“Well,” Newt said, “yes, and no,” twiddling his fingers. “You see, when we left for this expedition, we truly believed that we would only be gone for a few days, a week at most. And while we cared for our pets, we knew well enough that they were self-sufficient and could go hunting on their own.”
“Pets?” Bones cried out. “Hunting? What are you even talking about?”
“Hellhounds,” Ophidia said. “But when we left, we only had two of them. The sounds coming from the portal — that’s far more than what we started with.”
“Are you saying that they’ve bred?” Warren asked.
“Uncontrollably, it seems,” Ophidia answered.
The first slavering beast barreled through the portal. It took every ounce of bravery in Braiden’s body for him not to turn tail and flee.
This creature resembled a dog in only the most rudimentary ways. It might have been descended from a wolf, if it were a wolf that lived in the heart of a volcano and was constantly on fire.
Its eyes glowed like embers, its breath misting hot even in this climate. Wait. That wasn’t mist. Steam, perhaps? Or maybe smoke. And where there was smoke — or steam, for that matter —
“Wow, look at those,” Lucie said, holding her arms out, waiting expectantly.
The hellhound noticed her, growled, then picked up speed.
“Lucie, no!” Ophidia shouted.
She gathered her daughter into her arms, then cried out in pain as a pair of leathery wings burst from her back. Braiden gasped. Had the opening of the portal restored her abilities? Hadn’t she just said something about once being able to fly?
Ophidia bore her daughter up into the air. Lucie whooped in delight and burst into laughter, as if uncaring or unaware of the danger that waited below. Perhaps it was better for a child not to know of the real threat that the hellhounds brought.
Three, four, a half dozen of them now raced out of the portal on paws that left scorching, flaming prints behind them.
“Here they come,” Elyssandra said, watching the portal warily, drawing her weapon and extending it into a spear. “Defend yourselves.”
“Don’t hurt them,” Newt said. “They’re just puppies! They don’t know what they’re doing. They’ve just never known the touch and affection of a demon.”
Or the taste and texture of one, for that matter. For all that Braiden knew, these things saw all of them as food.
“What do we do?” Bones yelled. “Oh, what do we do?”
Braiden couldn’t give him a straight answer. It was too late to abandon the Heirloom now. Best for them to hold the portal open, in case the demons could push the hellhounds back.
But there was one other option, now that he had all this weaving power at his fingertips. He knew of at least one reliable way to control a dog.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
This would takesome finer control, actually influencing the Heirloom to create the right thickness and length of threads to leash the hellhounds, not to mention commanding them to lasso the creatures coming from so many different directions.
Heirloom or no Heirloom, Braiden still only had the one brain. This was a far more complicated spell than he was used to. He took a deep breath, then pushed his essence into the instrument.
Valefour vanished and reappeared in puffs of smoke and brilliant plumes of fire, zipping around the battlefield with impressive alacrity. That sealed it, then. The portal’s opening had definitely strengthened the demons’ natural talents.
Valefour teleported straight into the path of a hellhound, which yelped at the sudden appearance of an entire person in its path. He took the momentary distraction as a chance to lock the hellhound in a wrestling hold, teleporting the creature far away, far behind the portal’s position, ensuring it would need to run the long distance to close its jaws around a victim. Perhaps it would exhaust the creature, too.
If only Valefour wouldn’t tire himself out, first. He repeated the tactic, but even as Braiden focused his weaving magic intothe Heirloom, he could see how Valefour’s breaths were coming harder now, a sheen of sweat on his brow.
Warren and Elyssandra darted in and out of the fray, doing what little they could to fend off the hellhounds and keep their snapping teeth at bay. As for Elder Bahul — nowhere in sight. Who could say?
The chatterboxes swept in as seven distinct distractions, their fiery breaths barely tickling the hellhounds. Impervious to fire, the creatures only barreled onward, ignoring the flames. A few saw the chatterboxes as a dog sees a ball, leaping into the air to clamp at them with their teeth, like a game of fetch. The chatterboxes screamed and scattered, too disturbed to turn to their usual strategy of battering their enemies like cannonballs.
“Ow, ow, ow,” one of the chatterboxes droned as a hellhound gnawed on it like a bone. That took one of the dogs out of the fight, at least.
