The knight’s stallion, almost at the point of exhaustion, stumbled upon the shale and half-fell. Innicas jumped clear. Belash bore down upon him. The shoulder of Belash’s stallion cannoned into the knight, punching him from his feet. Dragging on the reins Belash leapt lightly to the shale.
‘You killed my father,’ he said. ‘Now you will serve him for eternity.’
Innicas, sword in hand, gazed upon the stocky Nadir. The man had no armour, and carried only a short sabre.
The albino’s courage returned. ‘You cannot stand against me, vermin!’ he sneered. Til cut you into pieces.’
Belash attacked, but Innicas’ sword blocked the blow and a murderous riposte saw the black blade bury itself in Belash’s side, cleaving under the ribs. With the last of his strength Belash dropped his sword and drew his curved dagger. Innicas wrenched at his blade, trying to drag it clear. Belash reached out, his left hand clawing at Innicas’ helm, fingers hooking around the broken visor. Innicas felt himself being drawn into a deadly embrace. ‘No!’ he shouted. Belash’s knife plunged into Innicas’ left eye, piercing him to the brain. Both men fell.
Innicas twitched and was still. Belash, with trembling hands, opened the blood-drenched pouch at his side, tipping the fingerbones on to the chest of the dead knight. ‘Father,’ he whispered, blood bubbling from his lips. ‘Father …’
*
In his panic Innicas had misread the battle. Despite being surprised by the arrival of the white knights, the Brotherhood still had the advantage of numbers. Only seven of the Nadir warriors remained now and, despite being joined by the twenty white-cloaked knights, they were outnumbered by more than two to one.
Angel, bleeding from several wounds, could feel the battle was ready to turn against the Brotherhood. Their leader had fled, and the arrival of the white knights had stunned them. But the enemy could yet win, he knew.
Not while I live, he thought.
A sword slashed past his face, the flat of the blade slamming against his chin. He went down and struggled to rise. Hooves pounded on the earth all around him. Rearing up he pushed a booted foot from the stirrups and propelled the rider to the ground. Taking hold of the pommel he tried to mount the horse, but it reared, throwing him to the ground once more.
With a curse Angel gathered up his fallen sword. A blade lashed down. Angel blocked the blow and, as the rider rode past him, reached up and grabbed the man’s cloak, hauling him from the saddle. The knight hit the ground hard. The point of Angel’s sword slid between visor and helm and with all his weight Angel drove the weapon deep into the man’s skull. The blade snapped. Angel swore.
There was a fallen sword close by. Dodging between the milling horses Angel reached for it, but a rearing hoof smashed into his head and he fell face down on to the grass.
*
He awoke to silence and a terrible pounding in his skull.
‘I always seem to be stitching your wounds,’ said Senta.
Angel blinked and tried to focus on the ceiling above him. It was twisted at a crazy angle, and the window below it was canted absurdly. There’s something wrong with my eyes,’ he muttered.
‘No. It’s this place – Kar-Barzac. Nothing is as it should be here. Kesa Khan says it has been corrupted over the centuries by sorcery.’
Angel struggled to sit, but his head swam and he fell back. ‘What happened?’ he groaned.
‘I arrived to save you.’
‘Single-handed, I suppose.’
‘Close. We waited until just after midnight then, when the Gothir had fallen back for the fifth time, we ran for our horses. There were only thirty of us left, but it was enough to send the Brotherhood fleeing from the field.’
‘I don’t remember that,’ said Angel. ‘In fact, my thoughts are hazy. I seem to recall ghosts riding to our rescue, in white armour.’
‘Priests,’ said Senta. ‘Source priests.’
‘In armour?’
‘An unusual Order,’ said Senta. They call themselves the Thirty, although there are only eleven of them now. They are led by an Abbot named Dardalion.’
‘He was at Purdol. He helped Karnak. Get me up!’