David Gemmell. Winter Warriors

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enveloped Mandrak, who fell back into the under­growth. Then Lekor hurled a knife, that spun through the air, slamming hilt first into the woman’s temple. She dropped to her knees, the fire extinguished. The stunned swordsman was stirring, and Drasko turned once more to where the queen lay unconscious.

Flipping open the visor of his helm he looked for the baby. It was nowhere in sight. The shock was immense. The infant could not have vanished. He knew enough of humans to know that newborn babes could not crawl! He glanced around. The giant human had also gone, and where he had fallen there was now only a bright red stain of blood upon the grass.

‘The bald one has the child,’ he told the others. ‘Find him, kill him, and then return here.’

Lekor and Mandrak turned and ran back through the undergrowth, following a grisly trail of blood.

Drasko moved towards the swordsman. The man was on his knees now, sucking in great gulps of air.

‘Gather your swords and face me,’ said Drasko. ‘It is long since I killed a Storm Swordsman.’

‘Then face me, demon,’ came a voice from behind.

Drasko spun on his heel and saw the black warrior, Nogusta standing by the camp-fire. He too held a Storm Sword. ‘Very well, old one,’ said Drasko. ‘You shall be -as you humans say – the appetizer before the main course.’

Behind him Antikas Karios fell once more, then rolled to his side, his vision swimming.

Drasko leapt to meet Nogusta. The black man moved in, then swayed away from a wild cut. Their swords met, and lightning flared from the blades. The sound of clash­ing swords filled the clearing with savagely discordant music. As his vision cleared Antikas Karios watched the

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warriors circle one another, their blades shimmering in the sunlight, lightning leaping up from every exchange. He knew what Nogusta was going through, and, worse, he knew the end result.

Drasko knew also that the old man was tiring. Always a careful fighter he took no chances. The moment a swordsman went for the kill, was also the most danger­ous time. If such an attack was mis-timed a fatal riposte could follow. Therefore Drasko fought on, making no attempt to end the contest, merely waiting for the tiring old man to leave an opening.

Nogusta leapt back, then stumbled, his fatigue obvious. From the ground Antikas watched him. A slow smile began as he recalled the fight with Cerez. Nogusta was trying the same tactic. It worked. Drasko suddenly leapt to the attack. Nogusta swayed away from the thrust. But not fast enough. The blade slammed home in his shoulder, smashing the bone, and emerging at the back. Then his own Storm Sword swept across and down, striking Drasko’s sword arm at the elbow. The enchanted blade slid through armour, flesh and bone, severing the limb in one strike. Drasko screamed in pain. The severed arm flopped to the ground, and the black man stood stock still facing his enemy, the sword jutting from his shoulder.

‘Time,’ said Nogusta, ‘to return from whence you came.’

Drawing a dagger with his left hand Drasko lunged. But the Storm Sword flashed in a glittering arc behead­ing the warrior cleanly. As the body fell Nogusta staggered, then fell to his knees beside it. Flipping his sword he held it dagger fashion, plunging it into Drasko’s heart.

Antikas Karios came to his feet and stumbled to where Nogusta knelt. ‘Let me help you,’ he said.

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‘No. Follow the trail. Bison has the babe.’

Antikas began to run through the trees. He had seen

Bison stabbed. The wound was mortal. And Bison’s

sword was still lying where it fell. Unarmed and dying he was the only hope now for the

child.

Bison stumbled on, his body wracked by spasms of pain. Sweat dripped into his eyes as he ran. Sufia’s arms were around his neck, and she was crying. He couldn’t remember picking her up. He did, however, remember picking up the baby and staggering into the wood. It was all so confusing. He glanced down. There was blood on the baby’s head. For a moment he was worried. Then he realized that the blood was his, and that the child was unhurt. Relieved he moved on. Why am I running, he thought, suddenly? Why am I hurting? His shoulder struck a tree trunk and he spun and almost fell. Regaining his balance he pushed on.