‘I don’t know! Wish I’d never mentioned it.’
The mist thickened and edged into the camp. ‘Man, it’s cold,’ said Bragi, taking up a blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders.
‘You’re always complaining about something,’ said a powerfully built man with a shaven head and a forked beard.
‘A pox on you, Canja,’ snapped Bragi.
‘He’s right, though,’ said someone else. ‘It is damned cold. It’s this mist. Feels like ice.’ Rising from the ground, the men sought out more wood, building up the fire. Then they sat, wrapped in their blankets.
‘It’s worse than winter,’ said Kym.
Moments later the cold was forgotten as a terrible scream echoed in the night. Kym swore and drew his sword. Canja leapt to his feet, dagger in hand, and peered out past the fire. The mist was so thick that he could see no more than a few feet.
‘I bet it’s that Rajnee,’ he said. ‘He’s out there.’
Canja moved a little way into the mist. Kym was watching him.
A curious noise began. The men looked at one another, then clambered to their feet.
‘What the Hell is that?’ whispered one. It sounded like scratching on the rocky ground just beyond the line of their sight.
The mist was even thicker now, flowing across the fire, causing it to hiss and splutter. Then came a sickening sound, followed by a grunt. Kym swung round to see Canja tottering back towards the fire. Blood was gouting from a huge hole in his chest. His mouth was open, but no sound came forth. Then something white closed around the dying man’s head, wrenching it from his body. Bragi spun on his heel and ran several steps in the opposite direction. A huge white form loomed from the mist, and a taloned arm swept down. Bragi’s face disappeared in a crimson spray. Talons ripped into his belly, hurling him high into the air.
Kym screamed, and backed away to the fire, dragging out a blazing brand, which he waved around in front of him. ‘Get away!’ he shouted. ‘Get away!’
Something cold curled around his ankle. He glanced down to see a white serpent slithering over his boot. He leapt back – straight into the fire. Flames licked around his leggings. The pain was terrible, but even through it he could see huge white forms approaching the blaze on every side.
Dropping the brand, Kym drew his dagger and turned the point towards his throat. Closing his eyes he rammed it into his jugular.
Something struck him in the back, and he fell from the fire. Gurgling on his life blood he felt sharp teeth rip into his side.
And the mist closed over him.
Kysumu was sitting on the ground, cross-legged, his back against the tree. He was not asleep but in a meditation trance, which served to revitalize his tired muscles. It took many minutes to establish the trance, for the snoring of Yu Yu Liang beside him was a constant irritant, rather like the buzzing of an insect around one’s face on a summer’s day.
Many years of training served Kysumu well, for he calmly put aside all thoughts of Yu Yu and honed his concentration. Once established he released it in a blaze of emptiness, holding only to the image of a blue flower, bright and ethereal against a backdrop of endless black space, unlit by stars. Slowly – so slowly – he began mentally to recite the Mantra of the Rajnee. Thirteen words, set in a child’s rhyme.
Ocean and star,
Each am I
Broken my wings
And yet I fly.
With each repeated verse Kysumu grew calmer, his mind expanding, feeling the blood flowing through his veins, the tension easing from his body. One hour of this every day and Kysumu had little need of sleep.
Yet tonight something was disturbing his trance. It was not the sleeping Yu Yu, or even the growing cold. Kysumu was hardened to extremes of cold or heat. He struggled to hold the trance, but it receded from him. He became aware of the scabbarded sword in his lap. It seemed to be vibrating gently under his fingers.
Kysumu’s dark eyes flicked open. He glanced about the camp. The night had turned very cold and a mist was seeping through the trees. One of the horses whinnied in fear. Kysumu took a deep breath, then glanced down at his sword. The oval bronze fistguard was glowing. The Rajnee placed his slender hand over the leather-wrapped hilt and drew the sword from its black-lacquered scabbard. The blade was shining with a bright blue light so powerful that it hurt the eyes to gaze upon it. Rising to his feet the swordsman saw that Yu Yu Liang’s stolen sword was also shining.