Steel dogs

Aandred ground his chromed teeth together. Droam's arrogance still enraged him, even after all the years. It was a remarkable phenomenon, when he thought how pale most of the other emotions had grown for him. Still, he did Droam's bidding, he muted the belling of the pack, and adjusted the horse so that it ran on muffling cushions of air. The night went silent.

When they reached the place where the prey had come from the sea, the dogs swirled around the base of the cliff like a steel wave. They quickly found the cave where the boat was hidden, and dragged the craft out into the starlight, snapping and tearing. In moments, it was a tangle of splinters. Aandred was a little sorry. In his time as a man, he had been pleasurably acquainted with boats, and this one had seemed a well-made, graceful one.

The dogs caught the scent, raced down the beach to a place where a small waterfall spilled through the branches of a dead juniper. Here the cliff was divided by a gully that reached back into the headland. The dogs swarmed up the narrow defile; with a great bound, the horse carried Aandred after them.

The darkness in the gully was dense, and Aandred lowered his visual range into the infrared. The dogs became churning red swirls in the blackness; their exhaust louvers glowed brightly. He considered his instructions. When they came upon the prey, he must act instantly, or Droam wouldn't get its prisoner. The dogs were enthusiastic; they often broke teeth on the armored flanks of the revenant stags that were their customary prey. Flesh and bone were so soft, in comparison.

They reached the top of the gully and broke out onto an open heath. A quarter mile away loomed the edge of the Dimlorn Woods.

Aandred slowed the dogs again, fed a little more power to the horse. When he had drawn even with Crimson, he glanced aside at the pack leader. Crimson rolled a puzzled eye at him, seemed to be asking a silent question.

«Sorry, puppy,» Aandred whispered. «Just this once.»

Aandred reached the edge of the trees fifty meters ahead of the dogs. He charged along the dim path, and seconds later reached the clearing where the prey was camped. He burst through the briars that hedged the open space, and half a dozen of the Bonepickers turned at the sound. They'd sheltered under a low-hanging black willow, except for the one who stood guard in the middle of the clearing. That one, a tall, thin man, leveled a crossbow at Aandred and fired.

The bolt hit his cheek and sang away into the trees. Aandred roared with pain; the bolt had left no more than a shiny nick in the metal, but the metal was thickly impregnated with pseudonerve endings. He felt as if his cheek had been torn open; he twitched the reins and rode the man down.

When Aandred had passed, the guard was a Woody tatter, tumbling in his wake.

The others still moved slowly: three of them crawling for the conceal-meat of the trees, two of them still sitting stupidly under the willow. Only one had gained her feet, a woman dressed in ragged fringes. Instead of fleeing, she started forward, swinging some sort of club at Aandred. Be-cause she was most convenient, he veered in her direction. The club glanced harmlessly from the shoulder of the horse, and in the next instant, Aandred scooped her up and rode crashing into the black willow. The two slowest Pickers died then, as the horse pranced and stamped, disengaging itself from the tree.

The dogs arrived, still silent, pouring through the clearing. reared in startlement, and Aandred nearly dropped the woman into the pack. Perversely, she squirmed and twisted. His metal hands tightened. She gasped and became very still. «Good,» he whispered, backing the horse away from the willow. «Droam doesn't need you healthy, just alive.»

As he spoke, the dogs found the remaining Pickers, and brief screams came from the darkness under the trees. It was over in a moment, and the dogs came trotting back into the clearing, their muzzles dripping black in the starlight.

The horse danced sideways, its hooves plopping unpleasantly through the guard's remains, and the woman lobbed once, a brief, shocking sound Aandred administered another monitory blow to the back of the horse`s head. «Cursed creature,» he muttered; then he wheeled and rode back out of the Dimlorn Woods, leaving the mess for the trolls to clean up. Long years had passed since their last real manroast. There would be no guests to taste the meat, but the trolls would enjoy the ritual. He supposed they would be grateful.

He would find their gratitude odious. Of all revenants that haunted Castle Droam, the trolls seemed to have sunk the deepest into their ugly souls.