The Swords of Night and Day

Chapter Seven

Throughout the morning Harad walked on, keeping a little distance between himself and the lean swordsman. In truth he did not want to talk for a while. He needed time to think through all that had been said. Harad was never comfortable with instant judgements — except in the case of brawling. When violence was in the air there was little time for reflective thought. Now, however, he needed to absorb all that Skilgannon had told him.

Like all the residents of the land he had heard of Reborns. He had never been interested enough to learn more about them. He was not even sure he wanted to learn more now. It did not concern him that the bully Borak was not his father. In some ways this was a relief. What concerned him was the question of souls. As a child he had attended the small school run by two Source priests. Here he had learned of the journey of souls, and the passage through the Void to the Golden Valley. Harad had always liked the idea of a journey beyond death. However, to make this journey one needed to have a soul. Since this body was not truly his, but created without the soul of Druss the Legend, where did this leave Harad?

He strode on, his mood ever darkening. Anger flickered to life, and he struggled to control it.

Towards dusk Skilgannon called out to him, and he turned. The swordsman was pointing towards the north, where a plume of smoke was rising. ‘A forest fire?’ he enquired.

Harad shook his head. ‘We’ve had too much rain for that.’ He watched the smoke, then scanned the land, gauging distance. ‘It looks like it’s coming from the settlement. Maybe one of the houses caught fire.’

‘It would have to be a big house,’ muttered Skilgannon.

Harad stared hard at the smoke. It seemed to him that there were several plumes, all merging.

‘How many people in the settlement?’ asked Skilgannon.

‘Fifty. . perhaps a few more.’

‘Should be enough to deal with a fire.’

‘I think there is more than one blaze,’ said Harad. ‘I can see at least three plumes at the base. Strange, for the houses are not close together, and only one of the roofs is thatched. There would be no reason for a fire to spread.’

‘Do you have friends there?’

‘I have friends nowhere,’ snapped Harad. He sighed. ‘But I think I should go there and see if they need help. Can you find your way back to the caves?’

‘Of course. However, I shall travel with you. I am in no hurry to see Landis Kan again. How long until we reach the settlement?’

‘Close to four hours. It will be dark by the time we arrive.’

Without another word the two men set off. Skilgannon moved ahead of Harad and began to scout the ground as they walked.

‘What are you looking for?’ asked Harad.

‘Something I hope I don’t find,’ was the cryptic answer.

They walked on for another hour, at first descending into a lightly wooded valley, then climbing again towards a thicker forest. Skilgannon halted at the tree line, doffed his pack and asked Harad to wait for him. Then he set off along the tree line, searching the ground. Harad sat down and watched the man until he vanished over a ridge.

Harad lifted Snaga and stared at his reflection in the blades. ‘Who am I looking at?’ he said aloud.

‘Are you Harad? Are you Druss?’ Flipping the blade, he plunged it into the ground.

The sun was almost set. Harad opened his pack and pulled clear his last loaf of black bread. Ripping it open he began to eat. As he did so he remembered the times Landis Kan had come to his parents’ cabin, squatting down to talk to the child, Harad. ‘Do you dream of ancient days?’ he had asked.

His father, Borak, had always left as soon as Landis Kan arrived. And after the lord had gone Borak’s mood would turn sour. He would shout at Harad’s mother, and sometimes cuff Harad himself.

At least now Harad had some understanding of what Borak had gone through. The child had not been his. Did Borak know of the arcane ritual involving dead bones? Or had he thought his wife had been seduced by Landis Kan? Either way it would have been hard for Borak, who was a proud man. Alanis had not been young when she gave birth to Harad. She had been wed for sixteen years, and had no other children. Now, Harad realized Borak was unable to sire sons of his own. Another blow to his pride. No wonder he was so often angry, Harad thought.

Skilgannon came loping back to where Harad waited. ‘A party of Jiamads — around twenty, maybe a few more — passed this way yesterday. There were two men with them. It may be coincidence, but it is a possibility that the fires in the settlement were not accidental. I do not know the ways of the people of this time. But if I was in my own time I would say this was a raiding party.’

‘There is nothing of worth in the settlement,’ said Harad. ‘Jiamads would have had to march from south of the old fortress. What purpose would such a raid serve?’

‘As I said, I do not know the ways of the people now, Harad. We should, however, move with care.

If it was a raid, then it has been carried out, and we must assume the beasts will be coming back this way.’

Harad rose to his feet. ‘If they have attacked my people then they will suffer for it,’ he said, raising the axe.

‘I applaud the sentiments,’ said Skilgannon wryly. ‘But let us take this one step at a time. I have been involved in wars and battles for most of my life, and I have fought Joinings. I tell you twenty is too many for us. Let’s make for the settlement and see what we find.’

‘Would twenty have been too many for Druss?’ asked the young logger.

Skilgannon looked into the man’s pale blue eyes. ‘At your age, with your lack of experience, yes. And even in his prime twenty would have overpowered him. Druss was a man of immense courage. He was also a cunning fighter. He knew how to pick his ground, and mostly he chose where to make his stands.

His greatest advantage, though, lay in the nature of axe combat. Any swordsman who wanted to kill him had to come within range of that awesome weapon. And when the fight started Druss would never back away. He just surged forward, unstoppable.’ Skilgannon patted the young man’s shoulder. ‘Give yourself time to learn, Harad. You will get there.’

‘I don’t have his soul,’ whispered Harad. ‘Maybe that is what made him great.’

Skilgannon sighed. ‘When I was in the Void I recall one awful fact. My skin there was scaled, like a lizard. It was because my soul had been corrupted by the deeds of my life. You have a good soul, Harad. And it is yours. Now let us move on, with care.’

The wind changed, blowing burning cinders across the gaunt infantry officer. Corvin cursed and moved away, brushing the embers from his new scarlet cloak. His irritation levels were already high, but now he felt the onset of rage. The buildings were burning fiercely — which, in normal circumstances, he would have enjoyed. Not now. Everything had been going so well, despite the mundane nature of the mission.

Move into the mountains and capture a young girl named Askari. Bring her to Captain Decado. What could have been simpler? No soldiers or Jiamads to fight, no opposition expected. It was merely another killing raid, and Corvin specialized in those.

More smoke billowed over him. He crossed the open ground towards a low wall and sat down, removing his white-plumed brass helm and laying it on the stone. There was a body close by, a large man with his throat ripped out. His right arm had been torn off. Corvin gazed round to look for it. Another touch of annoyance pricked him. One of the Jiamads had obviously taken it away for a forbidden meal.

Gods, what did it matter? Dead flesh was dead flesh.

He glanced across at another body, a dead Jiamad. The creature was lying on its back, a black-feathered shaft jutting from its brow.

Decado might have warned him that the girl was a huntress.

Damn, but that was a fine shot. Corvin had just killed the big, sandy-haired peasant who had refused to reveal the girl’s whereabouts when she had appeared at the far end of the road. The Jiamads had picked up her scent first, and one of them called out to Corvin, and pointed. He saw her, tall and slim, bearing a recurve bow of wood and horn. She pulled an arrow from her quiver, and in one smooth motion drew and let fly. The shaft had buried itself in the head of the closest Jiamad — and he was more than two hundred feet from her. Then she had turned and sprinted away.

‘Get after her!’ yelled Corvin. Fifteen of his Jiamads had given chase. They were bred for power and not for speed, but they would find her by scent and bring her back before morning. Which meant he would have to spend the night in this squalid ruin.

The home of the big peasant was not ablaze, and Corvin crossed to it. It was an odd little place, the main room full of tables, like a tiny inn. The officer rummaged around the untidy kitchen, finding a fresh baked fruit pie. Breaking off a section he tried it. Surprisingly good, he thought. The pastry was light, the filling sweet, but not cloying. Some kind of berry had been used.

His young aide, Parnus, entered the room, saluting sharply. The boy was useless and would never make a soldier. He had rushed away to be sick almost as soon as the killing began. Even now his face was sallow, with a faint sheen to it.

‘The pie is excellent, Parnus. I recommend it.’

‘No, thank you, sir.’ The young man’s tone, though deferential, was cooler than before.

‘What is wrong with you?’

‘Might I speak freely?’

‘Why not? Who is there to hear you, save me?’

The young man’s eyes blazed, but he fought for control. ‘This was an act of evil,’ he said. ‘We were to capture a girl. Nothing was said about killing villagers.’

‘We always kill villagers in hostile territory. I think you are too weak for the role you have chosen. I shall recommend you are relieved of duty when we return. Then you can go back to your father’s estates and learn how to raise sheep.’

‘Better to raise than to slaughter,’ snapped the young man. ‘This was not the work of warriors. This was cowardice.’

‘Are you calling me a coward, boy?’

‘No, Corvin. What you did here today was heroism of the highest order. I think they will sing songs about you in future days. By the way, some of the Jiamads have gone off into the woods. They dragged off two of the bodies of the women. I expect they are feeding — which is contrary to the rules of engagement. Any officer who knowingly allows cannibalism is subject to death by strangulation. Rule 104, I think.’

Corvin laughed. ‘Quite right, Parnus. Then you had better find them and tell them to desist — especially since you are the officer on watch, and the responsibility is yours. It would pain me to have to report you for such a flagrant breach of the rules.’

The young officer grew more pale. Then he spun on his heel and stalked from the room. ‘What a puppy!’ muttered Corvin, taking up a long knife and carving himself another section of pie.

Corvin had spent the last ten years in the western army of the Eternal. The soldier’s life suited him far better than his days as a clerk in the Diranan treasury. What a waste that had been. Women he had wanted spurned him, men treated him with mild contempt. Not so now. As an officer of the Eternal he had merely to snap his fingers and women would obey his every whim. It was better this way. He liked the fear in their eyes, and enjoyed the fact that they loathed his touch. It merely increased his sense of power. Men no longer treated Corvin with disrespect. They bowed, they smiled, they paid him compliments. The richer of them offered him money, or goods. This was not merely because of his military status. As a soldier Corvin had discovered a skill he had not realized he possessed. His speed of hand was extraordinary, and he had a natural talent with the blade. As a swordsman men spoke of him in the same breath as Decado, and Corvin had now fought eleven duels. He had enjoyed every one of them. There was something exquisite about watching the change of expression on the face of an opponent. When the swords were first touched the duellists always looked the same, full of arrogance, and the belief that they were invulnerable. This look would remain for the first few exchanges. Then a tiny trace of doubt would insinuate itself. The eyes would grow more wary, and they would focus their concentration. Finally there would be fear, naked and obvious to all. Their movements would become more frenzied as the fear wormed its way deeper into their souls. At the last there would be a look of total surprise as Corvin’s blade plunged into their hearts. Corvin would step in then, his face close to the dying victim’s. He would stare into their eyes, holding them up as he watched life evaporate.

Corvin trembled with pleasure at the thought of it. He felt truly blessed by the Source.

Belching loudly he pushed himself to his feet, took up his helm and walked back out into the night.

From the east he heard a high-pitched howl. They were closing in on the girl. He swore suddenly. Had he told them that she must be taken alive? He swore again. No, he had not. Decado would not be pleased, and that was something Corvin needed to avoid. People who displeased Decado did not survive.

A low groan came from his left. Glancing down he saw the big, sandy-haired man he had stabbed earlier roll over. Good humour returned briefly. Corvin strolled towards him.

‘You make a fine pie,’ he told the man. Drawing his sabre Corvin tapped the man on the shoulder.

‘You could have been rich in Diranan.’ The man groaned again, struggled to rise, then fell back. Blood was seeping through the apron he wore. ‘I could have sworn I pierced your heart. Lie still. I will end your misery.’

The man looked up at him. He said nothing, and made no attempt to defend himself. ‘Let me think,’

said Corvin. ‘If I cut your throat you will bleed to death more swiftly. It will be less painful. Or perhaps the large artery in the groin would be better. At least that way you will not choke to death. Which would you prefer? I am feeling generous towards you.’

He heard footsteps, and turned. His young aide was running towards him. Corvin squinted against the smoke as Parnus stumbled and half fell. The boy’s breastplate was smeared with blood.

Parnus reached him and collapsed sprawling to the ground. Corvin looked down at him. The edge of his bronze breastplate was smashed, and Corvin saw a gaping wound in his side. Parnus tried to speak, but blood bubbled into his mouth and he sagged back. Corvin stared hard at the ruined breastplate.

What on earth could have destroyed it in such a fashion? No sword could possibly have shattered the metal.

Ignoring the dying boy Corvin moved out onto open ground. ‘Jiamads to me!’ he bellowed. ‘At once!’

Wherever they were feeding they would hear him. Then he returned to Parnus and knelt beside him.

‘What happened? Tell me.’

‘Two. . men. Axe. . am I. . dying?’

‘Yes, you are dying. Two men, you say. Where are the Jiamads?’

‘Three. . dead. Swordsman. . killed two.’

More blood gouted from the boy’s mouth, spattering Corvin’s sallow cheek. A sound came from his right. Glancing up he saw a hulking Jiamad moving through the smoke, and called out, ‘Over here!’

The beast lumbered towards him. ‘Which one are you?’ demanded Corvin, who rarely bothered with the names of Jiamads.

‘Kraygan,’ answered the creature. There was blood on its extended maw, and it had obviously been feeding.

‘There are two men out there. Can you scent them?’

‘Too much smoke.’ Then it snorted. ‘Need no scent,’ it said, pointing a taloned hand towards the south. ‘They are here.’

It was as Parnus had said. There were two men. One was tall and slim, wearing a long, ankle-length coat of dark leather, the other hulking, black-bearded and brutish. This one carried a glittering, double-headed axe. ‘Kill the axeman,’ he told Kraygan. ‘I will deal with the swordsman.’

The Jiamad drew a heavy longsword and lumbered towards the men. Corvin watched as it bore down on the axeman. Instead of trying to escape, the peasant leapt to meet the creature. The sword swept down. The axe crashed against it, shattering the blade, then almost instantly reversed its sweep, and clove through Kraygan’s neck. The speed of the Jiamad’s charge carried the dying beast forward, its body hammering into the axeman and hurling him from his feet. Kraygan staggered on for several steps, then pitched to the ground. The axeman rose, and turned towards Corvin.

‘Leave him to me, Harad!’ called out the swordsman. The black-bearded peasant hesitated.

Corvin raised his sabre in mock salute. ‘Ah, you intend to duel with me?’ he asked the slim man.

‘No, I shall merely kill you.’

Corvin smiled. There was that familiar arrogance again. He glanced at the curved sword the man carried. It was similar in shape to Decado’s treasured weapons. Indeed, the man also wore a scabbard across his shoulders. Corvin could see the ivory hilt of a second sword contained in it. I will be the envy of the regiment when I return with those, he thought.

Stepping forward he slashed the air to left and right, loosening the muscles of his shoulder. His opponent stepped in. Corvin knew he should finish the duel swiftly, and then kill the clumsy axeman, but such moments were too sweet to rush. He looked into the sapphire eyes of his opponent and wondered how they would look when the light faded from them.

Their swords touched. Corvin stepped back.

‘Show me what you have,’ said the swordsman.

Corvin launched a careful attack, testing the skills of his opponent. The man had speed and good balance. He blocked and parried with ease, and offered no counter-attack which would open him up to a riposte. Corvin increased the tempo, his blade slashing, plunging and cutting with bewildering speed.

Again all his attempts were blocked. Twice more he attacked, using techniques that had won for him in the past. The man merely parried them, or stepped smoothly aside.

Corvin leapt back, and reached for his dagger. He stopped. If he drew it then his opponent would bring his second sword into play.

The man smiled. ‘Pull your blade,’ he said. ‘I would like to see how well you use it.’

Corvin drew the dagger. Far from increasing his confidence the new weapon seemed to leach it away.

The swordsman was waiting calmly. ‘I do not need it!’ said Corvin, hurling the dagger aside.

‘You certainly need more than you have,’ replied the swordsman.

Corvin swallowed hard. A sense of unreality gripped him. This could not be happening. He was Corvin, the great duellist. He attacked again, taking more and more risks, coming closer and closer to the death blow. One lunge missed the man’s throat by a hair’s breadth. Just a few moments more and victory would be his. Their blades clashed. A sharp pain erupted in his groin. Corvin sprang back. And staggered.

He had not realized he was so weary. All strength seemed to be fading from him. His right leg felt warm and wet. He looked down. His dark leggings were stained. Corvin’s legs gave way and he fell to his knees. There was a deep cut in the linen over his groin. Dropping his sword he pulled open the cloth.

Blood pumped over his fingers. The femoral artery had been severed.

Pushing his hand against the wound, he struggled vainly to stem the flow.

‘Help me,’ he begged his killer. ‘Please help me.’

The man gazed around at the burning settlement. ‘Men like us are beyond help,’ he said. ‘We are the Damned. I fear you will not enjoy your time in the Void.’

Running was not an activity Stavut enjoyed, but then enjoyment was not the uppermost thought in his mind as he sprinted after the long-legged huntress. He had followed her down to the edge of the settlement and had seen the Jiamads, the fires, and the bodies. That had been enough for Stavut.

‘Let’s get out of here!’ he said, grabbing her arm.

Askari shook herself loose and stepped out into the open, notching an arrow to her bow. Her face in the moonlight had looked hard as stone. Stavut watched in horror as the Jiamads saw her. He had followed the flight of her arrow, and seen it punch through a Jiamad skull.

Then she had turned and run back past him. For a moment only Stavut had remained where he was, then he too ran for his life. Stavut was slim and young, but years of riding wagons and avoiding physical labour had taken their toll on his stamina. Even so all it took to give him fresh strength was to glance back and see the bestial creatures following hard, their lupine jaws gaping, their golden eyes gleaming with feral hate.

Once into the woods he almost lost Askari, as she leapt fallen trees and swerved through breaks in the undergrowth. Stavut did not dare look back now. He had no idea if the creatures were further behind, or so close as to almost touch him. His lungs were burning, his calves on fire. He could no longer feel the toes of his right foot.

Up ahead he saw a massive wall of rock. Askari reached it and immediately began to climb the sheer face. There was no way Stavut was going to follow her. Then a blood-chilling howl came from somewhere close behind — and Stavut found a way. He ran to the rock face and scrabbled for a hold, heaving himself up. He climbed on, not looking down, his heart hammering in his chest. Above him Askari levered herself onto a ledge.

‘Move faster!’ she said, swinging round to look down past him.

Before he could stop himself Stavut glanced down. A Jiamad was climbing just below him — so close that it could almost reach out a taloned hand and drag Stavut from the rock face. But it was not the Jiamad which caused Stavut’s hands to clench hard to the rock. It was the height he had reached, some ninety feet above the ground. He began to feel dizzy, and the cliff seemed to sway against him. Unreality gripped him and his mind began to swirl.

An arrow slashed past him, and he heard a grunt from below. Looking down again he saw a black-feathered shaft jutting from the Jiamad’s neck. A second shaft thudded into its head and it fell, its body spinning to crash into the rocks below.

‘What are you doing, idiot?’ Askari asked him.

Anger roared through him. The dizziness was swamped by it. Stavut surged upwards, clawing at the handholds until he heaved himself onto the ledge alongside the huntress.

‘What am I doing? It wasn’t me who shot one. It wasn’t me who caused these creatures to come after us. We could have just slipped away. But no, you had to be the warrior woman.’

Askari leaned out over the drop. There were no other Jiamads climbing. ‘We couldn’t have slipped away,’ she said. ‘The wind was changing. They would have picked up our scent.’

‘Well, they didn’t need our scent, did they? Not after you showed yourself.’

Askari sighed and sat back. ‘They have killed my friends, and burned my home. You think I would let them walk away unscathed? I will hunt them down and kill them all.’

Stavut suddenly grunted in pain as cramp struck his right calf. He swore loudly and tried to massage the twisted muscle. ‘Lie back,’ said Askari, laying aside her bow and kneeling beside him. Her fingers dug into his calf. It was agonizing for a moment, and then the cramp eased.

‘You are not very fit,’ she said. ‘Your muscles are soft.’

As she continued to rub his leg he realized, with a sudden rush of embarrassment, that at least one part of his anatomy was no longer soft. ‘That’s fine! That’s fine!’ he said, easing himself back from her, hoping that the sudden erection would pass unnoticed.

She laughed. ‘The old hunter told me that danger and arousal always came together.’

‘Nothing to do with danger,’ he snapped. ‘I usually get excited when women rub my leg. Anyway, what are we going to do now that they’ve gone?’

‘Oh, they haven’t gone,’ she said brightly. ‘I would imagine they are taking the long path up to the cliff top. Within the hour they will be both above and below us.’

‘And there is a reason you are reacting to this so cheerfully?’

‘I don’t want them gone,’ she said. ‘If they go it will be harder to kill them.’

‘Are you insane? These are Jiamads. They are bred to kill. There are twenty, maybe thirty of them.’

‘There are fourteen,’ she said. ‘I have enough arrows left — and more close by. We will survive.’

‘You are insane.’

‘I have already killed two,’ she pointed out.

‘True. One was shot before he realized you were there. The second was hanging on a rock face.

These creatures can tell where you are by scent alone. How will you hunt them down? How will you get close enough to pick them off? One mistake and they will be upon you.’

‘I do not make mistakes.’

‘So, now we move from insanity to arrogance. Everyone makes mistakes. It is part of life. I watched Alahir and his men go after a few Jiamads. The Legend people are great warriors and fearless. Three were killed. All it would take for you to die would be one misplaced arrow.’

‘I do not miss.’

‘There you go again. It took two shafts to kill the beast climbing below me. If he had been on level ground, and charging you, then that first miss would have seen it reach you and rip your arms off.’

‘I missed because I was trying to shoot around you.’ She sighed. ‘But there is truth in what you say.

So, tell me your plan?’

‘My plan? What plan would that be?’

Askari took a deep breath and stared at him hard. ‘You don’t want me to fight them, so what do you think we should do? At the moment they are looking to surround us. I know a way through the rock face, but that will only bring us out onto open ground again. There they can come at us in a group. So what do you advise?’

Stavut sighed. ‘I’d go for prayer, but I don’t think the Source likes me. Perhaps we could sit here and hope they go away.’

She laughed then, the sound rich and infectious. ‘Oh Stavut, were there ever any warriors in your family?’

‘I had an uncle who liked to get into arguments in taverns,’ he said. ‘Does that count?’

Askari leaned out over the ledge and scanned the ground below. Then she looked up. Clouds were gathering, but at that moment the moon was bright in the sky. ‘When the clouds cover the moon,’ she said, ‘I want you to follow me.’

‘And where would we be going?’

‘Into the cliff. There is an entrance further along the ledge. It leads to a series of caves and tunnels. I camp here sometimes.’

‘Will it be safe?’ he asked.

‘There are other entrances from above. However, the tunnels are narrow, and they can only come at us one at a time. I should be able to kill them as they seek us.’

‘Good. More killing. More terror.’

She laughed again. ‘Do not be so downcast, Stavi. It is lucky you brought me this bow. It is shorter and easier to use than my longbow. Especially in the confines of the tunnels.’

‘Are you not frightened at all?’ he asked.

‘What difference does it make? Would an increase in my fear bring us closer to safety? I am Askari.

These creatures do not scare me. Nothing that lives or breathes can escape death, Stavi.’

‘That is the second time you have called me Stavi. I prefer Stavut.’

‘Why? Stavi is more. . friendly.’

‘My mother called me Stavi. I do not see you in a maternal role.’

‘I see. What does your friend Alahir call you?’

‘He has taken to calling me tinker. I don’t like that either.’

‘Well, I shall call you Stavi — because I like the sound of it. I think it fits you well.’

A sudden darkness fell upon the cliff face. Askari stood and, taking Stavut by the hand, moved along the ledge to the right. It began to narrow. Within a short distance they were edging along a shelf of rock less than a foot wide. Stavut began to sweat. It dripped into his eyes. Askari squeezed his hand. ‘Not much further,’ she said. Stavut’s legs began to tremble, but he found the touch of her hand reassuring.

They inched on. He saw Askari glance up at the clouds. The moon was almost clear. Then they came to a crack in the rock face, no more than two feet wide. Askari edged into it. Stavut followed. Within it was pitch black.

‘Keep hold of my hand,’ she said. ‘We will need to move slowly.’ He could not see her. He could not see anything. Yet such was the relief at being away from the high ledge that he was relaxed as they made their slow way through the darkness. She stopped often, and subtly altered the line of their advance.

Stavut did not ask why. He just followed her into the cold, gloomy depths of the cliff. After a while they halted. ‘We will wait for moonlight,’ she whispered.

‘Moonlight?’

‘Yes. We need to climb again. Be patient. It will come.’

Stavut did not know how long they were standing together, but at last a faint light began to glow above them. He saw there was a crack in the rocks, and moonlight was seeping through it. He could just make out Askari’s face. She was standing alongside another sheer rock wall. ‘Up there,’ she whispered, ‘is another cave. I have tools there, and a few items we might find useful. It is an easy climb. You go first. I will follow and guide your feet as you climb.’

‘Gods!’ whispered Stavut. ‘Do we have to climb again?’

‘If you want to live,’ she said.

Stavut climbed. The rock face here was heavily pitted, and, as she had promised, the climb was not difficult. Towards the top, however, the holds were smaller. Askari braced herself beneath him, supporting his feet. Finally Stavut dragged himself onto yet another wide ledge. Askari came alongside him, then moved on, crawling along a narrow tunnel into a wider cave. Here there was another jagged opening in the wall, some fifteen feet up — a natural window through which moonlight shone. Weary now Stavut stumbled into the cave. There was wood here for a fire, and an old lantern stood on a shelf of rock. A quiver of arrows was lying nearby, and a long spear with a leaf-shaped iron head. There were also three blankets, and some clay pots.

‘Very homely,’ said Stavut.

Askari gestured for him to remain silent. Stepping in close she whispered in his ear, ‘Sound travels far in these caves. Let us keep our voices down.’

‘How many ways in?’ he replied, his lips close to her cheek.

‘Just the way we came. The Jiamads are too large to crawl through. You will be safe here. Get some rest. I shall scout.’ She pointed up to a narrow shelf of rock just below and to the left of the window in the cave wall. ‘Take a blanket and climb up there. I doubt your scent will carry to them from there.’

This seemed sound advice to Stavut. Taking her bow she returned to the entrance, dropped to her stomach and eased her way into the low tunnel. Stavut wandered across the cave to where the blankets lay. Then he glanced at the spear. Hefting it he practised a few stabbing motions. It would probably be useless against a Jiamad, but he felt more comfortable with it in his hands. Taking blanket and spear he returned to the far wall. At that point he realized he could not climb to his hiding place with the spear in his hands. Taking the blanket he tied it tightly round his waist. Then he slid the spear, haft first, between his shoulder blades and under the blanket. The spear was six feet long, which meant that the iron point jutted above Stavut’s head. Satisfied the blanket would hold the spear in place, he began to climb.

Everything went well until he tried to lever himself over the lip of the shelf. The jutting spear point scraped against the rock. Stavut had to bend and twist in order to tumble onto the ledge. The area he found himself in was no bigger than a large bed. The roof was low, and there was certainly no space to use a spear. It took an age to squirm around and untie the blanket, pulling the weapon loose. ‘Gods, you are an idiot!’ he told himself.

Skilgannon moved past the dead officer, and knelt beside the wounded villager. Harad came alongside.

‘This is Kinyon,’ he said.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a series of rolling thunderclaps. The skies opened and rain began to pour down on the burning village.

‘Help me get him inside,’ said Skilgannon. ‘Careful now — that wound might open further.’

With great care they lifted the burly villager, who groaned. His head sagged against Skilgannon’s shoulder and he tried to speak. ‘Stay quiet, man. Conserve your strength.’

Carrying him into his house they laid him on a table in the dining area. Skilgannon untied the leather apron the man wore, pulling it clear. He had been stabbed just below the heart, and he was bleeding profusely. Skilgannon took a lantern from the wall, and bade Harad hold it over the wound. There was a long tear to the skin, indicating the dagger blade had slid against a rib. There was no way of knowing how deep the wound was, but it had missed the heart, otherwise the villager would have died some time ago. There was no blood on his lips, and no major swelling around the wound itself. With luck the blade might also have missed the lungs, or only nicked them.

‘See if you can find some wine and honey,’ Skilgannon told Harad. The logger laid the lantern on the table, then moved off towards the kitchen. ‘Can you breathe deeply?’ Skilgannon asked Kinyon. The man gave the merest nod. ‘I think you might be lucky, though it probably doesn’t feel that way just at this moment. Do you possess needle and thread?’

‘Back room,’ whispered Kinyon. Skilgannon moved away to the small bedroom at the rear of the house, searching through drawers and cupboards. Finally he found a length of white thread and several needles. He also uncovered a pair of scissors. Taking a sheet from the bed he cut strips from it for bandages and returned to the dining room. Harad was beside Kinyon when he returned. Carefully Skilgannon stitched the long wound, then smeared honey over it. With Harad’s help he sat Kinyon upright and bandaged his chest. Lastly he poured wine over the area of the wound, watching as it seeped through the bandage. Kinyon’s face was grey. Skilgannon fetched a goblet and filled it with water.

‘Drink,’ he said. The villager sipped at it, then sank back.

Touching his fingers to the man’s throat Skilgannon felt his pulse. The heart was fluttering wildly, but this was as likely to be the result of shock and terror as of the wound itself. He and Harad helped Kinyon to his bed. Outside, the rain was lashing down in a torrent, thunder constantly rolling across the sky.

Once Kinyon was sleeping Skilgannon walked out into the dining room. Harad was sitting by the window, staring out into the darkness. Many of the house fires were beginning to fail, but there were still enough flames to illuminate the bodies on the ground outside.

‘Why did they kill these people?’ asked Harad. ‘What purpose did it serve?’

Skilgannon shrugged. ‘Fox in a henhouse.’

‘What?’

‘A fox gets into a henhouse. It doesn’t just kill to eat. It kills everything. An orgy of death. I don’t know why. Some men just like to kill. That officer was such a man. We shouldn’t stay here long. There are far more of those Joinings — Jiamads as you call them.’

‘We can’t leave Kinyon to them.’

‘He is not my responsibility.’

‘Then leave,’ snapped Harad. ‘I will defend him.’

Skilgannon laughed. ‘No, Harad, I will not leave. Kinyon may not be my responsibility, but you are.’

Harad turned and stared at the swordsman, his grey-blue eyes glittering. ‘I am no-one’s responsibility.’

‘Try to control your anger,’ advised Skilgannon. ‘I meant that you are my friend, and I do not desert my friends.’

Harad relaxed. ‘Will he live, do you think?’

‘I don’t know. He is strong.’

‘There was a lot of blood.’

‘Not really. A little blood goes a long way. I have bled worse than that, and recovered within days. It depends on whether the dagger pierced any vital organs. We will not know for a while.’

Harad rose from beside the window and walked back to the kitchen, returning with the remains of a pie. He sat quietly for a while eating. The storm continued into the night, and eventually all the fires went out. Skilgannon found the remains of a loaf, and a half a round of cheese, and he too ate. There was no conversation for some time, but the silence was comfortable. Several times the swordsman moved back into the bedroom, checking on Kinyon who was sleeping.

The rain eased away just before the dawn. Harad was dozing in a chair by the hearth. Skilgannon left the house and walked out into the open. The smell of smoke was still in the air. In the gathering light he walked down the main road, scanning the ground for tracks. He found the body of a Jiamad with a black-feathered shaft jutting from its skull. So, someone had put up a fight. Moving further on he came to rising ground. Here there were other tracks. With great care he examined them. Someone had come down from the high country, stopped, then turned and run back into the hills. A group of Jiamads had followed. The Jiamad tracks were large. The person they were chasing had small feet, like a child, but the length of the running stride showed it was no child. More likely it was a woman. He followed the tracks for a while. It was not easy. The pursuing Jiamads had run over the same ground, mostly obliterating the trail of the quarry. Here and there, however, Skilgannon found traces of human feet. Two sets of tracks.

Someone wearing boots, and the second person — the one with the small feet — wearing moccasins.

He did not want to venture too far and returned to Kinyon’s house. When he got back he found other people there, a small man with frightened eyes, and two weary women. They were sitting with Harad.

They, and some of the other villagers, had escaped into the woods to the east. Skilgannon moved past the group and into Kinyon’s bedroom. The sandy-haired man was awake, and his colour was better.

‘I thank you for your help,’ he said. ‘Have the beasts gone?’

‘For now. Do you know why they came?’

‘They were looking for Askari.’

‘Who is he?’

‘She,’ corrected Kinyon. ‘A young huntress who lives here.’

‘Ah! That explains the dead Jiamad shot by an arrow. Why did they want her?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Who was with her?’

‘A merchant named Stavut. Nice young man. He is very fond of her, though I think his hopes will be dashed. The lord Landis Kan takes a great personal interest in Askari. I think he wants her for himself.’

‘I take it she is beautiful.’

‘All women are, in my experience,’ said Kinyon, with a smile. ‘Did she escape them?’

‘She made it to the high woods. What happened then I do not know. The beasts were following her.’

‘She’ll kill a lot of them,’ said Kinyon. ‘A year back we had a rogue bear in the high country.

Butchered three travellers. Askari hunted and slew it. She is fearless and very, very good with a bow.’

‘I like the sound of her. I hope she made it.’

‘On her own she’d get away from them,’ said Kinyon. ‘I’m not sure of it, though, if Stavut is with jier.

He is a good lad, but not a woodsman. He’ll slow her down, for certain. Added to that he always wears red clothes, so they’ll not be able to hide very easily.’

‘You don’t think she’ll leave him behind?’

‘I wouldn’t think so. Not the kind of woman who would leave a friend to his fate, if you know what I mean.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Skilgannon.

Leaving Kinyon he returned to the main room. More villagers had arrived and the room was crowded.

They had lit a fire in the hearth and were sitting with the others. Harad was outside. Skilgannon joined him.

‘What do we do now?’ asked the young logger.

‘Either we leave and forget about the beasts, or we follow them and kill as many as we can.’

‘I say follow them.’

‘I thought you would. This time I agree with you.’

‘You do?’ said Harad, surprised. ‘Why the change of heart?’

‘They came to capture a woman dear to Landis Kan. I want to know why she is important enough to send a raiding party.’