This story first appeared on Burrst.com. All other rights to the story were retained by the author.
Nelvon jerked his head around, afraid that the creatures might be hiding somewhere just off the forest path. His spell of Disreputable Provision had caused them to avoid contact with him for the past three miles, but the spell wouldn’t work on them again.
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper. On it were the words “Discount. Savor. Regress.” He had discounted the hell hounds, in one sense of the word. He had savored the taste of ambrosia, the nectar of the gods. Now he hoped to regress. He stole a glance at the backs of his hands; they were still as wrinkled as before he had entered the ruined temple, before he had found the goblet of god food. His body still suffered from the effects of aging.
He wheezed as he hurried along the path, moving his ancient legs as fast as he could. One, two, one, two, one, two. He kept a rhythm, just as he’d been taught when a member of the wizard corp. One, two. Glance left. Glance right. Were those red eyes peering out at him from the bushes to his right? Was that a dark shape skulking behind the trees to his left?
Nelvon stuffed the paper back into his pocket. His cloak flapped loudly as his legs pumped, continually propelling him forward. Yet his ears were alert, his eyes keen. The smell of wet leaves after an afternoon rain filled his nostrils. What did wet hell hounds smell like?
A low-pitched, deep-throat growl caused his legs to break rhythm and spin him around. There was not one hell hound, but five, the largest of them in front, and only five yards away. They bounded towards him on silent feet that didn’t quite touch the ground. Their eyes burned red, like living coals in a blazing bonfire. The leader came within leaping range, and leaped.
With no time to think, Nelvon spat out the first spell that came to his mind, the spell of Sound and Thud. It was foremost in his mind because of the silence with which these creatures ran. It wasn’t natural.
And he’d used up most of his other spells already.
The leader smacked into him, hard, knocking Nelvon onto his back. His head cracking on the gravel of the forest path exploded like thunder. The lead hell hound hesitated at the sound, its front paws on Nelvon’s chest, its drooling snout hanging over Nelvon’s face, it’s foul breath seeping into his lungs. In that moment of hesitation, Nelvon reached up and took the hell hound by the throat. He twisted, and the hell hound’s neck snapped, while it’s head lolled limply to one side, and then it slumped onto his prone body, lifeless, but heavy in death.
Laughing, he effortlessly rolled the hell hound’s body off him and sprang to his feet. Looking at his hand, he saw the wrinkles had all gone. Pulling up his sleeve, he saw rippling muscles. He lifted his head and laughed, shaking a fist at the sky. “I have done it!” he exclaimed, and the power of his voice surprised him.
The other four hell hounds stood their ground, staring at him, their tails between their legs. Then they moved slowly backwards, retreating to the protection of the treeline behind them.
“I don’t think so,” said Nelvon. “I have defeated your leader. I am now your leader. You belong to me.” He knew the laws of magic and the supernatural. “Follow me, and protect me as best you can.”
They understood him. He was their leader. Their tails still between their legs, they formed a V formation behind him and followed him along the forest path. He did not look furtively about him. He knew that any other hell hounds out there would think twice before attacking him now.
“I am coming for you, Aggreth,” Nelvon murmured. “You usurped me, and now you will pay.”
No one would stop Nelvon from returning to his position as chief wizard on the Wizards Council now. As a demigod, he could rule the council for eternity.