The six yeomen were flanking the shattered door to town hall, three to a side, crossbows at the ready, when Liror rode up. The last man on each side covered their respective corners.
“Yeoman.”
The end man glanced over, did a double-take and abruptly came to attention - an attempt at it, anyway. “Yet-suh.”
“They still inside, then?”
“Yet-suh. ‘Olen up dur gud.”
Liror blinked once, trying to make sense of the Rathian accent. Giving up, he asked, “We just waiting on the Beastmaster from Fort Bariforge?”
“E’s ‘ere widda Serg, y’annah.” He nodded away to his right, hand still up in a salute, balancing the crossbow awkwardly with the other.
Liror glanced left, saw the wagon and the men next to it. “Right. Thank you, yeoman. As you were.” His horse spooked suddenly and skittered sideways, nostrils flaring. He glanced at the wagon and dismounted. He flipped the reins around the hitching post, murmuring, and walked the remaining 50 meters.
The Beastmaster was a giant of a man, his forearms a network of scars and pockmarks, bald and bearded. A weal ran down the right side of his head, leaving a lump where the ear should have been and tracing an angry mound through his beard. He watched Liror approach with casual patience, but the Sergeant came to attention immediately.
“Your Honor,” he saluted with practiced ease. “We were just waiting on you.”
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Liror turned to the Beastmaster. “You brought Bone Dogs?”
“Feracanths, yes m’Lord.” He snapped his fingers once, and two beasts inside the wagon sidled up on their bellies to the barred rear gate, their foreclaws raking along the iron flooring. Liror took a step closer, and they snarled, their manes bristling. He noticed the gouges and tooth marks in the metal, nodded once, and turned back to the Beastmaster, careful not to expose his back to the gate.
“So, how does this work? We were hoping to get the Mayor out alive, and the leader of the rebels. We’ve got questions for him.”
“We have a piece of cloth that one of the rebels was carrying,” said the Sergeant, holding out what might once have been a shirt.
The Beastmaster took it, walked over to the wagon and held it between the bars. One of the feracanths sniffed it and yipped once. “Maim,” he said. He moved the cloth close to the snout of the other. “Maim.”
He turned back to Liror and the Sergeant. “Here’s how it works. The ‘canths go in first. Your boys follow behind, a respectful distance. They may get sniffed along the way. They need to stand fast. As long as they don’t attack the ‘canths, the ‘canths won’t attack them. Got it?”
“And if the rebels decide not to comply?”
“The ‘canths know they’re not allowed to kill, so they won’t go for the throat or belly. They’ll take a limb.”
Liror and the Sergeant exchanged nods.
“Unless they get attacked, of course.”
Liror turned back. “Oh. What then?”
The Beastmaster shrugged. “That guy gets shredded.”
Liror raised an eyebrow, looking back to the sergeant. “You good with that?”
“Occupational hazard,” he replied.
“Let’s do it.”
The sergeant jogged back to the hall, shouting instructions to his men, as the Beastmaster pulled the pin on the wagon gate. The two feracanths heaved to their feet and flowed smoothly out to the ground. They stood for a moment, flexing their manes like a cowl of daggers. “Hunt,” the Beastmaster commanded, his finger pointing to the battered door.
The one closest to Liror trotted toward him. He froze, heart in his throat, but the Bone Dog barely broke stride to sniff the air near him and turned away, loping to catch up with its mate. It was a couple seconds before Liror trusted himself to move without stumbling.
The ‘canths scented the rest of the team with similar dispatch, then turned to the door. The sergeant drew his sword. “Here we go, boys,” he said, as the Dogs sniffed around the jamb and over the lintel.
Then one picked up the trail and the braying began.
I am adding another manuscript to my must-reads. This is going to be fun.
Thanks so much! I hope you enjoy it!