“Hold the line! Don't engage until they're fully committed –”

Blake's voice rang out amongst the litany of howls that marked the arrival of the Blackridge wolves, filling the air with a chorus of mournful cries. Their song swept through the forest the way the wind swept through the trees and the ground trembled at their approach.

“ – Stick together, don't underestimate their numbers and mark each others positions – ”

The savage war cries of the warriors still in human form joined and mingled with the wolf-song, like the heavy boom of thunder at the peak of a storm; a crescendo of percussionists egging on the howling winds.

“Macleiry?” He turned to the two wolves by his side, their rich russet coats camouflaging them amidst the fallen leaves. “Take the arches, find us a way through. Issac?” he called down the line. “Find me a weak spot on those platforms. Get some of our men up there.”

The wolves that weren't howling had begun to snarl and snap at the sight of the first rogues appearing from between the trees – cracks of lightning that drove the approaching tempest of wolves inexorably forward towards the waiting mercenaries. The winds had picked up overnight. Tearing through the evergreens and whipping up the leaves on the forest floor, the wolves had to fight every step of the way as they braced themselves against the gusty onslaught. The wind forced the limber oak branches to creak and sway in a majestic but deadly dance -- the leaves rustled like a thousand rattlesnakes as they fought the air around them.

The encampment was far better defended than Blake had anticipated. In the back of his mind he'd always viewed the rogues as a disorganised rabble – unstable, uncooperative and incapable of working together long enough to pose any real threat to the packs around them.

The last few months had forced him to rethink some of his preconceptions but never had he expected to encounter anything as disciplined as Fenrik's mercenaries.

First came the ferals.

Half-mad and completely at the mercy of their wolfish instincts, they flew through the trees towards them without a sound except for the rush of their paws and the harsh rasp of their breathing. Each with slavering jaws and only a glimmer of intelligence remaining in their wild eyes. Cannon fodder designed to slow them down.

Only a few dozen of them, Blake thought when he first spotted them. Enough to tie up half a dozen of his well trained warriors, not enough to falter their attack.

Behind them pounded mercenaries still in human form, armed to the teeth and yelling their own savage battle cries. They ran slower than the wolves, clearly intending to engage the attackers once they were distracted by their feral counterparts.

Those ones may take a little more effort, he conceded.

Marcus edged forward, a twitch in the grey tuft of his ear the only sign he was impatient to begin. Beside him, Alex’s flanks trembled in anticipation, his teeth bared with an edge of excitement.

There was something secretly crazy about wolves like Alex that entered into battle with such fierce joy, But – Blake was forced to reflect as he readied his warriors – their love of the fight was what made them so deadly on the battlefield.

We hold our own, Rothan reminded him, his own eagerness fighting Blake's control.

“Alex?” he addressed his lieutenant, his eyes flickering. “Flank them. Cut them off from their defences.”

"With pleasure." The Gamma bared his teeth and several of his warriors split off from the others to slink back into the trees.

“Marcus?” He offered his Beta a tight, savage grin and gestured to the descending wolves. “Take them down.”

Released from the line, the great wolf threw himself forward eagerly, followed closely by the two patrols assigned to him.

“Take them down!” Blake yelled again to the sky in a thunderous voice that shook the ground around them. After barely a seconds hesitation, the rest of the wolves reacted to their leaders battle cry and rushed forward, the Alpha running with them.

In mere seconds, the two forces met with a crash of steel and claws, and the forest filled with the sound of the storm they created.

Behind the attacking rogues, Blake's keen eyes could see the crumbling walls of the old monastery, the base camp of Fenrik and his mercenaries. The remains of the thick stone palisades had been reinforced with wooden platforms, providing the rogues with vantage points from which to fire missiles down at the wolves below.

Many of the fallen stones had been used to hastily plug the gaps in the walls defences, though there had been no time to set them firm, and they trembled against the clash of titans around them. To the left of the camp ran a series of arches, the original entrance to the monastery courtyard and the weakest point in the otherwise enclosed ruins.

The lack of heavy defences had led them to suspect there were several traps waiting for the wolves that ventured under the thick stones and Asher, who had not returned to Blackridge alone, had persuaded a reluctant Blake that his witch friend, Serena, was best placed to counteract any nasty surprises.

Tall, dark and raven-haired, Asher's companion was arguably the only reason they had located the rogue encampment so swiftly; certainly she was the source of their success shaking loose the rogues that had followed Blake wherever he went. Her magic had fooled Fenrik's men that he was following orders, leaving him free to plan his attack.

Despite an obviously genial relationship with his brother, she had proven as reluctant to help the Blackridge wolves as Blake had been to accept it, and it was with great suspicion on both sides that they'd agreed to cooperate. Helpful or not, she was still a witch... and their natural distrust of each other ran deep.

As he ran, Blake spotted the silver of his brother's coat close to the arches where Macleiry, Dylan and a squad of Alex's best wolves were already facing off against a six well-armed rogues. All in human form, the mercenaries were fighting with a skill none of them had been expecting.

Asher crouched protectively by Serena's side and Blake felt Rothan let out a huff of disapproval.

Later, Blake admonished.

A sudden movement in the corner of his eye grabbed his attention and a brown wolf, larger than the other ferals, leaped towards Blake, teeth bared in anticipation. Without thinking, he reached out, caught the wolf by the throat, heaving it backwards.

It fell amongst its companions, breaking the charge and preventing the wolves behind it from gathering themselves to spring.

It was the opening Alex and his warriors needed, and they burst into their midst, flanking the startled mercenaries and snarling viciously - a red, raw sound, full of blood and violence.

Jaws snapped. Claws sliced, and the rogue defences started to collapse around them.

Just as they began to falter, the leader of the group sprang at the walls of the ruin. Leaping at least six foot into the air, it got its forelegs over the palisade. While its hind legs scrambled for a purchase on the crumbling stone, it howled out a series of orders to its companions below.

The rogues seemed to draw strength from his voice and they attacked with renewed vigour.

The leader’s coat was a dusty black and the eyes burned like embers in a dying fire. As soon as he gained his footing he began to roam across the top of the wall.

Blake couldn't tap in to the rogue link but it was clear he was rallying his men and exposing the Blackridge wolves positions.

Who is he?

Blake scented the air. Amidst the tang of iron and stench of unwashed rogue, his nose caught a whiff of burnt sage. He knew that scent. It had wafted up from each of the ransom notes - mingling with a rogue scent, heavier and more primal than those he was used to.

Fenrik, Rothan snarled.

Without there being any conceivable way the black wolf could have heard Rothan's call, his eyes turned towards the Blackridge Alpha on the ground below.

Blake saw recognition cross the mercenaries face and, in response to a silent signal from their leader, several of the feral wolves turned in the Alpha's direction.

As they closed in on Blake's position, Fenrik’s lips curled over his teeth in a vicious grin and he added his howl to the others in a mocking challenge.

Come and get me, the howl cried.

Rothan’s snarl turned savage and Blake drew on his sudden anger, effortlessly backhanding a feral wolf, knocking it clean out with one blow to the skull.

At the same time more rogues sprang to the attack. Bursting from the trees around them, a new mix of canine and human combatants entered the fray, the ruins becoming a sea of chaotic confusion as wolf tore into wolf and the air rang with the sound of steel on steel.

The wolf on the wall paced back and forth. From his position he could see every move Blake's warriors made and counter every attack. On his command, several of the mercenaries fell back, drawing the Blackridge warriors closer, towards the reinforced stonework.

Up on the platforms more rogues waited, armed with stones, blades, anything they could use to push the attackers back.

Blake shouted a warning over the link, absentmindedly breaking the neck of the next rogue to engage him.

We need to get on that wall, he told Rothan. There were too many combatants to direct them from their position.

We need to get to Hannah, his wolf argued. Watch your flank!

Blake dived to the left and rolled effortlessly out of way as two rogues joined forces to try and take him down.

Amara ran past on route to another combatant, killing one of his would-be attackers with one smooth slice of her blood smeared blade. The rogue fell, unintentionally blocking the advance of his companion and giving Blake the time to run him through with a blade of his own.

Just for a moment, as the blood flowed down his hand from the fatal wound he'd inflicted, time paused in the eye of the storm.

His eyes scanned the battle raging around him. Each fight playing out like the scene from a movie, the warriors and mercenaries engaging each other in a graceful dance; sharp claws and hardened steel flickering and shining in the early morning sunlight.

A blade studded into the chest of the nearest Blackridge wolf. It fell away, coughing blood. While the owner of the blade reached for his back up, one of Blake's warriors threw a hatchet of their own that buried itself between a pair of glaring, yellow eyes.

Up on the platforms, one rogue used long lengths of steel like javelins, launching them towards the attackers with deadly accuracy.

Blake’s eyes followed the sharp point as it flew through the air, narrowly missing Issac as he barrelled across the rubble-strewn ground. The grey wolf danced from side to side, but was forced to drop back against the sheer volume of flying missiles from the other sentinels on the palisades.

There's no way through!

Panting, the young warrior met his leader’s gaze from opposite sides of the battleground. Issac flicked his head towards the base of the platform and, wrenching his claw free of the bleeding corpse, Blake spotted a long, unstable-looking ladder climbing up the side of the palisade, forgotten by the rogues and unguarded.

Blake frowned in understanding. If Issac could find a way under the projectiles he might be able to halt the ranged attacks altogether. Or a least, find them a clear route over the wall.

The sentinels efforts increased and both wolves were forced to find shelter behind the nearby trees. He glanced towards Issac's position.

Distracted by the falling missiles, Issac hadn't seen the rogue wolf, ragged and torn, bearing down on him.

"Issac!" His path blocked by too many enemies to wade through, Blake watched helplessly as it threw itself towards Issac's exposed back, bearing them both to the ground.

The rogue raised itself for the final blow, sharp claws flashing in the sunlight.

Luckily a nearby warrior, struck him a solid blow with a tree branch, and the wolf wobbled. While the beast was still unsteady on its legs, Issac regained his own footing and disembowelled it with one long sweep of his claws.

We don't have time for this! Rothan snarled in Blake's head, his frustration at not being able to reach Hannah radiating through his mind.

Blake narrowed his eyes. You're right. We need to get over that wall before Fenrik calls for reinforcements.

Then Issac needs those rogues off his back, his wolf pointed out. Any ideas? A cunning plan, maybe?

Blake glanced towards the battle raging near the arches. Three down. The other three fighting tooth and nail to survive -- Macleiry tore into a fallen rogue, his jaw and chest stained red with blood. Alex laughing with wild abandon wielded what looked to be one of the rogues own weapons with deadly accuracy.

He turned the other way. To his right, a rogue swung an axe at Marcus and missed – he saw the rogue go down with his throat torn out by an effortless toss of the wolf’s head before he turned to engage another that backed into a third, knocking him forward into the jaws of a different warrior.

It was clear that each and every rogue they faced was alarmingly well trained, but also as obvious was that the defenders didn't know how to coordinate their attacks as a group.

They got in each others way. They had lost the habit of taking orders. He glanced up at the palisade. Fenrik was trying to command rogues in too many places at once, and their lack of discipline was failing them.

Better for us, Blake thought grimly. Still in human form, he snatched an axe from a rogue who clearly didn't know how to use it effectively in close quarters, and ended his misery with one swipe of the curved blade.

Planting himself in the path of the still-advancing wolves, he gathered his strength and began to hew at them, cutting them down one by one as if they were nothing more than logs waiting to be chopped into timber.

Well, this isn't what I had in mind, Rothan said critically as another rogue fell at their feet. But it seems to be working.

Sometimes you need a cunning plan, Blake replied grimly, his axe cutting through another rib-cage like butter. And sometimes, you just need a large helping of brute force.

It was working. The more of a threat he became, the more rogues turned to face him, desperate to take him down.

The distraction freed Issac up just enough to slip through the rubble unchallenged and the tide of battle turned towards the Alpha at the centre of it all as he moved resolutely forward towards the wall.

He didn't see what happened to the ferals that got past him. He didn't see the arrival of Asher's witch and the effortless way she helped thin out their attack by throwing up barricade after barricade, preventing the rogues from coming to each others aide.

He didn't see the wall of defenders behind him crumble as Alex and Marcus joined forces to clear the pockets of remaining warriors, pushing them to panic and flee.

Even those left wielding their weapons looked in abject horror at the approaching Alpha, his face covered with flecks of blood, his bare arms running with rivulets of red sweat as he swung the axe methodically from side to side.

However, he was one of the first to realise that these rogues were only the first vanguard of the mercenaries defences.

In the shadows of the wall another warrior waited, larger the rest. Far, far larger, his muscles strained to five times their usual size, veins popping out of an abnormally thick neck and a weapon most couldn't hope to wield held loosely in one hand.

Blake paused, panting heavily, and let his axe fall to his side, his eyes roving over the bulging muscles of this new threat.

Overlying the typical rogue smell, a heavy chemical aroma rose from its skin. It stung Blake’s nostrils and his nose wrinkled involuntarily as they stared at one another. Devoid of all humanity, the beast’s black pupils were tinged with a deep purple and his smile was cruel and full of animalistic malice.

Alex skidded to his Alpha's side, blood staining his fur a hundred shades of pink. "What in Goddess name is that?" he exclaimed over the link.

“A complication,” Blake murmured, backing away and drawing the giant out from the shadows.

The Rogue lumbered forward, the overly developed muscles giving him a lopsided gait. Exposed to the light, the deformities seemed even more extreme - large purple veins criss-crossed the exposed skin giving him a mottled, snake-like appearance.

An anaconda, maybe, Rothan sniffed, reading Blake's thoughts. Those muscles will crush us to death if we let him get his arms round us.

Then let's make sure he doesn't, Blake said fervently.

"Wow, that's a face only a mother could love," Alex grinned. "Where'd he come from?"

"No idea. Keep out of his reach."

Automatically, without thought, Blake retreated and the rogue ambled towards him nonchalantly. Blake's warriors followed his lead, surrounding the leviathan in a ring of snarling teeth that only seemed to increase the beast's feral grin.

Blake glanced at the palisade above them. Fenrik’s wolf was running swiftly away from their position towards the arches, his powerful legs easily traversing the gaps between the platforms.

Why?

Rothan let out a whoop of triumph as a body fell unceremoniously at his feet. Issac had taken the wall.

The barrage of missiles ceased under the rapid assult and one of the Blackridge warriors turned the tables, firing silver pellets towards the retreating leader with a speed and accuracy no human weapon could match.

In the chaos, the rogues remaining on the wall ran to engage them, desperate to keep control of their defences and resume the assault below.

Not fast enough.

Already, three wolves were leaping. Then four and six more after that. Instead of attacking the platforms directly, they aimed for areas lacking in immediate defences and scattered as soon as they landed, leaving the missile-throwing mercenaries behind them.

Now the wolves fought on both sides of the wall.

Under the arches, Asher and Macleiry were facing problems of their own. They'd been right to suspect traps in that area – as soon as they had set foot under the entrance way, the pillars had begun to collapse, raining heavy stones down on the wolves below. Asher's witch had returned to their aid, straining to hold the columns in place while the fight continued to rage under the precarious protection of her barriers.