The cat blinked once, slowly.
I will live in your absence. Go.
The cat seemed satisfied, its purr almost a growl. It moved away from him and sized up the ways out of the room, but all the doors were closed.
‘What is going on?’ demanded Hirad. ‘That thing was eating him. I saw it.’
‘Hirad, please,’ gasped Ilkar. He was collapsed in a chair, trying very hard to remain conscious. The pain in his chest and his legs had grown to a new intensity, the internal bleeding had begun again and he needed peace to heal himself. ‘There are things you don’t know, but they’ll have to wait. I’m not feeling so good.’
‘Tell me what to do, then. I can help.’
‘By guarding us, letting us have peace and saving your questions. Where are the rest?’
Now Hirad drew breath and nodded. ‘We met some others. They’re here to rescue some woman. We’re Raging. The castle will be ours in a few minutes.’
Ilkar pushed himself painfully to the floor and lay beside Denser. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Good.’ He closed his eyes just as the far doors opened once again. Seeing its chance, the cat streaked through them and away. Hirad tensed and moved out of Ilkar’s line of sight.
‘Isman.’
‘Hirad.’
And Jandyr would have laughed had the sight in front of him not been so pitiful. The man lay in the middle of a floor smeared with blood, his mouth open, unmoving. A weapon was clutched in one still hand and the wine he had been drinking dripped from the overturned goblet on to the ground.
‘A man who will not face his own death is no man at all,’ said Jandyr. There was no movement. ‘Dead men do not cough, my friend. You might as well abandon your pathetic charade. At least face me.’ Still no movement. ‘I have no time . . .’ Jandyr stretched his bow.
‘Please!’ The man jerked to a sitting position. ‘I don’t—’
‘Like I said, I have no time.’ He loosed the shaft, nocked another, turned and moved back up the stairs.
Travers rested on one wall of the narrow passage to the tower, frowning. The Raven were still moving through his castle. The shouts still echoed, though they were intermittent now. What worried him was that there were clearly more than three people attacking. He shrugged and moved on to and through the door to the guardroom. His two men stood to attention, swords drawn ready.
‘Good,’ he slurred. ‘We can’t leave this to chance. Those bastard sons cannot be allowed to leave the castle. Kill them.’
‘Sir?’ They exchanged a glance and hesitated.
‘They are not mere boys. If the bitch takes them back they will be powerful beyond all our capacity to control. See to it.’ One of the guards nodded and trotted up a spiral staircase in the corner of the room. There was the sound of young voices and then a door clanked shut.
Thraun sprinted along the top-level corridor. On his right, windows let on to an open quadrangle into which dim light spilled. He could hear the sounds of fighting from across the way. Ignoring a small opening to his left, he charged to a right-angle bend to the right, another roar ripping from his lungs. Double doors were ahead. They looked important. He kicked them open and ran inside.
Talan and Will split as they reached the top of the stairs. To their left, windows on to the quadrangle Richmond had taken. And right, an opening and two doors spaced further along the corridor. Will took the opening, saw a door in front of him and made towards it. Talan crashed through the first of the pair of doors and found himself in a large pillared room full of beds. Most were occupied, but some weren’t. Perhaps enough.
He squared up, cleared his head with a shout and bared his teeth. ‘Come on then, anyone think they can take me?’
Will heard Talan’s shout and tumbled through the door he’d found, drawing his dual short swords as he came up in a crouch position. His eyes widened and his heart missed a beat. The room seemed full of men and the only thing he could say with any certainty was that none of them had seen him. They were all moving in on Talan.
‘A pity,’ said Hirad. ‘You should have joined The Raven.’
Isman snorted. ‘One young blade in a band of old men. Instead I’m the man who’ll be responsible for the end of you all.’
‘Yeah?’ Hirad’s mind cleared as an adrenaline rush hit him. He flexed the muscles of his arms. ‘You died the same moment as Sirendor Larn, and The Raven will see this castle burn.’
He sprang forwards, sword before him, aiming a cut at Isman’s midriff. The Black Wing blocked it, moving sharply right and coming to a ready stance. Hirad searched his eyes for fear and found none. The two men circled each other. Hirad looked for a flaw in Isman’s posture and was impressed to find nothing. Both men used the long sword, both were finely balanced but only one had the enormous combat experience and the knowledge of countless one-to-one victories. It was he who launched a ferocious attack.
Initially stabbing forwards, Hirad used the momentum given him by Isman’s anticipated defence to follow up with a powered swing, bringing his blade through an arc from shoulder to hip. Isman couldn’t hope to be ready in time but his body reaction was pure instinct. He leaped backwards, Hirad’s strike missing him by less than an inch.
Out of position, the barbarian straightened in time to field Isman’s return before slashing horizontally in riposte. This time, Isman evaded with room to spare.
Hirad came back to ready, his muscles suddenly aching. He shook himself and the ache dimmed. Isman smiled and drove forwards, delivering four cross-strikes in fluid succession, driving Hirad up the room beyond where the two mages lay in helpless audience. Hirad heaved a breath and arrowed in a return, beating Isman’s guard and nicking the swordsman’s leather jerkin.
The Black Wing’s eyes narrowed and he squared again, wary now. Hirad switched his sword between his hands twice. His legs were leaden and dragged in his next attack, all but exposing his chest to Isman’s defensive swipe. Something was badly wrong. Hirad could feel his stamina flooding away but knew he couldn’t afford to tire in front of Isman.
The younger man lunged again; his disguised flick left tore a section of padding on Hirad’s left shoulder armour and his follow-up to the neck was blocked, but only just. Hirad was sweating hard and a cramping nausea gripped his stomach.
Isman’s smile widened, leaving his eyes hard. He strode forwards, his overhead strike knocking Hirad from his feet though his sword caught the force of the blow. The barbarian scrabbled backwards into a half-crouch and Isman slashed at his head. He blocked, ducked and even managed to stand but was ill prepared for the uppercut which knocked the sword from his hands. The blade clattered away over the stone-flagged floor and Hirad, his body shaking its pain and its fear, looked into Isman’s face.
‘I told you to go home, but you wouldn’t listen,’ he said, and plunged his sword into Hirad’s defenceless stomach. The Raven man’s legs gave way and he fell, not feeling the blade as Isman pulled it clear. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything. Or see anything. He could sense himself falling. It was a long way down.
Thraun had run into a large, plush room, dimly lit by the embers of a fire and two guttering braziers. It was all the light he needed. Standing in front of a door near the far left-hand corner of the room were two swordsmen. Thraun ran at them, uttering a roar that made one flinch visibly. He leapt a table and sofa in one bound and, two paces later, struck the sword arm from the first man.
Blood was everywhere. The man, too shocked to cry out, stared at the stump, gasping, his eyes wide and filled with tears of purest torment. The other faltered and Thraun took him through the chest, pushing his half-hearted block aside with contemptuous ease. The one-armed man had collapsed, whimpering, barely moving. Thraun pulled a dagger from his belt and opened his throat.