Mikahl’s eyes popped open. His hand went to Ironspike’s hilt and he took in a long deep breath to clear his mind. The beast from his dreams was there! As he exhaled, he tried to force out all of the fear and anxiety that the nightmares had left inside him.
The sudden screeching roar of some creature, followed by the wet ripping sound of one of the horses being brutalized, saved him from having to wake the others. Mikahl spun to his feet and drew the King’s Blade in one fluid motion. Its soft, bluish glow filled the night around them. He didn’t advance towards the beast. Instead, he stood over Lord Gregory and Vaegon protectively until they were both on their feet and armed.
Lord Gregory stared open-mouthed at Ironspike, then at Mikahl.
“So it’s true,” he muttered in astonishment. It was all he could do to keep from falling to a knee on the spot.
At the edge of the blade’s light, the horses brayed and nickered in terror. Beyond that was total darkness.
“Should we cut them loose?” Mikahl asked, indicating the frightened animals. One of them was already a bloody mess, and the scent of its death was traumatizing the others.
“Aye, your Highness,” Lord Gregory said, then went to release them. Mikahl had heard the Lion Lord’s words, but was too intent on the matter in hand to make sense of them.
Vaegon turned in a whirl, and fired an arrow up into the air above and behind Mikahl. Mikahl felt the presence of evil there. He also felt, and heard, a distant musical vibration. He wasn’t sure, but he thought that it might be coming from the sword in his hands. He didn’t have time to contemplate the sensations though: he had to duck. He turned, and came back up quickly with a sharp thrust, but missed the dark thing. Luckily, its big swiping claw missed him too. He saw the elf’s arrow. It was stuck into the creature’s shoulder, and there was a black wetness where it had penetrated.
“It bleeds!” he yelled more to himself than to the others.
It was an odd relief to know that the creature from his dreams was made of flesh and blood, that it had form and substance, and that it could most likely die.
As fast as the hellcat had come, it disappeared back into the darkness. Above, the sky appeared empty, but the thick grayish clouds were backlit by the moon.
“Look for the shape,” Vaegon called out, “the shadow in the sky.”
A sudden sound swept by in the darkness. A horse? Mikahl hoped so. It was probably trying to get as far away from the light of his blade as possible. He also hoped that it wasn’t Windfoot that had been slaughtered, but he didn’t dare take the time to go and check.
Lord Gregory came hurrying back into Ironspike’s radiance. Mikahl saw it then, a speeding shadow coming at them from the side. He cringed and felt his heart drop to the dirt. Not even a warning shout could save the man he respected and loved so much.
Vaegon loosed another arrow and it struck true, but it didn’t help the Lion Lord. The hellcat’s claws dug deep into Lord Gregory’s back and shoulder, and yanked him screaming up into the darkened night. Vaegon started to launch another arrow, but thought better of it. As good as his aim was, under these conditions, he could easily hit the Westland Lord by mistake. He wondered for a fleeting moment if that might not be the merciful thing to do, but then the chance had passed.
“I think it’s afraid of the sword,” said Vaegon. “Or maybe, it’s just the light it’s weary of. Otherwise, I think it would land and fight us tooth and claw.”
“Aye,” Mikahl agreed absently. He was in a state of shock now. His confidence had been snatched away into the night with the Lord of Lake Bottom.
From behind them, came the hellcat’s shrieking growl. Mikahl nearly dropped Ironspike and ran. They turned, and Vaegon made to loose the arrow he had nocked, but the spiked tip of the hellcat’s tail caught him square in the face. He went down hard on his back, his bow tumbling uselessly to the ground as his hands shot up to protect what was left of his ruined eye.
Mikahl swallowed his fear, and swung at the beast with all he had. A glancing slice was all he could manage, but the contact of the blade on the beast’s skin caused it to howl out in rage and pain. It gnashed its teeth together, and snapped its catlike head out, as if it were striking viper. The sharp, blackened maw smashed closed just inches from Mikahl’s nose. The beast’s hot breath stank of burnt steel, rotten flesh and hatred. It reminded Mikahl of how the body-strewn field at Coldfrost had smelled a month after the snows had melted. He had to choke back the urge to vomit.