Watt-Evans, Lawrence - Annals of the Chosen 01 (53 page)

They
were
heaving
at
a
broken
limb,
trying
to
clear
an opening
the
wagon
could
squeeze
through,
when
the
dog leapt
at
the
Archer.

Breaker
hadn't
seen
or
heard
the
animal's
approach;
the steady
downpour
had
hidden
it
effectively.
It
wasn't
until
the fast,
close
movement
caught
his
eye,
and
he
heard
the
thud of
its
forepaws
hitting
the
Archer's
bent
back,
that
Breaker saw
it.

It
was
a
large
black
dog,
a
shepherd
of
some
sort— between
the
rain
and
the
combatants'
thrashing
Breaker could
make
out
little
detail
beyond
size,
color,
and
general shape.
The
people
of
Mad
Oak
did
not
keep
herd
animals, and
therefore
did
not
keep
herd
dogs,
so
even
after
a
year's travels
Breaker
was
not
very
familiar
with
the
specific breeds,
but
this
one
was
big
and
fierce,
and
it
was
biting
and clawing
at
the
Archer
with
unnatural
ferocity
and
in
unnatural
silence.

The
Archer
fell—not
to
the
ground,
but
into
the
tangle
of downed
tree
in
front
of
him—as
he
tried
to
twist
around
to face
his
attacker,
and
as
the
dog's
jaws
closed
on
his
neck.

The
Leader
called
"Attack!
We're
under
attack!"
and turned,
arms
raised,
to
see
whether
any
more
animals
were approaching.
He
made
no
move
to
aid
the
Archer.

Breaker,
on
the
other
hand,
ran
forward
immediately.
His hand
fell
instinctively
to
where
the
hilt
of
his
sword
should have
been—but
he
had
left
the
weapon
in
the
wagon,
to
keep it
dry
and
stave
off
rust.
"Black
ler!"
he
growled,
as
he
hesitated.

If
he
ran
for
the
wagon
to
fetch
his
blade,
the
Archer might
well
be
maimed
or
dead
before
he
returned,
and
he might
collide
with
the
others
coming
to
help.
If
he
dove
in bare-handed,
he
might
be
taking
his
life
in
his
hands—was the
dog
rabid,
possessed,
or
mad?

But
the
Archer
needed
help,
and
there
were
weapons
at hand—he
snapped
a
branch
from
the
fallen
tree.

He
had
intended
to
wield
it
like
a
broom
or
a
whip,
to
try to
drive
the
dog
away,
but
the
minute
his
hand
closed
around one
end
of
the
stick
his
grip
shifted,
and
he
found
himself falling
into
a
fencing
stance.

His
first
thrust
caught
the
thrashing
dog
squarely
in
the back
ribs,
despite
its
twisting
as
the
Archer
struggled
in
its grip;
the
animal
turned
slightly,
trying
to
face
this
new
assailant,
and
that
gave
Breaker
the
opening
he
needed.
He plunged
the
stick
into
the
dog's
eye.

It
yelped,
releasing
its
hold
on
the
Archer,
and
Breaker automatically
followed
up
with
a
jab
at
the
dog's
throat,
and then
a
stab
at
its
other
eye.

"It's
the
Wizard
Lord!"
the
Seer's
voice
shouted
from
the wagon.