Chapter Forty-Six

From where he stood, Tarn could not detect sentries outside the raised drawbridge, nor could he discern sentinels patrolling the parapets upon the wall. Something felt wrong, out of place. He pushed his uneasy feelings aside, uncoiled his slender black rope, and attached a leather-padded grappling hook to one end. Crouched low, he ran to the base of the wall and swung the grapnel over the top. On his third try, it bounced off a merlon and caught the edge of the crenel.

A few hefty tugs ensured the grapnel held firm. He scrambled up the line displaying Asgard dexterity. From atop the high rampart, Tarn surveyed the enclosure and the structures within. On the far side, adjacent to the stronghold, and backlit by the wan moon, the tower rose into the night until its conical roof was hidden from sight. Except for the top two windows, whose red curtains were drawn, and backlit by lamps, it waited dark and silent. Its smooth face, red curtains aglow, lorded over the compound.

The stronghold was a third smaller than Lord Landrew's castle, and boasted lights in many of its numerous rooms. A door opened on Tarn's left. He crouched low, pressing himself against the wall so that he merged with its granite colour. A man stepped into the courtyard. Sound and light spilled out of the barracks until the door was shut. The guard walked to the main building. Once the door closed behind him, Tarn ran, bent low atop the breastwork, toward the rear of the hold.

In the centre of a meticulously manicured lawn, behind the main building surrounded by neatly pruned trees, rested an impressive rock garden and a manmade pond. A single, iron-bound door, lent access to the main structure. The garden was hidden from view of the barracks and tower's windows. Tarn descended the bulwark stairs and ran lightly across the lawn casting furtive glances at the barracks. He hid behind a fretted colonnade and surveyed the rear of the hold.

Two balconies extended off rooms on the second floor. It would be little trouble for him to enter through either. He carefully worked his way to the solitary entrance and tested the latch. It was locked. Tarn scuttled to the north side of the building and peered around the corner. The tower rose in plain sight, some fifty strides away. An impulsive urge to enter the tower coursed through him. He took a step forward and stopped. A pair of guards exited the gatehouse to begin their rounds. This wasn't the night, but there would be another, he placated himself.

After cautiously retracing his steps to his grapnel, Tarn unhitched the black tether from the eyelet. It was quick work to dismantle and stow the grapnel inside his vest. He tied a slipknot around a merlon, then climbed over the wall. Once his feet touched the ground, Tarn shook the rope vigorously to release the slipknot. It thudded almost silently at his feet where he gathered it in loops and slung it over his shoulder. The sudden, unannounced appearance of Barath's glowing eyes caused his heart to skip; though a second later, a wry smile curled one corner of his mouth, meeting the erstwhile nobleman's wolfish grin.

When they retraced their steps to where the escort waited, Tarn signalled their retreat to the wooded copse sheltering the horses. Fifteen paces from the island of wood, Barath growled and then barked. Paws pounding the nearby ground thundered like a stampede. Kalen's sword jumped into Tarn's fist ere the first hell-hound attacked. The canines' weight rivalled that of a man. They stood four feet high at the shoulders, not unlike a Great Dane, though far more ferocious. Powerfully muscled legs propelled bodies that were easily six feet long. The lead beast neither growled, nor barked. Without preamble, it launched itself at Aliesha.

Kalen's sword cut through the night, intercepting the flying muscle mass, slicing cleanly through its thick neck. The weight of the headless body clipped Aliesha's shoulder as she tried to pivot out of its path, and knocked her to one knee. To her right, Sir Tarl and the guard next to him engaged a pair of mammoth hounds. When Sir Tarl's sword severed the front leg of one, it neither cried out in pain nor retreated.

Three huge hounds rushed Tarn.

Before he did more than position himself defensively, one of Aliesha's arrows sprouted from the lead dog's eye. As it collapsed to the ground, dead, the second hound stumbled over its fallen brother. Barath's airborne form hurtled past him. The third hound leaped at Tarn's throat. He dove under the canine, disembowelled it as it passed overhead, and then turned to assist Barath, when another arrow sped through the night, wounding Barath's foe. Tarn came up on the right side of the beast, plunged his sword deep into its rib cage, and twisted his blade to gape the wound wide.

The party sprinted to the trees, casting wild left and right glances that searched for additional foes. The horses smelled the blood splattering their clothes and grew agitated. As the last escort mounted up, Barath growled a warning. Tarn heard the heavy steps behind him and spun on his heels.

Four more hounds bounded up the slope, materializing out of the night like wraiths. Tarn took a wide stance between the oncoming hell-hounds and the horses, and snapped a quick command over his shoulder, "Get the horses to the forest!" and then he was besieged.

He opened a large gash on one, while Barath engaged another. A third hound launched itself at Tarn. He pivoted on his right foot and brought his sword down in a two-handed swing, separating flesh from bone as another one of Aliesha's arrows sank up to its feathers in the beast's neck. Sir Tarl's longbow twanged. An arrow pierced a charging canine's side. Tarn snatched a quick look down the slope and slapped Aliesha's horse on the hindquarters with the flat of his sword. He followed at a dead run for the cover of the forest.

A second later Barath ran at his side. Mounted on horseback, Sir Tarl and Aliesha quickly outdistanced the pair over the open stretch of ground. Tarn did not require Barath's warning to identify the sound of heavy paws pounding down the slope behind them. He glanced over his shoulder to determine the lead hound's speed.

Aliesha and Sir Tarl sat calmly on their horses; longbows aimed up the incline. Aliesha drew the arrow back smoothly. The fletching brushed her cheek. Her bowstring twanged. The hissing arrow flew unerringly to its target. She calmly replaced the spent missile with a steel-tipped shaft from her quiver, knocked it, aimed and fired in one smooth movement. Sir Tarl slung his bow across his back as the last beast in sight fell beneath two arrows.

"Get ye through the forest. Barath and I will lead any that follow on a merry chase," Tarn ordered, gaining the forest's perimeter.

"Ye can't face them alone," Aliesha said, horrified at his suggestion.

"I'm not alone. Barath's keen nose and sharp night-eyes serve us well. Thy horses be a hindrance in the forest. Leave. Now!" Tarn commanded in a staccato voice that brooked no further debate.

Eyes gunmetal-blue, Aliesha hesitated long enough to say, "Seven furlongs east, there's a wide stream. No hound may track scent through water. Not even the scent of a stubborn barbarian and foolish wolf!" and reined her horse around and disappeared into the dark wood, leaving him grinning at her willingness to enjoin ongoing battle.

Tarn and Barath stood on the edge of the forest, waiting as the trailing pack of hounds rushed over the rise. Certain they had gained the attention of the pack, they slid into the woods, intent upon playing quarry. He ran easily through the wood, trusting Barath to locate the stream Aliesha had described. Heavy footsteps and breaking branches alerted him to the oncoming horde of dark flesh.

"Stand wide brother," Tarn warned, sword raised in lethal resolve.

As the first pair of giant canines closed on Tarn, Barath circled behind to meet the other three. Tarn stood lightly on the balls of his feet when two of the fanged beasts leaped at him in unison, ripe murder evident in their salacious eyes. At the last possible instant, the wary youth pivoted outside on his right foot and swung inward. His savagely swung stroke cut one hound down. Before he recovered from the momentum of his swing, a third hound vaulted over Barath and hit him square in the chest, driving Tarn to the ground.

Tarn rolled to his feet, but not before vice-like jaws closed around his bracer. The hound that lived through the first lunge circled to his right. With a mighty heave, Tarn raised the hound's front paws off the ground, but its jaws remained clamped tightly around his sword arm wrist, like a bulldog on his victim's throat. The second hound prepared for another lunge. There was insufficient time to switch his blade. Desperation fuelled his limbs. Tarn twisted his body in a tight circle, swinging the hound off its feet and into the path of the second beast. The force of the collision bowled the charging hound to the ground.

He reached for his skinning knife, slit the hound's throat, and wrenched his wrist down to free it from the muscle-locked jaws. The hound that had been knocked to the ground recovered its feet and dove at Tarn's throat. Barath barked a warning. Tarn spun around without time to do more than raise his sword—to hold it out in front of him protectively. The hell-hound struck him, impaling itself on his blade. Aided by the falling momentum of the canine corpse, Tarn pulled his sword free, loosed his father's Asgard war cry, and rushed the beast Barath battled.

When the circling hound glanced at the battle-fevered youth, drawn by the shrill battle cry, Barath's sharp teeth punctured its jugular vein. Only the hell-hound's tremendous strength allowed it to break free. Kalen's sword descended across its neck. The huge canine twitched once and died beside the fifth, and last, hound that Barath had dispatched earlier.

"Come brother, into the water."

Although he felt winded from the running battles, his legs, whose abused muscles burned with fatigue, refused to quit. He stumbled downstream, followed by Barath, whose head hung low and tongue lolled out of the side of his panting mouth.

Ten furlongs later the stream emerged from the forest, and with it, the winded pair. Tarn knelt and ripped a handful of grass free to wipe his sword blade. His wrist bothered him only slightly. His hand and upper forearm bled from a few minor scratches. The bracer Kalen gifted him had saved his wrist from serious injury. He washed his superficial wounds in the cool stream water, then turned to Barath asking, "Have thee wounds, brother?"

Barath limped over to him, and barked once, permitting Tarn to explore his body with lightly probing hands that parted a particularly blood-soaked section of fur. Despite Tarn's gentle touch, Barath released a whine. Although Tarn uncovered mostly shallow abrasions, three deep gashes on his shoulder required many stitches. Tarn scooped water up with his hands and cleansed the ugly wounds. Though not life-threatening, they were deep tears.

"Can thee travel?"

"Yes."

"A smart wolf would have stayed behind me instead of risking his hide against two opponents bigger than himself," he chastised, without malice.

"No," Barath barked twice.

"Aye. 'Twas good exercise. Come, let us return to Landrew's hold, lest that fool girl seeks the reason for our delay."

Just as he predicted, Aliesha waited in the middle of a field with an arrow knocked. Too weary to speak, Tarn simply grunted his acknowledgement when they came alongside. She returned his wordless greeting but maintained her wary outlook until the pair was lost to her sight before catching up to them.

When they approached the lowered drawbridge, Tarn spied Landrew on the wall. Lord Landrew waved, and then descended the bulwark stairs to meet the pair of blood-splattered companions. Aliesha walked Barath into the kitchen while her father guided Tarn into the banquette hall.

Lord Landrew remained silent until the servants who brought pitchers of cold ale had departed, then asked, "Tarl told me much, but couldn't impart what ye found beyond the walls?"

Tarn shared what he discovered, adding a few observations that he felt were important. Once he finished his reconnaissance report, Tarn shared the strategy he and Barath had agreed upon. Lord Landrew listened attentively, grunting noncommittally while Tarn outlined his bold plan. His intelligent grey eyes narrowed and widened in unreadable expressions.

When Tarn finished, Lord Landrew mulled it over, contemplating the variables with furrowed brows. "By Mitra, lad," he said, at last, his decision made. "It just might work. But ye must wait for Barath's wounds to heal. A bear he'd be if ye cheated him his due."

"Aye. I would not deny him," Tarn responded. "A braver heart and more loyal a brother I've yet to greet. He'll be hale in a seven-day."

"Seven days it is. On the eighth we take retribution. 'Twill be that long 'till I complete our preparations."

"Eight days," Tarn nodded and dismissed himself from Lord Landrew.

He entered the sleeping chamber to find Barath swathed in bandages, stretched out on the bearskin rug at the foot of the bed, whimpering from time to time in his sleep. He stripped off his blood-soaked clothes and threw them outside the door, then stretched out comfortably on the wide, feather and goose down bed, too tired to appreciate the impossible softness of his first night's sleep on a mattress-leavened bed.