“Great dragon tails,” the stranger muttered as once more he spun around and caught sight of the girl with his hatchet in hand. “Oh, great dragon tails and spikes, I hope you know how to use that—”
She swung. The blade hacked deep into the rope where it wound up from the wooden arch. The whole arch shuddered, and the man swayed uneasily. She swung again, and this time the rope broke. The stranger had just time enough to catch himself on the lip of the well to avoid making a terrible (and rather damp) plunge. Imraldera dropped the hatchet, which rang upon the stones, and flung herself at the stranger, grabbing his shirt with both hands. Together, with much swearing on his part, they hauled him up and out. He collapsed, and she fell to her knees, panting, beside him.
She remembered suddenly how thirsty she was.
But they had only the space of three breaths. Then the stranger sat upright and yelled, “Ware! The Dog!”
Imraldera, blinking and breathing hard, turned.
The child stood only a few yards back. Its head lowered, and a rumbling growl filled its throat. Those sharp teeth gleamed in a dreadful, mirthless smile. Imraldera’s dry throat constricted. Her hand reached unwittingly for the fallen hatchet.
The child’s eyes darted. It saw the movement. Its growl became a gnashing snarl, and it crouched down on all fours. And suddenly it became what Imraldera had known it must be all along: a great, hideous Dog.
Midnight fell upon the square.
The only thing she could see at first were those burning eyes. Wolf’s eyes, she thought, but with flames deep inside. The Dog took a step forward. Enormous paws nearly the size of her head, with claws that could tear the hardest turf, scraped at the stones, shooting sparks.
For an instant, Imraldera’s fingers tightened about the hatchet shaft. The Dog spat saliva, twisting its head as it showed its teeth. Unable to breathe, Imraldera sucked in her lips as though to suppress all the screams that longed to burst from her mute throat.
She let go of the hatchet and stood, empty-handed.
“What are you doing, woman?” the man hissed, pushing himself up on his elbows.
Imraldera ignored him. She advanced upon the Dog just as she had advanced upon the child. It made as though to lunge, but when she did not retreat, it backed away. Its head and tail were low, its shoulder blades like knives moving up and down as it tried to circle her. She would not let it pass or go anywhere near the fallen man.
“Quiet,” she signed.
It barked, its whole body shaking and lunging and cringing at once.
“Down,” she signed.
Its flaming gaze followed her hands. The dark of Midnight emanated from its black body, surrounding them in a heavy cloak. But Imraldera did not shrink.
“I am not afraid of you,” she signed. It was a lie, but her face betrayed no falsehood. “I have faced the Beast on the mountain and passed unharmed. I have walked the Pathway of Death and lived to tell the tale. I have looked into the eyes of the River and the serpent, and I have not perished. I am your better. I am your mistress.”
The Dog threw back its head and howled.
Imraldera put out her hand, palm up. The Dog made as though to tear it off. She flinched but otherwise did not move, her gaze never shifting. She clucked gently, just as she had before. Poor, lost creature, her eyes spoke for her. The Dog understood. She knew dogs; she knew their language, their manners. She took another forward step.
“What are you doing?” the stranger cried.
Startled, Imraldera turned. He was on his feet, reaching for his hatchet. A snarl shredded the darkness, and a heavy black form leapt past Imraldera. She had no time to think, only to react. Her hand darted out, and she grabbed the Dog behind the neck, pushing it to the ground just as she had the child. It was huge, and she felt powerful muscle within that skeletal frame. This was no ordinary dog or wolf, but a Faerie beast of absolute brute force.
Inside, however, was still a child.
Imraldera flung herself on the body, throwing it off balance before those powerful jaws could close on the stranger. Though its strength was far greater than her own, it trembled at her touch, shying away from her, submitting without an order. It shook free, and she stood between the stranger and the monster, her eyes blazing, uncertain which she was angrier at. “Bad!” she signed.
The Dog whined pitifully. Then, to her great surprise, it crouched down, pressing to the ground. Rolling onto its back, it exposed its belly, whining still and lolling its red tongue out from its jaws. Pleading eyes gazed up at her.
With a last furious glare at the stranger, Imraldera stepped forward and knelt beside the Dog.
“Good,” she signed and stroked its head. “Good Dog.”