Darkness retreated before her; the tunnel sloped upwards, closing tight about Sig, constricting and claustrophobic after the high-roofed chamber. Soon the noise of battle faded. Side tunnels breached the main path, but fat spots of blood showed Sig the way, leading her ever higher in the main tunnel. Then she saw Rimmon running ahead, a shadow at the edge of her torch’s reach, the tunnel too close for him to unfurl his great wingspan.
Or perhaps my spear throw has injured his wing.
Rimmon stumbled, one shoulder scraping against the tunnel wall, righted himself and ran on. Sig increased her pace, no need for stealth. Rimmon knew she was there; knew she was gaining.
A light ahead, bright in the darkness. Daylight, not torch or fire.
A spurt of speed from Sig, twenty paces behind the Kadoshim now. Ten. Cobwebs draped Sig’s face. Daylight loomed, bright and blinding, the Kadoshim a black silhouette.
Squinting into the white glare, Sig threw the spear. It arced forwards, trailing fire and smoke, and Sig saw the dark shadow of the Kadoshim tumble and fall. Moments later she burst out into a winter’s sun, a pale, cloud-choked morning almost blinding her.
They were on the hilltop with the squawking of disturbed crows, around them open air and the wind snatching at clothes, setting Sig’s blonde warrior braid fluttering. In the far distance she saw the stain of the Darkwood and the towers of Uthandun before it.
Rimmon rolled upon a flat patch of grass, the spear tangled between his legs, guttering black smoke. Sig swung her sword overhead, aiming to carve the beast in two. With a snarl the Kadoshim swept to the side, part-roll, part-beat of wings, a heartbeat later and he was upright, sword in his fist, though Sig saw one of the wings was twisted, like an injured arm. Malice radiated from the Kadoshim’s dark eyes.
With a snap, leathery wings were unfolding and Rimmon rose unsteadily into the air, a blast of wind rocking him, one wing leaking blood at the shoulder-joint. For a moment the Kadoshim hovered in the sky, the sun behind framing him in a luminous halo.
‘Finish this another time,’ Rimmon hissed. Another pulse of wings and the Kadoshim veered away, swerving through the air like a man after too much mead. He tested his wings, darted forwards again, well out of reach of Sig’s sword as the giant ran to the hill’s flat edge and swayed a moment, risking a long, bone-breaking tumble to the ground far below. The Kadoshim sank a little in the air, another beat of his wings taking him further away, though hugging the hillside.
‘I’d rather finish you now, Rimmon of the Kadoshim,’ Sig muttered.
She unclipped her net and swung it over her head, a whistling sound as the cord and weights in its four corners cut air, then she released it, high, arcing up and then down, dropping gracefully, corners spread.
The net folded around the Kadoshim, snaring his wings, wrapping around limbs, and Rimmon screeched, twisting in the air as he thrashed, spitting and biting, trying to tear his way free, but with every movement the cords snared tighter and the Kadoshim folded and plummeted to the ground.
Sig sheathed her sword across her back and launched herself over the edge, skidding and sliding down a grassy slope. She toppled and rolled a hundred paces, righted herself, saw the Kadoshim still falling, close to the hill’s base now.
‘HAMMER,’ Sig bellowed through cupped hands and heard a faint rumbling roar drift up to her as the Kadoshim hit the hillside and bounced away, spun through the air a good fifty paces and crunched and rolled as the ground levelled out.
Sig continued her sliding fall down the hill, saw Hammer appear lumbering out from between boulders. Rimmon had stopped rolling now, was still for a few moments and then slowly extricated himself from the net and began to drag and crawl away through the grass, wings trailing behind.
Hammer stopped at the foot of the hill, looking up at Sig, who yelled snatched commands as she made her way down the slope. The bear turned, head swaying on its thick-muscled neck, and then thundered after the Kadoshim.
The ground levelled beneath Sig and she half ran, half stumbled towards Hammer. The huge bear stood over the Kadoshim, one paw upon his chest, pinning him to the ground. Rimmon writhed and squirmed beneath the bear’s weight, limbs and wings batting feebly at it, but Hammer did not move.
Sig drew her sword as she reached them and stood over the Kadoshim. He was bloody and broken, limbs and wings twisted, one leg showing bone, his pale, dark-veined face splattered with blood, but his eyes still radiated a malefic fury.
Sig levelled her sword at the creature’s throat.
‘I would like nothing more than to kill you now,’ she grated, ‘but I have questions for you: so many followers here? The man you sacrificed – why? And the message you sent?’
The Kadoshim stilled a moment.
‘I will tell you nothing,’ Rimmon spat, voice as broken as his body. A trickle of black blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.
‘We shall see,’ Sig said, retrieving her net from the ground a dozen paces away. ‘Perhaps not now, and I am not the most patient of questioners. But I shall take you back to Dun Seren . . .’
Something swept across the Kadoshim’s face at the mention of Sig’s home, the fortress where the Order of the Bright Star were based.
Have the Kadoshim learned to fear us? A hundred years of bloodshed has given them good cause.
Suddenly the Kadoshim had a knife in his fist and he was stabbing frenziedly at Hammer’s paw, sinking deep, blood spurting. The bear roared and jerked away, the Kadoshim – abruptly free – was up and stumbling at Sig, knife lunging for her belly.
Then Hammer’s jaws clamped around Rimmon’s torso, lifting him bodily from the ground, jaws snapping tighter as it shook the Kadoshim furiously, blood spraying, bones snapping. The bear hurled the Kadoshim to the ground, slammed one paw upon the winged demon’s torso and grabbed its head, ripping it from its shoulders with a wet, tearing sound.
Sig stood and stared. It was all over in a handful of heartbeats.
‘I think you are more bad-tempered than I am,’ she muttered, patting the bear’s neck.
CHAPTER EIGHT
RIV
Riv cursed under her breath, a continuous muttering as she scrubbed the floor of one of the many communal latrines in Drassil. It was early and she was on latrine duty, not her favourite of tasks at the best of times, but even less so today. Her sleep had been troubled with bad dreams. In the light of day they were ephemeral, only a vague memory of weightless, endless falling.
‘What’s that?’ Carsten said. Just like Riv, he was the child of a White-Wing, born in Drassil and raised to become a warrior of the White-Wings. He was a year younger than Riv, as were all on the latrine team with her; because she had failed her warrior trial, all of her friends were training on the weapons-field as White-Wings, but not her.
‘For my shame,’ she muttered, then looked up at him. ‘What’s what?’