Blackdog Read Online Free PDF Page B

backed Kayugh up in that. He'd feared to seem partial, to betray that which probably half the temple knew already.
    Kayugh handed him an arrow that had come clattering down on the stones behind them. He straightened its fletching absently, found the bowman who had shot it, and sent it back. Not an accurate shot, not a straight flight, but it scratched over the man's helmet and sent the raider skipping back, to slip and fall on the algae-slimed stones of the shore, in a puddle of torchlight, and Kayugh's following shot was truer, piercing his unprotected cheek.
    “Attalissa's luck was with me on that one.” Kayugh took a deep breath. “The lack's past remedying, anyway. Prayer won't make arrows.”
    Otokas nodded, never taking his eyes off the lake. The near shore was littered with raiders dead and wounded. They had come within bowshot carrying torches to light their work, and though the first splashing rush ashore had carried large wicker shields to cover their fellows fixing the last few boats into the bridge, and raider archers had shot blindly at the lightless gate-tower roof, finding targets by mischance, Attalissa's priestesses had had the better of it.
    Where the sisters shot at shadows briefly caught in torchlight or blocking the water's dark gleam, the Blackdog had clear sight. Otokas had lost himself in killing, settling the dog's fury against the invaders in the smooth action of draw and release, the selection of targets, picking off the raiders’ archers, always with half his attention on the waiting, watching wizard.
    The warlord—the wizard was that, Otokas had no doubt, though wizards were more wont to stand in the shadows at some leader's shoulder—seemed content to wait, and watch, as his followers died.
    Or as the defenders expended their arrows. Sisters of the dormitories assigned to support those on the bell-tower roof brought no more arrows, but began to carry up weightier missiles, in case of a direct attack on the gates the tower straddled. They had already depleted the supplies meant for the water-gate's defence.
    “Crows,” Kayugh muttered. “Seems like there's two more for every one we kill. Hold, Sisters. Save what shafts we have left. That means you too, Oto.”
    He lowered the bow, flexed a hand that was starting to cramp. Kayugh gave him a worried look.
    “How's Attalissa now?”
    He was doing his best to shut the goddess out of his awareness, to keep her from knowing just how bad it looked to him, but he could feel her fear nonetheless. And a hard, glowing ember of fury that the girl had no outlet for, save the frustrated tears that she was so far stoutly resisting.
    “Afraid. Upset.”
    “They won't be able to starve us out very quickly, and we can keep them from scaling the walls. Serakallash may come in time.”
    “They may.” But he heard no hope in his own voice. “If the wizard looks like taking the temple…I'll have to get her away, Kayugh. Whatever the cost.”
    The last of the boats was lashed in place, the holy islet tied to the town's island again. There was movement on the far side of the channel, horsemen riding to the water's edge by the first of the boats, torches held high, spreading fire over the water.
    “Yes.” Kayugh took a deep breath, flexed her shoulders, and raised her voice. “Sisters—the Blackdog says this warlord is a wizard, and he means to harm the goddess somehow, enslave her or kill her. And the dog says it's possible, not some nightmare from an old tale of the west. This abomination is what we're fighting. We're here to keep him from Attalissa, from the goddess, from the lake, from our little ‘Lissa. Make the wizard your target, every chance that offers.”
    “He's lighting himself up well,” said one, and laughed, no mirth in it. “Afraid we might miss him.”
    “If that is him in the centre and not a decoy?”
    Faces turned to Otokas. “Yes,” he said. “In the helmet with a bear spread-eagled over it as crest, if you can make that