Lykopis and Gaunt both heard the wolf-like cry. "It is him," she said. "Lord Asbjorn."
"Haunting, isn't it?" Gaunt replyed back. He was still walking ahead of Lykopis.
Lykopis listened again to the sound. "He is injuried."
"How could you possibly know that?"
Lykopis laughed. "Have you forgotten already? I am Lykopis, my name means 'wolf'. I know a cry of hurt dog when I hear it." She paused for a moment to think. "It is too bad. I like wolves. I like all dogs. I like being near them. Too bad this one is a demon, is it not?"
This was Gaunt's field of knowledge. "The hellhound is neither good nor evil. They are tools. Their purpose can be for good or for evil. A dog in the control of one man can save lives, or it can destroy lives. You of all people should know and understand this."
Lykopis walked ahead. "So the real question is...who is pulling the leash..."
There was another call -- this time, it was the strange wail they had heard earlier. Lykopis felt her mind grow numb for a moment. The whistling seemed to pretty...so soft...and yet so loud and terrible...and yet...Lykopis found herself strangely tickled by it.
"Gaunt...I...I want to kill the hellhound. Does that seem strange? Let me kill the hound...Let him hear me howl, as I did when I was young..."
Yes...it would feel good to kill it...yes? Yes! Kill the hound, cut the throat, rip into the hide, stab it until it bleeds and bleeds and bleeds. Kill the hound. You want to do it...
***
Guant was surprised that Lykopis ran ahead of him. He tried to stop Lykopis, but some unexpected power was in her arms as she pushed him into the wall. Gaunt found himself pinned to the wall as Lykopis ran down the hall, her hand at the hilt of her sword. "Lykopis...I told you not to listen to them! Lykopis?"
***
Lord Asbjorn was licking the wound on his side. Drake's sword had cut into the flesh. Though it did not matter much. Asbjorn's skin was little more than dried hide draped over a few sinews of muscle and tendon and a heavy skeleton. He had been stabbed before, and he was not much worse from it.
He roared again in defiance, spitting out dried blood and bits of flesh from his gums in the process. He was a half-decayed animal, stuffed with maggots and grubs. Around his rotton neck hung a metal chain that dragged to the floor. It was a little tight around the neck, and it had gone deep into the flesh, causing more infection and decay. But Lord Asbjorn did not care. He was too busy thinking of his next move. Besides, as far as he could remember, he had always been like this.
But from the other end of the hall Asbjorn could hear another call.
"Aroooooooooooooooooooooooow!"
It sounded like another wolf. Asbjorn pricked up the shreaded cartiladge that made up his ears to listen. He almost began wagging his tail -- perhaps another from the pack was coming to help him. This thought quickly died, however, when he saw the source of the sound.
Lykopis was running towards him, her massive sword in her right hand. Her eyes were glazed over, and she had no idea what new thoughts had crept into her mind.
