade into its heart. The impact of the thrust nearly buried the blade, so he quickly tugged it back and swung around again, for another was snapping at his legs and the other at his arm.
Paedrin could not describe the feeling of calm that centered deep inside his chest. All his life he had trained in the Bhikhu temple, sparring and conditioning his body to perform feats of delicate balance and harsh fury. There was no time to think or plan. There was no moment to analyze. A hundred Vecses had charged into their midst and Paedrin slashed and ripped at them with passion and lethal skill. He saw blinding flashes of blue flame and heard cries of terror and intense emotion.
There was pain. Certainly, there was pain. There was no way he could prevent injuries from such a flood of snarling, snapping monsters. He flung himself one way and then the next, not staying put long enough for the beasts to focus on him. He noticed that none of the Vecses had eyes, but deep sockets that were glassy smooth like teacups. Even though they had no eyes, each beast had two snouts that seemed to know exactly where he was, just as his blind vision could also see them. He recognized that their noses were sensitive and he could easily disable a beast with a sharp blow to the nose, or smashing the pommel of his sword against them. He felt gashes on his legs and knew he was bleeding. But none of them could pin him down or gain access to his throat, despite how many hurtled at him like darts.
Paedrin slashed and turned, spraying blood from another monster as he impaled it with the Sword. He was starting to tire. There was a constant rush of new beasts, each one hungrier to drink his blood than the one before it. He fought off his weariness, wondering how the others were doing but not daring to see. Yelps of pain came as fire engulfed some of the hounds in wave blooms of heat.
There was nothing but rage and determination inside Paedrin’s veins. He would not back down. He did not want Tyrus to summon them to flee. He was determined to slay every last creature that came at him.
