The Swords of Night and Day (16 page)

Parnus reached him and collapsed sprawling to the ground. Corvin looked down at him. The side of his bronze breastplate was smashed, and Corvin saw a gaping wound in his side. Parnus tried to speak, but blood bubbled into his mouth and he sagged back. Corvin stared hard at the ruined breastplate. What on earth could have destroyed it in such a fashion? No sword could possibly have shattered the metal.

Ignoring the dying boy, Corvin moved out onto open ground. “Jiamads to me!” he bellowed. “At once!” Wherever they were feeding, they would hear him.

Returning to Parnus he knelt beside him. “What happened? Tell me.”

“Two . . . men. Ax . . . am I . . . dying?”

“Yes, you are dying. Two men, you say. Where are the Jiamads?”

“Three . . . dead. Swordsman . . . killed two.” More blood gouted from the boy’s mouth, spattering Corvin’s sallow cheek. A sound came from his right. Glancing up, he saw a hulking Jiamad moving through the smoke. Leaving the dying boy, he called out. “Over here!”

The beast lumbered toward him. “Which one are you?” demanded Corvin, who rarely bothered with the names of Jiamads.

“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. “They are here.” It pointed a taloned hand toward the south.

It was as Parnus had said. There were two men. One was tall and slim, wearing an ankle-length coat of dark leather, the other hulking, black bearded, and brutish. This one carried a glittering, double-headed ax. “Kill the axman,” he told Kraygan. “I will deal with the swordsman.”

The Jiamad drew a heavy longsword and lumbered toward the men.

The beast charged the axman. Corvin watched as it bore down on the peasant. Instead of trying to escape, he leapt to meet the creature. The sword swept down. The ax 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, his body hammering into the axman and hurling him from his feet. Kraygan staggered on for several steps, then pitched to the ground. The axman rose and turned toward Corvin.

“Leave him to me, Harad!” called out the swordsman. The black-bearded peasant hesitated.

Corvin raised his saber 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 these,
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 axman, 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 counterattack that 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 duelist. 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 hairbreadth. 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 cloth 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 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.”

R
unning was not an activity Stavut enjoyed, but then enjoyment was the farthest thought from 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, nocking 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, seeing 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 labor 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 farther 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 around to look down past him.

Before he could stop himself Stavut glanced down. A Jiamad was climbing just below him—so close that he could almost reach out a taloned hand and drag Stavut from the rock face. But it was not the Jiamad that 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 upward, 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 and kill them all.”

Stavut suddenly grunted in pain as a 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.

“You are not very fit,” she said. “Your muscles are soft.”

As she continued to rub his leg he realized, with a sudden rush of embarrassment, that at least one part of his anatomy was no longer soft. “That’s fine! That’s fine!” he said, easing himself back from her, hoping that the sudden erection would pass unnoticed.

She laughed. “The old hunter told me that danger and arousal always came together.”

“Nothing to do with danger,” he snapped. “I usually get excited when women rub my leg. Anyway, what are we going to do now that they’ve gone?”

“Oh, they haven’t gone,” she said, brightly. “I would imagine they are taking the long path up to the cliff top. Within the hour they will be both above and below us.”

“And there is a reason you are reacting to this so cheerfully?”

“I don’t want them gone,” she said. “If they go it will be harder to kill them.”

“Are you insane? These are Jiamads. They are bred to kill. There are twenty, maybe thirty of them.”

“There are fourteen still following us,” she said. “I have enough arrows left—and more close by. We will survive.”

“You
are
insane.”

“I have already killed two,” she pointed out.

“True. One was shot before he realized you were there. The second was hanging on a rock face. These creatures can tell where you are by scent alone. How will you hunt them down? How will you get close enough to pick them off? One mistake and they will be upon you.”

“I do not make mistakes.”

“So now we move from insanity to arrogance.
Everyone
makes mistakes. It is part of life. I watched Alahir and his men go after a few Jiamads. The Legend people are great warriors and fearless. Three were killed. All it would take for you to die would be one misplaced arrow.”

“I do not miss.”

“There you go again. It took
two
shafts to kill the beast climbing below me. If he had been on level ground, and charging you, then that first
miss
would have seen it reach you and rip your arms off.”

“I missed because I was trying to shoot around
you.”
She sighed. “But there is truth in what you say. So tell me your plan?”

“My plan? What plan would that be?”

Askari took a deep breath and stared at him hard. “You don’t want me to fight them, so what do you think we should do? At the moment they are looking to surround us. I know a way through the rock face, but that will only bring us out onto open ground again. There they can come at us in a group. So what do you advise?”

Stavut sighed. “I’d go for prayer, but I don’t think the Source likes me. Perhaps we could sit here and hope they go away.”

She laughed then, the sound rich and infectious. “Oh Stavut, were there ever any warriors in your family?”

“I had an uncle who liked to get into arguments in taverns,” he said. “Does that count?”

Askari leaned out over the ledge and scanned the ground below. Then she looked up. Clouds were gathering, but at that moment the moon was bright in the sky. “When the clouds cover the moon,” she said, “I want you to follow me.”

“And where would we be going?”

“Into the cliff. There is an entrance farther along the ledge. It leads to a series of caves and tunnels. I camp here sometimes.”

“Will it be safe?” he asked.

“There are other entrances from above. However, the tunnels are narrow, and they can only come at us one at a time. I should be able to kill them as they seek us.”

“Good. More killing. More terror.”

She laughed again. “Do not be so downcast, Stavi. It is lucky you brought me this bow. It is shorter and easier to use than my longbow. Especially in the confines of the tunnels.”

“Are you not frightened at all?” he asked.

“What difference does it make? Would an increase in my fear bring us closer to safety? I am Askari. These creatures do not scare me. Nothing that lives or breathes can escape death, Stavi.”

“That is the second time you have called me Stavi. I prefer Stavut.”

“Why? Stavi is more . . . friendly.”

“My mother called me Stavi. I do not see you in a maternal role.”

“I see. What does your friend Alahir call you?”

“He has taken to calling me Tinker. I don’t like that either.”

“And I shall call you Stavi—because I like the sound of it. I think it fits you well.”

A sudden darkness fell upon the cliff face. Askari stood and, taking Stavut by the hand, moved along the ledge. It began to narrow. Within a short distance they were edging along a shelf of rock less than a foot wide. Stavut began to sweat. It dripped into his eyes. Askari squeezed his hand. “Not much farther,” she said. Stavut’s legs began to tremble, but he found the touch of her hand reassuring. They inched on. He saw Askari glance up at the clouds. The moon was almost clear. Then they came to a crack in the rock face no more than two feet wide. Askari edged into it. Stavut followed. Within it was pitch black.

“Keep hold of my hand,” she said. “We will need to move slowly.” He could not see her. He could not see anything. Yet such was the relief at being away from the high ledge that he was relaxed as they made their slow way through the darkness. She stopped often, and subtly altered the line of their advance. Stavut did not ask why. He just followed her into the cold, gloomy depths of the cliff. After a while they halted. “We will wait for moonlight,” she whispered.