The horse nearly buckled when they entered the clearing, leg catching a tree root. Ben's heart caught in his throat, thinking that was it, then and there, if it was not the fire, then it would be the hounds. He pulled on the reins and said some comforting words to the horse. The animal seemed to calm down and let himself be tied to the fallen tree.

Not all the fire had gone out when the monstrous hound made its escape off the field of battle. Flames licked at the glowing trees, the fire stripping off their bark as it cracked open and spread firebrands to their neighbors.

At this rate, the whole hillside would be nothing but ash. Ben had a go at trying to turn off the fire by magic, focusing invisible energy into his arms as he held his palms oriented towards the trees. It turned out to be useless. The golden ichor over the bandages had nearly dried out, and the writing had become faded. Ben wondered if there was a way of recharging them without having to go head to head with a ferocious magically transformed beast.

Remembering his original task, he looked around until he spied the captive. The man, incredibly, was still passed. But as Ben approached, he saw the reason for it. Although the tree was not completely on fire, the back of was burning, with the flames cracking open the tree and hollowing it out from the inside.

Because of the position, he had been set in, the mercenary's back and left leg had pressed against the burning hot tree. His clothing had burned away on those parts, leaving only pink, seared skin.

Ben hurried to cut at the ropes holding the man. He then dragged him to the horse, and with great difficulty, he managed to set the man sideways on the back of the horse.

With no warning, a small shadow leaped up from behind the nearby bushes. The horse, lifting on its front two legs hit the shadow with his back leg. The hoof hit home, as the sound of cracked bones appeared in the air.

The little shadow collapsed in a heap, and Ben saw that it was in fact just a smaller breed of dog. It had the same golden stripes that were dripping liquid on its sides, but this one wasn't nearly as threatening as the previous hound. He took a step towards it when he started hearing the sounds of barking and growling. They were not too far off. Ben figured the little dog was just a scout, and the main pack was about to set upon him.

Ben put his foot in the stirrup and got in the saddle, pressing his heels into the horse's sides to get the animal into a gallop. Dogs appeared between the trees, running fast and having no trouble keeping up with the horse. He could now see them, as they were in close range. They were still not as big as the first hound. These ones seemed to be made for speed.

One of them broke off and tried to lunge at the horse. Ben pulled on the reins, the horse bearing right, earning a close miss with a nearby tree. Ben got the pistol out, took aim, and pressed the trigger. He could not see where the bullet landed, but it was quite clear it had not hit any of the hounds.

The dogs ran along the stream, splashing water and stumbling into each other, knocking themselves down in their excitement for the hunt. The horse kept just out of their reach.

A volley of shots announced that Ben had found his squadmates. Two kneeling, two standing, with Grimby laying behind, looking grim as he handed loaded rifles forward. They were encamped on the riverbank, with a small trench dug around them. Twisted versions of hounds were busy throwing themselves into the fire. What few survived the shots, were summarily executed by Pritchett, who had unpacked his short ax just for this reason.

Pritchett tapped the Sergeant on the shoulder, pointing towards Ben. They talked amongst themselves. Davies waved Ben off to the side, and as he pulled the horse from their line of fire, he heard the shots ring and the yelp of the dogs as they were hit and went down.

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Ben had a hard time controlling his mount now, as the gunshots had scraped away any courage the old horse still had. Ben jumped out of the saddle before the horse had stopped moving, nearly causing him to topple over. He held on to the reins and with great difficulty managed to get the horse to stop. At the moment, there was a lull in the fight, with the remaining dogs regrouping on the other side of the river.

The lithe and quick ones that had been following Ben had been decimated by the shots, with their bulkier counterparts being able to fare much better against the bullets.

Tillby got out of the trench and made to help Ben unload the mercenary from the horse, when the Sergeant intervened, "What do you think you're doing boy?"

"Sir?" said Tillby.

"Does this look like a good place to be? Everett, help get Grimby on the bloody horse. We're making for the beach. Bad enough I let you go back for that shit, I'm not breathing my last fending off magical mutts."

"Hang on," said Pritchett as went and brought out a small satchel with a white and red circle painted on the outside. "Grimby won't make it without some fortifying. How are you doing there, Tim?"

"Not so great." Grimby's face looked more like a cadaver than a living thing. The blood had gone through his shirt and stained him from stomach to chest. Nonetheless, he kept busy by helping to reload the rifles, but that was the most he could do, as he was in terrible pain. "I'm not so sure I could ride. I can hardly sit, never mind the walk."

"That's why you're not walking," Aetna said, her eyes on the opposite shore, tracking a hound as it went.

"Right," said Pritchett, filling up a vial from his satchel, and handing it to Grimby, "Small gulp. That'll help with the pain and give you a small kick in energy. Ration it though, I've already pumped you up to the gills with medication. It won't take much more for it to sink you."

"How about it, Sarge?" asked Aetna. "Looks like they're not making a move. Guess they're waiting for us."

"Maybe there's more coming, and they're just waiting for their buddies before they try again," said Ben.

"They can wait all they want, we're going." It did not take more than a few tense minutes to get everything ready. Ben got loaded up with the heaviest pack again, was given a rifle to carry, and had Aetna reload the pistol after scolding him for not learning.

He managed to get Pritchett to take a look at their captive since when he tried to measure that man's pulse, he felt the heat radiating off his back. Pritchett shook his head, but put some ointment on the mercenary's burns.

The whole time before their departure, the dogs began to amass on the far shore, barking, and charging, but stopping just at the water and going back. The biggest of them, and the one Ben took as the leader, was pacing behind the pack but seemed uninterested in continuing the fight, just keeping a watchful eye over his charges. One of the hounds, a red grey-blue dog with white fur on his ears and the same eerily human blue eyes, took a few steps forward, putting his paws in the water. He looked on almost defiantly and began crossing, fighting the current, and growling at the same time. He was almost at the mid-way point when Aetna shot the hound through the neck.

The humans held their breath, weapons at the ready, prepared for another attack but the dogs watched on, mostly calm, only a few of them having to be silenced by the leader with a swipe of the paw.

"Not to state the complete obvious, but this is making me very uncomfortable," said Ben. "Look how smart they are, and all the different roles. I mean look at those little pudgy ones, they look like boars almost, it's like they are made for close fighting. It's uncanny."

"Let it go," said Pritchett. "We have half a day's walk ahead of us, or night really. We'll talk once we survive the trip back to the beach."

Ben shut his mouth and turned around. Having the hounds at his back made him uncomfortable and on the edge, like an attack was coming every second.

The wounded were put on the horse, who was led by Pritchett. Reins in one hand and the little ax in the other, he followed Trilby who was on point. Even with the man's knack for tracking, it would be a feat to safely make their way back in the dead of night, even without being infernal hounds tracking their every move.

"I don't think the Admiral's going to be happier about us tracking these hounds to the landing point than he would've been had we shown up sans captive," said Aetna.

Sergeant Davies shook his head, "They already knew where we were if they got the scouts. Torture will break anybody. We just have to get back to the encampment, hop on the boat. Once we're safe I'll start wondering about the Admiral's feelings."