Yet.
But now something had changed and each defender felt the stirrings of a terrible fear. Angel noticed it first – a coldness in the pit of the belly. His hands began to tremble. The Nadir warrior alongside him dropped his sword, a low, keening moan coming from his lips. Angel glanced at Senta. The swordsman was leaning on the wall and staring out over the narrows of the pass. The Gothir had fallen back, but instead of regrouping they had retreated out of sight. At first the fifty Nadir warriors manning the rough-built wall had jeered and shouted. But now an uncomfortable silence settled on the defenders.
Angel shivered. The black walls of the mountains loomed around him, and he felt as if he were standing inside the gaping jaws of an enormous monster. The trembling worsened. He tried to sheath his sword, but it clattered against the scabbard. He swore and laid the blade against the wall.
Three Nadir warriors turned and ran back up the pass, leaving their weapons behind them. The voice of Belash roared out. The fleeing men halted and turned, sheepishly. But the fear was growing.
Angel made his way to Senta’s side. His legs felt they had no strength, and he leaned on the wall for support. ‘What the devil is happening?’ he asked Senta. The other man, his face pale, his eyes wide, did not reply. Movement came from the mouth of the pass. Angel swung his head and saw a line of black-cloaked, black-armoured men moving towards the wall.
‘The Knights of Blood!’ whispered Senta, his voice shaking.
A Nadir beside him cried out and fell back, his bladder loosening, urine soaking his leggings. Angel saw Belash sheath his sword and snatch a bow from a warrior’s hand. Notching an arrow the stocky Nadir climbed to the top of the wall and drew back on the string. Angel heard him groan – and cry out. Then Belash slowly began to turn.
Angel hurled himself at Senta, dragging him back just as the arrow was loosed. It flashed past them, ricocheting from a rock and plunging into the shoulder of a crouching warrior.
Silently the Knights of Blood advanced.
The Nadir seemed powerless to stop them. Angel scrambled to his feet and took up his sword. The trembling was now so great he knew he would not be able to use it. The defenders began to stream back from the wall – even Belash.
A tiny man in ragged clothes moved into sight, Miriel beside him. He was wizened and ancient, but Angel felt a sudden surge of elation, cutting through the fear, firing his blood. The Nadir paused in their flight. The little shaman ran to the wall, climbing nimbly to the top. The Knights of Blood were less than twenty paces from the wall.
Kesa Khan raised his hands and flashes of blue fire leapt from palm to palm. Angel felt all fear lifting from him; anger replaced it. The shaman’s hands swept out, bony fingers pointing at the marching, black-cloaked warriors. Blue fire lanced into the line, rippling over breastplates and helms. The man at the centre of the line stumbled. Blue fire became red as his hair burst into flames. Cloaks and leggings blazed – and the advancing line broke, men beating at the tongues of flame licking at their clothing.
The Nadir defenders returned to the wall, taking up bow and spear and sending shaft after shaft into the milling men.
The Knights of Blood broke and ran.
The little Nadir leapt down from the wall and walked away without a word.
Miriel approached Angel. ‘You should sit down. Your face is the colour of snow.’
‘I’ve never known such a fear,’ he admitted.
‘But you didn’t run,’ she pointed out.
Ignoring the compliment he gazed after the Nadir shaman. ‘I take it that was Kesa Khan. He doesn’t waste a lot of time on conversation, does he?’
She smiled. ‘He’s a tough old man, but he’s exhausted. That spell will have weakened him more than you could possibly know.’
Senta joined them. ‘We can’t hold this place,’ he said. “They almost broke through this morning, twice. Only the Source knows how we held them off.’