Thread of Darkness

Ch. 32: give me a sword

If he had to pick a way to die, Tristan thought, being eaten by ravenous glowing hounds was not at the top of the list.

Then again, it wasn't at the bottom, either.

So at least there was that.

Tristan leapt aside, narrowly avoiding a snapping hound. Shit. Shit, this was bad. His heart was crawling into his throat, and he tried desperately to count the creatures. Four? Five? Ten? They seemed to be multiplying at an alarming rate.

"Give me a sword," Anna said.

She was raising her hands, silver threads tumbling like silk to the floor. Tristan took an instinctive step backward. Eris snorted.

"Absolutely not," he said.

"Other Delafort." Anna's voice was a warning. "If you want to live, give me a godsdamn weapon."

"No." Eris's face was hard. "I won't risk it."

A hound launched, snapping at Eris's face. He swore viciously, careening backwards, his hands pulling desperately at the creature's neck. Eris yanked the knife from his hat, plunging it into the creature's neck; the hound made a whining noise, bursting into a cloud of golden goo. Eris made a noise of disgust.

Anna plunged into the frenzy. Eris's face was a peculiar shade of eggplant.

"She doesn't even have a weapon," he snapped.

"Of course she does," Tristan said. "She took yours."

Eris's hand jumped to his thigh. The sword holster was empty save for a mossy stone, which was currently leaking green water all over his trousers. He let out a string of colorful words, his green eyes flashing.

"I'll kill her," Eris growled. "I'll—"

Eris cut off, yelping as a dog sprung at his face.

Tristan watched as Anna leapt gleefully into the fray, swinging the sword in a graceful arc. She was a whirlwind of steel and fury, her blue eyes blazing with cold flame; silver ribbons slashed out like lightning. There was, Tristan begrudgingly admitted, something oddly mesmerizing about watching her; she came alive when she fought, her eyes narrowed with determination.

A hound jumped at him. Tristan leapt to the side.

Right.

Back to business.

He gave a sharp whistle, backing up against the tree. Several hounds bounded toward him. Their fangs gleamed white in the moonlight, their eyes throwing off golden sparks; Tristan forced himself to wait. One second. Two. Then — just as the hounds were meters away — he threw the first orb.

The ball exploded into purple flames.

The hounds erupted into golden dust. Several more approached, their claws sending up showers of earth. Tristan launched a second explosive. A third. Blood sang in his ears, a haunting, eerie rhythm. He'd packed five explosives — thank gods he came prepared — but after that, he was defenseless.

The fourth explosive went off.

Tristan gripped the fifth with sweaty fingers, trying to steady his breathing. There were only a few hounds left; Anna was grappling with two smaller dogs, and Eris was wrestling with a large one. Two others charged toward him.

He released the explosive.

The first dog vanished. The second hound dodged, hurtling straight toward him.

"Shit," Tristan muttered.

He hardly had time to throw up his hands before the hound pounced. Hot breath washed over his face. The beast's breath smelled like rotten meat, and Tristan pushed desperately at its shoulders, trying to shove it off. Searing pain exploded in his shoulder, and a cry was ripped from his chest.