Bridge of Kings by Logan D. Irons

Author:Logan D. Irons [Logan D. Irons]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-02-28T00:00:00+00:00

IV

The herd's terror was an avalanche raging from the highest peak, almost overwhelming his senses. A thousand two-legs reeked of the bitter stench, a rotten odor washing over the warrior once known as Ulf Bodvarsson. Now he was known only by a tapestry of scents as the Gray King.

Yellow-fear dripped down their legs. Yelps of newborn pups and hamstrung calves escaped their lips. The two-legs were weak and soft of body. When they were struck by fear, they made even easier prey, a herd to be driven in their avidity to escape. Effortlessly they were brought down by the master of the hunt. He breathed in their fear, desiring more.

A wounded two-legs rolled himself off the bridge and into the water. Bubbles replaced his shadowed form. The Gray King bent down and clutched a leg from one of their fallen, his knife-like claws sinking into its soft pink flesh. Each two-leg in the herd crowded his neighbor for shelter. While many wore the hard silver-skin, most did not, making them easy prey. A herd of silver sheep. He hoisted the bloodied corpse into the air and heaved it toward their lines.

The corpse crashed into the shields of the two-legs knocking them backward into the ranks behind. They scrambled to escape their dead comrade. Those that stood their ground gaped in terror. He lifted his head and roared again. It is time to thin the herd.

The two-legs made no attempt to attack him. They were an army of leaves in fall, trembling before his war-wind, prepared to drop at any moment. The man inside the beast, Ulf, soothed the wolf’s rage. This was all desired. Let them try us.

Time, while only a passing breeze to a wolfskin, was an iron collar to the two-legs. Yet he understood, even in this form, that preventing the enemy two-legs from crossing the rapid waters was his purpose in life and death. His ears twitched. A thunderous call rolled down the ridge from the rival two-legs. His battle-kin. Those he sought to protect. Their howl of praise made his wounds fade.

He growled as the mounted enemy leader drove through his herd. He was surrounded by his pack of silver-skin-clad two-legs all mounted. They held hand-fangs or long-claws. He despised the cold, hard weapons of the two-legs. The long-claws were most dangerous for their reach, limbs of the shade-givers tipped with harsh points. A hand-fang reflected the sun and could cut or impale. Like the Gray King's tooth and claw each could be deadly in their own way.

Their bestial servants they rode he knew as tall-legs. Fearful beasts, fast and skittish, slaves to the two-legs, long in face and limb. He had tasted their flesh many times.

The herd leader spun his hand-fang over his head. His voice was a cub howling underwater. His pack picked up the yips and whines. Long-claws were leveled in his direction and the herd ran for him. He licked his lips, salivating in anticipation for the encroaching clash.

The bridge creaked as the Gray King shifted his weight.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.