Hero's Shield by Joyce Holt

Author:Joyce Holt [Holt, Joyce]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2018-03-12T22:00:00+00:00

30 – Anguish

"Open!" Edric shouted as he rode up to the gates of the fortress. Gwen and the old grey clattered to a stop, hides lathered, legs trembling, wheezing each breath. The sorcerer dismounted and pounded on the oaken panel, raising a chorus of barks and bays from beyond.

"Ricmund, you slacker! Unbar the gate!"

Gwen hung back as far as her lead would allow. The gelding, too, staggered away from the thundering sorcerer.

"Ricmund! Open this moment or I'll cut you up and feed you to the pack! Open!"

"Yah, Lord," came a voice nearly drowned by the din.

The ban-dog loped past Gwen to stand by its master, its tongue lolling from the run. When the gate creaked ajar, the beast closed its jaw with a snap and darted into the widening doorway, snarling at the hounds, clearing a path.

Edric strode forward, wrenching Gwen's lead rope and pushing past the hound master. "If I'd wanted a slow doorward I'd have taken in a cripple."

"Lord, I was at the far end—"

Edric cut him off with a slice of his hand through the air, and stalked toward the inner compound. He let go the lead while he strung the bow, but kept his glowering gaze on Gwen. "Do not even try," he growled. "Bana, guard."

Behind them the houndmaster called Cadal to tend the gelding. The gate closed with a creak, a thunk, and the thud of the bar falling into place. The sound shuddered through Gwen's very bones, the crashing of hope, the sealing of fate.

Then came the twang of the bow, thrumming in her ears and setting every hair of her hide to tingle. She sidestepped, but the ban-dog leaped to block her, nipped, dodged her kick, circled just out of reach, fixing Gwen with a murderous glare. Blood trickled down her leg as she shimmied back toward the sorcerer.

Edric pushed the gate open. He grabbed the halter, knuckles jabbing her cheeks as he yanked her forward. Gwen skittered along, snatching one glance at the tyrant's grimy face so close to hers. Even through the stench of her own fear she could smell his musty, unwashed odor, riddled with the sour scent of fury. The lump of iron thumped on his chest from the roughness of his stride. He released the halter, tied off her lead with angry jerks, and stomped away to shove the gate closed.

Gwen flinched at a quiver of tawny brown just a handspan from her face. The kestrel. The sorcerer had lashed her to the kestrel's post. From the end of its perch the falcon stared at her with one glinting dark eye, then sank its neck and hunched as if trying to shrink out of sight.

Gwen swung her hindquarters and craned her neck to keep an eye on her captor. The sorcerer strode into his sleeping quarters. The ban-dog stalked toward the make-shift stable, nose whuffing the air and tail high in aggression. She caught sight of a flash of grey in the shadowy stall – the hound pup cringing against the planks.

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