spot where he’d been. Daken barrelled on and batted an armoured forearm into Aracnan’s throat, ripping his axe out of the table with his free hand and spinning into a second blow using all his Gods-granted speed. Aracnan caught the blow, but he couldn’t move fast enough to stop the butt of the axe being smashed into his bound arm. He staggered back, checking a moment to let Daken follow then chopping savagely upwards. The glittering black sword would have torn Daken in two - but instinct made the white-eye dodge.
Doranei could see the white-eye’s face contorted with rage as he attacked again, beating at the immortal with axe-head and butt as fast as he could — not looking for a killing blow, but striking faster than Aracnan could defend one-handed. Doranei ran to join in, but before he could reach Aracnan, Daken had pinned the immortal’s sword and head-butted the Demi-God hard enough to make them both to stagger backwards, stunned.
From the shadows behind Aracnan jumped Shim, axe abandoned, and grabbed Aracnan by the throat with one hand, wrapping the other arm around it as though meaning to strangle him.
Doranei was about to shout a warning to Shim when Aracnan shrieked like a soul at the ivory gates of Ghenna. A pulse of raw power exploded all around the pair, knocking even Daken from his feet. Doranei was thrown onto his back, and though he caught only jerky, confused glimpses of what was happening, he realised the mage-killer was true to his name: Shim was holding on tight while Aracnan bucked and wheeled around the room like a maddened bull.
The mercenary continued to bellow in pain, but now it was all-consuming and he flailed like a man on fire, unable even to try to pull Shim off his back. The Crystal Skull on his sword-hilt blazed brightly, filling the room with white light, even after Aracnan dropped it.
Then, shockingly, his screams came to an abrupt end, and a second later the Demi-God crashed to his knees. Shim continued to hug the mercenary’s head tight to his chest, his eyes screwed up tight, but when he found his feet on the ground again he risked a look up. His face was set in a rictus of terror.
Without warning Aracnan sagged and went limp and Shim toppled with the corpse. He fell with it as it flopped to the floor.
‘Bastard,’ Daken growled, his face still contorted with bloodlust, ‘he was mine!’
The white-eye had raised his axe and taken a step towards Shim before Doranei shouted for him to stop. ‘Daken, we don’t have time for this!’
The white-eye turned towards Doranei, who retreated before him. Daken’s teeth were bared, his breathing more like a rabid dog’s snarl, and Doranei kept well back; he knew how Coran was when the rage was upon him.
‘Ilumene’s still in the tower,’ Doranei shouted, trying to get through to the man behind the bloodlust. ‘He must have killed Telasin — you take him, and you’ll be a hero of Narkang!’
Daken peered forward, axe still raised. ‘Not a fucking immortal, though, is he?’ he roared. ‘Not a fucking Demi-God! You think I’m in for the money?’ The white-eye shuddered, the veins in his neck bulging as he fought to restrain the burning bloodlust coursing through him. With an effort of will Daken straightened up and lowered his weapon. Turning back the way he’d come he shot Shim a look of pure venom.
‘We’ll be havin’ words later,’ he snapped before disappearing through the open doorway on the far side of the room.
Shim didn’t reply. He was still panting, and shuddering with exhaustion as he stared down at the corpse.
‘You did good,’ Doranei said, hesitantly taking Shim by the shoulder. The battered little man flinched and shied away, but he gave a grim smile when he was out of reach.
Doranei pointed down at the black broadsword on the ground. ‘Spoils of war, if you want it.’
Shim gave a bitter, humourless laugh. ‘No good to me,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Just a lump of metal in my hands.’
Remembering Cetarn, Doranei left the mage-killer to his thoughts. The big mage was still alive, curled around his left arm. There was blood all over his robes and his normally cheerful face was contorted with pain.
‘Cetarn, how bad is it?’ Doranei had to repeat his question before the mage noticed him.
‘A fair scratch,’ Cetarn croaked, his face white.
The mage lifted his right arm to expose the bloody stump of his left arm. The mage was