Waylander took her hand. ‘How soon before you can walk?’
‘A few moments more. My limbs are trembling. I have no strength yet.’
‘Then rest,’ said Waylander, rising and moving to Keeva. ‘I have something for you that will give you an edge,’ he said.
Ustarte called out again. ‘Two Kriaz-nor are moving down the terrace steps.’
Long-stride moved warily. He had not yet drawn his sword. There would be time for that. For now he was using all his senses. He could smell the blood, and the sour odour of urine. The bladders of the dead had emptied. The scent of the meld-woman was also strong, and Long-stride could detect within it an unhealthy aroma. The woman was sick. Stone-four was moving too fast, and was some paces ahead now. Irritated, Long-stride caught up with him. ‘Wait!’ he ordered.
Stone-four obeyed him and they moved stealthily around the corner. Some fifteen paces ahead of them, sitting upon a rock, was a dark-garbed human. In his left hand he held a double-winged crossbow. Beyond him lay the cat-woman. ‘Let me kill him,’ said Stone-four. ‘I want to win a name!’
Long-stride nodded, and continued to sniff at the air.
Stone-four stepped towards the human. ‘Your weapon looks formidable,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you show me how formidable?’
‘Come a little closer,’ said the human, his voice calm.
‘Surely this range is adequate,’ replied Stone-four.
‘Aye, it is adequate. Did you wish to draw your sword?’
‘I will not need it, human. I shall remove your heart with my hands.’
The human rose. ‘I am told you are very fast, and that bows are useless against you. Is this true?’
‘It is true.’
‘Let us find out,’ said the man, his voice suddenly cold. Long-stride felt the beginning of apprehension as he heard the man’s tone, but Stone-four was tensed and ready. The bow came up. Stone-four’s right hand swept up, snatching the bolt from mid-air. Instantly a second bolt followed the first. Stone-four moved with lightning speed, catching this with his left hand. He grinned widely and glanced at Long-stride. ‘Easy!’ he said. Before Long-stride could warn his comrade the human’s right hand flashed out. The throwing knife sped through the air, slamming into Stone-four’s throat. The Kriaz-nor, his windpipe severed, took two faltering steps towards the human, then toppled face-first to the ground.
Long-stride drew his sword. ‘You have any more tricks to play, human?’ he asked.
‘Only one,’ said the man, drawing a shortsword.
‘And what might that be?’
Long-stride heard a whisper of movement behind him.
Spinning on his heel, he scanned the area. Nothing was there. Low bushes and rocks that could not hide a human. Then he saw something so weird that he did not at first register what it was. A crossbow suddenly extended from low to the ground. Long-stride blinked. He could not focus properly on the area around it. The weapon tilted and, in that fraction of a heartbeat, Long-stride saw a slim hand upon the weapon. Two bolts slashed towards him. His sword swept up blocking the first. The second slammed into his chest, burying itself deep into his lungs. A sword blade plunged into his back. Long-stride arched, then swung, his own sword slicing the air. But the human had not crept up behind him as he had thought. The man was still standing some fifteen paces away. He had hurled the sword! Long-stride felt all strength seeping away. Letting fall his blade, he walked stiffly to a rock and sat down heavily. ‘You are very skilful, human,’ he said. ‘How did you make the crossbow shoot?’
‘He didn’t,’ said a female voice.
Long-stride looked towards his left and saw a woman’s head appear, floating in the air. Then an arm came into sight, sweeping upwards, as if pushing a cloak aside. Then it came to him. ‘A Bezha cloak,’ he said, slipping from the rock.
Pain roared through him as he fell, and he realized his weight had come down upon the sword jutting from his back, driving it deeper. He struggled to rise, but there was no power left in his limbs. His face was resting against a cold flagstone.
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