twitching, its yellow eyes hot with bloodlust, entered the glade.
Corum sighted along the shaft of the arrow, aiming for the heart. He released the string. There was a thud as the string struck his gauntleted wrist, a twang as the bow straightened. The arrow flew directly to its target. Corum saw the hound stagger and reel, staring at the arrow protruding from its side. Plainly, it had no idea from where the deadly missile had come. Its legs buckled. Corum reached for another arrow.
And then the bough snapped.
For a second Corum seemed suspended in the air as he realized what had happened. There was a dull cracking noise, a crash, and he was falling, trying futilely to grab at other branches as he went down, snow flying, making a terrible noise. The bow was wrenched from his hand; quiver and lances were still in the tree. He landed painfully on left shoulder and thigh. If the snow had not been so thick he would almost certainly have broken bones. As it was the rest of his weapons were on the far side of the clearing, and more of the Hounds of Kerenos were skulking in, having been momentarily surprised by the death of their brother and the sudden collapse of the tree branch.
Corum pulled himself to his feet and began to lope towards the bole against which his sword was leaning.
The horse whinnied and cantered towards him, blocking the path between him and his sword. Corum yelled at it, trying to force it out of the way. A long-drawn and triumphant howl came from behind him. Two huge paws struck his back and he went down. Hot, sticky saliva dripped on his neck. He tried to get up, but the giant dog pinned him, howling again to announce its victory .Corum had seen others of its breed do the same thing. In a moment it would bare its fangs and rip his throat out.
But then Corum heard the horse’s neighing, got an impression of flying hooves. Then the dog’s weight was off his body and he was rolling clear, seeing the great war-steed standing on its hind-legs and striking at the snarling hound with its iron-shod hooves. Half of the hound’s head was caved in, but it still snapped at the horse. Then another hoof struck the skull and the dog collapsed with a groan.
Corum was already limping across the glade and instantly his silver hand was on the scabbard, his fleshly hand on the hilt of the sword, the blade scraping free even as he turned back.
Tendrils of mist were sinuously entering the glade itself now, like searching, ghostly fingers. Already two more hounds were attacking the valiant war-horse which, although it bled from two or three superficial bites, was still holding its own.
Then Corum saw a human figure appear from among the trees. Dressed all in leather, with a leather hood and heavy leather shoulder pads, it held a sword.
At first Corum thought that the figure had come to aid him, for the face was as white as the bodies of the hounds and its eyes blazed red. He remembered the strange albino he had met at the Tower of Voilodion Ghagnasdiak. Was it Elric?
But no—the features were not the same. The features of this man were heavy, corrupt, and his body was thick, unlike the slim form of Elric of Melnibone. He began to lumber knee-deep through the snow, the sword raised to deliver a blow.
Corum crouched and waited.
His opponent brought his sword down in a clumsy blow which Corum easily parried and returned, stabbing upwards with all his strength to pierce the leather and drive the point of his blade into the man’s heart. A peculiar grunt escaped the white-faced warrior’s lips, and he took three steps backward until the sword was free of his body. Then he took his own sword in both hands and swung it again at Corum.
Corum ducked barely in time. He was horrified. His thrust had been clean and true, and the man had not died. He hacked at his opponent’s exposed left arm, inflicting a deep cut. No blood spurted from the wound. The man seemed oblivious of it, slashing again at Comm.
Elsewhere in the
Corum sighted along the shaft of the arrow, aiming for the heart. He released the string. There was a thud as the string struck his gauntleted wrist, a twang as the bow straightened. The arrow flew directly to its target. Corum saw the hound stagger and reel, staring at the arrow protruding from its side. Plainly, it had no idea from where the deadly missile had come. Its legs buckled. Corum reached for another arrow.
And then the bough snapped.
For a second Corum seemed suspended in the air as he realized what had happened. There was a dull cracking noise, a crash, and he was falling, trying futilely to grab at other branches as he went down, snow flying, making a terrible noise. The bow was wrenched from his hand; quiver and lances were still in the tree. He landed painfully on left shoulder and thigh. If the snow had not been so thick he would almost certainly have broken bones. As it was the rest of his weapons were on the far side of the clearing, and more of the Hounds of Kerenos were skulking in, having been momentarily surprised by the death of their brother and the sudden collapse of the tree branch.
Corum pulled himself to his feet and began to lope towards the bole against which his sword was leaning.
The horse whinnied and cantered towards him, blocking the path between him and his sword. Corum yelled at it, trying to force it out of the way. A long-drawn and triumphant howl came from behind him. Two huge paws struck his back and he went down. Hot, sticky saliva dripped on his neck. He tried to get up, but the giant dog pinned him, howling again to announce its victory .Corum had seen others of its breed do the same thing. In a moment it would bare its fangs and rip his throat out.
But then Corum heard the horse’s neighing, got an impression of flying hooves. Then the dog’s weight was off his body and he was rolling clear, seeing the great war-steed standing on its hind-legs and striking at the snarling hound with its iron-shod hooves. Half of the hound’s head was caved in, but it still snapped at the horse. Then another hoof struck the skull and the dog collapsed with a groan.
Corum was already limping across the glade and instantly his silver hand was on the scabbard, his fleshly hand on the hilt of the sword, the blade scraping free even as he turned back.
Tendrils of mist were sinuously entering the glade itself now, like searching, ghostly fingers. Already two more hounds were attacking the valiant war-horse which, although it bled from two or three superficial bites, was still holding its own.
Then Corum saw a human figure appear from among the trees. Dressed all in leather, with a leather hood and heavy leather shoulder pads, it held a sword.
At first Corum thought that the figure had come to aid him, for the face was as white as the bodies of the hounds and its eyes blazed red. He remembered the strange albino he had met at the Tower of Voilodion Ghagnasdiak. Was it Elric?
But no—the features were not the same. The features of this man were heavy, corrupt, and his body was thick, unlike the slim form of Elric of Melnibone. He began to lumber knee-deep through the snow, the sword raised to deliver a blow.
Corum crouched and waited.
His opponent brought his sword down in a clumsy blow which Corum easily parried and returned, stabbing upwards with all his strength to pierce the leather and drive the point of his blade into the man’s heart. A peculiar grunt escaped the white-faced warrior’s lips, and he took three steps backward until the sword was free of his body. Then he took his own sword in both hands and swung it again at Corum.
Corum ducked barely in time. He was horrified. His thrust had been clean and true, and the man had not died. He hacked at his opponent’s exposed left arm, inflicting a deep cut. No blood spurted from the wound. The man seemed oblivious of it, slashing again at Comm.
Elsewhere in the
Similar Books
