Dream of Me/Believe in Me

faces. Saw, too, the calculation and craftiness as they assessed the situation.
    Three against one. Even one so mighty as the Norse Wolf. They might yet emerge from this night alive, and for any who did the rewards would be beyond calculation. To smite the mightiest warrior would be to elevate them instantly to his stature. They would be as giants among men.
    But first they had to live. And the Wolf had to die.
    The one who was the ring leader shouted an order and the other two fanned out. They advanced together, coming at Wolf from the front and both sides. Three blades flashed high.
    Another scream bubbled up in Cymbra's throat but she had no breath for it. To her horror she saw that her husband stood and watched the attackers come, his sword held almost loosely at his side, his huge, powerful body seemingly at ease. Incredibly, he looked coldly amused. Closer and still closer they came. When they were scarcely a blade length away, he raised his sword arm,threw back his head, and emitted a blood-chilling cry to the sky.
    The howl of the Wolf, loose in the land. While yet the air reverberated, he moved. The hilt of his sword clasped in both sinewy hands, his huge body flowing with deadly grace, he slashed once, twice, thrice. So swift was he that it was done before any of the three could react.
    They stared in bewilderment at the thin spurt of blood blossoming down each of their chests, a strange wound, not grave for all that the same motion could have split a man in half. Perhaps they considered that, for they hesitated momentarily. The ring leader recovered first and moved to attack but Wolf easily parried his thrusts, as he did those of the other two. In the process, he delivered three more blows, as meticulously calibrated, cutting open the right cheek of each.
    Cymbra gasped as she suddenly realized what he was doing. The scratches between her breasts, the blow to her face, he was marking each as they had marked her. While they were intent on killing him, he but toyed with them.
    Twisting in Dragon's hold, she pleaded,
“Stop him
, don't let him do this! He's wasting his strength, they'll kill—”
    But Dragon's attention was over her shoulder. Abruptly, his big hand closed on the back of her head and he pressed her face into his chest. “Don't look just now,” he said gruffly.
    “Wolf… !”
    “No, no, he's fine, just wait—”
    She was too frantic to heed him. Squirming loose, she searched desperately for her husband only to see him standing upright, sword in hand as he faced the two attackers—
    Two? Then that bloody heap there on the ground must be … “Oh, God,” she whispered as bile rose in her throat. Yet could she not bring herself to look away. Thiswas a Wolf she had never seen before. Not husband or lover, not jarl, not even the threatening stranger he had first been to her. In the light of the torches, his eyes aglow like the animal whose name he bore, this was a figure out of a nightmare.
    The chiseled planes and angles of his face stood out in harsh relief. His body moved with power that seemed more than human. Again, he raised his head to the dark, smoke-smeared sky and again his battle cry resounded. Again, steel sang.
    Blood spurted and another man crumbled. Only one was left, the ring leader. He looked at Wolf with raw hatred in his eyes, crouched in a fighting stance, spittle dripping from his chin. Cymbra felt a wave of malevolent energy move over and through her, reeking of violence and death, of twisted cruelty and festering rage. She choked on it, unable to breathe.
    With a scream that sounded like devils pouring out upon the earth, the man leaped at Wolf. So swiftly did his sword slash that it seemed to Cymbra's terrified gaze nothing could elude it. Yet more swiftly did the Wolf move, a dark, remorseless shadow, one with the night itself.
    “Close your eyes,” Dragon ordered and, lest she not obey, he clapped a hand over them. Yet he could not shut out her hearing. There was a sickening sound of bone and flesh parting, followed by more of the same, and a voice so tormented as to be almost beyond understanding, begging for death.
    One final time, the sword descended. Then there was silence.
    Silence that lasted less than the space of a heartbeat before the crowd exploded in blood-maddened cheers. As one, the people swarmed around Wolf, hailing him as their own and proclaiming their loyalty to him. Before their savage joy, the world itself seemed to tremble.
    Dragon relaxed