—«♦»—
THE third attack came days later, this time at dawn, just when they were all encumbered with packing and harnessing up.
One moment, Kellen was tightening the saddle girth—the next, only a glimpse of something moving at the edge of his vision warned him.
Then the coldwarg were on them.
They came on as if driven, and this time there was something desperate in the way they flung themselves at the Elves. There was no thought and no science in this attack; they attacked as the Shadowed Elves had, with hysterical ferocity, as if they were not only trying to overwhelm the Elves with mere numbers, but as if the unseen hand directing them had decided to sacrifice them entirely.
Kellen made a target out of himself. And in a moment, he was surrounded by the coldwarg, which was exactly how he wanted it.
And he began his deadly dance.
Perhaps it had seemed clever to the enemy, to attack now—but it was the worst of all times for them to try, when the warriors were fresh, well rested, bodies still warmed and not stiff and cold with long riding.
The red and blue shadows of battle-sight dodged around him, circling, driving in, dashing out—
Making feints, snapping enormous jaws—
It was what Jermayan would call “a challenge.”
With a new challenge involved—the Elves had come to understand that his battle-sight allowed him to see every danger, including friendly fire, and were taking advantage of that. So while he made an irresistible attraction of himself, they surrounded him and sent arrow after arrow into the ring of coldwarg around him. Now his own dodging had to include the arrows that missed their targets.
And even a Knight-Mage grew tired—
Kellen drove his sword through the body of a coldwarg. He was beginning to tire, and as a consequence, the strike was clumsy—he’d missed vital organs—and the monster dragged itself along his blade, jaws snapping as it strained to reach his throat.
He flung himself onto his back, pulling his dagger, and jammed it with all his force into the beast’s eye. He felt the tip of the blade grate against the inside of the back of its skull as the blow drove home.
As it thrashed, he got his feet into the coldwarg’s chest, and shoved with all his might, flinging the dying creature away from him. He rolled to his feet, and looked around for fresh targets, but his battle-sight was strangely clouded. A blue haze filled it, though to his normal vision, the scene was clear.
And with normal sight, he could see the coldwarg walking—slowly, stiffly— away from their prey. Their heads and tails were down, and their hackles stood up stiffly.
“Let them go,” Kellen said quietly to the Elves around him.
The coldwarg staggered away from the horses, into the trees, moving in an eerie silence. Kellen could see their sides heaving; the beasts were panting as if they were running. When they were a bowshot’s distance away from the horse-lines, they stopped.
And burst into flames.
They burned as the stone houses in the Shadowed Elf caverns had burned, with a hot and furious flame that touched nothing around them. The fires burned so quickly that none of the beasts had time to utter so much as a yelp, and in seconds nothing remained but pools of snowmelt where the coldwarg had stood.
The Enemy had discarded its weapon.
—«♦»—
