The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 22: The Princess's Hunt, Part 9

Behind him a carriage was barreling forward, drawn by a pair of roans, two men in the bucket. The one at the reins the wolves knew as Lord Marhollow's servant. The tattooed giant beside him, grinning ferociously and crouched to leap from the cart, they knew as Jossel's killer.

There was little time to make sense of any of this, for the carriage was rumbling closer to them like a thundercloud; the rider nearly on top of them and seemingly crazed. Carala's strange fugue seemed to end and all of a moment she was writhing like a snake in Syerre's grip, a touch of her own wolfish strength emerging, fully aware that her struggles were making it almost inevitable that Denisius would ride down the two of them, crushing them under his mount's hooves. 

In the end Syerre could either release Carala or be ridden down herself; she sprang aside just as Denisius passed above them, her prisoner leaping in the opposite direction. With a liquid speed even his brothers would have envied, Denisius gigged left at just the right moment, sparing Carala in a wide berth and knocking Syerre aside, who howled in outrage, Ammas's dagger slipping to the ground. Carala swept it up at once and rose to her feet, staring in wonder at Denisius, and looking frantically to see what had become of Ammas.

Unsurprisingly, Barthim had taken the cursewright's safety on himself. The carriage veered so close to the watchtower's outer wall that she feared it would shatter upon it, but just as Denisius had done Vos tugged the reins at the last moment, breaking aside at an angle so perilous two of the wheels left the ground. 

For a flash she had a glimpse of Casimir, huddled in the back and staring at the proceedings wide-eyed. When he saw Carala clutched Ammas's dagger in one hand, he gave her a grin nearly as huge as Barthim's. There seemed to be nothing to do but grin in return, even though she could hear Syerre choking on dust and snarling furiously at Denisius as he rounded her in a tight circle, his steed tossing its head and snorting at the fallen she-wolf. Every time she tried to get back to her feet, either on two legs or four, Denisius reared his mount forward, kicking at her, knocking her back down, until she was thoroughly winded, her eyes wide and staring enough to show the whites as she panted for air, tongue lolling on the ground.

Korl stared at the approaching horses, his gold-green eyes huge and shocked. A paralysis had gripped him at seeing Syerre, the fiercest she-wolf he knew, ridden into the dirt by the fat little lordling not one of them had feared. They had not scented them. They had not heard them. They had no way of knowing that the charms Ammas had distributed among them shielded them as effectively from wolfish senses as they did from the fear-soaked totems he and Casimir had strewn on the edge of the forest. 

He could not mask another werewolf, and he did not wish to mask his own scent, but in his gentle smile the cursewright saw the bait he had made of himself bear splendid fruit. Barthim the Beast roared as grand a prayer to the Hethmar as he knew as he launched himself from the carriage's bucket, knocking Korl asprawl and freeing Ammas from his grip. His enormous hands were wrapped around the wolf's throat at once, one of them gripping its muzzle and clamping it shut so fiercely three of his fangs cracked, the lower hinge of his jaw wrenched out of joint.

"You will be biting no one today, master wolf!" Barthim cried joyfully, now laying into the creature with powerful blows to the chest and belly. Korl whimpered through his aching snout, pawing uselessly at this mad giant, struggling to throw him off. Before he could make any headway at all, Vos descended from the carriage, sword drawn, and buried it in the wolf's ear without a word.

Barthim looked up, his hands soaked with blood, kicking himself up to his feet as the wolf writhed dying on the ground. "That was no fair match, Vos Sneakblade. I had the beast well in hand."

"Didn't want to see you scarred up," Vos grinned, and Barthim roared with laughter.

Were there no other wolves present, Ammas might have joined in with the celebration, but he knew well enough how quickly things might get out of control again. With a sneer he hurled himself past Denisius, seizing the she-wolf Syerre by the scruff of the neck and throwing her back against the tower wall, pinning her to it.