Fire in the Blood (Brimstone Angels) by Erin M. Evans

Author:Erin M. Evans [Evans, Erin M.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786965526
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2014-10-14T00:00:00+00:00

THE HELLHOUND SNUFFLED at Irvel’s dagger. She looked over at Brin and growled, baring teeth as long as iron nails.

Havilar yanked on the chain. “No! Bad puppy! No growling at Brin!” The hellhound made a little whining bark and turned back to Havilar, tucking her enormous head against Havilar’s stomach. She rubbed the dog behind the ear. “It’s all right. You’re learning.”

“How is this going to work?” Kallan muttered. “Untrained tracking dog in the rain on a cold trail?” The hellhound swung its head toward the dragonborn sellsword. Sairché’s disguise spell still made the hellhound look like an ordinary mastiff—albeit a very big one.

“We’re just trying it,” Brin said, never looking away from Havilar.

Havilar held the dagger out again. “There’s another smell,” she told the puppy. “Another man. Not Brin, Find him.”

The hellhound sniffed at the dagger again, longer this time. Long enough that Havilar was uncomfortably aware of five sets of eyes on her, waiting to see if this plan would work.

The hellhound lifted her head, scenting the air. She swung around so sharply the chain nearly yanked free of Havilar’s grip. The hellhound threw back her head and made a squeaky little howl.

Moriah clapped a hand to her mouth, giggling. “Oh, tell me it’s not cute,” she said at Kallan’s dark look.

The hellhound suddenly broke toward the north, nearly tearing Havilar’s arms from their sockets. Havilar held onto the chain, running as fast as she could after the hellhound, who strained against her leash and muzzle. Behind Havilar came the crash of her companions running through the thick forest.

“Stop stop stop stop!” Havilar shouted. Suddenly the hellhound turned and whipped around her, and before Havilar could leap aside, the enormous dog had ducked between Havilar’s legs and heaved her up onto its back. Havilar caught the black fur, thick as steel wool in both hands as she teetered on the hellhound’s back. The puppy bucked and twisted, settling Havilar into place. “Gods, gods, gods!” Havilar shouted. “Stop! Sit! Be a good puppy!”

“Loyal Fury, Havi!” Brin cried behind her. Mehen and Sairché were close behind, and the sounds of Moriah and Kallan moving through the woods were far off. “What are you doing? Get off it!”

“Do you think I got up here on purpose?” Havilar shouted back. She nudged the hellhound’s flanks, as if she were a horse, tugged gently on the fur as though it were reins—the puppy turned … then caught sight of her tail, and snapping at it, turned again.

Havilar managed to catch the chain up and get the hellhound’s attention pointed toward the rest of her friends. “She’s too strong. I can’t hold the chain when she runs.” She bit her lip. “I can ride her. Could you follow?”

“No!” Brin cried.

“You’re likely to hurt its back,” Mehen pointed out. “It’s not full grown after all.”

“They’re meant to be ridden.” Everyone turned to Desima—to Sairché—standing with her arms folded tight at the back of the group. “That’s what they say,” she amended. “The mounts of Hellish cavalry, ready to ride as soon as they can run.

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