A movement from behind caused his heart to palpitate. He swung, trying to bring up his sword, but Belash’s powerful hand gripped his wrist. ‘Follow me,’ whispered the Nadir, easing back into the undergrowth. Morak was more than willing to obey and the two men crept towards the south, Belash leading the way down the slope to where Waylander’s cloak lay upon a boulder.
‘He will come back here,’ said Belash, keeping his voice low.
Morak saw that the Nadir was carrying a short hunting bow of Vagrian horn, a quiver of arrows slung across his broad shoulders. ‘What about the others?’ he asked.
‘Dead – all except Jonas. He loosed a shaft at Waylander, but it missed. Jonas dropped his bow and ran.’
‘Cowardly scum!’
Belash grinned. ‘Bigger share for us, yes?’
‘I didn’t think you were interested in coin. I thought this was just an exercise in valiant behaviour. You know, Father’s bones and all that.’
‘No time for talk, Morak. You sit here and rest. I will be close by.’
‘Sit here? He’ll see me.’
‘Of course. It is a small crossbow – he will come in close. Then I’ll kill him.’
Morak uttered a foul curse. ‘What if he just creeps up and lets fly before you see him?’
‘Then you die,’ said Belash.
‘Quaint sense of humour you have. Why don’t you sit here? I’ll take the bow.’
‘As you wish,’ answered Belash contemptuously, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. He handed Morak the weapon then folded his arms and sat, staring towards the south. Morak faded back into the undergrowth and notched an arrow to the string.
The moonlight cast spectral shadows on the small clearing where Belash waited and Morak shivered. What if Waylander were to come from a different direction? What if, even now, he was creeping silently through the forest behind him? Morak swung his head, but could see nothing untoward. But then who could see anything in this cursed gloom!
The Nadir’s plan was a simple one, born of a simple mind. But they were not dealing with a simpleton. If he stayed here he could die. There was no certainty to the plan. Yet if he left the Nadir behind, then Belash would feel betrayed. And if he survived, the Nadir would then hunt him down. Morak toyed with the thought of taking the risk, of slipping away quietly, but Belash was a woodsman of almost mystical skill. He would hear him – and give chase immediately. An arrow then – straight through the back. No. The Nadir was strong. What if it failed to kill immediately? Morak knew he could best Belash sword to sword, but the Nadir’s immense strength might bring him in close enough to use that wicked dagger … That was a thought he didn’t enjoy.
Think, man!
Dropping the bow, Morak felt around the soft earth until his fingers closed on a large stone the size of his fist. This was the answer. Standing, he walked back out into the clearing. Belash glanced round.
‘What is wrong?’
‘I have another plan,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘Is that him?’ hissed Morak, pointing to the north. Belash’s head jerked round.
‘Where?’
The stone cracked against the back of the Nadir’s neck. Belash fell forward. Morak hit him again. Then again. The Nadir slumped to the ground. Morak dropped the stone and drew his dagger. Always best to make sure. Then he heard movement in the undergrowth. Backing away from the sound, Morak turned and ran, sprinting down the track.
And did not see the ugly hound that emerged from the bushes.
*
Belash floated up from the darkness to a painful awakening. Soft earth was against his face and his head pounded. He tried to rise, but nausea swamped him. Reaching up he touched the back of his neck. The blood was beginning to congeal. His hand moved down to his belt. The knife was still in its sheath. For a while he struggled to remember what had happened. Had Waylander come upon them?
No. I would now be dead.
His mouth was dry. Something cold pushed against his face. He turned his head and found himself staring into the baleful eyes of a huge, scarred hound. Belash lay perfectly still, save for his hand which inched slowly towards his knife.