Page 22 of A War of Crowns

But the warg didn’t falter.

It just kept coming, its powerful legs devouring the ground with each long stride. It was close enough now he could see the malicious gleam of its eyes and the rivulets of drool streaming from its fang-filled jowls.

It was close enough now for him to see it was heading straight for Sven.

“Go!” Beck yelled as he positioned himself in between their youngest Son and the monster. “We’ll handle this.”

Tightening his jaw, Aldric nudged Mourn into a hard canter and flew toward the Kunishi camp. He didn’t bother arguing with Beck. He didn’t waste precious moments hesitating.

Hesitation was what would get a man killed on the battlefield.

He didn’t need to glance behind him to know the rest of his vanguard, minus Beck, were close on his heels. Where he went, Calix, Rakon, and Eisway were always quick to follow.

The commotion had clearly summoned every Kunishi in the vicinity. Like disturbed hornets, they poured from their tents, blades flashing. Screams exploded all around.

Screams of terror. Screams of warning.

One Kunishi warrior even survived long enough to recognize him and cry out to his brethren,“It’s the Little Demon,”in their native tongue before large Rakon and his warhammer laid the raider low.

Aldric didn’t have to bark orders to his men now. They had done this time and time again over the years. The countless skirmishes all blended together into one tangle of blood and sweat within his memories.

As a single, silent beast, the four of them rode hard through the camp, cutting down any Kunishi who dared try to stop them. Famed warriors though they may be, the Kunishi were all the same at their core. Predictable. Yoked by their traditions and their rituals.

It was easy enough to defeat them, once one learned their ways.

And Aldric had been studying those ways for fifteen years.

He made for the paddocks—the makeshift enclosure they would have built to hold their prized horses before even erecting their own tents. They always built the paddocks at the very back of the camp, close to a water source.

And sure enough, there they were. The herd was smaller than he had expected, though.

And the horses were far from alone.

A lone Kunishi stood before the pen, his arms crossed over his chest, waiting for their approach.

At first glance, he would have seemed unarmed had Aldric not recognized the dark tattoos inked across his face. The markings on his right cheek denoted his clan. His lineage.

But the twin fangs inked on the left were the ones that set him apart.

A Fangtalker was never unarmed so long as there were animals about.

“Your pup is already dead, wildman,” Calix taunted the Fangtalker as they all drew their horses to a halt before the pens.

But the Kunishi didn’t bother glancing Calix’s way. The other man’s eyes were only for Aldric when he answered in stilted common, “Yes. But at what cost to your own?”

Aldric frowned at that. But he didn’t have time to consider the Fangtalker’s words further. The bitter tang of the Kunishi’s magic rippled through the air. Off to his left, Eisway’s horse screamed and bucked. An owl descended from the heavens to slash at Rakon’s face with its talons outstretched.

“Calix,” Aldric barked, though the command was needless. His Son’s arrow was already arcing through the night. But Calix clearly hadn’t been aiming for the Fangtalker himself, given that arrow’s trajectory.

He had been aiming for one of the Kunishi horses within the pen.

The horse’s cry of pain when Calix’s arrow sank into the meat of its shoulder matched the one which ripped forth from the Fangtalker’s own lips, though the Kunishi himself remained untouched. The eeriness of it all was still enough to make Aldric’s skin crawl, even after all those years.

But he didn’t have time to wallow in his own discomfort.

While the Fangtalker reeled, Aldric nudged Mourn back into a canter. He rode hard straight for the Kunishi, his glaive lowered, as Calix launched himself from the saddle and ran for the paddock. A dagger flashed in his Son’s hand.

A mere second later, the plant fibers lashing the planks of the makeshift paddock together snapped. The pen clattered to the ground, freeing the herd of now panicked horses.

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