Wytchfire (Book 1) by Michael Meyerhofer Page A

blocked the entire road, studying them with yellow, dagger-thin eyes. Its jaws closed in a low growl. Sleek reddish fur ran the course of its well-muscled body. It looked like an ordinary wolf except that it had claws like a tiger and its hind legs were shorter—meaning that it charged not in a sprint but in long, powerful leaps. That made it harder to hit with an arrow. Especially with shaking hands!
    Rowen took a deep breath to steady himself. “Just one arrow won’t put that thing down.” He gauged the distance between them and the greatwolf. He might get off two shots if he was lucky. Hráthbam’s crossbow, because it took longer to load, would probably only manage one. After that, this would be a business for their swords.
    Hráthbam swore, “Dyoni’s bane, that thing is bigger than my third wife!”
    Rowen said, “Greatwolves go after the strongest enemies first. It’ll come for us first—not the horses.”
    Hráthbam glanced at him dubiously. “Surely it cannot leap this high!”
    “Oh, it can. Believe me.” Rowen drew his bow, heartened once again by its power. He could fire at the greatwolf now, before it attacked, while he still had plenty of time to aim. Or he could try to scare it off.
    “I’ll see if I can drive it away...”
    He took careful aim. Rowen was no master archer, but he had practiced long hours in the tilting yards of Saikaido Temple, and a greatwolf was hardly a small target.
    Rowen let the arrow fly. He grinned as the taut bow seemed to explode in his grasp, hurtling the arrow with deadly power. Then, just as quickly, his grin vanished. He had intended his aim to be shallow—just a warning shot—but the arrow flew farther and skidded off a rock. It grazed one of the greatwolf’s massive paws.
    The beast yelped. Then its yellow eyes drew thinner still. It charged.
    Rowen swore and drew another arrow. Before he had time to nock it, he heard a tremendous thwap as Hráthbam fired his crossbow. Without waiting to see the results, the merchant braced the crossbow’s stirrup with his foot and used his thick arms to haul the string back. Rowen was impressed by the Soroccan’s speed, even as he fumbled with his own second shot.
    Hráthbam’s first crossbow bolt had caught the greatwolf midleap, sinking deep into its rear flank, right above the haunch. It was a good shot. The wolf’s left rear leg was crippled now. It bounded more slowly, but it did not stop. It angled around the horses, flanking them, as though it meant to leap at Rowen’s side.
    Rowen hoped his second arrow would fix that. But the sight of the charging beast rattled his nerves. He rushed his aim and put his second arrow into the thick gristle and hide of the beast’s right shoulder. The beast howled then charged faster than before.
    No time for another shot. The composite bow slipped from his fingers as he drew his Dwarrish shortsword instead. Its blade suddenly looked ridiculous and puny in his grasp.
    Beside him, Hráthbam was taking careful aim with his second crossbow bolt.
    But the greatwolf hurtled closer. Left and Right panicked. Left balked, jerking the wagon to one side. Then Right reared up. Both Rowen and Hráthbam lost their balance, nearly tumbling off the wagon seat. The crossbow shuddered. Hráthbam’s second bolt flew wild.
    Rowen thought of the shield in the back of the wagon. Why didn’t I grab the shield?
    Then, the greatwolf leapt.
    Its mouth flared open, revealing rows of fat teeth curved and sharp as Hráthbam’s scimitar. Instinctively, Rowen braced his feet against the wagon seat and pushed hard, tumbling backward into the rear of the wagon. The greatwolf’s paws, tipped with claws that could rip a man to shreds, struck the wagon to either side of Rowen’s chest instead.
    The wagon shook as though struck by a battering ram. The horses broke loose. Hráthbam, who had just drawn his scimitar, tumbled to the plains before he could use it. Then, Rowen’s sight was blocked by a snarling blur