Petar Olomayne had the advantage of a superior weapon, giving him added reach. Yet he had not been able to breach his opponent’s defences. Gaise fought on, watching his opponent’s eyes, waiting for the moment.
Olomayne launched a frenzied attack. Gaise ducked beneath a murderous cut, his own blade flickering out and cutting Olomayne’s cheek. The Redeemer swore and the two men moved apart for a moment.
‘Damn, but you are an oaf,’ said Gaise, his voice full of contempt. ‘Am I too heavily armed for you?’ Olomayne’s eyes widened, and his lips drew back in a primal snarl. The insult cut through his reason and he leapt forward, the sabre lancing for Gaise’s heart. Gaise sidestepped, plunging his sword deep into Olomayne’s chest. The point slid between the Redeemer’s ribs, skewering both lungs and exiting beneath his left armpit. Olomayne gave a strangled cry and fell against the bridge wall. Gaise tried to drag the blade clear, but it was wedged tight. Olomayne’s breath was coming in bubbling gasps, blood spraying from his lips. Gaise reached down and gathered up the Redeemer’s sabre. Then he walked back to where the second Redeemer waited, still holding his shattered arm.
‘We were ordered to this deed,’ said the Redeemer, backing away. ‘I demand to be treated as a knight, and ransomed to my lord.’
‘You will take this message to Lord Winterbourne,’ said Gaise. Then he paused and gazed down at the still form of the black hound. Anger surged through him, and his control over his inner demons melted away. He looked the man in the eye. ‘Never mind, I expect he’ll get the message.’ The sabre swept up and lanced through the Redeemer’s throat. Gaise watched as the dying man sank to his knees, then pitched sideways to the cold stone of the bridge.
Kneeling by the hound, Gaise placed his hand on the dog’s chest. The heart was still beating. Heaving the unconscious dog into his arms he staggered back to the house. Behind him other starving dogs were gathering, drawn by the smell of blood.
Inside the main room Gaise gently laid the hound on the rug by the hearth. Then he lit the fire, and in its light examined the beast for wounds. The dog had fastened its fangs to Astin’s knife arm, and the Redeemer had beaten it with his fist. There were no knife cuts. With luck it was merely stunned. Gaise walked to the kitchen. There was a little broth left in the pan and he heated it until it was lukewarm, when he poured it into a shallow bowl. Carrying it back into the living room he saw the hound was stirring. Gaise stroked it, speaking soothingly. It gave a low growl and tried to lift its head. Gaise moved the bowl closer. The hound’s nostrils twitched. It tried to rise, but fell back. Gaise straddled the beast. ‘Come on now,’ he said, leaning down and lifting it to its feet. Its legs were unsteady, but Gaise supported it. The hound’s huge head dipped towards the bowl. Its tongue lapped at the juices. Then it began to eat more hungrily. With the broth finished the dog sank back to its haunches. Gaise sat beside it. ‘That will do for now, eh?’ he said, patting the great head.
The dog licked at his hand, then stretched out on the rug and fell asleep.
Within the hour Mulgrave was sitting in the living room. Two soldiers of the Watch had disturbed a pack of wild dogs feeding on the corpses. Mulgrave had been summoned, and had recognized the sword stick he had given Gaise Macon. Ordering the torn bodies to be carried away he hurried to the general’s house. There he found Gaise sitting by the fire, alongside a sleeping black hound.
‘I shall call him Soldier,’ said Gaise, absently. ‘You recall me telling you about my first dog?’
‘I do, sir. The Moidart shot it. What happened out there?’
Gaise sighed. ‘I fear there is more of the Moidart in me than I realized.’ He shook his head. ‘Odd, don’t you think, that one can despise a man for his cruelties and then commit just such an act oneself ?’