‘Then we’ll rest awhile,’ said Kaira, leaning the girl against the foot of Vorena’s statue.
If only there truly was time for rest. If only …
Kaira turned, knowing he would be there. Amon Tugha stood watching as the sound of battle rang up from the courtyard where Shieldmaiden fought Shieldmaiden and Khurta alike. Where blood was being spilled in what should have been a sacred place of sanctuary.
‘I could have spared you all this,’ he said walking forward. ‘I could have made all this suffering and death mercifully swift. But no, you southrons are stubborn, I see that now. It will make the centuries to come challenging. Subjugating you will be difficult … but not uninteresting. Eventually I will bring you people to heel.’
Kaira stepped forward to meet him, taking up a defensive stance, raising her sword to head height. ‘Then start with me.’
Amon Tugha smiled, raising his massive spear in salute. Then he rushed at her. His weapon hummed through the air as though tearing a slice from the dawn sky. Kaira ducked, spinning, swinging for all she was worth, hoping against hope that perhaps one lucky …
The Elharim parried her blow, their weapons clashing, the impact jarring up Kaira’s arm. She screamed, furious at her powerlessness against this man. Her skill would never beat him, her goddess was not about to come down from the skies, but maybe if …
He dodged her blow, hacking down, striking the sword from her hand, turning his blow in mid strike and hacking the spearhead into her thigh. Kaira screamed in rage and pain for the briefest moment before the warlord swung the haft of his weapon into her face, a hammer blow that smashed into her cheek, throwing her to the ground.
Amon Tugha spared no time to gloat — his prize was waiting. Through blurred vision Kaira could only watch as he turned to Janessa, and in turn the girl limped to face him. She showed no fear, her father’s sword in her hand, ready for the death this monster would give her.
Kaira tried to speak, but her face wouldn’t form the words as blood dripped from her mouth and nose onto the ground. When she couldn’t rise to her feet she tried to claw her way towards him but it felt like she was swimming against the mightiest current.
Amon Tugha stopped before Janessa, speaking to her for one last time, but Kaira couldn’t hear the words. The queen simply stared back at the giant Elharim, defiant to the last.
The warlord raised his blade.
The Helsbayn shook in Janessa’s hand. Despite her fatigue, despite her crippled leg, she stepped forward with uncanny speed, the sword thrusting like an arrow from a bow, piercing Amon Tugha’s body. He grimaced, his face contorting in rage at her unexpected attack, and he staggered backwards, but not before delivering a thrust of his own, the point of his spear cutting through Janessa’s breastplate.
Kaira screamed as the Elharim pulled his weapon free and the queen fell to her knees, all the vigour, all the defiance now gone from her. Amon Tugha took another step back, grasping the blade of the Helsbayn and pulling it from his body, blood spouting from the wound in a red river. He stared at the blade as though shocked that it had pierced his flesh, then flung it aside, where it bounced once before spinning from the wall and into the sea far below.
As he stepped towards where Janessa knelt, Kaira felt herself screaming, but in her malaise she couldn’t form any words. Still she crawled, still she fought her way towards him though there was nothing she could do now to stop him.
Amon Tugha raised his spear one last time.
A figure sprinted past, stripped to the waist, his body lean, powerful. He leapt, arm raised high. Before the warlord could make his killing blow the man, one side of his face a mass of criss-cross scars, plunged a dagger into his neck. The Elharim dropped his spear, stumbling on his mighty legs as the lone attacker grasped the warlord’s spiked hair and stabbed the knife in again and again.
Kaira could only watch as the Elharim staggered, blood spurting from the wounds in his throat that not even his massive hands could stem. He stared wildly, disbelief written large in those golden eyes as his attacker clung fast to him, pulling him away from Janessa. For the briefest moment Amon Tugha fixed those eyes on Kaira, one last look of confusion. Then he and his attacker were gone, toppling back over the wall, following the Helsbayn into the Midral Sea far below.
Kaira crawled to Janessa, who now knelt silently, her head of red curls bowed forward. Every yard was agony, but Kaira fought back the pain, fought back her tears. When finally she reached her queen she held out a hand, unable to speak. Janessa collapsed against her, resting her head on Kaira’s shoulder.
The sun had come up now, bathing them in a light by which Kaira could see she was too late. Janessa was gone.
At the foot of Vorena’s statue, Kaira held her queen close until the light of the morning seemed to fade. Until the shadow of exhaustion took her …
FORTY-NINE
‘Hake?’ he shouted, his voice echoing around the battlefield above the distant sound of fighting, of snarling beasts, of dying men. ‘Where are you?’ Nobul could hear a hint of desperation in his own voice, but he’d lost Hake in the confusion of battle. He hadn’t wanted to admit it until now but he needed that old man.
There was no one else left alive at the breach — they’d run or died. When those monsters had come from the dark the rout had been complete. Only Nobul was left standing, but where in the hells was bloody Hake?
He stumbled down from the smashed barricade, feeling his shoulder and knee and back jarring with every step. His clothes were sodden but thank fuck the rain had stopped. The sun was rising over the wall but there was still barely any light down in the shadows.
Nobul gritted his teeth against the pain.
Not yet. Don’t give in to it yet, you’re not finished. Not by a long way. There’s more to be done, more killing to be had before you fall, Nobul Jacks.
The hammer was heavy in his hand. So heavy he could have happily let go of it, let it drop to the ground and never picked it up again. His breath came thick and laboured, casting a mist into the damp dawn air.
Or maybe you are finished. Maybe it’s time to lie down in the mud and the rubble and call it a day.
A Khurta came screaming at him through the breach, just like his brethren had come before him. This one didn’t have a face twisted with rage, though — this one had a face marred with terror, like it was running from the hells. Still Nobul raised his arm to attack and tensed, planting his feet, swinging that hammer again. The impact rang through his every fibre as he almost took the bastard’s head off, silencing his scream of fear.
The body fell in a crumpled heap as Nobul staggered back.
‘Hake?’ he shouted again.
Hake didn’t come.
Someone else did.
They came walking through that gap in the wall all slow and measured. Not screaming like maddened killers, but stalking like hunters. The Khurtas gave him a wide berth, moving round him like he’d kill them if they got too close. And he would, he’d kill them like he killed all the rest.
He should have rushed one of them, not given them the chance to get him enclosed, but Nobul was tired. Oh so tired. The time for rushing had passed. Let them come to him; he’d show them he was no wounded animal ready for the slaughter.
There were six in all, each pair of eyes staring at him intently, every weapon held at the ready. They stopped and glared through the cold as the last of them walked through the breach. His weapons weren’t drawn, sword and axe hung loose at his sides, hands resting on them. He stood there for a while, eyeing Nobul with interest … respect even.
The helmet felt heavy on his head now, weighing him down like he’d forged it from a block of granite, not black iron. Nobul lifted it from his head and let it drop to the ground with a dull clank. Let them look at his face — his beaten, bloody face. Let them see his eyes. That would let them know, without a word, what they were about to get into.