‘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.