Page 403 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

The rest of the wolves attacked as one.

Afterwards, Boris couldn't say what had happened. He'd felt rage and a haze had come down over his eyes, and when he'd been able to think again, two wolves lay dead at his feet, while a third tried to drag itself away when both of its back legs were clearly broken.

Boris considered the injured wolf for a moment, then seized the sceptre and brought it down upon the beast's head, ending its pain. No animal deserved to suffer so.

Only when he was certain the third beast was dead did he go back to examine the other two. Both bore deep claw marks, like some great beast had slashed at them until they'd punctured something vital. Yet the only beasts Boris had seen were the wolves themselves, which did not have claws like that.

If anything, he'd think a lion had been here.

Boris tried not to laugh. There were stories of lions in far-off lands, but he'd never seen one outside of books.

He shook his head and headed out of the cave, hoping he might wash the sceptre in the stream. It wouldn't do to have the crown jewels caked in blood.

He followed the tiny stream down the hill, until it widened into a pool big enough to immerse the sceptre in. He leaned over, wondering at the hulking shape he saw reflected in the water.

By all that was holy, it was a –

Boris overbalanced and fell in, shattering the reflection and driving all thoughts from his mind, except the most immediate question of how not to drown.

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