Wolf Blood by N. M. Browne Read Free Book Online

face bunch where she is grinding her teeth. Her sweat is soured with fear. We freeze as the war band approaches and make no sound.
    It is the dog who senses us first. The female’s human stink is strong. He snarls and barks and comes within ten paces of our hiding place. I’d like to finish him straight away. I want to tear his throat out with my teeth. The woman looks at me questioningly and points to the site of our campfire. If we stay where we are, we’ll be cut down: we don’t have room to unsheathe our swords and if we were to try we’d be more threat to each other than to our enemy. She is right. We have to take a stand. We are going to have to face them in the open. The woman leans very close to me and mouths, ‘I’ll frighten the horses and take the Chief.’ She indicates the torque with her hands. ‘You take the other one.’ She mimes a stabbing action with her spear. It won’t work, of course. I watch as she leans Lucius’ shield against the bush. She looks at me and I realise that she intends to fight without it and means me to do the same. Fighting without a shield is at least a quick way to die. She hands me her spear then stoops to pick up a fallen tree branch, thick as my forearm, and a handful of stones.
    The riders up their pace. The Chief is spurring his mount on, yelling to his men to find out what the ‘blasted cur’ is barking about. I don’t like this man, which is good because the fierce female is about to try to kill him. She’s looking at me. She’s telling me to be ready. I see her breathing deeply, rapidly, building herself into the warrior frenzy of a tribesman. Her scent is no longer tainted with terror.
    Her timing is good – when the men are barely five paces away she hurls herself out of our hiding place, screaming a war cry. She flings a handful of stones from her left hand right into the eyes of the nearest horse and, startled, it rears up. I follow her. Now I understand. I throw her spear to her left hand. She catches it cleanly, running towards the second horse. Bright flames bloom from the branch in her right hand and the second horse rears up. These ponies are not chariot-trained for battle and the mounted men struggle to retain their seats. My target slips gracelessly to the ground. I aim my spear carefully and take him cleanly in the chest as he falls. A surprising hit – I’m not usually that good. I don’t stop to see how the woman fares – there’s no time. The other two men are running towards me, their swords drawn and their mouths open as they scream war cries of their own. Screaming is a waste of breath. Real soldiers, legionaries, favour the calm deliberation of killing to order. We don’t waste energy on frenzy. My own gladius, my short sword, is already in my hand, though I don’t remember drawing it. It’s not the best weapon for hand-to-hand combat. I feel naked without my shield, defenceless without my cohort beside me, but this is a new kind of fighting and I’m ready for it.
    One of the men is shrieking at the dog to attack. I can see that the man is breathless and limping. He is already injured and hoping that the dog will do his killing for him. The dog bounds towards me, saliva dripping from his muzzle, his eyes red. I bare my teeth and growl. The sound startles me as much as it frightens the war dog. He whimpers, flattens his ears to his head, his tail between his legs, and backs away from me. That’s it, little brother! Cower before your betters and trot off! The dog’s response shocks the warrior, who checks his limping run. His comrade in arms is on me now too. I snarl a warning. They are wary. The dog still whimpers and keeps his distance, refusing their orders to attack me. They are no more than a pace away now. Someone cries out in agony and shock. I think it must be the Chief and one of my opponents turns away to sprint to his aid. The woman must be winning her battle.
    The limping warrior’s sword is raised ready to strike me, but