The Hound at the Gate (19 page)

Flung over the heads of the leading Amandán by a couple of its pack members, a suicidal goblin soared through the air like a giant green flying squirrel. Screaming its death cry, it landed on O'Donnell. Knight and Amandán crashed to the ground. A split second later, the beast exploded.

“Denny! Are ye all right?” Gideon reached for the Knight, who was sprawled on his side covered in powder. “Quite a surprising tactic of the beasties, eh?” He grabbed O'Donnell's shoulder and pulled.

The young Knight flopped over. His eyes were closed as if in sleep. A faint smile still curled the corners of his mouth even as he lay lifeless from the deadly touch of a black-tipped finger. Even as
Gideon watched, the knife slid from his friend's limp hand with a soft
tink
.

White-hot anger surged through Gideon's chest. The warp spasm swelled, pushing outward through his limbs and upward into his mouth. It gushed out in a mighty roar.

“
Faugh a ballagh!
”

Snatching up the fallen Knight's blade in his free hand, Gideon lowered his head and dove into the mob. He stabbed with an alternating left, right, left, right as if swimming through the bodies, using the point of each blade to pull himself through the sea of Bog-born. A high-pitched whine filled his ears. He plunged deeper into the pack, scattering them with his ferocity.

“Lir!” Someone grabbed him from behind and pulled him back. Through the thunder of the warp spasm, he could hear Mac Roth shouting. “Gideon! We're outnumbered. And a larger pack is a-coming!” The hands shook him roughly. “We need to flee.”

Panting, Gideon wrenched himself free of the fury, staggering from a wave of dizziness. He nodded at Mac Roth, then sucked in a deep breath, his gaze transfixed on the figure lying on the ground a few feet away. Remorse rose like black bile in his throat. He spat again. Dimly, he could hear the growing roar of the approaching pack. He looked up. The other Amandán had drawn back, waiting.

“Back to the barn!” Mull ordered. “Quickly, now. There are too few Knights to protect the families if more Bog-born attack it.” At his command, the rest of the Knights sprinted away, two of them helping a third with a wrenched knee. “Mac Roth. Lir. O'Shea. With me. Rear guard. We'll slow them down long enough for the others to reach the building.”

Standing shoulder to shoulder, the foursome stood facing the pack, O'Shea with bow loaded. The goblins pushed and shoved each other, craning their necks every now and again to look back.

“Waiting for reinforcements, eh?” Mac Roth chided. “Cowards.”

“So whats if we are. Less risky getting stuck with one of yer sharpies when we can gets big numbers,” one of the goblins replied.
“And when they gets here, we'll start the feast.” It sucked on a tooth with a smacking sound.

O'Shea made a face. “Charming.”

A commotion in the back row made both the Amandán and Knights look back toward the east. Hoots and howls, as well as a sour stench, signaled the arrival of more goblins. The De Danaan exchanged glances.

“Be ready to flee when I give the word,” Mull muttered. He began chanting the Song. When the others joined in him, the pack stiffened at the sound, ears pricking up. “Now!”

The hunters whirled around and sprinted toward the barn. Dashing through the campsite, they leaped over guy lines and dodged around fire rings and ducked under branches. Behind them, the Amandán shrieked as they tore along. Black-tipped fingers snatched at jackets and boot heels.

Bursting out of the trees, the warriors sprinted across the meadow. Side by side, they ran, panting the Song, singing speed and endurance into heart and lungs. Like sludge from a broken sewer pipe, the goblins poured after them, spreading out in a flood of gray-green bodies.

Mull stumbled once, almost going down. A quick catch by O'Shea, then they were running again. Ahead, the barn was a black shape against the setting sun. A flock of crows cawed with delight while they flew along overhead, excited by the coming slaughter. More birds lined the top of the building like blackened teeth.

Gideon risked a peek over a shoulder. The foremost rank was only a yard behind. He slowed slightly and eased behind his friends. Protecting their backs.

A shield in battle
.

As they pounded toward the barn, the doors began to swing open. Even before they were all the way open, the four flung themselves inside.

Racing inside the barn behind Mac Roth and the others, Gideon skidded to a stop and flung himself against the door. He dug his feet into the dirt floor of the barn, struggling to hold the door with Mac Roth and Toryn Mull as the raging horde battered against it.

One foot slipped. He gritted his teeth and pushed harder, the wood digging into his shoulder. The smell of Bog-born seeped in between the wooden slats. A few steps away, Kel O'Shea stood with an arrow ready, her bowstring pulled halfway back. The door bucked again with a resounding crash. Behind them, a child's scream of fright was shushed.

“Here!” Martin O'Neill hurried over with a long iron pike. He wedged it sideways across both doors, slamming the ends down into the wooden brackets. “That should buy us some time.”

Still panting from the sprint across the field, they all backed away cautiously. Gideon wiped the sweat from his face, then peered around the dimly lit barn for Finn.
I'm surprised the lad is not underfoot at this very moment, pestering me with a million questions and begging me to let him have a go
. Straightening, he craned his neck. Mothers held babies and young
children close to them, while Knights and apprentices milled around, their weapons gleaming in the lantern light. To one side, O'Shea was talking with Tara, one arm draped around her apprentice's shoulders, their heads almost touching.

“Do you see them?” he asked Mac Roth, who was also scanning the dark corners, a frown on his face.

“No.” Mac Roth had started toward the middle of the barn when O'Neill grabbed his elbow.

“Where's my son?”

“He's not here?”

“I thought he was with you!”

Gideon's heart lurched. At that moment, he spied Jack Tully a few yards away, slouching against a support timber. Their eyes met.

“Oops.” Tully's lip curled. “Guess I was wrong.”

A cold fury swept through Gideon. He took two long strides. Before Tully could flee, Gideon grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the post.

“Give me one reason I should not kill you.”

“Because,” Mac Roth said, pushing past Gideon to grab Tully by the throat. The younger Knight clawed at the massive fist. “I would not have the pleasure of strangling him myself.”

CRASH!

Another attack on the door whipped their heads around. The hinges groaned under the assault. With a
snap
, one of the slats cracked, sending splinters of wood flying through the air. Another crash. Another broken slat.

“Lir. Mac Roth. We need to drive them from the door.” Mull appeared. He held his sword in one hand.

With a growl, Gideon thrust Tully aside and followed the chieftain over to the door. “Your plan?”

“This.” Waving Ennis and another older apprentice nearer, Mull stationed them at either side of the entrance. “Ennis. Atlee. When I give the signal, open it just wide enough for us to slip through two at a time, then stand ready to close it again.” He smiled grimly at the
band of Knights. “Clearly, they have lost their dread of us. I believe 'tis time for a reminder.”

“And we'll reduce their number as well,” O'Shea added.

Gideon took a position next to Mull, a blade in each hand. Behind him, Mac Roth, armed with hatchet and knife, stood with O'Shea. The other Knights clustered behind them.

Waiting for the signal, Gideon hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder at Mac Roth and raised an eyebrow. His friend gave a curt nod. He turned to the chieftain.

“Toryn,” he said in an undertone. “Once outside, Mac Roth and I will fight free, then go seek our apprentices.”

“Right. We'll give ye two as much time as we can.” He and Gideon clasped forearms briefly, then the chieftain signaled the apprentices.

Ennis and Atlee eased the pike off as quietly as they could. Setting it down, they each took hold of a handle and paused. Then, with a sudden jerk, they yanked the portals open.

“
Faugh a ballagh!
” The cry ripped from Gideon's throat. He darted between the doors, determined that his chieftain not bear the brunt of the first attack. Even so, Toryn Mull was one step behind.

Plunging into the mob, Gideon slashed and stabbed, whirled and ducked, creating a space around him. Mac Roth followed, using his bulk as a ram and swinging his hatchet in wide arcs as if cutting down saplings. Amandán exploded right and left. The dusk grew thick with goblin ash.

Stunned by the vicious counterattack, the goblins scrambled over each other, desperate to avoid knife and dagger and hatchet and arrow. Clawing and biting at their own kind, they turned and fled across the meadow toward the bridge.

“Lir! Mac Roth! Now's yer chance!” Mull shouted. “The rest of ye, go!” He waved the other Knights ahead of him before disappearing inside.

“Gideon.” Mac Roth pointed toward the river. “It appears they dinna take us seriously. The beasties are regrouping. We best hurry.”

Before the Knights could move, the Amandán began screeching and hollering with glee. A foursome of bold goblins broke free. They galloped across the field, often running on all fours, angling back toward the campsites. Urged on by the rest of the Bog-born, they sped up.

Gideon whirled around and stared in the direction the goblins were headed. “Ye gods,” he breathed.

Reaching the ancient tree at the edge of the grove, Finn and Lochlan halted at its base. They crept out into the open and craned their necks to check the barn. Figures moved around near it, clearly focused on the
Rath's
platform. Finn could just make out the Council members standing on it.
Guess we're okay for a little while. Still, we better be back at the tent before Gideon returns. Just in case
.

“Want to go first?” Lochlan asked, walking back.

“Sure.” Finn started to slide his pack free. A scream from the camp made him jump. “Ye gods, what was that?”

“I-I don't know. It sounded like—”

Another scream, followed by a shout, made them edge closer together. Wide-eyed, they stared back through the trees.

“What the heck?” Finn whispered.

Amandán were charging through the campsite. The boys could just make out goblins appearing and disappearing among the tents and trees, chasing the families. The screams of children mingled with shouts of defiance from apprentices. As Finn and Lochlan watched in horror, more goblins appeared.

“We gotta help! Come on!” Finn started back, Lochlan on his heels. Low growls and the snapping of branches slammed them to a halt. “Oh, crap,” they said at the same time.

A half-dozen Amandán burst out of the underbrush.

“Why, looky what we gots here, mates,” one of them growled. “A couple of soft morsels.”

“Not so soft.” Finn slid his weapon free from the belt sheath and pointed it at the nearest goblin. He ignored his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest. “I've got a nice, sharp blade here waiting to make your acquaintance.”

“Make that
two
blades,” Lochlan said, taking a stand at Finn's side. His voice wavered, but his hand was rock-steady.

“Ho, ho. Bold words from a pair of whelps,” another goblin sneered.

More Amandán joined the mob. Finn and Lochlan inched backward until they bumped up against the bristlecone, trying not to stumble over the roots. The goblins chortled. A few licked their lips while others jostled for position.

There's too many to fight
, Finn thought.
And too many for us to make a run for—
Hope flared when a fight broke out, the recent arrivals berating the others for fleeing the Knights' counterattacks. The pack turned on each other. Curses and shrieks, as well as blood and fur, filled the air.