Organised by the Leader, the rest of the Mududa trailed the whip man. Formed into ten lines, they walked three abreast on the narrow trail, their shouted threats advising him of his fate.
Again the whip cracked behind him. Five more lines of skin fell to the forest trail.
Likash knew where he was being taken. And why.
They were nearing the high citadel of Utubu, the Mududa capital. Balanced atop a river island and protected by deep gorges, the citadel was unassailable by a massed force, and the Mududa had learned to increase their vigilance against covert operations since Likash’s daring escapade.
The Lord of the Mududa would want his revenge. He had lost a lot of face when Likash had rescued Queen Issa. Retribution would be dispensed. Nastily. Slowly.
Likash knew that once he crossed the rope bridge to the island he was as good as dead. Yet it would not be a nice quick death. Or a satisfying slip into oblivion as he slept in his bed with children and grandchildren to his name. Instead it would be a torturous, excruciating death, which would have him praying to the six Gods for release.
Resolving to jump into the ravine rather than cross the bridge, Likash schemed and plotted in the hope of finding a way to escape.
A mountain stream traversing the forest trail gave Likash hope. Knowing from painful experience that the stones either side of the stream were slick with algae, he waited until both the guards were standing on the greasy stones and bolted forward, a deep breath filling his lungs in preparation for the tightening of the nooses around his neck.
He didn’t expect to pull free of the guards holding the ropes. They were too strong for that. He was unbalancing them, in the hope they let go of the ropes as they instinctively put hands out to break their fall.
They did as expected and he used the second of confusion behind him to make his getaway.
Naked and defenceless he ran through the forest with low slung branches whipping his face and body, the twin nooses round his neck flapping hempen tails in his wake.
Shouts and heavy footsteps followed him. No arrows were loosed as none of his pursuers carried a bow. Their mission was to capture not kill. Armed with knives and clubs made from the iron hard Hebdhu trees, they could cut enough tendons or break enough of his bones to disable his fighting ability. But first they’d have to catch him again.
If they caught him he’d have to win the fight that followed or make sure he died in the attempt.
Breaking into a small glade, Likash snuck a look over his shoulder to assess his lead. Eight paces. Good but not good enough. With his hands tied as they were, he couldn’t begin to threaten his best pace. Someone in the pursing pack would be faster than he was.
Wasting two paces of advantage, he removed one of the nooses. Now he had one less tail to worry about.
Pumping his legs as hard as he could, Likash thundered through the undergrowth, taking care not to entangle himself in thorn bushes or run headlong into a tree trunk shrouded by the dense foliage.
A second glade, a second glance over the shoulder. Seven yards on the nearest pursuer and twenty on the following pack. The nearest one had a different face than before. A knife was held where a club had been.
This was the fastest man they had and he was gaining on Likash. Reeling him in. When the gap closed by a few more paces, Likash would be hauled back by the rope around his neck. He wouldn’t have time to regain his feet before the pack were upon him.
The time to be defensive had passed. Action was needed to stop this pursuer before he caught Likash. He’d need a weapon though. Bound hands wouldn’t be enough, and he didn’t have time to disarm the man.
Seeing a pine tree ahead of him, Likash steered for it. Its spindly branches, spoke of its decay, its lack of life.
Reaching the pine, Likash lifted his hands above his head and leapt for a low hanging branch. The branch’s thumb sized girth was no match for his sudden weight. Snapping off it left him in possession of a foot long spear made of partially rotted wood.
As he landed Likash drove his left foot into the dirt to halt his impetus. Pushing off he launched himself at the nearest pursuer thrusting with his makeshift weapon.
Caught unaware by the sudden change between flight and fight, the pursuer ran straight onto Likash’s improvised spear. An inch of timber pierced his throat before the weak branch snapped.
Likash grabbed the Mududa’s knife and accelerated away. Five paces behind him the pack bellowed and cursed. A club sailed past his head. Warming to the theme, others launched their clubs his way. Twice he felt a bone-jarring blow as the clubs found the lacerated mess that was his back.
Ignoring the pain, Likash commanded his legs to keep pumping. To ward off the danger of the missiles striking his head, Likash zigzagged between the trees.
The knife in his hands was useless until he jammed the handle between his teeth. Holding his wrists as far apart as possible, Likash drew the rope across the knife blade without breaking stride.
With hands free, Likash could assist the thrusting of his legs with the pumping of arms. On an upswing he retrieved the knife from his teeth. Slick from his bloody mouth he had to grasp the knife tight lest he lose it.
On and on he ran until his breath became ragged and he knew that he was starting to falter. Normally he could have run all day, but the beating he had taken coupled with the blood loss had weakened his reserves.
He’d achieved his aim of gaining enough ground on his pursuers for him to turn hunter. His pursuers were now spread out into a long line separated by natural ability and stamina reserves. Yet they could all follow the trail of broken branches and squashed grass he’d left behind him.
Turning this to his advantage, Likash removed the noose from his neck. Feeding the noose around a tree trunk, he threaded the loose end through and laid it on the ground. A scattering of needles and leaves covered the rope. Likash stationed himself in a nearby bush and waited.
Two men ran through the undergrowth side by side. Likash hauled on the rope and both men went flying as their shins collided with the tripwire. Dropping the rope, Likash stabbed each man in the heart before they could raise an alarm.
Three times he repeated the trick, killing another four men. His ears warned him the next group would be larger so he grabbed a club from a fallen Mududa warrior and lay in wait.
Likash’s tripwire caught the first three of the four men who burst through the foliage. Two blows to the standing warrior felled him, allowing Likash to concentrate on the three who were struggling to untangle themselves from their fallen comrades.
Slashing two throats and spearing the third man in the eye, Likash turned to face the fourth man.
It was one of the brutes that had held a mooring noose. With no element of surprise to aid him, Likash would have to take on a man who stood a head taller and was twice his weight in a straight fight.
A smile crossed the brute’s features as he faced Likash down.
Positioning himself so the brute couldn’t move into the blind spot created by his swollen eye, Likash feinted a head shot with his club. The brute was slow to react, but when his club crashed into Likash’s, it sent a reverberation all the way back to the smaller man’s shoulder.
Likash had learned enough from the move to plan his assault on the giant. Repeating the feint, Likash waited until the brute had committed to his swing and dropped to his knees. A swift blow to each of the giant’s kneecaps brought him crashing to the ground. Staying out of reach of the giant’s powerful arms Likash delivered a death blow to the back of his skull.
The sting of a thousand angry bees lanced through his arm, causing Likash to drop the club.