The next great animal leaped, and Darren’s first arrow missed.
The boy drew another, cursing Sir Audric’s insistence that he kept his sword in the training grounds, and let loose not a second too soon. Fire burned down the length of his wrist.
The wolf went down with an arrow to its side, letting loose a keening wail that had the others on guard.
The remaining six lunged, two at the boy and four for the knight.
Panic hit the boy’s chest like a kick to the ribs, but there was something much worse than fear, and that was cowardice.
Darren fired the final arrow with surer hands, but it missed. He dove forward with only the stave as a weapon. He brandished it like a staff, swinging and stabbing out any way he could.
But a stave wasn’t a sword. His cuts weren’t bringing enough pain to keep the predators at bay.
The boy was halfway through a swing when the second animal surged. Darren lost control of his aim as his boot caught on a pile of loose dirt.
He stumbled.
Dust plumed around him in a haze as he struggled to his knees, coughing and spewing blood. The stave dropped from his hands.
Two rows of teeth tore a jagged line down Darren’s bandaged arm, and the boy roared. At the same moment, the mutt let out a bark as a wolf’s teeth caught it’s shoulder.
The wolves were going to kill them both.
Darren could hear the dog’s whimpering cry as something hard and sharp tore into his already injured flesh.
No.
A hero was better than this. And so was the boy.
Sheer will overcame his pain, and the boy took hold of that control. He reined it in and grabbed the stave, swinging hard.
Darren would fight. Again and again. Hard. He threw out as much concentrated weight as he could. The wolf went down. The prince’s arms burned and his shoulder was on fire. His injured arm felt like someone had submerged it in needles and ice. But the boy kept on.
And so did the mutt. With a writhing twist, the dog broke free of the wolf’s teeth and ripped a bloody trail across the predator’s neck, dripping scarlet from its snout.
The wolf collapsed just as Darren reached the mutt’s side.
And then the two made their way to the knight.
The man shared a look with his saviors, but there was no time for thanks.
They aligned back-to-back with the mutt standing guard between them. The man had taken out one on his own.
Only four wolves remained.
It wasn’t impossible odds.
Swisssssh.
Down went the nearest wolf. Someone’s arrow must have caught it from above. Blayne? Darren didn’t have time to check as the three predators lunged.
The knight swung as did the boy; the mutt caught the next by the neck.
Howls and snarls ripped the air as blood sprayed out across the forest floor.
There was a roar in Darren’s ears, and he couldn’t hear his pulse. He was fighting just to keep the closest animal at bay. So. Close. But he was dizzy, and it was growing harder just to stand. His thrusts were weaker each time.
Spots danced before his eyes. He blinked and cursed as he narrowly avoided a row of teeth.
And then all at once, his world was shrouded in violet. The commotion dimmed as the boy dropped to his knees. He could hear shouts from up above, but they were too distant to make out.
Am I dying?
Darren couldn’t hear the wolves anymore. He shut his eyes.
“Your highness,” Sir Chadwick gasped, “we’ve been saved.”
They were enclosed in an amethyst globe. A shield of magic. The wolves were dead just beyond it.
The boy looked up.
And then he saw him.
Up ahead on the ledge were his father and Blayne and the rest of the Crown’s personal regiment. At the front of the line, with ebony hands raised toward the sky with magic hovering above his palms like a fire of violet sparks, was a middle-aged man. The infamous Black Mage, Lord Marius. On one of his ears was a single golden hoop that glittered against the dying light from above. He wore the infamous black robe of the Combat faction, and his shield had just saved their lives.
Later, when they asked him what happened, the boy lied.
Sir Chadwick had opened his mouth to… lie? Tell the truth? Darren would never know. He cut the man off with an explanation of his own.
All it had taken was one passing look between his father and Blayne.
The king might have applauded his heir for hunting a knight, the monster was despicable enough, but causing a huge scene that had almost cost his little brother’s life? And failing the actual act of hunting itself? Darren didn’t believe in luck.
Blayne’s eyes were rimmed red, and he was cowering under the monster’s angry glower.
So Darren lied. And the knight, perhaps knowing it best not to counter two princes of Jerar, kept to silence instead.
Sir Chadwick’s horse misstepped, and the two brothers witnessed his fall. Darren, soon-to-be a future knight of the realm, had immediately sought to rescue him, while the heir, a future king whose life was too valuable to risk in a fight, had gone to seek help.
The two had managed to fend off eight feral wolves, killing off most by the time the King’s Regiment had finally arrived, with two broken arms, a broken leg, and a mutt not fit to be called a hound.
The knight, a man who had fought bravely and whose only crime was an unsteady mare, was immediately sent to the infirmary to be treated by the palace healers and then given a month’s respite from service.
Darren, for his part, was celebrated. He had succeeded in the hunt, aiding an injured knight and bagging two wolves on his own, which was far more impressive than a hare or even a buck.
The scrupulous dog was given a permanent place in the palace kennels. Like it or not, the mutt had earned its stay, and no one could question its devotion to the prince.
“What are you going to call ‘im now that ‘e’s yours?”