But who to kill first? Ratboy had seen a few half-breeds in his time, and this male certainly carried some elven blood. The crossbow was little to worry about. It would hardly slow him down, even if the half-blood could shoot straight.
He could snap the dog's neck quickly enough, landing on it first, but that would give the other two time to set themselves for a fight. No, first priorities were best put first—disable the hunter, then kill the dog and the half-blood. That way he could play with the hunter as long he wanted.
From his position on a sturdy branch, he focused on the hunter and leaped.
* * *
There was no warning. Leesil caught a glimpse in the dark, the blur of a faceless form passing overhead and down.
A wiry, brown-headed figure dressed like a beggar slammed into Magiere, knocking her to the ground. Leesil expected the attacker to tumble to the ground himself but, to Leesil's surprise, the man did not fall, but landed firmly on his feet. And on impact, his fist was already in mid-swing downward.
"Magiere!" Leesil shouted. He barely finished spinning around to aim the crossbow when a loud crack sounded as the attacker's fist struck Magiere hard across the cheekbone.
Magiere's head bounced against the earth in recoil. Leesil fired.
The quarrel struck low through the beggar's back, point protruding from his abdomen, but he responded with only a quick shudder and turned toward Leesil.
A cry, high pitched enough to be human, burst from Chap's throat as he launched himself into the beggar. Both figures rolled across the camp and over the fire in a mass of rapidly moving teeth and fur that scattered half the burning wood and kicked sparks up around them.
Magiere lay on the ground unmoving, as Leesil leaped out the back of the cart. By the sound of the blow, he knew she was likely to be unconscious. For a moment he was caught between stopping to check on her and following his dog to help finish off the intruder. Between a crossbow quarrel and Chap's ferocity, the foolish intruder had only moments to live anyway. Still, he couldn't afford to be caught with his back turned. He pulled another quarrel from the crossbow's undercarriage, readying to reload as he started around the scattered fire, then skidded to a stop before he'd gotten halfway.
Dog and intruder had separated. The wiry little man—or perhaps teenage boy—dropped low as Chap charged again. The dog was in mid-air when the intruder lunged forward from his crouch, one hand swinging up with hooked fingers to snag Chap's belly fur. Chap lost his trajectory.
Perhaps it was the dark or scattered ash floating in the air, or the flickering half-light of the nearly snuffed fire playing mock images upon the fight in the scrub grass. But Leesil could swear the little man somehow reversed direction while Chap was still in the air. Whether he had landed in a blink to turn back, or never actually left the ground, Leesil couldn't be sure.
The filthy beggar's feet kicked upward into the dog's side, adding force to momentum. Chap snarled as he arched across the clearing, head over tail, and yelped in pain as he grazed the base of a tree and tumbled across the sandy ground. He was instantly on his feet again.
Leesil pulled the bowstring, trying to reload the crossbow, and nearly losing his grip when startled by a shout from behind him.
"Chap, no!"
Leesil turned his head just enough to see, but still keep the beggar boy in his view. Magiere was up, falchion in hand, though somewhat unsteady on her feet.
"Get back, Chap!" she shouted again.
Chap trembled and snarled, but kept his distance. Every muscle under his fire-singed fur tensed in protest, as if her order was not only unfair but incorrect.
No one moved.
The young intruder held up his hand and stared at the canine teeth marks on it.
"I'm bleeding," the boy said in puzzled astonishment. "It burns."
His dull brown eyes grew wide and uncertain. He was shaken for some reason, seeming to not have expected pain or injury. He looked no more than sixteen years of age and was built as if he'd spent half that time in near starvation. Calm appeared to settle upon him, but there was still apprehension in his stance as he shifted his weight lightly from foot to foot, perhaps caught between fight and flight. He grabbed the quarrel protruding from his abdomen, and pulled it