towards his head and this time when Vesna tried to move, his feet failed him and he froze, his arm still extended in the lunge as he watched his own death coming towards him.
At the last moment he threw his left arm up, as he had at the shrine, and the broadsword smashed down onto his armoured limb in a coruscating explosion of light and pain. The force drove him to one knee and he swung blindly at the Elf’s ankle, but its knee hit his face before his blow could connect.
The impact snapped his head back, but his greater bulk let him ride the blow and he brought his sword up to catch the lower edge of the Elf’s gleaming weapon. He forced it up and hooked his armoured arm over the flat of the blade. The Elf tried to lift it away, but that only succeeded in helping Vesna to his feet again.
Releasing his grip on his own sword, he tugged down with his left hand to pivot his weapon around the other blade. The momentum of the movement brought the hilt up and Vesna, turning away from the Elf, ignored a vicious punch to his kidneys, grabbed his sword in a reverse grip and jerked it back as hard as he could.
His aim was true and the sword bit deep into the Elf’s guts. The Elf staggered under the force of Vesna’s blow, and its own blade clattered to the ground as its hands moved to its belly.
A gout of blood gushed onto the cobbles as the Elf managed to pull itself off the weapon on which it was impaled.
Vesna turned and chopped down into the back of its right knee, nearly severing the joint. The Elf dropped, but before it could hit the ground Vesna had grabbed it by the throat with his left hand.
‘Her name was Tila,’ he shouted, and raised his reversed sword. He punched the pommel into the Elf’s beautifully shaped nose.
The Elf gurgled something, but Vesna couldn’t make out the words, nor did he care. He held it upright, ignoring the blood that spilled out over his polished boots. He punched its face again and again until the right-hand side was reduced to a pulp.
‘Her name was Tila,’ he repeated in a whisper, and the boiling sea of rage inside him suddenly drained away. He released the Elf and it crashed onto the cobbled street, where it squirmed weakly, pawing at the wound to its stomach. Dark blood had drenched its clothes, but it had some time left yet. Normally a soldier would pray to Karkarn for such a wound to be quick, but as Vesna stared down at the mewling figure at his feet, no words would come. He realised tears were falling down his cheeks and he sank to his knees, his strength sapped. His hands shook and the aching blackness in his stomach returned, but as the Elf died he did not move, only trembled, sobbing silently as Tila’s face filled his mind. Above him, thunder split the clouds.
CHAPTER 25
‘Major, we’ve found the trail!’
Captain Hain and Major Darn turned to see a sergeant of the scouts running up to them. Though it was midday, the sun had crept behind a cloud as they stopped to rest and sketch their route. The Menin maps of Narkang lands were poor and untrustworthy; more than once that week they’d been forced to stop and retrace their steps as rivers appeared to block their way, or some other obstacle appeared, making them wonder whether they’d misread the things entirely, or if the original cartographers had been blind drunk when they drew these particular maps.
‘How far?’ Major Darn asked once the scout had reached them. He grinned at the prospect of catching up with the enemy at last, some four hundred men, the remains of a small town’s garrison that had fled when the Menin approached.
‘An hour’s march, no more.’
Major Darn looked past the scout. An elongated hump of ground stood between his men and the enemy; what was marked as just a blob on the map was in fact a steep rise, and now he was within sight of it Darn knew he’d have to take his troops around.
‘The map says woods all beyond that,’ he said, pointing at the hill.
‘Some, aye, sir, but it’s grassland for the main - the forest’s north o’ it, dense ground - it’d be a bastard t’march through, no space t’move. The road leads to a village,