to Zoltar, Raga raised both swords.
“Care to regale us with some dazzling final words?”
His only answer was a desperate gurgling of impotent, blood-choked rage.
His swords swept down like a pair of scissors, neatly cleaving Zoltar’s head from his shoulders. It fell one way, eyes and mouth still wide open in disbelief and shock, his body falling the other, a spouting geyser of crimson spraying over the frosty ground.
The gathered soldiers stood silent in a circle about the Marzban and the corpse. Sheathing his swords, Raga soaked in the silence of the victory, not just victory over his opponent, but victory over the hearts of his men. They were his now, by will or by fear.
“Haresh, feed the cargo. We need them in good shape for when we get home. Janibek, put the rabbits on the fire. I’ve worked up an appetite. And someone bury Zoltar. He makes the place look untidy.”
***
It drew him in with the same primal attraction that drew lightning to the ground. How far he’d been tracking the scent, he didn’t know, but at least a mile now, for sure. The smell was getting stronger and stronger with every step and, for the umpteenth time, Stone stopped, closed his eyes and drew in a long, lingering breath through his nose.
The sweet, savoury, warming notes caused his skin to tingle with pleasure. It was a smell he hadn’t smelt in all his limited memory, but he recognised it at once – the unmistakably delicious aroma of roasting meat. Though he was perfectly at ease of late with eating raw fare, his body seemed to crave the easy, denatured texture of cooked food. And he was not about to deny it if he had the chance. The wolves had shown up within the last ten minutes, no doubt tracking the same smell, so for now he was keeping to the trees out of harm’s way. Another useful skill he’d mastered, leaping from branch to branch to keep his scent off the ground.
Avoided a lot of drama that way.
Closer to the smell he leapt, his tough and agile feet keeping him all but glued to the branches, no chance of falling, his lean, muscled arms swinging him effortlessly from tree to tree, wolves loping along beneath him. All of a sudden he noticed that he was now alone. Squinting back into the darkness of the night-time forest, he saw the wolves prowling around but venturing no closer, their senses – keener, even, than his – obviously warning them of some hidden danger ahead. No doubt the roaster of the meats…
It wasn’t long before the gloom ahead was broken into flickering shadows interspersed with orange light. Getting closer, Stone could see a bright campfire, upon which were cooking the promised meats on a spit, rabbits by the looks of the carcasses. The golden, juicy, crispy-looking carcasses…
Tearing his attention away from his appetite, he surveyed the camp. About the fire sat four men, still awake despite the late hour, chatting quietly amongst themselves in a rough and guttural language that he didn’t understand. None of the men were sitting more than two paces from a weapon, be it a curved sword or a long bow and all of them looked powerful and mean. Obviously, they were on guard duty, making rabbit acquisition all the more difficult.
Staying to the shadows of the trees, he slunk forward making as little sound as he could. He’d become practiced at this over the last couple of weeks; once he’d awoke to find a horned bear directly beneath the branch upon which he lay. He’d virtually held his breath for the entire ten minutes the bear had sat there before it had wandered off. As he drew closer to the camp, he took a moment to further examine the scene before acting. Wagons surrounded the entire encampment. There were horses tied up a bit closer to the fire, tents too. He counted the horses quickly; twenty one. That must mean that his hunch was right; these four were on guard duty while the rest were asleep. He needed only distract these four long enough to dash in, grab some food and
“Care to regale us with some dazzling final words?”
His only answer was a desperate gurgling of impotent, blood-choked rage.
His swords swept down like a pair of scissors, neatly cleaving Zoltar’s head from his shoulders. It fell one way, eyes and mouth still wide open in disbelief and shock, his body falling the other, a spouting geyser of crimson spraying over the frosty ground.
The gathered soldiers stood silent in a circle about the Marzban and the corpse. Sheathing his swords, Raga soaked in the silence of the victory, not just victory over his opponent, but victory over the hearts of his men. They were his now, by will or by fear.
“Haresh, feed the cargo. We need them in good shape for when we get home. Janibek, put the rabbits on the fire. I’ve worked up an appetite. And someone bury Zoltar. He makes the place look untidy.”
***
It drew him in with the same primal attraction that drew lightning to the ground. How far he’d been tracking the scent, he didn’t know, but at least a mile now, for sure. The smell was getting stronger and stronger with every step and, for the umpteenth time, Stone stopped, closed his eyes and drew in a long, lingering breath through his nose.
The sweet, savoury, warming notes caused his skin to tingle with pleasure. It was a smell he hadn’t smelt in all his limited memory, but he recognised it at once – the unmistakably delicious aroma of roasting meat. Though he was perfectly at ease of late with eating raw fare, his body seemed to crave the easy, denatured texture of cooked food. And he was not about to deny it if he had the chance. The wolves had shown up within the last ten minutes, no doubt tracking the same smell, so for now he was keeping to the trees out of harm’s way. Another useful skill he’d mastered, leaping from branch to branch to keep his scent off the ground.
Avoided a lot of drama that way.
Closer to the smell he leapt, his tough and agile feet keeping him all but glued to the branches, no chance of falling, his lean, muscled arms swinging him effortlessly from tree to tree, wolves loping along beneath him. All of a sudden he noticed that he was now alone. Squinting back into the darkness of the night-time forest, he saw the wolves prowling around but venturing no closer, their senses – keener, even, than his – obviously warning them of some hidden danger ahead. No doubt the roaster of the meats…
It wasn’t long before the gloom ahead was broken into flickering shadows interspersed with orange light. Getting closer, Stone could see a bright campfire, upon which were cooking the promised meats on a spit, rabbits by the looks of the carcasses. The golden, juicy, crispy-looking carcasses…
Tearing his attention away from his appetite, he surveyed the camp. About the fire sat four men, still awake despite the late hour, chatting quietly amongst themselves in a rough and guttural language that he didn’t understand. None of the men were sitting more than two paces from a weapon, be it a curved sword or a long bow and all of them looked powerful and mean. Obviously, they were on guard duty, making rabbit acquisition all the more difficult.
Staying to the shadows of the trees, he slunk forward making as little sound as he could. He’d become practiced at this over the last couple of weeks; once he’d awoke to find a horned bear directly beneath the branch upon which he lay. He’d virtually held his breath for the entire ten minutes the bear had sat there before it had wandered off. As he drew closer to the camp, he took a moment to further examine the scene before acting. Wagons surrounded the entire encampment. There were horses tied up a bit closer to the fire, tents too. He counted the horses quickly; twenty one. That must mean that his hunch was right; these four were on guard duty while the rest were asleep. He needed only distract these four long enough to dash in, grab some food and
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