Exile (Bloodforge Book 1) (28 page)

Beccorban’s back arched
as even his great muscles began to falter against the wild-eyed fury of his
attacker. The blond man had his back to her but Riella could hear his tortured,
lunatic breathing, and she imagined her guardian’s back snapping like dry wood
to leave him flopping around in the dirt like a boned fish. She looked around
for something to strike the blond man with but just then Beccorban exploded
into action. With the speed of a striking snake, the big warrior wrenched
around inside the grip of the other man and drove his elbow into the side of
his opponent’s head. The sound of bone striking bone was a thundercrack and
Riella winced in sympathy as the blond man was flung from Beccorban’s back like
a ragdoll. Another man would have stayed down but this one did not even pause,
rolling on to his front and standing to face Beccorban yet again, if a little
unsteadily this time.

Beccorban rose quickly
too and his face showed surprisingly little evidence of any exertion or
discomfort.
He must be in pain, surely?
she
thought. The combatants stood a few paces apart and caught their breath, and
Riella imagined that she was between two great and violent beasts, a bear and a
wolf, each with slavering jaws and claws as sharp as razors and as thick as a
man’s fingers. Beccorban stood in the pugilist’s pose, with one foot leading
the other and his knees bent, ready to stretch into the graceful line of a
jaw-shattering punch. The blond man stood straight with his arms dangling
loosely at his sides, yet he was no less menacing than the man opposite him.
His eyes were locked on to Beccorban’s as if they could draw him into their
green depths and snare him there before devouring him.

Beccorban spat on to the
ground and his voice was low and dark. “Be warned, lad. Your next step may be
your last.”

Riella’s mind raced as
she sought for something to say. She wanted Beccorban to draw Kreyiss but he
showed no intention of doing so — the outline of the fearful weapon was still
evident under his bearskin cloak.
If he
draws it he will have to kill him,
she thought. Looking at the wild blond
man that had attacked them, she was not sure she agreed with his restraint. The
newcomer remained silent and his head bowed so that his chin touched his chest.
Beccorban’s shoulders sagged a little and he seemed to breathe out in relief,
but just as quickly the blond man’s head snapped back up and his eyes were an
emerald fury. He leapt forward and caught the bigger man around the waist. Beccorban
had not been expecting it and he huffed as the air was driven from his lungs
and he was thrown backwards. The fence did not stop them and it splintered
under the impact of the two men, giving way as easily as glass. Mirril and
Loster threw themselves to the side as the two men came rolling through. They
fell backwards and tumbled down the grassy slope to come up fighting and
snarling at the bottom.

Riella and the others
ran through the wake of their passing. It looked as though some great monster had
ripped its way through the orchard, cutting a path in its rage. She stopped at
the top of the slope and started as a wet muzzle touched her elbow. It was the
horse, come to watch. She would have laughed at its apologetic expression were
the violence below her not so desperate.

The two men had fought
to their feet and now they were trading blows at a dazzling speed. Beccorban’s
punches were short jabs that slammed into the blond man’s body with enough
force to break ribs, yet the other barely seemed to notice, pummelling with
wilder strikes that were no less damaging. Once Beccorban tried to grapple with
his opponent but the blond man accepted it and stepped into Beccorban’s deadly
embrace to butt him in the face with his forehead. Beccorban reeled from the
blow and blood blossomed where he had caught it on his cheek, but he recovered
quickly and resigned himself to attacks that were less than an arm’s length
away.

Riella twitched and
fidgeted as she watched. She wanted so desperately to clamber down the slope
and help but what could she do that Beccorban could not?
Fighting is a man’s game
, said a voice in her mind.
The only game you know is played on your
back
. She shook her head to clear it of that nagging tone and focused on
the fight. Beside her, Loster flinched with every blow, and she sneered at his
weakness.
He’s just a green boy with
nothing between his legs but shame.

The blond man tried to
trip Beccorban with a straight leg planted firmly in the grass. If the old
bastard had been lighter it might have worked but Beccorban was all muscle and
seemed carved from granite, immovable when he wanted to be. He kicked the blond
man’s straight leg from under him and brought his boot up to stamp down but the
intended victim spun away as he fell so that he would not be trapped underneath
that hobnailed heel. Again the blond man sprang to his feet and advanced on
Beccorban to resume the fight.

A gust of wind flung
Riella’s hair across her face and she swept it away impatiently. Something
moved in the corner of her vision and she turned her head to look back at the
burnt remains of what must have once been a large home. For a moment, it seemed
like her heart stopped beating entirely and that great invisible hands closed
over her ears so that all she could hear was the rushing sound of her own
blood.

By the charred wood and
ashes of the house there stood eight tall knights in dark grey armour —
only she knew that they were not men at all but something much worse, for their
limbs were unnaturally long and thin and their leader wore a helm adorned with
spikes and twists of curled metal that resembled a stag’s antlers.

The things that had
burned Kressel, the second city of the greatest empire of man, were here.
Antler Helm had found them at last.

Riella felt her knees go
weak and her heart flutter like a bird trapped in the cage of her chest, but
then something else spoke up inside her and it was like icy water in her veins.
She would not fall down and weep like she knew other women would. She despised
those women. She would survive and she would see these foul creatures brought
low. But she could not do it by herself. She turned and ran back to the
clearing by the grave, ignoring Loster’s protests and leaping over the broken
wood of the fence to scan the long tufts of grass for the blond man’s fallen
sword. A glint of dark steel in the undergrowth caught her eye and she rushed
over and picked up the long bladed weapon with both hands. It was surprisingly
heavy. Riella had never held a real sword before, never touched something that
had been designed to end life. Her only experience was with knives, and they
were tools, not weapons.

She lifted the sword and
held the blade out from her body, then trotted back to the top of the slope. At
the bottom the two men were still fighting.

“Beccorban!” she
screamed at the top of her lungs but she was sure that he would not have
responded even if she had thrown a rock at his head. “Beccorban!” A quick
glance to her left confirmed that the eerie armoured figures were closing,
though not rushing. They loped forward on those long legs with the casual
arrogance of predators whose prey is cornered. They would be on her and the
others in a matter of minutes. She cursed and threw her mind aside from the
onrushing panic that tried to ensnare her. If she didn’t think about it, she
could not worry about it.

The horse snorted loudly
as if trying to join her cries but still the two men battled on with their
fists and their elbows. She wanted to run down and pull them apart like scolded
children but did not have the strength nor the time. Instead she plunged the
blade of the sword into the earth at her feet and cupped both her hands around
her mouth so that her voice would carry like a crossbow bolt right through the
rage that clouded Beccorban’s senses. “Helhammer!” she screamed. “Scourge!
Burner!”

Beccorban seemed to
stagger as if arrow-shot and he looked up at her with confusion. His hesitation
gave his opponent an opening and the blond man struck a mighty blow into
Beccorban’s chin with both his hands balled together as a great club. Beccorban
fell backwards and laid on his back like a tortoise that had been cruelly
flipped in the surf. The blond man loomed over him and, for a second, Riella
was horrified by what she had done.

A high mournful note
broke the stillness, like the drone of a giant mosquito. Riella turned to look
at the approaching warriors and saw that Antler Helm held a long horn that
curled back on itself in a series of spirals and loops. He lowered it again and
the figures with him seemed to gain pace, though still they did not run. Below
her, the blond man had turned away from Beccorban and was staring at the coming
soldiers with a look of confusion and hatred. Beccorban lay sprawled on his
back, blinking in surprise, pain etched on his bruised and swollen face.

“Get up!” she screamed
and the blond man looked at her, skewering her on those eyes of deepest green.
He switched his gaze to Mirril and a look of concern came over his face. He
began to march towards the girl, breaking into a run and storming up the slope
with the grace of a cat. Riella stepped in front of Mirril and held the sword
out from her with the point aimed at him as he approached. He slowed as he drew
nearer, looking curiously at Mirril before dropping his pace to a walk. He made
sure to walk an arm’s length away from the sword, out of the range of that
terrible steel blade. She tracked him as he went and not once did he break his
gaze from Mirril. Finally he turned his attention on her and she glared back,
though it took every ounce of her will not to cower from that penetrating
stare. It made her feel as though she had been stripped naked. “Don’t come any
closer,” she warned, desperate to break the silence and so rob him of his power
over her. She had the sword. He was the one that should be afraid. He could not
be sure she did not know how to use it.

The blond man walked on,
drawing a circle around her and the younger ones but keeping her in the centre.
She realised that he was going for the horse and she stepped back to let him
reach it unmolested. Maybe then he would see that they were not a threat. The
horse stamped a hoof into the turf and then stepped forward into the control of
its rider. The blond man rubbed its muzzle and whispered something into its
ear, then leapt effortlessly on to its back. Riella stared up at him and shrunk
back in awe. Now he was mounted it was as though the filth and the wildness
fell away like old skin. Atop the horse, the tall, blond man looked majestic
and lordly, in complete harmony with the powerful beast between his thighs.

“Who are you?” Loster
broke the silence.

The blond man switched
his scrutiny to the boy, then simply clucked his tongue. The horse began to
trot forward. Riella sidestepped out of his path and followed him warily with
her eyes. As he came level to her he pulled the horse to a stop with a gentle
tug on the reins and lashed her with that emerald gaze again. She stared back
and set her jaw defiantly, and then he did something that she did not expect.

He held out his hand.

She blinked in surprise
and stared at him and in answer he simply flexed his fingers. Unsure of what to
do, she did nothing. He turned his head to look at the oncoming knights and
then looked back towards her. He raised an eyebrow in question and his face
showed no evidence of fear. She suddenly felt very safe and very certain that
this man would kill those tall grey demons and then she realised that he wanted
the sword. His sword. She took a deep breath and looked over at the armoured
soldiers approaching. If she gave him the sword he would kill them but he might
also cut her down. He had already proven a match for Beccorban, the man she had
thought infallible.

“Step away, girl,” said
a weary voice. She looked up to see Beccorban standing some ten paces from the
horse, legs set wide and Kreyiss held high, ready to swing down and scythe the
horse’s thin legs from under it. The blond man ignored Beccorban and flexed his
fingers again, shaking his arm to show his urgency.

“Is he one of the Sons
of Iss?” Riella asked, trying to find some clue on the stranger’s face.

“I’m not sure, but don’t
give him the weapon, lass. He is a cavalryman and that is a cavalryman’s blade.
Give him that and he will be complete.” Beccorban’s voice was low with warning
but it was also laced with something she had never heard in it before: fear.
This was a man who had lived with fear and had used it to great effect. Now he
was learning how treacherous it could be.

Riella hesitated, unsure
of the best course. “They can’t have found us again so soon,” she breathed
almost to herself, and then the horn sounded again and she made up her mind.
She stepped forward and reversed the blade, marvelling at the balance of the
sword and noting how the fluted end carried the bulk of its weight. The blond
man took it wordlessly and spun it around with skill. Beccorban flexed his
shoulders and planted himself more firmly, swapping Kreyiss to the other
shoulder and readying himself for the charge.

With a hoarse shout, the
blond man kicked his heels into the flanks of his mount and they began to trot
forward at a leisurely pace. Beccorban’s face was grim and he rolled his neck
around on his shoulders, his eyes searching for the best place to strike, but
the blond man ignored him as though he were an insect and casually led the
horse around the big, hammer-wielding warrior.