The Krayakin had come. One of them had stabbed him, then struck him on the temple. He had never felt such a blow in his life.
The ground was sloping upwards now. He struggled to the top of a rise and stood, breathing heavily. Then he began to cough. He could feel warm liquid in his throat, choking him. He spewed it out, then gasped for air. Sufia pulled back in his arms and stared at him, her blue eyes wide and fearful. ‘Your mouth is bleeding,’ she cried.
He couldn’t remember being hit in the mouth. He coughed again. Blood dribbled to his chin. Dizziness swamped him. ‘They’re coming!’ shouted the child. Bison swung round.
Two Krayakin in black armour were walking purposefully towards him, black swords in their hands. Holding
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firmly to the babe and the child Bison pushed on. He had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he had to carry the children to safety.
But where was safety?
Emerging from the tree line he saw a towering cliff face, and a narrow ledge winding along the face. Blinking sweat from his eyes he struggled on.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Sufia. Bison did not answer. He felt weak and disoriented, and his breath was coming now in short, painful gasps. I’ve been wounded before, he told himself. I always heal. I’ll heal again. Glancing back he saw the Krayakin reach the top of the rise some 70 yards behind him. Where is Nogusta, he wondered. And Kebra.
They’ll be coming! Then I can rest for a while. Nogusta can stitch my wound. Blood was pooling in his boot, and his leggings were drenched. So much blood. He stumbled on. The ledge was narrow here, no more than 3 feet wide. He looked down over the edge. They were impossibly high. Below him Bison could see wispy clouds clinging to the side of the abyss, and through them he could just make out a tiny river flowing through the base of the canyon. ‘We are above the clouds,’ he told Sufia. ‘Look!’ But she clung to his shoulder, her head buried against his neck. ‘Above the clouds,’ he said again. He swayed and almost fell. The baby began to cry. Bison focused his mind on movement and continued along the ledge.
Another coughing spasm shook him, and this time there was a rush of blood, that exploded from his mouth in a crimson spray. Sufia was crying again. Bison stopped moving. The ledge ended here, in a blank, grey wall of rock. Gently he laid the baby on the ledge, then pulled Sufia’s arms from around his neck.
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‘Old Bison needs a rest,’ he said. ‘You . . . look after the baby for me.’
He was on his knees, but couldn’t remember falling. There’s lots of blood,’ wailed Sufia.
‘Look . . . after the baby. There’s a good girl.’ Bison crawled to the edge and gazed down again. ‘Never . . . been this high,’ he told her.
‘What about when you had wings?’ she asked.
‘Big . . . white . . . wings,’ he said. He looked back along the ledge. The Krayakin must be close now, but he could not see them yet.
I don’t want to die! The thought was a terrible one, and far too frightening to contemplate. I’m not going to die, he told himself. I’ll be fine. A few stitches. The sun was shining, but it was cold here on this exposed face. The cold wind felt good. The wind had been cold back at Mellicane. It was winter then, a hard, harsh winter. The rivers had frozen solid and no-one had expected an army to march through the raging blizzards. But the Drenai had, crossing mountains and lakes of ice. The Ventrian army had been surprised at Mellicane. That’s where I got my medal, he remembered. The medal he had sold for a night with a fat whore.
She was a good whore, though, he recalled.
He sat with his back to the cliff, a great wave of weariness covering him like a warm blanket. Sleep, that was what he needed. Healing sleep. When he woke up the wound would be mending. That priestess, she can heal me. A few days’ rest and I’ll be good as new. Where is Nogusta? Why has he left me alone here?