Pagan watched the beasts feed for a while, noting their movements, and learning all he could against the day when he must fight them. He was under no illusion – the day would come. Man against beast, head to head. The beast might be strong, swift and deadly. But then Kataskicana the King had earned the title Lord of War. For he was too strong, swift and deadly. But added to this, he was cunning.
Pagan eased his way back into the woods. Once there he froze, his wide nostrils flaring. His eyes narrowed and he slid his axe into his hand.
His horse was standing where he had left it, but the beast was quivering in fear, its ears flat against its skull and its eyes wide.
Pagan delved into his leather tunic, pulling clear a short, heavy throwing-knife. Licking his lips, he scanned the undergrowth. Hiding places close by were few; he was in one such, which left three other obvious places. So, he reasoned, he was facing a maximum of three opponents. Did they have bows? Unlikely, for they would have to stand, draw and loose at a swiftly moving target. Were they human? Unlikely, for the horse was terrified and mere men would not create such fear.
So then – a possible three Joinings crouched in the bushes ahead of him.
His decision made, Pagan stood up and walked towards his horse.
A Joining leapt from the bushes to his right and another rose from the left. They moved with incredible speed. Pagan spun on his heel, his right arm flashing down; the knife plunged into the right eye-socket of the first beast. The second was almost upon him when the black man dropped to his knees and dived forward, crashing into the creature’s legs. The Joining pitched over him and Pagan rolled lashing the axe-blade deep into the beast’s thigh. Then he was up and running. He tore the reins clear of the branches and vaulted to the saddle as the Joining ran at him. As Pagan leaned back in the saddle, tugging on the reins, the horse reared in terror, its hooves lashing at the beast and catching it full in the face. The Joining went down and Pagan heeled away his horse through the woods, ducking under overhanging branches. Once clear, he galloped to the west.
The gods had been with him, for he had seriously miscalculated. Had there been three Joinings he would have been dead. He had aimed the knife for the beast’s throat, but so swift had been its charge that he had almost missed the target altogether.
Pagan slowed his horse as the burning city fell away behind him.
All over the lowlands would be the scouts of Ceska. He had no wish to gallop into a greater danger than that from which he fled. He patted the horse’s neck.
He had left Scaler with the Cheiam. The new Earl of Bronze had grown in stature and his plans for taking the fortress were well-advanced. Whether or not they would work was another matter, but at least Scaler was tackling them with confidence. Pagan chuckled. The young Drenai was more than convincing in his new role and Pagan could almost believe that he really was the legendary Earl.
Almost. Pagan chuckled again.
Towards dusk he moved into a section of trees near a stream. He had seen no sign of the enemy and he scouted the area carefully. But a surprise lay in wait for him as he rode into a small hollow.
Some twenty children were seated around the body of a man.
Pagan dismounted and tethered his horse. A tall boy stepped forward, a dagger in his hand.
‘Touch him and I will kill you!’ said the boy.
‘I will not touch him,’ said Pagan. ‘Put up the knife.’
‘Are you a Joining?’
‘No, I am merely a man.’
‘You don’t look like a man – you’re black.’
Pagan nodded solemnly. ‘Indeed I am. You, on the other hand are white and very small. I don’t doubt your bravery, but do you really think you can stand against me?’
The boy licked his lips, but stood his ground.