Kalan’s eyes opened, his hand instinctively grasping his sword hilt. He held it still, listening for the sound that had awoken him. It had been . . . what? He could not remember, except that whatever it was had made him very uneasy.
He slowly turned his head to look at Delron. The old man’s eyes were open, looking straight at Kalan. Delron slowly lifted his eyes to look at the tree above them, then looked at Kalan and nodded. Kalan slowly brought his sword to an upright position and held it tight in his hands, waiting, listening. Delron brought his hand from under his cloak, gripping a small dagger tightly in his fist.
The Shakzan attacked. There was no sound
Kalan caught the first creature on his sword, slamming the blade into the beast’s chest with enough force to cut through the small plate of natural armor across the chest. He pivoted on one foot and jerked his sword out, swinging it around to thrust into another Shakzan as the first one fell to the ground. Delron had a darkling impaled on his knife and swung around to plant his fist into another’s throat, crushing the windpipe.
A loud growl caught Kalan’s ear, and he turned toward the noise to see a huge Shakzan running toward him with a raised axe. Kalan jerked his dagger out of its belt sheath and threw it one-handed at the beast as he struggled with his other hand to pull his sword from the body of the other Shakzan. The axe-wielder took the knife through the left eye and fell to the ground. Kalan pulled out his sword just in time to run another Shakzan through the middle.
And just like that, the battle was over.
Kalan pulled his sword out of the Shakzan body. The black beast slid to the ground with a muffled thump. He turned, holding his blade at the ready. Delron’s arm was covered to the elbow in black blood, and the old man was shivering from the freezing temperature of the blood. Kalan realized that he too was shivering and used his free hand to pull his cloak tight around him. He looked around at the black-painted ground and counted six Shakzan corpses.
“It was a search party,” said Delron. “Part of a larger group. A century, perhaps. At least seventy or eighty.
Kalan knelt down to wipe his sword on a filthy Shakzan cloak, eyes darting about, ever watchful. Delron was already over at the horses, fretting over the disturbance. Delron’s mount was staring nervously at the black bodies, while Downer seemed not the least bit disturbed by the carnage.
“Calm down, Fortissimo, calm down,” said Delron. Kalan had to bite back a laugh. The name, Fortissimo, meant “Brave One” in the Tongue. The mule looked nothing of the sort.
Kalan slid his blade back into the scabbard. He kicked dirt over the remains of the fire and mounted Downer.
“I think we should be leaving now,” he said. Delron was wiping the black blood from his arm onto a Shakzan cloak. The old man nodded.