before extending his tongue in a feeble effort to comply with the demand.
Quickly impatient, Tempus wiped his hand in a bloody smear across Razkuli’s face
and mouth, then he examined his wound again.
As Zalbar watched, horrified, the seepage from the wound slowed from flow to
trickle and finally to a slow ooze – all in the matter of seconds.
Apparently satisfied with the healing process, Tempus turned dark eyes to his
captain. ‘Every dog gets one bite – but the next time your pet crosses me, I’ll
take him down and neither you nor the prince will be able to stop me.’
With that he wrenched Razkuli from the wall and dashed him to the floor at
Zalbar’s feet. With both Hell Hounds held motionless by his brutality, he strode
from the room without a backward glance.
The suddenness and intensity of the exchange had shocked even Zalbar’s
battlefield reflexes into immobility, but with Tempus’s departure, control
flooded back into his limbs as if he had been released from a spell. Kneeling
beside his friend, he hoisted Razkuli into a sitting position to aid his
laboured breathing.
‘Don’t try to talk,’ he ordered, reaching to wipe the blood smear from Razkuli’s
face, but the gasping man jerked his head back and forth, refusing both the
order and the help.
Gathering his legs under him, the short Hell Hound surged to his feet and
retained the upright position, though he had to cling to the wall for support.
For several moments, his head sagged weakly as he drew breath in long ragged
gasps, then he lifted his gaze to meet Zalbar’s.