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People moved aside as he cut a path through the crowd. They knew where he went—to get Sinead.
Varrick almost bellowed his rage aloud when he found Sinead’s shelter still empty. She should have been home by now. He hurried a glance at the sky and thankfully caught her circling a distance from the castle.
He stared at her for a moment, then hurried to join his warrior’s, announcing, “I know where my wife is.”
* * *
Brock froze in fright.“The hounds of hell are coming for us. I beg you to stop them, my lady. You must work your magic on them.”
Now was not the time to tell him she possessed no magic, nor did she know how to battle the hounds of hell.
Her brow suddenly pinched in thought. “They do not howl.”
Brock stared at her confused.
“The hounds snarl but do not howl,” she said. “They are not the hounds from hell.”
“You’re right.”
“We need to keep them from reaching us,” Fia urged.
Brock nodded, thinking aloud. “They are either wild hounds or wolves, either are vicious and travel in groups. Some distract while the others go in for the kill.”
“Fire!” Fia said.
Brock’s face brightened. “They keep their distance from fire.”
“And the smoke will alert the castle to where we are,” Fia said, glancing up hoping the smoke would be able to reach past the trees. That was when she spotted… “Sinead!”
Relief washed over Brock. As he followed where she glanced. “Lord Varrick has returned home, and Sinead points the way to us.”
“Hurry, we must get a fire going and give Lord Varrick and his warriors time to reach us.”
“The branches are wet from the snow. A fire will not start easily,” Brock said, again voicing his worried thoughts.
The growls and snarls were getting closer.
“I need to protect you, my lady,” Brock said with a tremble and pulled his sword from its sheath.
“Nonsense. Help me get the fire going,” Fia insisted.
“I would rather face a band of vicious hounds than Lord Varrick’s wrath if I fail to keep you safe. Stay behind me and I will do my best to keep them from you. You should run if they get to me since they will be too busy feasting on me to bother with you.”
“I will not run and leave you. We will survive this together,” Fia said and hurried to gather what dry branches or pine needles she could find.
“You will not be able to keep the fire going, my lady. There is not enough dry wood,” Brock warned, and his eyes went wide. “They are almost upon us.” He raised his sword ready to defend.
Four hounds burst past the tree line, snarling and snapping. Two separated to the left and the other two to the right, their eyes on Brock.
“There are four of them and they break off in pairs. A dagger. You need a dagger. Take it from my belt,” Brock ordered, his eyes growing wider as the four dropped their heads, their snarls growing fiercer as they stalked toward him. “My lady, hurry, they will attack at any moment.”
The largest of the four hounds growled loudly as if confirming Brock’s warning.
Fia suddenly stepped in front of Brock, waving a branch, the tip ablaze with fire from the piece of torn cloth she had ripped off her tunic and tied around it to catch the one spark she managed to strike. She shouted at the hounds, “Begone! I order you begone!”
The hounds jumped back.
The fire started fading just as Fia feared it would, the strip of cloth not enough to keep the fire burning and the branch too wet to catch the flame.
