Текст книги "The Raven Collection"

Автор книги: James Barclay

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 235 страниц)

‘Can we expect anything from them?’ asked Heryst.

‘Gresse and Blackthorne will help us out with the Bay of Gyernath, but aside from that . . .’ Styliann shook his head.

‘Worthless parasites,’ muttered Vuldaroq.

‘I tend to agree,’ said Barras. ‘So, what’s the next move?’

‘We all agree how many men we are prepared to release, appoint ourselves a military commander and go home and review our offensive magics,’ said Vuldaroq, drumming his fingers quickly on the arm of his chair.

‘Heryst, is Darrick here?’ asked Barras.

Heryst smiled. ‘I thought it prudent to bring him,’ he replied.

‘Well, I think we can save ourselves the agony of choice over a commander. General Darrick has to be the only man with both the respect and the ability to do the job. I suggest we bring him in and ask him what he thinks he needs.’

There was a warmth around the table of a quality rarely experienced when the four-College delegation met. But it was a warmth Heryst dispelled.

‘And while we are waiting, perhaps we could answer a question we seem to have overlooked. How by all the Gods are we going to stop the Wytch Lords this time?’

It had been coming. The tension had been growing since they left Dordover, but it didn’t make the incident any less regrettable.

Now only at most two days’ ride from the Castle, Thraun had taken his charges away from any known paths and deep into a region of typical Balaian wild countryside. Tumbledown crags and thick woodland shrouded small plateaux and sharp inclines which hid streams and bogland at their feet.

The going was difficult and slow, and more often than not, the riders were forced to dismount and lead their horses over treacherous terrain where a hoof out of place could mean disaster.

The pace preyed on Alun’s faltering confidence. Thraun could sense it. And despite his reassurances, and the certain knowledge in himself that this was as safe a route as existed, Alun’s impatience threatened to boil over into open dispute.

With the day disappearing behind the tree line and late afternoon cloud, Thraun brought them to a halt on an area of flat ground by a stream’s edge. It was lush and green and hemmed in by sharp slopes from which scrub and tree clung precariously. A littering of large lichen-covered rocks told of falls in times long past.

Thraun dismounted and patted his horse’s rump. The animal trotted away a couple of strides before bending its neck to the water, lapping gently. Cloud was building from the west and the scent of rain, though faint, was growing while the warmth of daylight was giving way to a cool evening.

‘There’s still daylight,’ said Alun unhappily. ‘We could go on.’

‘Light’ll fade quickly in these valleys,’ said Thraun. ‘And this is a safe site.’ He laid a hand on Alun’s shoulder. ‘We’ll get there in good time. Trust me.’

‘How do you know?’ Alun shook his hand off and walked away, his eyes flicking over the campsite.

‘We’ll be fine so long as it doesn’t rain,’ said Will, glancing in Alun’s direction, a frown on his brow. ‘Is he—’

‘No, not really,’ replied Thraun. ‘I think his nerves are going. Try to treat him gently. He needs all the reassurance we can give him.’ He sniffed the air. A light breeze was rustling the foliage. ‘And it won’t rain, either.’

‘Just keep him calm,’ warned Will. ‘We can’t risk him buckling on us.’

Thraun nodded. ‘You get the stove going, I think I ought to be explaining a few things to him.’

Will inclined his head. Thraun moved off towards his friend, his footfalls absolutely silent across the ground. Alun was sitting on a spit of gravelled stone on a right-hand bend in the stream. He had a handful of small stones and alternately rattled them in his fist or flicked one into the slow-moving water. Thraun sat beside him, startling him from his thoughts.

‘Gods . . .’

‘Sorry,’ said Thraun. He flicked his ponytail absently.

‘How can you be so quiet?’ Alun’s question was only half good-humoured.

‘Practice,’ said Thraun. ‘Come on then, tell me what’s on your mind and I’ll tell you why you shouldn’t be worrying.’

Alun’s face reddened and he looked hard at Thraun, his eyes moist.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he said, his voice overloud for the peace of the stream bank. ‘We’re travelling too slowly. By the time we get there, they’ll be dead.’

‘Alun, I know what I am doing. That’s why you came to me, remember?’ Thraun kept his voice deliberately calm and quiet, though its native gruffness was always evident. ‘We know the motive for the kidnap wasn’t murder or they wouldn’t have taken them in the first place. We also know that Erienne will buy as much time as possible, and will be as co-operative as possible while she waits for rescue or release. I know how hard it is for you, I’d feel the same way, but you just have to be patient.’

‘Patient.’ Alun’s voice was bitter. ‘We’re going to sit here, calmly eat and sleep, while my family are one step from death. How dare you be so calculating? You’re playing with their lives!’

‘Quiet down,’ hissed Thraun, the yellow in his eyes gaining intensity. ‘All your shouting will bring us is unwelcome attention. Now listen. I understand your pain and your desire to be on the move all the time, but I am playing with no one’s life, believe me. We can’t afford to flog ourselves in the rush to get there or we’ll be serving ourselves up for slaughter. If we are to save your family, we have to be fresh and alert. Now please, come and eat.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘You need food. You’re not helping yourself and you’re not thinking clearly.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t just sit here and do nothing!’ Alun’s voice put birds to flight.

From nowhere, Will appeared and clamped his hand over Alun’s mouth. The little man’s eyes were wild and his face was angry and contemptuous.

‘Oh, you’re doing something all right. You’re risking my life with your bleating. Stop it, or I’ll open your throat and the rest of us can get on with it.’

‘Will, let him go!’ growled Thraun. He half rose but the look in Will’s eye stopped him. Alun, his expression frozen, stared at Thraun demanding help his friend could not, or would not, give.

‘We will get your family our way.’ Will spoke into Alun’s ear. ‘We’ll go slow and careful, because that way we’ll all get out alive.

Now whether you’re with us or face-down in this water makes no odds to me because I’ll get my pay. But I think your family would rather it was the former, so I suggest you keep your loud mouth firmly shut.’ He thrust Alun away and stalked back past Thraun. ‘Never let clients come along.’

From the other side of the stove, on which sat a pan of water, Jandyr paused and watched the exchange at the water’s edge, a heaviness in his heart. For him it was easy to see why they would never get far as a recovery team although the ingredients were all there.

They had the master thief, the silent trailfinder and the hunter. All were quick, all could fight and all had good brains. But the personalities were wrong. Thraun, despite his size and presence, was too gentle, too easy to persuade. Witness that Alun was with them rather than keeping the lights burning at home. And Will was far too high-strung; his need for quiet and control spoke of his lack of inner calm, and it was at odds with his profession.

Looking at himself, Jandyr knew that his heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t a mercenary, not really. Just an elf who could make money from his skill with a bow until he stumbled on his true vocation. He only hoped he’d find it before it was too late.

Tasting the angry atmosphere and seeing the three men sitting apart from one another, he thought it probably already was.

General Ry Darrick smoothed the map out over the table. The senior mages from the four Colleges grouped around him; the delegates had to be content with viewing from whatever angle they could. Only Vuldaroq remained seated.

Darrick was a tall man, well in excess of six foot, with a mass of light brown curly hair cut over the ears, across the forehead and above the nape of his neck. The untameable mane gave him a boyish look which his face, round, tanned and clean, did nothing to discourage despite his thirty-three years.

Few people mistook his youthful appearance for naïvety more than once, and as he bent over the map, the senior mages hung on his every word.

Darrick’s reputation as a master tactician had been made in the years that culminated in the loss of Understone Pass to Tessaya and the Wesmen. He led raids deep into Wesmen lands to disrupt the build-up of men and provisions, extending eastern governance of the pass by probably four years.

Since then, Barons who could afford his and Lystern’s fees, and who didn’t already have The Raven, sought his advice in larger conflicts. That he would command the total respect of any four-College army was not in question.

‘Well, the good news is that given our regular troop levels, we are defensible, but that does rely on your estimates of Wesmen numbers being accurate. I would also be happier if they attack without Wytch Lord support, because if they do breach our defences, I fear we will have little in reserve to halt their march to Korina, Gyernath and the Colleges.’ He looked left and right. ‘Can everyone see all right?’ He gestured at the map of Balaia, the Northern Continent.

Dominating Balaia’s geography were the Blackthorne Mountains, which ran like an untidy scar north to south, coast to coast, not quite dividing the land into two equal parts.

To the east, the marginally smaller area that its indigents liked to call civilisation. Rich farmland, dense forests, free-flowing water courses and natural harbours gave ideal conditions for people and trade to flourish.

To the west, rugged terrain, crag, thin windblown soils and shrubland predominated, with only small pockets suitable for settling to any profitable degree. South-west, the crowded Wesmen Heartlands; north-west, the Torn Wastes.

Popular myth held that East and West Balaia were once wholly separate lands drifting in the vast ocean waters before colliding with slow and cataclysmic result. The rockfalls that still blighted areas of the Blackthornes gave some credence to the story.

‘Now, you don’t have to be a general to know there are three points of potential entry into the east. To the south, the Bay of Gyernath, to the north, Triverne Inlet and, of course, Understone Pass a third of the way down the range. We can discount the three recognised overground passes here, here and here in terms of an invasion because they are long, dangerous and simply unsuited to mass troop movement. That doesn’t mean, though, that I will be ignoring them completely.’ He reached across the map and picked up a glass of water, standing straight while he drank.

‘You don’t think they’ll attempt to sail further along the northern and southern coasts, I take it?’ asked Barras.

Darrick shook his head. ‘Not in great numbers, no,’ he said. ‘I fully expect them to send skirmish and raiding forces at least as far as Gyernath, but they don’t have the ships for mass troop carriage. Going across the bays is easy, quick and any size of vessel will do.’

‘So what will they do?’ Vuldaroq’s eyes traced the outline of the map and Balaia’s uneven, pitted coastline.

‘There are two linked agendas we have to consider, one subordinate to the other,’ replied Darrick. ‘The Wesmen have long vowed to rid the world of the four Colleges. The Wytch Lords want that too, but only as part of the plan to control the entire continent.

‘The main thrust of an invasion is therefore likely to be concentrated on Understone Pass and Triverne Inlet. I’ll take the two in turn.

‘Understone Pass will take the majority of traffic. It’s quick, heavy equipment movement is relatively simple and the Wesmen already control it at both ends. Fortunately, its width is not so great that overwhelming numbers can emerge at too fast a pace, but any army will have to be confronted right at its eastern entrance, so limiting our defensive options.

‘I will station myself there with five hundred horse and five thousand foot as a matter of urgency. Understone itself is merely an early-warning station; its KTA garrison numbers fewer than one hundred and is pitifully trained and experienced. I will call for more magical support when I have assessed the defensive requirements first hand.

‘I can’t over-stress the importance of holding them at the pass. Understone is less than four days’ ride from Xetesk, only five from where we are standing now, and there is precious little in between to halt an advance.’

He paused to gauge reaction. The senior mages were concentrating hard. Barras was biting the tips of his fingers, Vuldaroq’s lips were pursed and Heryst was nodding, still scanning the map. Styliann frowned.

‘You have a point to raise, my Lord?’ Darrick asked of him.

‘Could we not take the pass?’ he suggested.

‘It is not tactically necessary given my defensive brief, and I personally would consider it an act of monumental folly to try. The pass is undoubtedly being reinforced as we speak. The barracks inside can accommodate in excess of six thousand men.’

‘But with significant offensive magic . . .’ said Styliann.

‘Hand to hand, we would lose men in a three-to-one ratio. We don’t have the numbers to spare. Your magic would be required to improve those odds better than one to one for me to consider it as a serious option.’ Darrick shrugged. ‘I know of no such magics that can be brought to bear to that effect.’

Styliann smiled. ‘No. But should taking the pass become a strategic necessity – after all, we will surely need to take on the Wytch Lords, and they can hardly be expected to come to us – is it possible?’

‘Everything is possible, my Lord Styliann.’ Darrick’s response was cool.

‘Do you have something in mind you’d like to share?’ asked Vuldaroq.

‘No,’ said Styliann. ‘I just do not wish to see us closing the door on any potential advantages.’

‘I believe I can be trusted to ensure that doesn’t happen.’ Darrick’s bow was almost imperceptible. ‘Now, Triverne Inlet, open, hard to defend away from the beaches and less than four days’ ride from Julatsa . . .’

But Styliann wasn’t listening. Not to retake the pass risked ultimate victory. But he couldn’t push the point without giving a clue to his aspirations. Something would have to give and, looking at Darrick, he knew he couldn’t change the General’s mind alone. Perhaps it was time to let the Colleges know of Xetesk’s latest experiments. It would redefine the phrase ‘significant offensive magic’ for certain. He smiled inwardly and returned his attention to the military planning, suddenly desperate for a meeting with his best dimensional research mage, a man named Dystran.

Chapter 9

The Raven travelled for three days through countryside that changed by degrees from flat woodland to rough shrub and finally to barren hills, moors and valleys. The weather settled into a cycle of sunshine interspersed with cooling cloud blown up by occasionally strong winds, but throughout it all, the temperature had a warm evenness, even at night, and riding was comfortable.

They saw no one.

Approaching Septern’s house across a high moor, the ground changed from heather-strewn hard soil to lifeless dusty earth. In the distance, the air shimmered, light shining through a thin film of what looked like dust whipped up by the wind. The horses moved easily over the flat ground, and all around them, as for as the eye could see, the terrain was largely featureless but for the odd stunted tree or plate of rock jutting from the cracked dead earth.

‘What happened here?’ asked Hirad. He looked back over his shoulder to where the vegetation sprang up in a line almost as if it had been planted deliberately.

The Dark Mage blew out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know. The after-effects of a spell battle, I should think. It’s a little like the Torn Wastes, though not as blasted.’

‘Could it be something to do with Septern’s workshop?’ asked Ilkar, peering into the dust-filled distance.

‘Possibly.’ Denser shrugged. ‘Who knows what effects an un-maintained dimensional rip might have on its surroundings.’

‘What in all the hells is a “dimensional rip”?’ The Unknown’s face was blank.

‘Well, basically, it’s a hole in the fabric of our dimension that leads to another one or simply into interdimensional space, although there’s obviously far more to it than that.’

‘Obviously,’ muttered Hirad.

The Unknown glared at Hirad. ‘And are we near enough to this dimensional thing to suffer some kind of interference?’

‘Hard to say. I’m no expert on dimensional theory,’ replied Denser. ‘What Septern might have done is anyone’s guess. Septern was a genius, but his records are incomplete.’

‘He certainly was,’ said Ilkar. He scanned the horizon in the direction in which they had been travelling. He narrowed his eyes and spurred his horse into a walk forwards. Hirad, dragging on the reins of his mare, fell into step by him.

‘Can you see something, Ilks?’

‘Nothing much,’ replied Ilkar. ‘That shimmering messes up my long sight, I’m afraid. All I can say is that there appear to be large dark shapes a little to our left. How far, I can’t say.’

‘Shapes?’ Talan was the next to speak as the rest of The Raven began moving.

‘Buildings, at a guess. It could be rocks but I don’t think so.’

‘Well, let’s head for them,’ said Hirad. ‘They seem to be the only landmark we’ve got.’ Hirad dug his heels into his horse’s flanks and led the way across the plain with Ilkar at his side.

As they began to close, Ilkar added flesh to his earlier description. They were riding towards the ruin of a large mansion house and an outbuilding of some kind, probably a low barn.

‘Ruined? Are you sure?’ asked Denser.

‘ ’Fraid so,’ said Ilkar.

‘Is that bad?’ asked Hirad.

‘Not necessarily, though it certainly adds weight to the spell battle theory. Mage houses aren’t known for being easy to knock down,’ replied the Dark Mage.

‘Except by other mages,’ said Ilkar. ‘Or Wytch Lords.’

Denser raised his eyebrows. ‘Exactly.’ Inside his cloak, his cat hissed loud enough for all to hear, poked its head out briefly then withdrew in a hurry.

‘Oh dear,’ said Denser.

‘What is it?’ The Unknown turned in his saddle.

‘I think—’ began Denser, but a chilling howl cut him off. ‘That we are about to have company.’

‘What the hell was that?’ Hirad searched around him but could see nothing, though the single howl had been taken up by more throats.

‘Wolves,’ said Ilkar. ‘Big ones.’

‘No, they’re Destranas.’ The Unknown chewed his lip.

‘Destranas? Then that means Wesmen,’ said Talan, loosening his sword in its scabbard.

‘Yes,’ confirmed The Unknown. ‘We’ve got to make cover. Where are they coming from?’

‘The outbuilding.’ Ilkar pointed, and now they could all see, through the swirling haze that made up the horizon, large moving shapes in front of the distant black barn.

‘We’re in trouble,’ said Richmond.

‘Well spotted,’ muttered Hirad, staring around him for a way out. There was none.

‘All right,’ said The Unknown. ‘Let’s circle north and west and come to the buildings from another direction. We might lose them that way, and at least we’ll have made up some ground.’ He caught Hirad’s eye and added, in a low voice, ‘Although what good it’ll do is open to debate.’ He pushed his horse into a gallop, leaving the rest of the party temporarily trailing in his wake.

For a time it looked as though The Unknown’s idea had paid off. Hirad could see the dogs heading away from them, their handlers following more leisurely on horseback. He spurred his horse on, glanced behind him again, and suddenly the beasts were so much nearer and closing with appalling speed. They were huge, four feet high at the shoulder, and their howls and barks tore at the air and stung the ear.

‘Unknown!’ called Hirad. ‘We can’t outrun them. Look.’

The big warrior turned, looked and immediately wheeled his horse to a stop. ‘Everyone dismount!’ he ordered.

‘Ilkar, Denser, take the horses and let them loose if they are what the dogs want.’

‘They won’t be,’ said Denser. ‘If the Wesmen are here, we’re in bigger trouble than I thought. I’m going to try something. Only disturb me if you have to.’

‘What—’ began Ilkar.

‘Don’t ask,’ said Denser, and he turned his eyes to the skies and spread his arms wide.

‘We’ll have to protect him,’ said Hirad. The four fighting men formed a loose semicircle in front of Denser, the rhythmic tap of The Unknown’s sword on the ground a metronome for Hirad’s heartbeat. Behind them, Ilkar slapped at Denser’s horse and it trotted away with the others. The elf took up station to Denser’s rear, his sword ready, as the first of a dozen Destranas tore into the waiting quartet and the Wesmen, four of them, galloped up.

Fangs bared and flecked with foam, a huge dog leapt at Hirad’s head. Surprised by the distance and speed of the jump, the barbarian swayed reflexively aside and put his sword arm across his face. The animal caught the side of his head and both tumbled to the ground.

The Unknown, his blade before him, took a squat stance and waited as a black Destrana, tongue lolling, sped towards him. As it closed, he shifted his weight forwards and, anticipating a jump, flicked his sword upwards and took the animal under the jaw, skewering its brain. He moved aside and dragged his weapon clear, the dead weight dropping to the floor.

Hirad had been lucky and had fallen on top of the dog. Reacting instantly, he clamped a hand on the dog’s throat as it struggled to get its paws underneath itself. He dropped his sword, snatched a dagger from his belt and plunged it again and again into the exposed chest, blood jetting on to his armour. The next beast slammed straight into his back.

Talan and Richmond moved together as three animals slowed and paced towards their prey. Neither side seemed sure how to attack or defend, and in the ensuing pause, Denser’s spell came to awesome fruition.

The Dark Mage brought his arms together and crossed them, fists clenched and held at either shoulder. He opened his eyes wide, saw six dogs waiting and circling, pointed the index finger of his left hand in their direction and said one quiet word.

‘HellFire.’

Ilkar swore and flung himself to the ground.

Columns of fire screamed down from the sky, six of them, each striking a Destrana square on the top of the skull. Howls of animal terror and pain split the air as the beasts were transformed to flame, dying even as they stumbled and tripped. The three dogs circling Talan and Richmond turned and fled, but one ignored the mayhem behind it and grabbed Hirad’s back, bowling him over in the dirt.

The barbarian’s knife sprang from his hand. He was defenceless. He rolled over on to his back, shouting as the wound low down on his spine ground into the earth. The dog leapt forwards, lashing a claw across his chest, splitting the leather and drawing blood. Hirad scrabbled backwards but there was no escape. The Destrana loomed over him, saliva dripping in his face.

Grabbing a handful of dirt, Hirad flung it into the dog’s eyes. Distracted for a moment, the animal shook its head to clear its vision and The Unknown split its neck with a downward strike, the blade exiting the body and plunging into the ground scant inches from Hirad.

Silence. The wind blew up dust and bent the sparse weed. In front of Ilkar, Denser slumped to his knees, breathing hard as sweat poured down his face and his limbs shook. Talan and Richmond ran over to where Hirad still lay on the ground. The Unknown cleaned his sword before walking over to retrieve the barbarian’s weapons.

Ilkar got to his feet, brushed himself down and looked at the still burning carcasses of the dogs struck down by Denser’s magic. He didn’t know whether to congratulate the Dark Mage or rebuke him. HellFire. Gods above. No wonder he was on his knees. He did neither, trotting past Denser on his way over to Hirad. He could see the remaining dogs and their handlers still running away from them and the barn.

The barbarian was being helped to a sitting position by Richmond. He was pale and obviously shaken.

‘How is he?’ Ilkar asked Talan.

‘He’s been better,’ replied Hirad. ‘Can someone help me off with my shirt?’

‘Not yet,’ said The Unknown. ‘We need to get to cover. Can you ride?’

Hirad nodded and raised an arm, which Richmond took, helping him to his feet. They moved to Denser, who had still not stood up. Behind him, the horses were ambling back in a group.

‘You all right, Denser?’ asked Richmond.

The Dark Mage looked up and nodded, a wry smile on his face. ‘We have to stop the Wesmen,’ he gasped. ‘We can’t let them contact the Wytch Lords.’

‘We aren’t in a position to stop them right now,’ said Richmond. ‘Hirad’s hurt and we have to get to the barn.’

‘Where did they come from?’ asked Talan.

‘They must be camped near by. Watching the house on the orders of the Wytch Lords, no doubt.’ Richmond continued to scan the area into which the Wesmen had fled.

‘You took a risk there,’ said Ilkar, standing over the Dark Mage.

‘Justified, I think,’ said Denser, gesturing at the smouldering carcasses. ‘I’m learning to control it.’

‘So I see. Dangerous, though.’ Something caught Ilkar’s eye and he looked away.

‘And exhausting,’ said Denser. ‘I’m not even sure I can walk.’

‘Try,’ said Ilkar. ‘Try now.’ He could feel them all looking at him as he stared into the middle distance. ‘The dogs are coming back.’

‘Richmond, get the horses,’ ordered The Unknown. ‘Ilkar, see to Denser. Hirad, with me.’

Ilkar pulled Denser to his feet, the Dark Mage having to cling on to the elf’s cloak. With mounts spurred to a gallop, they began the race to the barn.

For Hirad, the ride was a blur of pain. He could feel the blood pouring from the wound in his back, soaking into his shirt and leather. With each stride, his energy ebbed as he thumped in his saddle, unable to maintain a riding rhythm. His eyes misted, his vision was ragged and he couldn’t properly see the way ahead. He was dimly aware of The Unknown moving close to him to hold him in his saddle. He didn’t even have the energy to indicate his thanks; it was all he could do to cling on to the reins.

Urgent orders were barked by The Unknown: the Destranas were catching them fast. They might just reach the barn before the animals overhauled them but it would be close. Richmond and Talan urged their mounts to greater effort towards the long low building. Hirad could feel his grip on consciousness slipping away. He dragged his head to one side to see Denser hunched over his horse with Ilkar shepherding him all the way. The Dark Mage looked for all the world as if he was dead.

Mustering the last of his strength, Hirad dug his heels into his mare’s flanks. The horse responded. The barn was only a hundred yards away. Richmond and Talan, having just reached it, pushed open a large door and slapped their horses inside. Moments later, The Unknown and Hirad thundered in and reined to a halt. The Unknown leapt from his saddle and Hirad slumped from his, legs folding, body sliding down the heaving flank of his horse.

‘Richmond, Talan, look after him,’ barked The Unknown.

He ran to the door and looked out. Denser and Ilkar were just yards away, the dogs almost on their heels, and rode past him into the barn. The Unknown moved a pace outside, pushed the barn door closed and slid the heavy wooden bolt home to lock it.

‘Unknown, what the hell are you doing?’ shouted Ilkar from inside the barn, pulling on the door, which gave only slightly.

‘Korina was the last time I fail to help my friends.’ The Destranas would be on him in a few heartbeats.

‘There’s no need, Unknown. They won’t hang around here for ever,’ said Talan. The banging on the door increased.

‘They will.’ Denser’s voice came laced with fatigue. ‘You don’t understand what they are. The door won’t hold them.’

‘He’ll die, you stupid bastard!’

The Unknown could hear the shouts of the barbarian as he squared up to the dogs. ‘We’ll see, Hirad. We’ll see.’

The huge dogs ate up the distance. One, a pale silver-grey, was slightly ahead of the other two, one of which was jet black, the other another shimmering shade of grey. The Unknown tapped the tip of his blade on the ground and breathed deep knowing his first strike was vital. With the front animal two paces away, he side-stepped and brought his sword through waist-high and rising, straight into the Destrana’s mouth.

Its neck snapped and its jaws splintered but its momentum brought it crashing into The Unknown’s shoulder. Man and beast fell against the door, the timbers groaned and The Unknown could hear someone kicking at the inside, then angry words.

Winded, the big warrior shovelled the dead animal from his legs and started to rise, but the others were on him so quickly. The grey one locked its jaws on to a shoulder plate, the other plucked at his helmet with a massive paw.

With a roar, The Unknown jabbed forwards one-handed and sliced into the grey’s right hind leg. The limb collapsed but the mouth hung on, teeth crushing the metal plate ever further as hot breath fired into his face.

The unharmed dog clouted The Unknown’s head again and he could feel himself weakening. His helmet was dashed from his skull, strap biting deep as it snapped. He choked and swung his blade in desperation, feeling only hilt and glove contact flesh. Snatching it back again, he felt the metal plate on his shoulder give a little more as the crippled beast shook its head from side to side. Waves of pain washed over The Unknown and the black Destrana howled, sensing victory. The noise cleared his head for a moment and he drove his blade deep into the beast’s throat, its exultation drowning in a fountain of blood.

As the sound died away, the plate gave out and huge jaws closed on flesh and bone. The Unknown screamed in agony and his eyes dimmed. His blade was wrenched from his hand as the dog pulled him on to his back. He whipped his fist into its face time and again but the fangs held firm as his blood flowed into the dirt.

The dog pulled its head back and lashed in a claw. The Unknown’s throat was torn out, and as his strength drained away, his head fell back. With a crack of breaking wood, the barn door opened inwards and a blade flashed across his fading vision. There was the thud of a body beside him.