Squawking in rage, its wings beating frenziedly, the horror flitted back and forth overhead, clawing at the wound and smearing green blood across its miscreated face. It snapped the arrow shaft, leaving the iron barb in place. Lug drove another arrow at it; this one sunk half its length into the monster’s left thigh. Its screams rose in pitch, becoming agonised as it soared upward and away. When maybe a hundred yards distant, it spun in the air to howl and gesticulate at them, before continuing to retreat, streamers of emerald blood trailing behind it.
Davy Lug dropped to one knee, exhausted. Wulfstan crawled on all fours towards Hubert, who was the closest casualty, but his body was utterly broken, beyond any help. Alaric’s sword was drawn, but he stood rigid, eyes locked on the distant creature. Lucan turned to face the Romans, seeing two of them — including Tribune Rufio — back in the saddle, wheeling their horses around to escape.
He leapt to his feet, but neither Nightshade nor any of their other mounts were near at hand. The horses bounded back and forth in their terror, Malvolio staggering helplessly after them. Lucan glared at the squire, and then ran after the Romans on foot. Giolitti, who was still dismounted, stepped into his path, drawing his sabre. Lucan drew his dagger and struck out; the blow was parried, but packed such force that it knocked Giolitti off his feet. Lucan continued past him, although Rufio and his surviving second were now far across the rocky plain. Lucan hadn’t even covered half the distance when the tail-end of their two horses vanished into the fir-wood. He slowed to a halt, breathing hard, sweating fiercely — and almost as an afterthought glanced over his shoulder, expecting Giolitti to have run up behind him. But the Roman had now been engaged by Alaric, sparks flying as their blades clashed.
Looking back around, Lucan spotted the two riders one final time, much higher up the treed slope, disappearing beyond a rise.
When he returned to the others, Giolitti’s blade lay in the dust and he stood with hands raised, Alaric’s sword-point at his throat. Wulfstan had also come over, leading his own horse by the reins. Malvolio stood some distance away, looking nervous, the other horses back under control. Lucan approached the prisoner, picking up the discarded sword and examining the curved blade as he did. It was about two-thirds the length of a normal sabre, but well-made — manufactured from strong steel and yet surprisingly light. Its edge, though scored from battle, was still very keen.
“Legionary Giolitti?” Lucan said.
Giolitti nodded tensely.
“You served under Felix Rufio on his campaigns?”
“I did, my lord.”
“Did he inspire loyalty? He must have done, to encourage you to die in his place.”
“My lord,” Alaric said, “he has surrendered.”
Lucan regarded his former squire with interest. “And what do you suggest, Alaric? Make him a captive too? When only five of us remain, one a snivelling loon… with scarce enough horses to carry our own supplies?”
“He’s been disarmed. We could simply release him.”
“There is a pack of Romans ahead of us on this mountain. You want to put one behind us as well?”
“My lord, look at this man. As soon as we release him, he’ll run like a rabbit.”
“To where, Alaric? He’s closer to his master’s refuge than he is to anywhere else.”
Legionary Giolitti shook his head. “That’s no refuge for me. I never wanted to go there in the first place. Hellish things are said to happen in Castello Malconi.”
“Hellish things which you apparently embrace,” Lucan said. “Luring us to this open space so your demon could attack us?”
Giolitti tried to swallow his fear. “No demon of mine, my lord.”
“Nevertheless, it’s your misfortune to have supplied the lure.”
“That was unintentional. I had no idea the demon would attack.”
“I’m afraid the deaths of our friends must be answered…”
“My lord, please,” Alaric said.
“I’ve never been a willing servant of Tribune Rufio,” Giolitti pleaded.
“Yet you came with him this far.”
“When there was a whole company of us, and military rules applied. But like you, we’ve suffered losses. Only a handful remains.”
“Your party was attacked as well?”
“Not attacked, but… men slunk away in the darkness.”
Lucan pondered this. “So other Romans are already loose on these slopes? Maybe among these rocks? They could be stringing arrows on us right now.”
“My lord, please,” Alaric said again.
“Enough talk.” Lucan hefted the sabre. “Make your peace with God, legionary, and I’ll make your journey to Him a swift one.”
“NO, MY LORD!” Alaric bellowed, swinging around and pointing his longsword at his master’s chest. “I… I won’t allow it.”
There was a brief, ear-pummeling silence.
For the first time in as long as any could remember, Earl Lucan seemed surprised. His lips tightened; his grey eyes narrowed imperceptibly.
“This is not the way of the Round Table,” Alaric stammered.
Lucan said nothing. His gaze burned into the defiant youth.
“My lord… you are not thinking clearly. The serpent venom has damaged your mind. Your hatred for these people has gone beyond reason. And your soul will pay the price.”
“Put up your sword,” Lucan said quietly. “Or, so help me, I’ll cross it with mine.”
“I’m prepared to take that chance.”
“All our men are dead because of these murderers…”
“No, my lord! Not because of them. Because of you.” Alaric could hardly believe what he was saying; he almost choked on the words, but they flowed from him anyway. “Forgive me, but it’s time for the truth. Your pride condemned your mesnie to death, as surely as Emperor Lucius’s pride condemned his army. There’s nothing any of us can do now that will bring them back, but I’m damned if I’m going to stand by and let more blood be shed for no good reason.”
Giolitti glanced from one to the other, beaded with sweat. Malvolio watched with a kind of fascinated horror. Slowly, Wulfstan came to his master’s side.
“Kill Alaric, my lord, and you reduce our fighting potential by a fifth. As things are, I’m not sure how we’ll take Castello Malconi, but to weaken us further would be unwise.”
“I’m only trying to do what’s right,” Alaric added. “In a better time, you would do the same, my lord. I know you would.”
“Foolish whelp,” Lucan whispered. “You realise I can never trust you after this?”
“With all respect… I don’t think there will be an ‘after this.’”
Lucan lowered the Roman sword. “If there is, be assured… we’ll discuss this incident, at some length.”
Alaric nodded and lowered his own weapon. He mopped the sweat from his brow, and glanced around — to see Maximion watching from several yards away. He’d expected to find approval in the elderly officer’s face, but now saw only fear. It so distracted Alaric that he didn’t notice Earl Lucan kick the side of Giolitti’s knee. Sinew cracked and the soldier gasped. His leg buckled and he dropped to all fours. The sabre flashed, and his head fell.
Alaric spun around again, horror-struck.
Lucan faced him coldly. “I won’t let prepubescent folly endanger this quest. If you wish to level your steel again, be my guest… but it will serve no purpose now.”
Alaric’s sword was still clasped in his hand, but he could only gape at the decapitated form on the ground. Lucan turned his back and walked away, approaching Maximion.
“When that monster first attacked, you gave it a name?” he said.