I heard the sound of hooves behind me as the sisters wisely moved their mounts out of the way of the expected attack.
Taking the initiative, I drew two blades and charged towards Eblis, my mount gathering speed as it pounded over the muddy ground. So sudden was my assault that the Shaiksa didn’t have time to bring up the lance properly. I was upon him before he could target me.
My blades flashed in the sunlight and there was the clash of metal on metal. The one in my right hand found the join between two armoured plates on Eblis’s chest. I thrust it upwards into the gap and it jammed. Whether it had penetrated the flesh was impossible to say. But the blade in my left hand shattered against the Shaiksa’s armour and I tossed away the hilt of the broken weapon. As I turned my mount, ready to attack again, I drew the sabre.
But this time I lacked the advantage of surprise. Eblis was ready for my attack and he urged his own horse forward too, the sharp tip of the Kangadon aimed straight at my heart. I twisted in my saddle, ensuring that the point of the lance missed me, but I had no opportunity to strike a blow of my own.
We brought our horses round and thundered towards each other again, the assassin once more lowering the lance into a horizontal position, his horse kicking up a spray of mud behind him.
However, I focused my concentration, and now I created a magical shield identical to the one that had thwarted the hyb’s sharp talons. It was small and bright, gleaming in the air, no bigger than a hand’s span, but I positioned it precisely with my mind and held it firm so that the lance, despite its magical properties, might be deflected.
But at the moment of contact I suddenly understood how Eblis had defeated the King of Valkarky so long ago. The king would no doubt have used a magical shield even more powerful than my own, but at the moment of his death he must have recognized the true power of the Kangadon: nothing could deflect it from its target.
And so it was now. The tip of the lance went through my shield like a knife through butter and sought out my heart. I was a fraction of a second away from death. Only one thing remained for me to do; I could not deflect the Kangadon, so I had to evade it.
I twisted in the saddle, avoiding its tip by the thickness of a butterfly’s wing, and threw myself off my horse. I absorbed some of the impact by tucking my arms and legs in close to my body and rolling forward as I met the ground. It was soft after the melting of the winter’s snow and that helped to cushion the blow, but nevertheless, the air was punched from my lungs. The sabre flew out of my hand and I lay sprawled on the ground while my deadly opponent quickly turned his horse and charged at me again.
I managed to sit up, but I was befuddled, struggling to clear my head after my heavy tumble. Eblis had almost reached me, the tip of the Kangadon still aimed unerringly at my heart. I thought my end had come, when suddenly I heard the drumming of other hooves and something rushed towards him from my left.
It was a white horse and rider. Now they were between me and the assassin, and they met the force of his charge. The white horse whinnied and toppled over, throwing its rider into the air like a rag doll. I glimpsed her face as she spun over and over before hitting the ground hard.
It was little Nessa. She had tried to save me and had now paid the price.
Her mount whinnied again, and rolled over before heaving itself upright. I glanced towards Nessa. She was lying face down and was not moving. Her death had been quick and kind – far better than the one she would have faced at the hands of the Shaiksa once I had been dispatched. She was the luckiest of the three sisters. The tawny death was quick, but it was extremely painful to undergo, with hot bubbles popping inside your stomach and intestines, and your flesh melting from within.
I realized I had failed to keep my promise to Old Rowler. Once I was dead, the youngest child would be slain too, her throat cut by this assassin. She would suffer the same death they had originally intended for her back in the tower. I had merely delayed the inevitable. I felt angry and bitter at the prospect of my defeat. It had all been for nothing.
Eblis brought his horse round in a slow arc, his lance at the ready. My head was clearing now and I looked around for my sabre. I was unable to deflect the blade, but at least I could die with a weapon in my hand. But my legs simply refused to work: all I could do was struggle up onto my knees.
The Shaiksa raised his visor and smiled at me. He wished me to gaze upon the face of the one who would slay me. I did not waste any words and kept my expression impassive. Inside, I was seething with anger at the thought that Balkai would get his way. I had proved myself in the trial; in sending this assassin, he had showed no honour. He was unscrupulous and corrupt.
Although I knew that I would die here, I wanted to reach my sabre: I would do my best to hurt Eblis so that he would always remember our encounter. One had to die sometime, and to fall to the greatest of the Shaiksa assassins – He Who Cannot Be Defeated – was a worthy death.
He charged again. I twisted away, but the tip of the lance pierced my right shoulder and Eblis jerked it upwards violently, lifting me off my feet. For a moment I was helpless and in terrible pain, but my weight, in addition to the length of the lance, meant that he could not hold me aloft for more than a few seconds. The moment he was forced to lower it, I slid down the lance, hit the ground and rolled to the side.
When I got to my knees again, blood was running down my arm and dripping into the mud. In moments I would surely be dead, but still I would not give up, and I began to crawl across the mud towards my sabre. It seemed a long way away; at any moment Eblis might charge again and transfix me with his lance – maybe this time through the heart.
As I made my way painfully along, I kept my eyes on him. He was staring at me but did not urge his mount forward. Everything was very still and quiet. Then I realized that he was not looking at me after all. I risked a quick backward glance.
Behind me, slightly to my left, I saw another rider on a stallion as black and powerful as Eblis’s. I knew that rider. It was a purra.
It was Grimalkin, the human witch assassin.
GRIMALKIN WAS HOLDING the necklace of bones that she wore around her neck. Hers must be bones from the hands of her defeated enemies rather than the shrunken skulls worn by Eblis. She was tapping and stroking them in some mysterious ritualistic fashion. As I watched, she released the bones and drew a long dagger from one of her scabbards, then approached me, her horse stepping delicately across the soft mud.
‘Get up off your knees, Slither,’ she commanded. ‘Kill your enemy with this. Kill him before he kills you. Never give in! Never surrender!’