Bloodstone (36 page)

Torc was off his horse now, fighting hand-to-hand with one of Laszlo’s men. He didn’t see the Lammyr approaching.
Not Torc
, thought Jed in despair. Torc
couldn’t run from a Lammyr; Torc wasn’t quick enough. And Torc couldn’t see it coming.

A thin thread of anger coiled round his heart, loosening the grip of terror. It was only a sliver of courage; the fear was still there, but he could lock it away. If he just
sat here and let the Lammyr walk unseen up to Torc, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Jed kicked his legs clumsily into the bay mare’s flanks, and she nickered tolerantly, but
she didn’t move.

He kicked her again. She lowered her head and stood foursquare.

Jed looked up sharply at Conal, parrying Laszlo’s sword with a clash of steel and turning it as it slashed at his shoulder. The tosser. The boy scout. The big
idiot
. All his attention ought to be on his opponent but it wasn’t. Conal was cheating. He had a hold on Jed’s horse.

Two could cheat at that game. Angrily Jed slid from the mare’s back and ran, as fast and as hard as he ever had. If he tripped and cut himself, it’d be
Conal’s fault. But he didn’t. Jed hurtled down the slope and across the plateau, leaping the boulders, desperation making him sure-footed. Before he had time to change his mind, he was
in the thick of it.

Laszlo’s men were true to their leader’s word, dodging Jed with lightning ease and staying out of his way. Jed was behind the Lammyr very suddenly, and he skidded
to a halt, yelling. It turned, unconcerned, as if all he’d done was tap it politely on the shoulder.

Jed wondered if this had been such a good idea. As the Lammyr took a step towards him, he lashed out clumsily with the dagger.

‘Tsk. Don’t get involved.’ Skinshanks’ bony-knuckled hand caught Jed’s blade as it slashed wildly, pulling him in so close he could smell its dry
sweet breath. ‘Do as your captain tells you, you disobedient pup.’

Pale blood trickled from its palm, over Jed’s hilt and onto his hand. Jed clenched his teeth, waiting for the swamping sickness, but it never came. Instead he felt
Mila’s touch on his cheek, her soft breath in his ear, and he clasped the hilt of the trapped dagger in both hands. With all his strength he hacked it as hard and deep as he could.

Skinshanks stumbled backwards, gripping its split wrist and the loose-hanging thumb, trying to clamp the two halves of its hand together. Opening its mouth in a wide smile of
delight, it turned with a swirl of its coat and walked away, colourless fluid dribbling from its sleeve. The heather withered where it fell. Shuddering, Jed lifted his dagger. Before his eyes the
blade cracked into glistening shards, and tinkled to the rock at his feet.

‘Torc!’ screamed Sionnach, whose snarling dapple-grey, blood leaking from a gash in its rump, was lashing obsessively at its attacker. Sionnach leaped down and
sprinted for Torc, but two of Laszlo’s men intercepted him, one for each blade, halting him in his tracks.

The Lammyr was making its unhurried way towards Torc, reaching into its coat with its good hand and drawing out half-seen curved things that glinted evilly in the winter
brightness. Torc raised his sword, a snarl on his face, but the Lammyr’s first spinning blade wasn’t aimed at him: it thunked into his rearing horse’s neck just below the
throatlash of its bridle. The horse screamed horribly and stumbled forward, crashing to the ground, and a wide fan of aortal blood sprayed Torc from head to thigh.

Howling with rage, Torc took the sword in two hands, deflecting two blades in quick succession. The second spun wildly, ricocheting into the neck of one of Laszlo’s men,
so that Skinshanks shook its head with ironic laughter. Still chuckling to itself it drew the third blade, feinted in a blur to the left and flung it deep into Torc’s chest.

‘No, no, no!’ Eili’s scream cut across the uproar, drowning out Jed’s, as Torc fell forward onto his knees. The big man looked up at the Lammyr with
defiant loathing as Skinshanks drew a dagger, grasped his jaw to tug it back, and slit his throat.

It closed its eyes blissfully as a fountain of blood jetted across it, but it didn’t wait to see Torc topple forward like a felled tree. It turned lightly away, an
ecstatic smile lighting its face. Liath stalked forward with head lowered and hackles high, but Skinshanks only flicked its wounded hand at her, sending a spurt of colourless blood across her
savage face. The wolf howled in pain, pawing at her muzzle, and fled with her tail between her legs.

Jed looked helplessly across the field to where Conal and Laszlo stood apart, panting for breath, eyeing one another in a hideous stalemate. Blood matted Conal’s hair
and ran in streaks down the left side of his face and neck; Laszlo’s arm and hand were red with it, a vicious slash gaping on his upper arm. Both of them turned to watch the Lammyr’s
carnage, swords still held defensively high. Then they glanced back at one another, coldly half-smiling, and hurtled into close combat once more.

Eili skidded to her knees beside Torc, pushing him onto his side with one hand, the other poised to mend the wounds. His hand still twitched on his sword hilt but the blood
was no longer spurting; the thrown blade had stopped his heart. There was nothing for Eili to do but take a juddering breath as she stared at his lightless eyes and his gaping throat.

Jed caught a slick movement out of the corner of his eye, but the warning he shouted was far too late. He ran towards Eili but one of Laszlo’s men sprang into the air
and kicked out, catching him below his ribcage and sending him sprawling.

The Lammyr leaped for Eili’s back, clutching her lovingly as it sank its teeth into her shoulder. Roaring, she rose from Torc’s body, lifted both swords and jerked
them in an arc over her head. The Lammyr dodged, snaking its head and torso sideways.

‘For goodness’ sake!’ it hissed. ‘
Cooperate
!’

Its bloodied mouth bit into her again, closer to her neck, lips curving around her flesh in a wide smile as its teeth went harder and deeper. Clenching its wounded fist, it
squeezed its own colourless blood into the bite. It must have found better nerves on its second attempt, because Eili dropped her swords, scrabbling at the thing that clung to her, and her
tormented scream merged with Sionnach’s yell of terrified fury.

Skinshanks dropped off her, licking its lips as it admired the blood flow. Jed, staggering to his feet, saw her lunge for her swords but two of Laszlo’s men had seized
her almost before she moved. One jerked her head back to hold his dagger to her throat.

‘Back off, Sionnach. I don’t want to hurt her.’

‘Speak for yourself, Lus-nan-Leac,’ said the other dryly.

Sionnach, watching his twin, lowered his swords slowly.

‘Sionnach, no,’ Eili growled, her eyes dazed and filmy. Digging her trembling fingers into the Lammyr’s bite, she clenched her teeth. The second swordsman,
eyeing Torc’s dead horse, gave its head a savage sidelong kick. He had only two fingers on his left hand.

A shout of contempt drew all their eyes, silence falling. Conal crouched before Laszlo, clutching his sword hand, blood running freely between his fingers. The sword itself
lay ten feet from him, where Laszlo had struck it from his grip as Conal turned towards Eili’s appalling scream. Now Laszlo’s sword was at Conal’s throat, already pricking blood
from the hollow of it.

‘Filthy mortal,’ snarled Eili, her bloody hand clamped inside her shoulder. ‘Sionnach!’

‘Sionnach, if you even move in Cù Chaorach’s direction, I’ll cut her throat myself,’ said the second man calmly. ‘My pal here used to be
fond of Eili, but for me it’d be a pleasure, so don’t tempt me. Drop your swords.’

‘Sionnach,
no
!’ she screamed. ‘Go to Conal!’

Watching his dark eyes, Jed saw the exact moment Sionnach’s heart broke. Meeting his twin’s gaze, he shook his head very slightly. The slender curved swords rang
discordantly as they clattered to the stones.

In the silence something sounded like rock scree tumbling, but it was only a dry mocking sob from the Lammyr, perched on a granite outcrop above them all.

‘This is so touching,’ it hiccupped, wiping a fingertip delicately under a dry eye. It used its hurt hand, lifting the dead finger with its good hand by way of a
macabre joke.

Lus-nan-Leac shuddered, his blade scraping Eili’s skin. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

‘Tsk! Where’s your honour, Nils?’ Skinshanks sprang down, darting to Conal’s sword.

Conal’s gaze never left it as it picked up his sword. There was absolutely no hope in his fixed expression, only a dead-eyed loathing.

The Lammyr raised the sword high, smiled, and drew the blade down through the ugly split of its hand, cutting even further into the gaping wrist. It tossed the weapon to
Conal, who caught it reflexively by the hilt and studied the ooze that coated it, flicking the blade with a finger.

Laughing, Laszlo rose and withdrew the tip of his sword from Conal’s throat to give a mocking salute. ‘Come on then, Cù Chaorach. Let’s do this the
chivalrous way.’

‘Let’s do it my way,’ said Conal, and tossed his sword high into the air.

They all watched it spin, glittering in the snow-light. Even Laszlo gaped at it, hypnotised. It had yet to touch down when Conal took a running leap and fell on
Laszlo.

Dodging the man’s flailing blade he slipped round his enemy like a python, grabbed his head and locked a forearm round his neck, struggling for the leverage to snap it.
In the awful breathless stillness Laszlo snatched grunting at Conal’s arm, jaw clenched, straining with the effort not to die.

Then Conal’s sword finally came to earth, plummeting into the peat point-first. Where it should have stood quivering, it shattered into razor shards, showering both
men.

Starred with pinpricks of blood, Laszlo seemed to recover his focus. His sword arm swung back hard, the blade biting into Conal’s side deep enough to loosen his hold.
Laszlo flung him off.

Conal looked once towards the group at the foot of the hill. Seeing Eili still alive he turned away, smiling, but his eye caught Jed’s.

Jed’s pride and reserve were all gone now. Conal was the closest thing he had to a father, the only father he’d ever known, and he was standing down there alone
without a sword. Jed let Conal into his head, pleading.
Please win. Please win. Please live.

All Conal could give him was a wry smile. Then all his attention was back on Laszlo, who was striding confidently forward, sword held back for a vicious sidelong
slash.

Conal sprinted forward almost into the teeth of the blade and just as it swung to disembowel him leaped high, twisting in the air like a cat. Laszlo stumbled with his own
impetus, rolling as he fell, and saw Conal fall towards him with hands outstretched for his throat. Yelling, he grasped his sword two-handed.

There was a fraction of time, and he snatched it. He wrenched up his weapon, thrust it up savagely into Conal’s belly. As the weight of Conal’s own body bore him
down, Laszlo twisted the blade sideways and upwards till it ground into his breastbone.

He grunted in pain as Conal thudded onto him, then heaved hard and shoved him off. Staggering to his feet, Laszlo grinned down into Conal’s face, seized the sword-hilt,
and yanked out the blade in a spray of blood. Conal’s body arched upwards, sank down, and he sighed almost dreamily.

‘God, but you’ve been a troublesome vermin,’ said Laszlo, trailing the tip of his sword down Conal’s ribcage and back up to the hollow of his throat,
where the pinprick wound of his first attempt was beaded with blood.

‘Shall I finish what I started, Cù Chaorach? Or shall I obey my queen, and let the buzzards do it?’

Jed barely knew he’d run until he was stumbling forward across Conal, knocking Laszlo’s blade away and splaying his cut arms across the body.
‘Get off him! Get off!’

Laszlo rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, not you again. Well, well, I suppose it saves the effort of coming to you. Two birds with one stone. Is that the expression,
mate
?’

Jed scrabbled at his belt, hauling out the pistol and pointing it at Laszlo’s chest. For an instant the man’s eyes dilated in fear, and then he laughed.

‘So. I guessed you had that. Ten out of ten for effort, but you know it’s wasted.’

‘That’s what you think.’

‘The safety isn’t even off!’ Laszlo bellowed.

Jed thumbed it quickly. ‘It is now.’