It was Drefan who ran, darting towards a mounted warrior and knocking him from the saddle. The sour old man had one foot in the stirrup when Panic dragged him down. There was a wet thud, and Fat Donall stopped laughing, Madigan’s spear sticking through his blubbery neck. Acwellen snarled, ripping his sword free and slashing furiously. The hunter ducked smoothly and leapt to the side, rolling to come up next to Big Cunny, his arm arcing upwards as he stood. Red spurt forcefully from the unfortunate man’s groin, and Deglan recognized the sure sign of a severed artery. Big Cunny dropped with the confused look still on his face. Madigan flipped his bloody dagger deftly, catching it blade down. Aglaeca was at his back, sword raised to strike, but Madigan ignored him as Sweat barreled into the man, taking him down and ripping out his throat. Acwellen surged back in, sword swiping to keep the advancing hunter at bay. Panic had finished with Drefan and joined her mate to converge on Poncey Swan who pissed himself and fell to his knees, weeping and begging the advancing dogs for mercy.

They showed none.

Madigan avoided Acwellen’s attacks with preternatural grace, his sinewy body snapping away from the big man’s sword. He ducked a stroke, then darted in, grabbing Acwellen’s sword arm by the wrist and punching his dagger down into the elbow joint.

Acwellen screamed as the dagger was pulled free, dripping. He slammed his head into Madigan’s face, and the hunter retreated a few paces backwards. He looked at his opponent for a moment, seemingly unfazed, then shook his head quickly, shrugging off the blow. Acwellen’s sword arm hung limply at his side, bleeding freely. He choked on the pain and spit, the drops landing in his beard. His own dagger was now in his good hand, and he brandished it at Madigan, screaming a wordless challenge. The hunter just stared back at him, standing up straight as if the fight was over.

It was.

The dogs struck from opposite sides, Sweat hitting Acwellen low, while Panic slammed into his midriff, knocking him spinning to the ground. The man squealed as he was savaged and Madigan pounced, burying his dagger to the hilt. Sweat and Panic released their jaws, leaving split flesh and torn muscle behind. Madigan stood, pulling his dagger free from Acwellen’s stomach.