The Mukonian camp past the trees brightened. To Van, whose sight in the dark and distance perception were acutely heightened, the soldiers’ movements were quite plain. A group among the Mukonian forces stood and spread out to the sides of the greater force. When Van noticed their posture, his eyes narrowed.
Lafan?
The Lafan were mountain dwellers from Mukonian territory. Van had fought them several times and knew them to be excellent with slings. An experienced slinger could hurl a projectile a long way and strike a distant target with considerable accuracy and no less effectiveness than an arrow. However, once the Lafan slingers took up their hurling stances, they couldn’t change directions. This made them little threat to a pyuika rider who knew where they were.
Oh…
Their figures cut stark images against their surroundings. Firebombs rested in their slings. With a whirring sound, the Lafan swung the projectiles with their whole bodies, then released. Luminous specs whistled through the night sky in wide arcs, falling, one by one, onto the fort. On impact, bursts of light split the darkness, followed by dull explosions. The archers poised on the roof were flung backward. Wooden timbers shattered, scattering shards into the air.
A clamor rose from the fort. Van saw soldiers running to and fro, shouting. The Lafan sent one volley after another, each followed by repeated blasts. Under the cover of the chaos, the Mukonian army moved in. Their sleds, drawn by huge dogs, raced up the slope, gliding swiftly over the frozen road.
Van turned to Ohfan. If this went on, the fort would fall. Although the Ahfal Oma might delight in watching the hated Zolians suffer, if the Mukonians took this bastion, the people of the Toga Mountains would be swept up in the vortex of a new war.
Ohfan read Van’s expression and said, “It’s all right. We’ll defeat the Mukonians.” His eyes flicked to his father.
The old man who’d called himself the Dog King in that strange dream the other night stared fixedly at the battle below. He smiled and, reaching out with his hand, grasped Van by the wrist. Once again, Van heard his voice in his head.
“It’s time.”
A sensation ran through Van, making his skin crawl, and he groaned. His head seemed to swell from the inside. His body peeled away…
When Van came to his senses, he found himself embraced within the old man, as if their bodies had fused together. They were tearing down the mountain trail at breakneck speed. Before he knew it, they’d become a huge dog, radiating light. He was overcome with a powerful urge to bite—someone, anyone. All he wanted to do was bite.
The old man threw back his head and howled. His silent voice trailed on the air, summoning his children, the Kinma dogs. Responding to that soundless call, dogs leaped, one after the other, from the darkness and fell in beside them as they darted down the snowy trail. A one-eyed black beast ran at the head. Its eye flashed as it sped along.
The Mukonian sled dogs were the first to notice the approaching threat, growling and barking, lunging and twisting in their harnesses. Their startled drivers brandished whips in desperate bids to control the animals.
The fort loomed close. The burning roof illuminated the surroundings as brightly as daylight. Zolian horsemen, armed with spears and shields and controlling their mounts with their legs alone, charged from the gate to intercept the Mukonian invaders. The sweat of man and horse, the scent of snow, the reek of burning roof timbers, the stench of blasted flesh and blood—through this whirlwind of smells, Van and the old man ran and fell upon the flank of the Mukonian troops. As they jumped through the air, so did the Kinma dogs, cutting the necks of the startled soldiers with their fangs and springing past them. The soldiers toppled over, bouncing and rolling as they hit the snow.
Even as he ran, the old man seemed to direct the dogs, gripping their leads in multiple unseen hands. He didn’t target the mountain people, only the Mukonians. Helmets rolled from heads, revealing golden hair that reflected the light of the flames.
Van and the old man lunged at a soldier’s neck. As the fangs pierced soft flesh, a thrill of pleasure coursed through Van’s body. Blood, metallic and salty, filled his mouth, and a thin thread of light passed with his saliva into the soldier’s throat.
The Mukonians fell into disarray. They slashed with their swords at the fierce dogs that had appeared out of nowhere, but the beasts slipped under their blades and vaulted onto the sleds. Then, as if mocking the great lumbering sled dogs, the Kinma dogs jumped onto their backs, using them as springboards to fly at the throats of more victims. If the Mukonians could have paused to assess the situation objectively, they would have realized that the attacking beasts numbered no more than twenty. However, the creatures moved so swiftly that it was impossible to keep track of them, and the dancing shadows cast by the fire made twenty seem like a hundred.
As the Zolian horsemen drew near and saw the beasts attacking the Mukonians, they reined in their mounts hastily. Fear showed on their faces. The routed Mukonians began to scatter. Unable to retreat to the top of the hill, some drove their sleds in different directions, desperately seeking an escape route. Others abandoned their sleds altogether. They disappeared into the dark forest, clutching the bites on their arms or dragging their bitten legs.
The old man laughed out loud. He didn’t bother sending dogs after them. Gently flicking countless invisible hands, he turned the pack toward the Zolian horsemen.
Van found himself staring up into the face of a frightened young man who reminded him of Tohma. The instant their gazes met, Van shivered as though touched by a cold wind and returned to his senses abruptly.
Realizing what the Dog King was about to do, Van yanked himself away. The old man fought to subdue him, yet Van resisted, and they vied for control. Van felt his forehead burst apart.