“Just two,” Jerico said. “Either side of the hills. Don’t panic. Stay with me, always with me.”

Several of the men on the right cried out and pointed. Gary looked but saw only the hill. Another howl sounded, this one directly behind them. He spun, his knuckles white as he gripped his sword. The grass was empty. Someone from the lead group startled and was swiftly ordered quiet. More and more howling, and this time it was the men on the left who pointed. Gary caught sight of a dark blur, and he couldn’t believe how fast it glided over the hill, vanishing on the other side.

Their groups halted, each one facing a direction. Moments later, Darius arrived and grabbed Jerico by the arm.

“Surrounded,” he whispered. Gary stared back to the river, pretending he didn’t hear and almost wishing he couldn’t. Blurred shapes approached, hovering low to the ground. His heart crawled up his throat.

“How many?” Jerico asked.

“I don’t know. Seven? Nine?”

“We need out of here, Darius. We aren’t prepared, not for those numbers. Such a large pack-”

The wolf-men howled, and it came from all sides, merging together so that Gary couldn’t begin to know how many there were. He imagined hordes of the creatures, enough to blot out the eastern grasslands, snarling and howling while drool dripped from their fangs…

Jerico grabbed his mace, and Darius drew his greatsword. Dark fire bathed its blade.

“We hold!” Karak’s paladin cried.

“To the river, Darius, we must flee to the river!”

“No! We hold, all of you men, hold, we will hold!”

He rushed to the front, leaving the three there to defend. Jerico stood before them, his shield raised.