The Broken Pieces(70)

Immediately Redclaw knew something had gone amiss. There were far more than he’d expected. With his keen eyes he saw the scattered tents, most placed around a giant pile of rubble. But at the edge, coming in along the road, was a great force of men. They wore dark armor, and above their heads flew flags of lions. Combining their might with the group they’d already chased, Redclaw knew that his pack was suddenly outnumbered by a significant amount.





“Our feast will be great,” Warfang said, running beside him with his tongue hanging out one side of his mouth.

“Cyric said nothing of them,” Redclaw said, pointing his nose toward the second army.

“Is that piss I smell running down your leg, Redclaw? None can stand. None will stand!”

He let out another howl, and Redclaw’s pride had him join in, his legs pumping harder. The two took the lead, the rest veering out behind them at either side. They’d hit like a wave, bury their foes before they could bring their strength to bear. There were no walls to stop them, no river to protect their prey. His footfalls left fire in the grass, and with a great burst of smoke he launched himself at the first of the humans.

There was no contest. The man was unarmored, and he held no blade. Blood splashed across his claws, and the human’s head fell from its body. The rest of the wolf-men slammed into the fleeing forces. Redclaw urged his pack on, wanting them to stay together. They swept through the camp, Redclaw leading. It wasn’t until they reached the road, and the secondary force, that they encountered true resistance. The humans stood in a straight line, and something about their organization worried Redclaw. He paused only slightly, and Warfang took the lead. Their fur glowed with fire as they leapt against the line, their weight crushing shields, their claws crunching in armor. Redclaw slashed aside a feeble attempt to stab with a sword, then buried his claws in the man’s heart. With a cry he ripped it out, let it’s blood drip across his tongue.

Then a unified cry rose from the men, and it’s sound filled Redclaw with fear and doubt.

“For Karak!” they cried.

For Karak? But Redclaw followed Karak made flesh, the priest named Cyric. Who were these men, and were they foes at all? But it didn’t matter, not now. The bloodlust had begun, the battle engaged. Wolf-men pushed forward, but every inch was bought in blood. Redclaw returned to the fray, and against his strength the humans were but pups. Tearing at steel the wolf-men pushed again and again, and he knew that, despite the casualties, they’d still conquer.

But then came those he hated most. Men with blades burning with black fire rushed to the forefront, cutting down his pack. Redclaw watched his wolf-men try to bury them with sheer size, but these were not the same as other humans. Their strength was great, and their blades cut even the wolf-men’s muscled bodies in half.

“Press on!” Warfang roared, unafraid. “Do not fear their fire, for we are fire itself!”

It seemed Warfang was, for smoke billowed off him. The swords of the normal humans could barely scratch him, and Redclaw rushed to his side, knowing that only together could they make a stand against the paladins. Their claws slashed against steel, blocking and pushing. What had begun as an easy advance became a crawl. When the men in robes joined in, the crawl became a halt. Redclaw’s doubt heightened, for these men dressed like Cyric, and from their hands leapt dark spells that flooded his pack with electricity and broke their bones with bolts of shadow. Even their very presence seemed to sap the strength of his wolf-men. Still Redclaw pressed on, and with sheer pleasure his claws tore through the throat of a paladin, putting an end to the damned fire surrounding his blade.

“Redclaw!” roared a human voice, and he could hardly believe the sound. It couldn’t be him. Why here? Why now?

The glowing shield advanced, and at the sight of that red-haired paladin Redclaw knew real terror. This was the human he had failed to defeat in their very first attack across the river. This was the man who had left a score of wolf-men dead at his feet.

Jerico Wolf Smacker pushed to the front of the human forces, and at sight of him the human grinned.

“You’ve gotten bigger,” said Jerico. “And uglier.”

One of his pack tried to leap at the paladin, but Redclaw snarled at him, forcing the wolf-man to go around, striking at those who tried to come to Jerico’s aid.

“I was alone when you beat me,” Redclaw said. “Now I wield the power of a god.”

“Whose?” asked Jerico. “Karak’s? Look behind me, Redclaw. So do they.”

Redclaw’s eyes flicked to the many banners, and that was when the paladin struck. His shield led the way, along with that damnable light. It burned into his flesh with a pain far worse than their first encounter. It seemed the embers of his fur faded under its glow, the fire dripping from his claws dimmer and lacking any true heat. As Redclaw crossed his arms against it, Jerico struck with his mace, tearing open a strip of flesh across his wrist.