9

Joelle and Meda both found suitable openings and carefully lowered themselves inside. Joelle then drew her sword and gestured to him, followed by Meda. By then Hyam had found his own perch, a narrow ledge with space for him to crouch and thrust his blade.

Hyam signaled the ladies and approached the fiend.

To have Hyam stand safely a mere sword’s distance away drove the beast to a new level of frenzy. It clawed and chewed at the shield, blind to all save the prey.

Hyam poised at the brink of his opening, waiting for the beast to rear back. Then he drew his blade across one point in the magical line and broke the spell.

He was only halfway into the shelter before the beast was upon him. But Dama struck with such force the beast stumbled.

The wolfhound had evidently burrowed through the roots and stones, all the way to the shield. The instant Hyam broke the spell, Dama burst from her burrow and flung herself at the fiend.

Dama struck between the two rear legs and clenched the monster’s underbelly. The wolfhound weighed a fraction of the behemoth. But her fury granted her a force so potent the creature was knocked from its perch and sent tumbling off the mound.

“Dama!” Hyam and Joelle and Meda all shouted together, then scrambled down the terraced steps.

Hyam yelled, “I’m going for the head!”

Meda leapt down upon the beast’s back, landing at the juncture of the two rear legs. She stabbed once, twice, then was tossed well clear.

Joelle remained focused upon rescuing Dama. The fiend was curved around the wolfhound, attacking with claws and the flower-mouth. Or it would have been, but Joelle scoured the opposite flank all the way from the middle leg to the beginning of its tail. The Milantian blade could cut through steel like a sickle through grass, and the fiend’s side proved no stronger. The behemoth howled and swung its head around just as its guts spilled into the dust.

Hyam scaled the slimy back and plunged his sword up to the hilt in the nearside eye.

The monster shrieked a new pitch and convulsed down its entire length. Hyam was tossed free of the legs and rolled to safety.

Joelle leapt impossibly high as the tail scissored about. She tumbled hard but came up running, and when the tail swung back she sliced off the tip.

Meda clambered back up and stabbed once more at the spine. She was now joined by Alembord and Caleb and Shona, who distracted the beast long enough for Hyam to reach the head once more.

Hyam gripped the slimy scalp with his knees and rammed his sword deep into another eye. The beast shook him off, but the frenzy was lessening.

Then Joelle slammed her milky blade into the chest, plunging the blade down all the way to the scabbard. Hyam climbed up a third time and stabbed where the massive skull met the spine.

Only when the beast ceased its struggles did Hyam realize he was shouting a war cry of his own.

One moment the monster shuddered in death throes. The next Hyam tumbled to the earth, with nothing beneath him save dust. The brownish cloud drifted momentarily in the wind, smudging the meadow. Through three heaving breaths, Hyam watched the cloud disperse.

The meadow was silent except for soft whimpers from the wounded dog.

Hyam raced back to his wife, stroked her face, asked, “You are hurt?”

“Bruised, shaken, but fine,” she gasped. “The beast?”

“Gone.”

Dama’s yelping cry pierced them both. Together they limped over to where Meda stood. The wolfhound lay crumpled on her side, her back and rear limbs at angles that clenched Hyam’s heart. “Dama, no.”

The dog whimpered softly, panted, and keened a tight breath. Her side was laid open, her pelt matted with blood and the beast’s ash. Hyam cradled the dog’s head, stroked her, and repeated, “You beautiful, beautiful friend.”