Энтони Райан - Queen of Fire

Iron Claw reared up with a bellow, both claws raised high. The red men tried to spur their horses aside but too late as the claws came down, digging deep into the spine of both animals. They screamed and thrashed as blood fountained, the red men rolling clear of the carnage, coming swiftly to their feet before being brought down by Astorekʼs wolves. They struggled in silence, each held fast by four wolves, their jaws clamped on each limb. They stared up at Vaelin with all the malice he remembered, malice that turned to outright terror as Wise Bear climbed down from Iron Clawʼs back.

They begged and screamed in unison, both uttering the same pleas and guttural exhalations as the shaman knelt and pressed his hands to their foreheads. The shuddering ceased in an instant, both red men falling silent, then blinking in confusion as Wise Bear removed his hands and retreated. They gaped at each other then at Vaelin… then the wolves.

“Brother…” one said, looking up at him in white-faced entreaty.

Vaelin turned Scar about as the wolves did their work, deaf to the brief screams rising above the chorus of snarls. Mishara was at his side once more, nose pointed to a dense mass of battling figures near the western edge of what remained of the camp. A brief survey confirmed most of the field was now in their hands. The southern flank had been completely shattered under the weight of the Wolf Peopleʼs numbers. He could see the warriors moving through the mist, long spears held low, bunching occasionally to deal with small clusters of resistance. To the north the tribesfolk had surrounded what appeared to be the remnants of the Volarian cavalry, a few hundred mounted men hemmed in and trying vainly to break free. He watched rider after rider falling to the mountain peopleʼs flailing axes, their ingrained disunity seemingly forgotten now.

“My lord!”

Vaelin ducked instinctively at Orvenʼs shouted warning, something flickering past his head too fast to see. He dragged Scar about to face three men running towards him through the haze, each lightly armoured and bearing a sword in each hand. Kuritai.

Orven blocked the charge of the leader, crouching low to sweep his sword at the slave-eliteʼs legs. The Kuritai leapt the blade easily and whirled in midair, his blade aimed at Orvenʼs neck. The captain, however, was no novice and parried the blow, jabbing his own sword into the Kuritaiʼs face, then bringing the sword up and around in a swift and near-perfect riposte that left the man staggering with a gaping throat wound.

He turned to engage another as the third dodged past them and made for Vaelin, leaping with twin swords raised high. Mishara met him in midair, fastening her fangs on his head and bearing him to the ground, shaking him until his neck gave an audible crack.

Vaelin spurred Scar forward, seeing Orven being hard-pressed by the remaining Kuritai, the twin swords delivering a swift and complex pattern of blows that forced the guardsman to his knees. Vaelin was still ten feet short of them when the Kuritai sent Orvenʼs sword spinning from his grasp and raised his blades for the final blow, then abruptly stiffened, head snapping up as Lorkan blinked into view, arm extended to thrust a dagger into the base of the slave-eliteʼs skull.

The Gifted withdrew the blade with a distasteful grimace and looked up at Vaelin as he trotted closer. His face was streaked with blood from a cut somewhere in the dark mane of his hair, obliging him to continually wipe it from his eyes.

“You have to come,” he said, swaying a little as he pointed his bloody dagger to the raging struggle nearby. “Itʼs Alturk.”

The wolves went ahead of him, tearing apart the ragged Volarian line of wounded and part-blinded Varitai, allowing him to charge through with Wise Bear and Iron Claw close behind. He saw Alturk twenty yards ahead, war club whirling as he spun and dodged amidst a circle of red men. The Sentar were attempting to come to his side but were being held back by a company of Kuritai, Lonak and slave-elite locked in a vicious struggle as the Tahlessa fought hopeless odds. But still he lived, cuts on his arms, face and legs, but he remained standing as the red men danced.

Vaelin urged more speed from Scar but the warhorse was tiring now, foam covering his flanks and mouth, his stride laboured and shuddering with effort. Vaelin watched as Alturk dodged a sword and brought his club around to slam into his assailantʼs side, deliberately avoiding the killing blow to the head as Vaelin had instructed. The red men, however, had clearly allowed the blow to land to draw Alturk forward, two of them dancing closer to slash at his legs. He sidestepped the first stroke but not the second, the blade biting deep into his thigh and sending him to one knee, teeth bared in a grimace.

Another red man leapt and delivered a kick to Alturkʼs jaw, sending him sprawling. The red man landed nimbly astride the Tahlessaʼs prostrate form, a wide smile on his lips as he raised his sword. Alturk spat blood into his face and the red man stepped back, smile vanished into a snarling mask of malice.

Scar collided with a Kuritai, sending him spinning, Vaelin rising high in the saddle as the red man lunged at Alturk, then collapsed as an arrow sank into his leg. Another red-armoured figure darted towards the Lonak but drew up as Vaelin closed, sword raised too late to counter Scarʼs flailing hooves, taking a kick to the chest and flying backwards.

The remaining red men closed on Vaelin, moving with uncanny speed. Another arrow streaked from the surrounding turmoil to take the leader in the leg. The others paused, crouched low and eyes scanning for enemies. Kiral came into view, walking forward at an almost leisurely pace as she loosed arrows from her stout flat bow, each of the red men falling as the shafts found their legs.

The wolves moved in as Vaelin dismounted, running to Alturkʼs side where Kiral was already crouched. The red men screamed and railed as the wolves took hold of their limbs and Wise Bear slid from Iron Clawʼs back. He walked from one to the other, crouching to touch his palm to their heads, their cries falling silent one by one. He paused at the last one, drawing back with his squat features tensed in confusion.

“Canʼt…” Alturk grunted and clutched at the wound in his leg. “Canʼt you even allow me a decent death?”

Kiral slapped him, a hard smack to the cheek, berating him in her own language. Vaelinʼs knowledge of Lonak was poor but he did catch the word “father” amidst the angry torrent. Alturkʼs anger faded as she continued to rail at him, tearing a strip from his buckskins and moving to bind his wound.

Vaelin rose and went to where Wise Bear stood over the remaining red man, the wolvesʼ teeth having silenced the others. The shaman frowned, shaking his head in confusion as the red man stared up at him, spread-eagled in the wolvesʼ grip, sweat covering his face, blood flowing freely from his nose and the corners of his eyes. Vaelin felt it then, a sudden doubling of his heartbeat, a tremble seizing his limbs.

The power to freeze a manʼs heart with fear, he recalled and found himself laughing. “Fear,” he said, crouching next to the red man and capturing his gaze. “In truth itʼs a small thing, and an old friend.” He drove the pommel of his sword hard into the manʼs temple, leaving him sagging and barely conscious. Wise Bear shook his head, muttering a curse in his own tongue then crouching to press a hand to the red manʼs brow. He stiffened for a moment, a chilled gasp escaping his chest, then lay still.

Vaelin turned away as the wolves finished the task, watching the last of the Kuritai fall to the Sentar. Somewhere behind him the tribesfolk were singing some kind of victory song, the tune was discordant but they all seemed to know the words.