Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 11

Writing

11

The bear’s scars flashed like yellow lightning every time he cast a spell, briefly illuminating the shadowy limbs of the villagers. The Rotted villagers squealed and cowered under each attack, but they were still crawling out of the well.

Thane and Simon couldn’t keep up; their numbers were too great. And though the moonlight strengthened a few of the Wyld spells, the bear was beginning to flag.

“We have to even the odds!” said Thane, striking down a rangey skunk who had latched on to Simon’s staff with his teeth.

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Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 10

Writing

10

It was hard lugging the equipment in the dark through the village streets. Harder still when the maned wolf was in a hurry, and extraordinarily difficult when he had to shorten his stride to accommodate the blind rat.

But without him, Simon supposed the raccoon kit would have been in no shape to travel, so he refused to complain.

Moonlight had shown Simon the moment when Zeke and Rusty had turned off the main thoroughfare—heading for the edge of the village and hopefully getting the cubs to the hillside more quickly. He’d seen the moonlight flash silvery on Rusty’s great tail as she made the turn, and then it was just him and the rat, stumbling along forward.

Perhaps by the time we arrive, Thane and Brun will be finished with her, thought Simon. Then the village doesn’t have to burn. Though it was dark, he could imagine the different designs carved on all the wooden doors they were passing by, like his own hometown. What would it do to the cubs if they lost their friends, family, and home?

Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 9

Writing

9

The prince of the wolf clan kicked in the schoolhouse door. His sword was held at the ready.

“UNHAND THAT CUB!”

Moving so fast she was a blur, the ferret grabbed the older cubs and pulled them in front of her just as Rusty, Simon, and Zeke burst in around him. Her back was to the fireplace.

The ferret hissed. “Who are you?”

Darby the hoglet was too stunned to say anything, but Naomi struggled against in her captor’s arm. “Rusty, help!”

The ferret balled her fists and struck Naomi in the head, twisting her body to bring extra force to the blow. The thud of the impact was sickening. The cub’s head lolled and she moaned.

Rusty saw red a moment, then bared her sharp white teeth.

“Nobody hits my fans!”

She dove for the ferret.

Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 8

Writing

8

Dusk was well upon the party when they arrived at the schoolhouse. It was a small, white building with a red roof and chimney. Two windows on the sides faced each other, and at the front there was a bell with a chain.

“Feels like suppertime,” said Zeke, rubbing his belly. “And that smells like supper.”

“Hush,” said Thane, though the smell of simmering stew made his mouth water as well.

“Stay here while I look inside.”

The grey wolf slunk up to the window. Folding his ears back as far as they would go, he grabbed the edge of the windowsill and slowly, slowly peered into the schoolroom.

Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 7

Writing

7

“Oof. Pretty sad garden,” said Zeke when he saw it. It was a plot of peas hanging off their simple string trellises, laid out in rows. The leaves were yellow and sick-looking.

“But it’s been weeded,” said Thane. “So someone must be looking after it, right, Stilts?”

The maned wolf nodded, shrugging Thane’s equipment to one shoulder so he could stand straighter. The pea plants were quite mature, forming a screen for anyone shorter, but Simon’s head rose quite easily above it. He was gazing over the trellised rows when something made his eyes widen. He put his finger to his lips and crouched down.

“What is it?” Thane asked at regular volume. The maned wolf winced and gestured groundward with his palms, keep it down!

“What, now?” Zeke whispered. Simon gathered the whole party close. “There’s someone in there.”

Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 6

Writing

6

Before Rusty caught up with the group, Sargon the rat sidled up to her. He lay his paw upon her arm. She jerked, startled.

“Madame Bard, if I may have a word?”

Rusty shivered. She hadn’t smelled his approach. “If you want.”

“When you encounter a battle, do you, ah, write a song about it?”

“Sure. It’s how I make my coin.”

“And you’re worth every penny. Such splended melodies! But let me make sure I’m understanding correctly: if we were in battle—all of us—you would write a song? About the battle?”

Duh, she almost said, but she bit her tongue and nodded instead.

The rat didn’t reply.

“Oh, right—Yeah. Uh huh, I’d write a ditty.”

“And—let’s say…if a rat were to be part of the battle—helping conquer evil and such—do you suppose you would write a verse about that rat?”

Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 5

Writing

5

Thane didn’t like it. The rat—who finally introduced himself as Sargon—had to hold on to the bear, Brun, so he wouldn’t bump into one of the aspen trees that had replaced the cedars on this side of the tunnel. But technically, they were all following this same rat. Madness.

The rat said he knew the scent of where they needed to be, but Thane had cast about in the air himself and had found nothing of note. His nose told him they were surrounded by green forest, and nothing more. When he brought this up with Brun, the bear didn’t even look at him.

“I smell it, too,” he’d said. “A wolf’s nose is nothing next to a bear’s.”

After that, Thane had ceased speaking with him.

Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 4

Writing

4

They followed the bear for six days deeper and deeper into the woods, to where the boughs of ancient trees grew interlaced with one another, turning the light of day into a hazy green overcast beneath the canopy. The morning dew never seemed to completely dry from their fur, though fortunately the ground wasn’t so marshy that they couldn’t keep up with the bear.

And water was plentiful, coming from little rivulets that crisscrossed the floor of the forest. Food was a little harder to come by, although Zeke came in handy whenever they came across questionable mushrooms, and his bright eyes and little hands made for quick foraging on the move.

The rain had been gone for two days, but Rusty kept her hat pulled down. Though she fully expected to come out of the expedition with another hit song, tracking meant she couldn’t play her lute, which put her out of sorts. She didn’t smile much, or speak unless spoken to.

Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 3

Writing

3

Hours later, rain drizzled off the trees as Thane led his band through the outskirts of Cedar Vale forest. Simon, bearing the shield and armor, was bent double under the weight. Normally, its polishing cloth was bundled between it and the wolf’s back, but at the moment it had been tied across the top of the shield so the falling raindrops wouldn’t ring against the metal and give them away. Simon was strongly considering going to all fours; he wasn’t built for skulking anyways, and it’d take some of the weight off his back.

Pit, pat, went the rain atop Rusty’s felt hat, now pulled down low over her eyes. Zeke had turned his jolly red vest inside out so the dull lining would blend better in the green-grey forest—though nothing could be done about his rumbling stomach.

They all felt due for a nap, but knew they couldn’t stop until the bear did, and even then they’d have to post a lookout.

Thane, on the other paw, seemed unaware that he was tracking a bear through the rainy woods after fighting a bane and getting no sleep. His whiskers shivered and his yellow eyes glinted; he had paused at the far side of a stream, tasting the cool air to confirm the bear had stomped straight across the water.

Armello Novella: The Heroes of Houndsmouth, Chapter 2

Writing

2

Being a leggy maned wolf, Simon Tallgrass cut an impressive figure when he was standing. Not so much when he was sitting, as he was now, cleaning Thane’s armor. He sat in the corner of the room, dropping bane-slimed rags into a bucket. When he was done, he would be sharing this room with Zeke and Thane. Rusty usually got her own room so long as the inns they visited were on her concert circuit, but now she was sitting on the rug, doing chording exercises up the neck of her lute. The bard could sing like a lark, croon sweetly as a dove, and had the ability to transform a tragic ballad into a piece more haunting than a loon’s cry.

She could do these things so well and so easily, in fact, that it bored her. She was beginning to experiment with a new technique she called “scream-singing”, a style which played very well at the rougher taverns, making her coin purse heavier than ever before.

The door behind her was open, letting in smoky amber light, the clank and bustle of the pub downstairs, and the occasional townsperson thanking Thane for saving their town.

The wolf prince himself was seated on the only bed, going into his fourth battle reenactment of the night for a sow and her litter.