‘No, you’re not,’ said Senta, with an easy smile.
Angel grunted a short obscenity and sat beside the swordsman. ‘Why did you have to talk of marriage?’
‘You think I’d have been better advised to suggest rutting with her under a bush?’
‘It would have been more honest.’
‘I don’t think it would,’ said Senta softly. He became aware of Angel staring at him and felt himself blushing.
‘Well, well,’ said Angel. ‘That I should live to see the great Senta smitten. What would they say in Drenan?’
Senta grinned. They’d say nothing. The entire city would be swept away under an ocean of tears.’
‘I thought you were going to marry Nexiar. Or was it Suri?’
‘Beautiful girls,’ agreed Senta.
‘Nexiar would have killed you. She damn near did for me.’
‘I heard the two of you were close once. Is it true that she was so repulsed by your ugliness that, when in bed, she insisted you wore your helmet?’
Angel laughed. ‘Close. She had a velvet mask made for me.’
‘Ah, but I like you, Angel. Always did. Why did you ask him to spare me?’
‘Why didn’t you kill him when he approached you?’ countered Angel.
Senta shrugged. ‘My great-grandfather was a congenital idiot. My father was convinced I took after him. I think he was right.’
‘Answer the question, damn you!’
‘He had no weapon in his hand. I have never killed an unarmed man. It’s not in me. Does that satisfy you?’
‘Aye, it does,’ admitted Angel. His head came up, nostrils flaring. Without a word he strode back to the cabin, emerging moments later with his sword strapped to his waist. The sound of walking horses came to Senta and he loosened his sabres in their scabbards, but remained where he was at the well. Belash came into sight, stepping from the cabin doorway, knife in his right hand, whetstone in his left. Waylander said something to Miriel, and she vanished into the cabin, then the black-garbed warrior lifted his double crossbow from the hook on his belt, swiftly drawing back the strings and notching two bolts into place.
The first of the horsemen came into view. He wore a full-faced helm of gleaming black metal, a black breastplate and a blood-red cloak. Behind him came seven identical warriors, each riding black geldings, none less than sixteen hands high. Senta stood and strolled to where Waylander and the others were standing.
The horsemen reined in before the cabin, the horses forming a semi-circle around the the waiting men. No one spoke and Senta felt his skin crawl as he scanned the black knights. Only their eyes could be seen, through thin rectangular slits in the black helms. The expressions were all the same – cold, expectant, confident.
Finally one of them spoke. Senta could not tell which one, for the voice was muffled by the helm.
‘Which of you is the wolfshead Dakeyras?’
‘I am,’ replied Waylander, addressing the rider directly before him.
‘The Master has sentenced you to death. There is no appeal.’
The knight reached a black gauntleted hand to his sword-hilt, drawing the blade slowly. Waylander started to lift the crossbow -but his hand froze, the weapon still pointing at the ground. Senta looked at him, surprised, and saw the muscles of his jaw clench, his face redden with effort.
Senta drew the first of his sabres and prepared to attack the horsemen, but even as the blade came clear he saw one of the horsemen glance towards him, felt the man’s cold stare touch him like icy water. Senta’s limbs froze, a terrible pressure bearing down on him. The sabre sagged in his hand.
The black knights dismounted and Senta heard the whispering of steel swords being drawn from scabbards. Something bounced at his feet, rolling past him. It was the whetstone Belash had been carrying.
He struggled to move, but his arms felt as if they were made of stone.
And he saw a black sword rising towards his throat.
*
Inside the cabin Miriel lifted Kreeg’s crossbow from the wall, flicking open the winding arms and swiftly rotating them, drawing the string back to the bronze notch. Selecting a bolt she pressed it home and swung back towards the door.