The huge Kitzakk chuckled huskily, shifted his weight and brought his sword blade down at Gath’s unguarded right side. Gath let it come, then squatted in place. Steel Suit’s sword sliced into the wooden wall behind him and came to a sudden shattering stop inches from the Barbarian’s hair.
Gath charged forward, drove his head into the huge man’s gut and knocked him to the ground. He kept driving, stepped on the Kitzakk’s thigh and chest, then tripped and fell into the middle of the yard.
Red Helmet leapt over his fallen comrade and raised his axe, but Gath rolled onto his back, threw dirt in his face. The Kitzakk was not blinded long. Seeing the metal of the Barbarian’s shield through the dust, he brought his axe down on it. The blade sank into the shield, split it, then buried itself deep in whatever was under it. Red Helmet almost laughed but snarled angrily instead as his vision cleared. His axe was buried to the haft in dirt.
Gath was now five strides off, backing away in a low crouch, eyes moving from one commander to the other. His dagger was in his hand.
While Red Helmet tried to remove the remnant of Gath’s shield from his axe, Steel Suit ripped his sword free, then backed Gath up to a shallow door. There the huge glittering man laughed out loud and began to play more seriously with his victim. He hammered the dagger from Gath’s hand, kicked him in the chest spinning him around. Then, deliberately using the flat of his blade, he struck him across the back driving him face first into the door and laughed again.
Gath, stunned, hung against the door supporting himself on the latch handle. The impact of the huge Kitzakk’s blow had popped the leather thongs holding his armor in place. It dripped off him like old flesh and fell to the ground. Steel Suit spit a rope of blood, and, without a trace of play in his small eyes, raised his sword over his head with both hands.
His sword blade glittered in the sunlight, slashed down. At the last moment Gath reeled backward, opening the door and bringing it with him. The sword cut into the top of the wooden door and did not stop until it had cleaved it in two.
Gath, finding half of a door in his hand, swung it at the mass of glittering steel. The door caught the Kitzakk flush from the base of his skull to the base of his spine and drove him back into the yard, mouth spread wide, gasping for breath. It did not come. Steel Suit dropped his sword and grabbed for his throat. This also did not help. He hit the ground hard, shuddering and heaving.
Gath, gasping and crusted with dust, splinters and blood, gathered up the Kitzakk’s sword in two hands and turned on Red Helmet as the short, thick Kitzakk commander finally ripped his axe free of the remnant of Gath’s shield.
Gath and Red Helmet, two-handing their weapons, moved for each other. Their weapons met with a resounding clang, then kept on meeting until they were more than well acquainted. Then the Kitzakk got in low and scooped out a cup of flesh from Gath’s side. Gath replied by bringing the sword around in an arc and caught the Kitzakk flush on the mask of his helmet. The helmet did not give, but the man inside did. A little. He dropped his axe and staggered back in a low crouch fighting for balance. He caught it about fifteen feet off, then started back for the axe he had left behind.
Gath’s eyes were thin slices of disbelief. The blow should not only have pulped the Kitzakk’s helmet, but his head. Instead, it had only exhausted Gath. He staggered over the fallen axe blocking the Kitzakk’s path. Red Helmet kept coming. His march was unsteady but relentless. He kept his head low. When Gath swung his sword, the Kitzakk deliberately fed the blade his red helmet. The blow drove the Kitzakk back five feet, but he kept his feet and started forward again. Gath growled low in his throat and struck again. In this manner he drove the Kitzakk around the yard, hammering the defiant red helmet. Ropes of blood erupted from the cagelike mask with each blow. Spider trails leaked from the neck rim, trailed down the commander’s armor, turning its dull red color bright.
When it appeared that the Kitzakk carried more of his blood outside his flesh than inside, Gath sagged back gasping and dripping sweat. Mindlessly, Red Helmet charged without a weapon. Gath let him come, then lifted the sword, and the Kitzakk ran himself onto the point of the blade. The blade cut through his gut, drove in hard, jammed itself into the corner of the pelvic bone.
Glaring at Gath from behind the caged mask of his helmet, the Kitzakk staggered back. His weight ripped the sword out of Gath’s hands, and he went over on his back with the sword sticking upright like a steel flag. Blood puddled under him. Struggling, Red Helmet unlaced his helmet, pushed it aside, then attempted to rise but only managed to twitch.
Gath squatted and leaned back against the wall gasping. He looked about for something to staunch his wounds, and through half-closed eyes saw Steel Suit rise off the ground slowly and uncertainly, as if he had never done it before. Gath was stunned. So was the Kitzakk; one eye was filled with blood, the other blinked. When it found Gath, the huge man cursed foully and staggered toward him.
Gath drew a deep breath, erupted off the ground, caught the giant around the gut and drove him back into the side of a parked wagon. The side board splintered and they fell half onto the bed, grappling without much effect. Then the Kitzakk’s hands found Gath’s neck, began to throttle him. In desperation, Gath buried his fingers in the first things that came to hand, Steel Suit’s wrist and armpit. But they were of little help. Gath could not breathe. His mind grew dark, then again swam with the blood red world of howling death, and a terrorized surge of strength went through him. He spun in place swinging the huge Kitzakk around in the air, then, with an animal roar, threw him across the yard. Steel Suit hit the ground with a clang, rolled over, and came to a limp stop.
A moment passed before Gath realized he had not let go of Steel Suit’s left arm. It dangled from his right hand by the wrist. Gath lifted it uncertainly, then discarded it like an apple core.
Twenty
The supply wagon of the Kitzakk regiment was parked several miles up Weaver Pass on a knoll overlooking the village. Five chained maidens from Weaver were tied to the rear end of the open bed. Behind the wagon the surviving Skull soldiers sat their horses in a line as a sergeant called the roll.
Dang-Ling sat among the spare weapons, blankets and saddles at the front of the wagon bed. He had recovered from his terror and was coolly assessing his situation. He was certain his warlord, Klang, would be humiliated by the defeat, and he would have to appear to also be shamed even though he felt no shame. The scouts he had sent back into the village had verified that the Barbarian had met Trang and Chornbott in combat, and that the commanders had been killed. But the champions, even though unable to conquer him, had undoubtedly taught the Barbarian the lessons of false pride and mortality. Consequently Dang-Ling was certain he had served the Master of Darkness well. Now, if the Barbarian survived his wounds and was the man the Queen of Serpents claimed he was, he would be ready, even hungry for the extraordinary opportunity she would offer him.
Dang-Ling smiled to himself, then turned to hear the sergeant’s report. There were twenty-seven present. Thirty-nine Skull soldiers, three temple guards, and two champions remained in Weaver. All dead or not, it mattered little to the priest.
Dang-Ling conducted a prayer for the deceased, then ordered the sergeant to proceed quickly up the pass and settled down for a nap.
Twenty-one
Robin, who had watched the fight through a knothole and passed out at the sight of Gath ripping out the Kitzakk’s arm, now revived to find her face buried in tangled straw. Remembering gradually what had happened, she pushed herself up and peered out the knothole. A scatter of people had gathered in the yard. Villagers. She hesitated thoughtfully, and clutched fearfully at her throat. Hurriedly, she pushed the ladder down through the hole, climbed down and rushed out of the stable.