‘That looks bad.’
‘Feels it,’ admitted Druss. ‘I think Harad’s skull might have been cracked. Damned painful.’
The two men stepped aside as Legend Riders moved past, carrying wounded men. ‘I take it you will be staying for a while?’ said Skilgannon.
‘I think it best,’ Druss told him. ‘Harad is a good lad, but this skirmish is going to need a touch more than guts and determination.’ He glanced across at Alahir and grinned. ‘Good to see that armour again.
And he wears it well.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘He is Drenai,’ said Druss. ‘Says it all for me.’
The sun faded down behind the mountains and darkness came swiftly. Skilgannon moved away to sit on a rock and clean his swords. As he finished wiping the dried blood from the Sword of Night he lifted the blade to examine it. What he saw caused his breath to catch in his throat.
Reflected in the shimmering steel was the temple mountain, pale and gleaming in the starlight, the Mirror of Heaven bright upon its peak. He turned his head and glanced back down the mountainside.
There was no temple, only the huge crater which had killed Bagalan.
Switching his gaze back to the reflection in the sword blade he wondered if his mind was failing him.
Askari wandered over to squat down beside him. ‘This is no time to be admiring yourself,’ she said.
‘Look in the blade and tell me what you see,’ he told her, passing her the sword. Askari held it up.
‘I have looked better,’ she said. ‘There is dirt on my face.’
‘Move the blade and look down the mountain.’
Askari did so. Her expression changed as she saw the reflection of the temple mountain, and she swung round just as Skilgannon had. ‘What does it mean?’ she asked.
‘It means it always was some kind of ward spell. It can fool the eye, but not a mirror.’
‘What will you do?’
Skilgannon sighed. ‘Everything in me yearns to stand with these men, and face the foe. Yet it is not what I came for. I came to end the reign of the Eternal. I cannot do that up here. I must get into the temple.’
Chapter Twenty
For Stavut there was no sense of even a transient victory. The day had been nightmarish. The first battle, in which Harad had been struck down, was bad enough. Eight of his lads were dead, three others nursing deep wounds that concerned Stavut. Then they had travelled here to find the Legend Riders facing massive odds. Shakul, without any order from Stavut, had hurled himself into the fray. He now carried more cuts and a puncture wound to his thigh.
The Jiamad wounded, who had lagged behind in the march to the high pass, arrived just as night fell.
One of them was Ironfist, the scrawny hunchback who had joined them recently. He was being supported by the skinny Blackrock. Ironfist was breathing heavily, and there was blood dripping from his elongated jaw. Stavut ran to him, and helped Blackrock lower him to the ground. Ironfist leaned his back against the cliff face. Stavut laid his hand on the beast’s shoulder. ‘How are you feeling, my friend?’
‘Much pain. Better when sun shines.’
‘Sit quietly. I’ll fetch a surgeon.’
Stavut ran back to the poolside, where the seriously injured had been carried from the battle site. He saw the small surgeon, Anatis, kneeling beside a seated rider, and inserting stitches in a wound to the man’s shoulder. Stavut recognized the burly rider as the man who had screamed at him, and almost caused a fight between the Jems and the riders. His name, Stavut had learned later, was Barik. Stavut moved alongside them. ‘One of my lads is seriously wounded,’ he said to the surgeon. ‘Do you know anything about Jems?’
‘I don’t treat beasts,’ answered the man, without looking up.
‘Then you won’t live to treat anyone ever again, you bastard!’ shouted Stavut, dragging his sabre clear of its scabbard. Terrified, the surgeon flung himself to the ground, rolling behind the wounded Drenai soldier.
‘Whoa!’ ordered Barik. ‘Rein in, Stavut! This man came to help us, and I’d as soon you didn’t kill him before he’s finished sealing this scratch.’
‘My lads have died in your battle, Drenai! The least you could do is see them tended.’
‘I agree.’ Pushing his hand over the still bleeding wound he glanced round at the cowering Anatis. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll sit here while you tend to his friend. Is that all right with you?’
‘The man’s mad!’ said Anatis.
The soldier laughed. ‘You think sane men would choose to come to this arid place in order to kill each other? Go tend the beast.’
Stavut let his sabre fall clattering to the ground. ‘I am sorry, surgeon,’ he said. ‘Will you help me?’
Anatis eased himself to his feet and swung his medicine bag over his shoulder. ‘I do not know how the melding changes the physical structure. But I will do what I can.’ Together they walked out into the moonlight. ‘I should have asked for lanterns,’ he said.
Ironfist was breathing raggedly, his head resting back against the rock face. The surgeon glanced at Stavut. ‘He’s not going to attack me, is he?’
‘No.’ Stavut crouched down on the other side of the beast. ‘It is me, my friend. I have brought someone to help you. You understand? To mend your wound.’
The surgeon took hold of Ironfist’s paw, which was resting over an awesome puncture wound in his chest. His fur was covered in blood, some dried, but more flowing from the wound. At the point of entry the blood was coming in small spurts. Ironfist suddenly coughed, and blood sprayed Stavut’s face and chest. The surgeon looked across at Stavut. ‘Now do not go back for that sabre, but there is nothing I can do. All the indications are that the wound is deep, and has pierced a lung. It has also severed an artery, which is why the blood is coming so fast.’
‘Would you know what to do if he were a man?’
‘If he were a man he would be dead already. And before you ask, the answer is no. Even if I got to the man immediately the wound was delivered I could not save him. My best guess is that your. . friend will not last the night. All you can do is make him comfortable.’
‘You wouldn’t lie to me?’
‘No, Drenai, I would not lie about my craft, not even to an enemy. If we had bright light, and perfect surroundings, and the right tools, I could have tried opening the wound further and attempting to seal the artery. This would cause immense pain to your friend, and would still result in death forty-nine times out of fifty. I do not have the light, or the tools, and this wound has been bleeding too long. The creature’s strength is almost gone. It could not survive surgery. And now, if you will excuse me, I shall finish stitching the soldier’s wound.’
Stavut said nothing and turned back to Ironfist. ‘I don’t know how much of that you understood, my friend,’ he said. ‘So we will just sit together for a while, you and I.’
Shakul came alongside and peered at Ironfist. ‘You die soon,’ he said.
‘Soon,’ answered Ironfist. Shakul squatted down, and laid his huge hand gently on Ironfist’s arm.
Leaning forward he touched his finger lightly to the wound, then licked the blood. Pulling back he made way for Blackrock, who did the same. One by one all the beasts tasted the blood of Ironfist. Stavut had seen this peculiar ritual earlier, but had not asked Shakul about it. By the time Grava came to repeat the manoeuvre Ironfist was dead. Grava looked enquiringly at Stavut.
‘Why do you lick his blood?’ Stavut asked. The beast answered in his usual incomprehensible manner.
This time, however, Stavut managed to piece together the words. With a sigh, he placed his own finger on the wound, then licked it clean. Then he rose and sought out Alahir.