“This is nonsense,” he told himself. “There is no one there. You are being frightened by shadows.”
Think, man, think! He put himself in the place of the hunters. You have seen the quarry. What must you do now?
You must make him show himself for a killing shot.
How?
Give him a target. Let him see you. Finn risked a glance to the killing ground now ahead to the right. Yes, that is where I would order a man to walk. Which would mean that Finn would have to rise in order to aim. He flicked his gaze back to the undergrowth behind him. There were only two possible places for an assassin to wait: by the gnarled beech with the thick silver trunk or behind the rounded boulder leading to the cave mouth. Or perhaps both? Finn began to sweat.
The only sensible course was to retreat. The enemy had all the advantages. But to give ground would mean fleeing to the cave, and that would bring him into the open. Even if he made it to the rock face, he would then be trapped inside. And Maggrig would be stranded. Gently placing his bow on the ground, he raised his hands to his face with thumbs pressed together and gave out the low hoot of a night owl four times.
The grunting cough of a badger came from ahead.
Maggrig was still safe. Better still, he knew the danger and had spotted one of the enemy.
Finn dropped below the bushes and edged back, making no sound.
A man carrying a bow moved out into the open ahead of him. For Finn to make the shot he would have had to stand. The man angled toward his hiding place, and Finn took a deep breath and rose, drawing back on his bowstring. Suddenly he swiveled. Another attacker appeared from behind the boulder twenty paces to the rear; Finn sent an arrow that hammered into the man’s skull, then dived to the earth. Two shafts sliced the air where he had been standing. Pushing his knees under him, Finn sprinted from his hiding place, hurdling bushes and boulders to drop behind a fallen tree. From there he could see the body of the man he had killed.
Now the game was more to his liking. They had hunted him with great skill, arrogantly confident about their talents. Now one was dead, and the others would be nervous. Dropping to his belly once more, he crawled back from the tree and, staying flat, notched a second arrow to his bow.
The hunters had to attack from the front now. Was there an edge? They had seen that Finn was right-handed; therefore, they should come from his right. It would give them an extra fraction of a second in which to make the kill. He angled his body to the right and waited.
A warrior carrying a long spear hurdled the fallen tree, and Finn shot him in the chest. The man staggered. A second attacker came from the left. Discarding his bow Finn rolled, came up with his hunting knife, swerved away from the lunging spear, and rammed his blade home into the man’s belly. He held the dying man to him and scanned the undergrowth. He could see no one. With a curse he let the body drop and ran to his bow, scooping it into his hand. Just as he straightened, he saw a bowman rear up. Finn was dead, and he knew it …
An arrow from Maggrig took the bowman high in the shoulder. The man screamed and loosed his own shaft, but it flew to the left of Finn, who scrambled back into the bushes.
“The cave, Finn!” shouted Maggrig, breaking all the rules. Finn swung to see three men running across the open ground. He sent an arrow after them, but the distance was too great and his shot was high and wide. Hurling aside his bow, he drew his knife and raced after them.
But they vanished within the cave, and he knew he would be too late.
“Stand firm or we are all lost,” said Okas. Kiall took a deep breath and watched the swirling smoke.
It vanished to reveal a glittering landscape of stark mountains and tall, skeletal trees devoid of leaves. There were six scaled creatures, their huge mouths rimmed with sharp-pointed fangs. They shuffled toward him with arms extended, and Kiall recoiled in horror. They had no hands or paws. Instead, bloated faces hung from the ends of their arms, sharp teeth gnashing and clicking inside the hollow flesh. Each of the demons was more than seven feet tall, and their horned skin appeared to be impervious to Kiall’s slender saber. He glanced to his right, seeking encouragement from Chareos.
But there was no one there.
Alone, Kiall looked to his left. An open door stood there, and through it he could see a green field carpeted with spring flowers. Children played there, and the sounds of their laughter rippled through the beckoning doorway.
The clicking of teeth made him spin. The demons were closer now. He had only to run through the doorway to be safe.
“Stand firm or we are all lost,” came the voice of Okas in the halls of his memory.
He thought of Ravenna. If he died there, there would be no one to rescue her. He heard a voice from the doorway.
“Quick, Kiall, run! It is safe here!” He risked a glance and saw his mother, her sweet face smiling, her hand waving.
“I can’t!” he screamed. His sword came up. The doorway vanished … the demons closed in.
Beltzer blinked in surprise. He had no idea where the others had gone; he knew only that he stood alone before six armed men. They wore black armor and carried long swords. There was nothing demonic about them as they waited to attack; their faces were grim but human.
The giant found his ax feeling heavy in his hands and allowed the head to rest against the ground. Looking down at his hands, he saw that they were wrinkled and covered with dark brown liver spots. His arms were scrawny and thin, his legs just bone and wasted muscle. A cool breeze touched his back, and he turned slowly and peered at the land behind him. It rose sharply into a towering mountain. Fresh streams flowed there, and the sun shone in glory.
“Go back to the mountain,” said one of the warriors. “We have no wish to slay an old man who cannot raise his ax. Go back.”
“Chareos?” whispered Beltzer. He licked his gums; there were no teeth there, and he felt a terrible weariness.
“You will be young again on the mountain,” said the warrior. “Then you will be able to face us. Take a single step back and feel the strength in your limbs.”
Beltzer moved back a pace. It was true. He felt a quickening of his muscles, and his eyes cleared a little. All he needed to do was move back onto the mountain and he would find the strength to face these warriors.
“Stand firm or we are all lost,” came the voice of Okas in the halls of his memory.
It required all of Beltzer’s strength to lift the ax. He looked at the grim warriors. “Come on, then,” he said. “I’ll move no further.”
“Fool!” hissed the leading warrior. “Do you think to stand against us? We could kill you in an instant. Why not be strong again and at least give us a good fight?”
“Will you talk all day?” roared Beltzer. “A good fight? Come on, my boys, earn your pay.”
The warriors bunched together and charged. Beltzer roared his defiance. His ax was suddenly light in his hands, and he countered their charge with his own. His limbs were powerful once more, and his ax smashed and sliced into their ranks. Their swords cut him, but no deep thrust slowed him. Within seconds the warriors were dead, their bodies vanished. Beltzer looked back to the mountain. It was gone, and in its place was a deep, yawning pit that vanished into the depths of the earth. He stood with his back to it.
And waited for more foes.
Chareos stood once more on the shadowed walls of Bel-azar, moonlight streaming on the mountain slopes and glistening on the grass of the valley. The dwellers in the dark were moving up the stairwell, and there was no Tenaka Khan to help him.
“This way,” came a soft, female voice, and he turned to see a second stairway, which led down into the valley. A woman stepped into the moonlight; her beauty made him gasp.
“Tura? Sweet heaven, Tura?”
“It is I, my love. I cannot bear to see you die. Come with me.”
“I cannot. I must help my friends.”
“What friends, Chareos? You are alone; they have left you. Come with me. I love you; I always loved you
. I was such a fool, Chareos, but it can be right again. It can be beautiful again.”
He groaned, and his soul yearned for her.
A huge taloned hand smashed the stairwell door to shards.
“Come quickly!” yelled the woman.
“No!” shouted Chareos. He leapt forward and lanced his sword into the beast’s gaping mouth, up through the cartilage beyond and into the brain.
“Help me!” Chareos turned and saw that a second creature had come from the staircase behind her and was hauling her back into the darkness.
“Stand firm or we are all lost,” came the voice of Okas in the halls of his memory.
He screamed in his anguish but remained where he was. Two more creatures lunged at him; he sidestepped and killed the first with a thrust to the heart and the second with a slashing sweep that cut through its neck.
The sound of laughter came to him, and he saw the woman locked in an embrace with the monster at the stairwell. Her face turned to Chareos; it was white as a shroud, the eyes staring, the pupils slitted like those of a cat. Slowly she lifted her leg, stroking it against the demon’s thigh.
“You never were much of a man,” she said. “Why do you think I needed so many lovers?”
He swung away from her, but her words continued to taunt him. “I slept with them all, Chareos. With Finn, with Beltzer. With all your friends. I told them all what you were like. I told them how you cried on the first night we made love … they laughed at that.”
“Leave me alone!”
Another beast came through the doorway, but Chareos ducked under the sweep of its talons and slashed his saber through its belly. It fell back into the darkness.
Her voice came closer, but the words were softer now. “I said that to hurt you,” she whispered. “I am sorry … I am so sorry.” Closer she came, and Chareos moved back a step. “Through all that I did,” she continued, “all the terrible wrongs I did you, you never hurt me. You could never hurt me.” Her arm flashed up. Chareos’ saber slashed through her throat, and the head flopped to the floor, the body toppling beside it. The small curved knife dropped from her fingers.
“No,” said Chareos, “I could never hurt Tura. But you were not Tura.”
Kiall hacked and slashed at the monsters around him. The fang-lined paws ripped at his skin and pain flooded him, yet still his sword lanced out to force them back. He slipped and fell, and the demons loomed over him. Just then a warrior in black, armed with two short swords, leapt to stand over him, driving the monsters away. Kiall struggled to his feet and watched the warrior. The man’s skill was breathtaking; he spun and whirled like a dancer, yet at each move his glittering blades flickered out against the demons. The last beast died, and the man walked to Kiall and smiled.
“You fought well,” said the man. Kiall looked into the slanted violet eyes and the hard cruel face.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am a friend to Asta Khan.”
Darkness loomed before Kiall’s eyes, and he blinked …
He was back before the fire in the cave. Okas and Asta were sitting together, with Beltzer and Chareos standing guard over them.
“Will they come again?” Beltzer asked.
“I do not know,” Okas answered wearily.
“They will not,” said Asta Khan, his dark eyes glittering. “Now it is time for my enemies to see my power.” He closed his eyes … and vanished.
Three hundred miles away Shotza screamed. The first of twelve acolytes, deep in a trance, fell back with his chest ripped open, his heart exploding. Shotza tried to run from the room, but all the doors were barred by a mist that formed like steel. One by one his acolytes died silently, until only the shaman was left.
A figure formed in the mist, and Shotza backed away. “Spare me, mighty Asta,” he begged. “I was acting under orders from the khan. Spare me and I will help you destroy him.”
“I do not need your help for that,” Asta said, floating close to the trembling shaman. Asta’s spirit hand shot out, the fingers extending into long talons that slid into Shotza’s chest. A terrible pain clamped the shaman’s heart, and he tried to cry out—but died before the scream could sound.
9
BELTZER AWOKE FIRST. His body was stiff, and he stretched. At that moment he saw the attackers running into the cave. He rolled to his knees and came up with his ax. The fire was dead, the light poor. Beltzer bellowed a war cry and charged. Two of the men ran at him, the third ducking and sprinting past the axman. Beltzer ignored the runner and hammered his ax into the first of the attackers. A sword plunged through his jerkin, narrowly missing the flesh on his hip. Dragging his ax clear of the falling warrior, he backhanded a cut into the second man’s ribs, the blade cleaving through to the lungs. Then he spun, ready for an attack from the rear. But the third man was dead, killed by Chareos.
Finn raced into the cave, his knife raised. He stopped as he saw Beltzer and Chareos standing over the three bodies.
“Some watchman you turned out to be,” said Beltzer.
Finn slammed the knife back into the sheath by his side. “We killed three and wounded a fourth,” he said, “but they doubled back on us.”
“How many more are there?” asked Chareos, wiping the blood from his blade.
“I don’t know,” answered Finn.
“Find out,” Chareos told him. Finn nodded, turned on his heel, and ran from the cave.
Beltzer sat down and chuckled. “A night to remember, eh, Blademaster?”
“Yes,” agreed Chareos absently, turning to where Kiall and Okas still slept. Kneeling, he shook Kiall’s shoulder.
The young man opened his eyes and flinched. “Oh,” he whispered. “Are we safe?”
“We are back at the cave,” replied Chareos. “How safe we are remains to be seen. You did well back there.”
“How do you know?” Kiall asked.
“You are alive,” said Chareos simply.
“Shouldn’t we be out there helping Maggrig and Finn?” queried Beltzer.
“No. The game being played is theirs. We would be a hindrance.”
Chareos took his tinderbox from his pack, cleared the ash from the fire, and started a new blaze. The three men settled around it, enjoying the warmth. A scream sounded from beyond the cave, and Kiall jumped.
“That could be Finn or Maggrig,” he said.
“Could be,” agreed Beltzer. “What about some food?”
“A good idea,” pronounced Chareos, and he turned to Kiall. “Prepare some oats. My stomach is starting to think my throat has been cut.”
“What about Finn?” demanded Kiall.
“He can eat when he gets here,” replied Beltzer, grinning.
Kiall moved back to the packs and took a hide sack of oats. He glanced at Okas. “He’s still sleeping,” he said.
“I doubt that,” said Chareos.
The three questers sat in silence as the oats bubbled and thickened in a copper pot hung over the fire. The thin gray light of predawn brightened the sky as Kiall ladled the food into two wooden platters.
“Not eating?” asked Beltzer as Kiall sat back.
“No, I lost my appetite,” answered the younger man, flicking his gaze to the bloodied corpses. “How can you think of food with a stench like that in the air?”
Beltzer shrugged. “It’s only meat, boy, and bowels and guts.”
Finn entered the cave moments later and sat down, his eyes red-rimmed and weary. Maggrig followed a few minutes afterward. Both men ate in silence.
“Well?” asked Chareos, as the meal was finished.
“There were four more of them.”
“Did you get them all?” Beltzer asked.
“Yes, but it was close. They were skilled, very skilled. What do we do now?”
“We wait for Okas,” answered Chareos. “You should get some sleep.” Finn nodded and moved to the far corner of the cave, wrapping his lean frame in a blanket and settling down with his head on his saddle.
&nb
sp; “They almost took us,” said Maggrig. “At least one of them had a better position. His shot missed Finn’s head by a finger’s width.”
“Did you find their horses?” Chareos asked.
“Yes. We stripped the saddles and turned them loose. Finn thinks they were outriders for a larger force, probably the same group that took Ravenna.”
“Then they were hunting us,” said Chareos.
“Of course they were hunting us,” snapped Beltzer.
“That’s why there are bodies everywhere.”
“I think Chareos means us specifically,” put in Maggrig. “They weren’t just trying to rob a small traveling party; they were looking for us.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?” Beltzer asked Chareos.
“Tell him, Maggrig,” said Chareos.
“First their skill. They were extra careful, which suggests to Finn and me that they knew our strengths. Second, they were prepared to take losses and still keep coming. If we were just a traveling party, they would have no way of knowing how much we were carrying, and a few supplies and horses are not worth dying for.”
“So,” said Beltzer, “the word is out already.”
“It would appear so,” Chareos agreed.
“It is most curious,” said Chien-tsu. “The Nadir shaman no longer watches over us.” Sukai reined in his gray and gazed down at the campsite below.
“Perhaps it is because they intend to attack tonight, lord,” said the soldier, dismounting. Chien-tsu lifted his left leg over the pommel of his saddle and jumped to the ground.
“No. They will attack tomorrow at dusk—at least that is the plan the man Kubai spoke of when he rode out to meet the killers last night.” Chien would long remember the ugly sound of Kubai’s laughter as he spoke with the two Nadir outriders about the massacre of the “yellow men.” His spirit had floated just above the trio, and he had heard himself dismissed as an “effeminate fool,” a “painted doll” man.
“It is galling,” said Sukai.
“Galling? I am sorry; my mind was wandering.”