Asgoleth the Warrior - By Bill Kirkwood Page 0,24

his efforts and he cursed as he tugged and pulled at it. So engrossed was he in his task that he failed to notice the Calthian’s eyes flicker open. Only when he heard a rasp of breath being drawn by the fallen man did he leap back in surprise. He pulled a dagger from his belt and snarled,

‘So you still live, you dog! I kamka of the Kalchik shall end your worthless life now.’

He raised his weapon for the killing thrust but he was already far too late. Asgoleth, with the vitality of the wild flowing in his veins, had survived a blow that would have killed a lesser man. When he opened his eyes and saw the knife wielding figure looming over him he reacted with lightning speed.

One powerful hand shot out and seized the looters knife arm in an iron grip while the other hand reached out and closed about the man’s throat. So sudden had been the barbarians reaction that Kamka had time for only a short gasp of shocked surprise before those iron hard fingers closed and choked out his life. The last thing he saw before his eyes dimmed forever were the fierce grey eyes of the Calthian glaring ferally at him in the moonlight.

Asgoleth threw the corpse from him and muttered a sour curse under his breath. His head ached horribly and when he pulled his battered helmet off a fresh flow of blood cascaded down over his face. He cursed again and tore a strip of cloth from his tunic to bandage the wound. That done, he glared about him in the gloom alert for any other looters. He saw none and satisfied that he would not soon be attacked, he turned his gaze upon the city.

The city burned and a red glow filled the sky and acrid smoke stung his nostrils. He thought of the princess Amira and rage filled him as he thought of what might have befallen her at the hands of the Akonites. There and then he determined that he would rescue her if she still lived. If she did not then Demos would pay a heavy price for her death.

Normally, if he, as a hired mercenary found himself unemployed because of the death of his employer then he would have no further obligation to that employer or his cause and he would be free to go his own way.

This time though, things were a little different. His own personal code of honour would not allow him to leave when a girl, be she princess or pauper, with whom he had shared the furs, was a captive of a man like Demos. He glared at the city for a moment then turned his attention to his own immediate problems. Before he could attempt any kind of rescue he would have to attend to his own personal needs. He had lost a lot of blood and he was feeling sick and unsteady on his feet. He needed water and, if possible, food. After that he would need a disguise, he could not enter the city in his uniform.

He bent to retrieve his sword and a wave of dizziness swept over him. He gritted his teeth until the feeling passed and when he opened his eyes his gaze fell upon the body of the looter he had slain, here was his disguise.

He quickly stripped of his blood soaked uniform and donned the garments of the robber. They were ill fitting and barely covered his huge frame but the long heavy cloak the man had worn would hide that. It would also help conceal the sword about his waist. He took also the heavy bag of looted baubles reasoning that he could use the contents to bribe any guards who might try to stop him entering the city. Thus disguised he set off for Torr, keeping his eyes open for any who might want to dispute ownership of the bag with him

As he picked his way among the dead his keen eyes searched the piled and broken bodies for any sign of a waterskin or a ration bag. His vigilance was rewarded when he spied a half-full skin affixed to the saddle horn of a dead horse. He took a long refreshing drink and upended the remaining water over his aching head. He grinned as the water eased his parched throat and feeling much better now he strode forward into the darkness. Soon he stood in the shadows just beyond one of