'Lord Isak, you shame the tribe and Nartis!' the man called. He was young, not many years older than Isak. He had bushy eyebrows and a diagonal scar crossing his mouth where his broken front teeth were visible.
Isak could see the fervour in the man's eyes as he pulled a dagger from his belt and held it up for a moment before reversing it and driving it into his own chest. A collective gasp ran around the onlookers as a flash of pain crossed the man's face. Isak saw him sway, his hands still wrapped around the hilt of the dagger.
The hurscal's mouth fell open and his eyes closed, but he jerked the knife out again with a breathless gasp of agony. A jet of scarlet followed it and spurted out across the paving stones at Count Vesna's feet, stopping him in his tracks. Isak felt the Land freeze around him as everyone turned to watch the hurscal. Unbidden came a memory from his year of learning swordsmanship from Careclass="underline" a moment is all a soldier can ask for.
He opened his mouth to shout, but before he could voice his warning, the hurscal's companion had raised something up above her head and hurled it down at the dying man's feet. Isak heard it shatter on the stones. Liquid sprayed in all directions as shards of glass flew across the ground and scores of tiny black objects bounced madly about. A dark-red liquid spilled over the pale stones and a bitter taste filled Isak's mouth. For a moment he thought he tasted blood, but then the flavour turned as dry and acrid as ash. The cool air turned frosty as the hurscal pitched forward and started convulsing.
A black burst of magic filled the air as the woman backed away. Her hood had fallen back and he could see the horror on her face.
'Vesna,' he roared, finding his voice at last, 'get back! Everyone, get back!' The power in his voice broke the paralysis and people started to run from the scene.
He drew Eolis and felt a surge of magic run down the blade as the Crystal Skull set into it pulsed with energy. Ahead of him the hurscal gave another violent jerk. The dead man's arms shot out, wrenched in an unnatural direction. Isak took a step back. A war-cry came from his left and Isak watched as one of his guards threw his glaive end-over-end-
– only to have the dead hurscal pluck it clean out of the air. The taste of ash increased in Isak's mouth as he recognised the massive surge of magic swirling around the corpse.
The glaive fell to the ground as the dead hurscal's fingers splayed wide. His hands and arms distended grossly and split open like overripe fruit as grey appendages burst through the skin. From inside each arm came an angular, chitinous limb that grew in a heartbeat to the length of a man. Sharp spurs at the end slammed down into the ground as the corpse's legs erupted in similar fashion. The strange, spiky protrusions drove between the paving stones as if looking to find more secure purchase below. Slowly they flexed, and as they started to raise the torso up, 'it too began to swell horribly.
Screams rang out from the crowd behind, interspersed with shouts from Jachen and the Swordmasters.
As Vesna started forward, his sword raised, one limb lifted and darted out, like a probing spear, and the count, realising he didn't have the reach to get past it, quickly retreated to Isak's side.
'My Lord,' he called, not taking his eyes off the creature, 'we must get you away from this daemon.'
Isak was transfixed in horrified fascination at what the dead hurscal was turning into. 'And let that – whatever it is! – run amok?' he retorted. 'Don't be stupid!'
'This is a trap,' Vesna yelled in reply, but whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a livid screeching sound which filled the air, like the voices of a thousand maddened insects.
The corpse's torso twisted violently and a long-beaked head burst out in a shower of blood, followed quickly by a solid, blockish body slick with oily blood. Two multi-jointed limbs hung from what might have been shoulders, so long that the clawed fingers almost brushed the ground.
The daemon's head moved and it looked around briefly before crouching a little so it could snatch up the thrown glaive. The weapon looked like a toy in its hands, especially compared with the lance-like tips of its legs that were longer than Isak was tall. The savage beak parted to reveal slender stiletto-like teeth. It had a dozen vertically-slit eyes running chaotically from the mid-point of its beak back onto its grey bristling head.
As Isak watched, he could see the randomly searching eyes suddenly moving as one and snapping into focus on him. The daemon tensed and its head flicked forward, as if seeking to discover what he was.
It can see my power, he realised, and it doesn't know what to do. But I do.
He drew on his Crystal Skull and raised Eolis. Vesna gave a cry and staggered away as a blistering flare of crackling white flames surged about Isak's body. He had given in to Tila's urging and wore the cuirass of Siulents, his magical armour, in case of assassins -but he was painfully aware that the rest of his body was clothed only in linen and silk.
Make it hesitate, he thought, remembering Carel's training, and he increased the flow of energy.
The daemon gave a piercing shriek in response. It moved one leg forward, as if to take a step, and Isak wrapped the lightning-storm of magic around Eolis's blade and raised the sword. At the back of his mind he heard a cry, Aryn Bwr, shouting out in alarm, and in the next moment he felt a presence on either side of him, twin shadows amid the storm of light, and the torrent of magic flowing through him ebbed. As the shadows surged forward heading for the daemon, Isak, shocked into inaction, stopped dead and gaped, his thoughts as frozen as his body – but it was only for a moment.
The Land snapped back into focus.
The Reapers!
He could see only their backs, but there was no need for a second look: the Soldier and the Headsman were all too recognisable. Their slaughter on the Temple Plaza in Scree would never be erased from his memory, and here in the pale light of day they looked no less terrifying: the Soldier was already swinging his bastard sword as the Headsman raised an enormous straight-bladed axe.
The daemon's head turned from one to the other, then he lunged with one long leg at the Soldier. It looked to Isak as if the Aspect of Death merely leaned to one side to avoid the blow before hacking into the daemon's leg. Ichor spewed out of the wound and over the Aspect's face and shimmering ice-blue armour, but he ignored it and continued chopping at the limb.
The daemon shrieked, this time in real pain, and tried to pull itself back, but the Headsman took an almighty swing at its other front leg and buried his axe deep. The daemon sagged, dropping the glaive it had retrieved. It used its hands as props to keep itself upright while its lower limbs thrashed about wildly, trying to escape the heavy blades. It scrabbled for purchase on the paved ground, but the Reapers pursued with blow after blow. Isak watched in astonishment as the howling monstrosity retreated, spraying ichor in all directions, scattering the crowds who'd run in from Hunter's Ride to see what was causing all the noise.
As he watched, he saw a woman caught in the neck by one lance-tipped leg. She was pinned to the ground like a speared fish, though the daemon didn't appear to notice, so busy was it trying to free itself – and in the next moment the Soldier had lopped off the leg. The daemon, losing balance, fell, but the severed limb stayed upright, still piercing the woman who was twitching uncontrollably as she died. The Headsman took advantage of his downed target and chopped down, splitting the daemon's head in two.
Isak flinched as a burst of bitter-tasting magic rushed out over the square and the daemon winked out of existence. A sudden calm descended as the Reapers stared down at the uprooted flagstones, slick with the daemon's viscous blood. The people froze where they stood, all eyes on the Aspects of Death.