That was when the Wolfeater joined them. Leaping from the wall, Radok caught the girl in mid-air, clasping her to his chest and shaping up to protect her from the landing. The three of them plunged like stones while the others watched on in silent horror.
It all happened so fast. There was barely any time to think between Talgar's blow to the head and Radok's fearless leap, but that was all the time Mikilov had to make his decision. He would get no help from Jian or Tess, who had already been left behind by the falling threesome, while Senya was too far away and too torn between her emotions to offer any help. It all fell to Mikilov…
Talgar is done. That was the first decision he made. Even if the man still lived, he was too big a unit, too solid a mass, to hope of catching him, let alone to catch him and hold to the wall. Let alone catch him, hold to the wall, and somehow climb!
At least there was a chance with Radok. Not only had the disease wasted away the greater part of him, there was still some fight left in the old bastard. And the girl, Mikilov told himself. He has the girl too. The one Scar died for…
Mikilov swayed back slightly to let Talgar fall past him. The Grey Crow made no sound, save for the rippling of his clothes as he plummeted through the air. Mikilov felt a swell of pity at that. Though he barely knew the man, he knew enough about Basillians to know none of their kind would wish to end their part in the All Song with such a pathetic whisper.
Forgetting him, Mikilov waited a fraction longer. Then, as Radok swept by, clutching Nyana close to his chest, Mikilov's free hand shot out. He caught Radok by the ankle, his fist closing tightly around a handful of the man's leggings.
The new weight dragged Mikilov's arm down and almost tore him from the wall. He grunted with pain as his fingers - those of his climbing hand -tightened grimly on the jutting rock to which he clung. He felt the skin on his fingers tear as his grip slipped, even through the thick leather glove. Then his fingernails bent back painfully as he tried to hold himself in place.
Mikilov looked down and met Radok's gaze. While his own face was twisted with strain, his eyes bulging in their sockets, Radok looked serenely calm as he swayed back and forth over the cloud of mist hiding the rocky ground far below.
'Tell the girl to climb,' Mikilov squeezed out through gritted teeth.
Radok wasted no time, and soon enough Nyana was climbing up his leg and onto Mikilov's arm. She used their bodies like a rope, finally coming to a rest when her arms were wrapped around Mikilov's neck.
'Drop him,' Senya called from her place a few strides width from them. 'You've got the girl, no point letting him drag you all down. Let him go, Miki.'
'No!' cried Nyana, her grip tightening on Mikilov's neck, almost choking him.
'She's right,' said Radok. 'Save yourself, you save the girl. Let me go.'
'No!' Nyana's grip tightened even more.
Mikilov worked his head from side to side in an effort to free some breathing space. 'I'm not dropping anyone. We've come this far to watch you touch that bloody stone, Wolfeater, so you'll fucking well touch it!'
Mikilov still held a fistful of the Wolfeater's pants, but he knew it wouldn't be long before either his grip or the material gave way. He began swinging Radok backwards and forwards slowly, easing him into a gentle, pendular rhythm.
'Can you see the rock jutting out near Senya's foot?' Mikilov called. 'You need to grab that!'
Radok moved his head about and scanned the wall. 'I see it,' he said after a moment, every swing bringing him closer to it. 'I can make it.'
Back and forth Radok swung, each time growing a little closer to the jutting rock. At first his hands fell well short, but soon enough his fingers were brushing the stone with their tips.
Mikilov was starting to ache by then, his great shoulders burning with the effort of both clinging to the rock, and swinging Radok in ever greater arcs. With his strength fading fast, he gave one last heave and at the last second Radok caught hold of the jutting rock.
Mikilov held fast to the Wolfeater's leg, not daring to believe it… yet Radok's grip held true and he gave Mikilov a nod to let go.
As he did, Mikilov noticed Senya looking down at the Wolfeater, one foot raised in mid-air over his head. For one terrible moment he thought she would bring that foot down on Radok's head, or on his grip, and send him plunging to the earth. But at the last moment she turned her face upwards and started to climb. 'Let's move,' she barked at them. 'No saying when the weather will turn.'
Mikilov took a moment to catch his breath. 'Are you well, girl?' he asked Nyana.
He felt her nod against his back. 'Thank you for saving us,' she whispered. 'One day, when I serve the Will, I'll make sure the Seven pay this debt. I promise it.'
He could have told her it was a foolish act to make promises of the gods, but she was still blessed with the innocence of youth. She hadn't lost enough yet to the Great Hunt to know any better. But she will, thought Mikilov. Before this day is done, she'll know.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The Seven and the Eighth
Radok's arm slammed down into the snow at the top of the cliff and he levered himself up over the lip, rolling onto his back and gazing skyward. He lay there for the longest moment, breath misting fast and hard in the air above him, every last ounce of energy given to the climb.
Is this what it is to die?
The question seemed to lurch into Radok's mind from some dark recess. He had been bloodied in battle many times before, skewered by arrows and slashed by blades, but this was the first time he had ever felt so close to death. Close enough to feel the Black Wind breathing down his neck.
Radok was almost ready to let it take him. The end would be a relief at this point. He was in so much pain. Not just the pain of exhaustion, with fatigue seeping into his bones and muscles, but the pain of the disease too. Every inch of his body burned with agony, and now not even sleep took the pain away.
We've come this far to watch you touch that bloody stone, Wolfeater, Mikilov's words called back to him, so you'll fucking well touch it!
The Grey Wolf had called the truth of it; there was no way Radok could let the Black Wind take him. Not yet, at least, not after they had crossed the Whitelands so that he could touch the Blackstone and ask the gods face-to-face why, having served them all his life, they would reward him with the worst kind of death?
'What is it?' It was the She-Wolf's voice, hushed and awed in equal measure.
With a grunt of effort, Radok rolled onto his side and climbed unsteadily to his feet. The others were gathered nearby, their eyes fixed ahead on the mountain's steepled peak. There, at the foot of that jagged spire, with the Cave of Voices yawning wide beyond it, stood a thin needle of smooth, black rock. It was smaller than Radok remembered it, no taller or broader than the average man, yet the sense of power radiating from that white-veined, ebony rock was as strong as ever. The wind came pouring out of the cave in an incessant roar, smashing against the Blackstone with such force it seemed the stone had to give way. But it held true, the wind washing over and around it, its path seen in the dust and snow it picked up along the way.
'The Blackstone,' Radok muttered, taking a step closer. It was strange to think that, with Talgar gone, he was the only one among them to have seen this place before…
No woman had ever set foot on the Käda, let alone set sight on the Blackstone. Now there were three of them, in Jian, Tess, and Nyana. True, Nyana would not see it, but she would feel it, perhaps more than any of them. And none of that said anything of the two Wolves, whose people had never had interest in the Last Rock, believing the gods of the tribes were nothing but fool's talk. Now they saw the truth, and they would take word of it back to their people.
Radok's eyes drifted from the Blackstone and traced the path of the slim ridge they would have to cross to reach it. Either side of that narrow bridge the mountain fell away for hundreds of feet, ending in a mass of jagged rock that had claimed the lives of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of Basil
lian boys down through the years. And the wind was still there, sweeping back and forth across the ridge, ready to wash away more poor souls.
It was only then that Radok noticed the figure barring the way at the ridge's threshold, watching them closely. Radok's eyes narrowed. It was Talak, still dressed in the dark furs he'd been wearing when he set out from the Heart's Flame, including the shoulder piece mounted with hundreds of grey feathers that marked him out as Ashan Tay of the Grey Crow.
'Time to test your mettle against the Will,' he called, though it was still difficult to hear him over the violent discord of the wind.
'Your days of serving the Will are done,' Nyana called back, and Radok's heart swelled with pride. The girl was standing front and centre of their small group, this the first time in Radok's hearing she had ever answered back a man of Talak's standing.
'The Will of the Seven perhaps,' Talak replied coolly, 'but who stands for the Will of the Eighth, if not me?'
'No one need stand for him,' said Nyana. 'His will is inevitable.'
'Not as inevitable as he'd like. Take your friend for example.' Talak turned his gaze to Radok and both men shared a meaningful moment. 'The Black Wind has been trying to take you for years, Wolfeater. Yet even now, with death coursing through your veins, you cling to life. Let go. Say farewell to your friends and make peace with your ending.'
'My end will be here soon enough,' Radok told him. 'There's just one last thing to do and then I'm his. Is that why you're here, Ashan Tay? For me?'
'Well,' Talak smiled, 'that's why we're all here, isn't it?' The priest's gaze drifted to Jian and Tess, and his smile seemed to widen when he saw Tess's bow aimed at his heart, arrow notched and bowstring drawn taut. 'You two were with me, not so long ago. We were sent by the withered wise of the Grey Crow to stop Radok Wolfeater from breaking ancient laws by touching the Blackstone a second time. Do you remember that?'
'We remember,' said Jian. 'They were swayed by your words, Talak, when they thought you served the Will. If they'd known it was the Eighth you served, they would have sent us after you, not the Wolfeater.'
Talak snorted derisively, before turning his attention to the two outsiders. 'What about you?' he asked the Wolves. 'He's the reason you're out here, isn't he? Did he not kill your friend? By the All Song, he's killed so many of your friends you call him the Wolfeater! And here he is, ripe for the plucking!'
'Aye, we came for him,' admitted Mikilov. 'But things have a habit of changing out in the wilds. Now we're here for her,' he added, nodding in Nyana's direction.
At that, Senya cast a sidelong glance in Radok's direction. He might be here for the girl, it said, but I still have one eye on you.
'Ah, yes,' replied the Ashan Tay. 'The girl.' He took two steps sideways, putting his body between Nyana and the distant Blackstone, and studied her closely. 'And what do you think, girl? Why are you here?'
'To touch the Blackstone,' she said simply. 'To serve the Will.'
Talak swayed as a great whoosh of wind swept over him, snow kicked up out of his furs. 'The Eighth does not like the sound of that. You have a gift, Nyana. It cannot be denied now. The Black Wind fears that you will tip the balance too far in favour of the Seven. I must kill you. That is why I am here.'
Nyana straightened, puffing her chest out. 'You can try.'
Talak smiled. 'I could kill you all right now, in the blink of an eye. But I am bound by the Ashan Daru to fight only one - a champion of your choosing. So who will it be, Little Sparrow?'
Radok felt a flicker of anger at that. Little Sparrow was the name he had chosen for the girl as a sign of the love between them, and to have it used by this despot in an effort to goad her was almost too much to bear. Yet before he could speak, Nyana gave her answer.
'Only one man has ever fought for me, and I would ask him to do it one more time. I choose the Wolfeater.'
She spoke calmly, a trace of pride and a brazen confidence in her voice. Not once did she turn back to face Radok. Does she know what she asks? Are there tears in her eyes?
Radok felt Talak's gaze pore over him. There was a time such a look would have drawn respect, awe even, but Talak only smiled. It was easy to understand why. Radok was a shadow of the man Talak had known. His once prodigious muscles had melted away like snow, leaving a shrunken, shrivelled wreck. Where once he had towered over the shaman, now they stood eye-to-eye, and it was Talak who stood the more formidable.
'I accept,' said the Ashan Tay, his smile glinting in the midday sun.
'As do I,' said Radok, flashing a smile of his own. 'The fact I'm near dead anyway should give the old bastard half a prayer.'
✽✽✽
The two men stood facing each other, snow swirling about them on the busy wind. Behind Radok, his five companions huddled together and watched in silence. Behind Talak, the Blackstone pulsed with power, channelling the wind as it came pouring out of the Cave of Voices, the sound as crushing as any waterfall in the world.
Talak drew his sword. The blade felt good in his hand, perfectly balanced and hungry for blood. Beneath the leather binding, the ivory handle had been carved to fit his grip perfectly and his fingers slid smoothly into their grooves, even with his thick glove.
Ten strides away, Radok drew his own sword. The steel blade glinted in the daylight as it slid from the scabbard, long and broad. Talak's smile broadened. The weapon weighed heavy on Radok's sword arm, dragging it down to his side. He looked exhausted. His once smooth, ebony skin had dulled to a grey, pallid colour, and, despite the cold, a sheen of sweat covered his face. The man's weary, blood-shot eyes stared back at Talak with dull ambivalence.
By the Eighth, thought Talak, he should be dead already. I'll be doing him a favour, putting an end to his misery.
'Are you ready, Wolfeater?' Talak called to him. 'The Black Wind wishes to dance with you, one last time. You die on this mountain.'
'Of course I do,' Radok called back. 'You only have to look at me to know the truth of that. But you die first, Ashan Tay. And know that when your body lies broken at the foot of this mountain, there will be no one to seek it out and burn it. Your ashes will not be cast to the Seven Winds. Your soul will not join the All Song. The story of Talak ends here, with him nought but a slave of the Eighth.'
A shiver ran down Talak's spine at the Wolfeater's words. It was true, none of those gathered atop the Käda would mourn him should Radok somehow prove victorious… but the odds of that were so small Talak had given no thought to the idea of rotting away without a burning. But when he finally did fall, as all men must, who would mourn the loss of a servant of the Eighth?
A gust of wind pushed against him, rocking him on his heels. You die in fire, a voice told him. Fire is the pure death.
And just like that, Talak's fears were washed away. The Black Wind had told him he would die in fire, and there was no fire on the Käda. Wielding his sword two handed, he moved in on the Wolfeater, his stride eating up the snow between them in the blink of an eye.
Radok watched him come, his sword arm rising suddenly, not so tired as he had made out. Their swords clashed in the cold mountain air, the ring of steel piercing the roar of the wind. They danced around each other, their swords striking and countering in both directions, clumps of snow kicked up as they shuffled their feet.
In another life, the Wolfeater would have been too much for the Ashan Tay. Talak had never been especially skilled with a blade. Even though such a talent was integral to the life of a warrior priest, he had always known certain men were beyond his means. Radok was one of those men. The Wolfeater had earned his name killing Wolves, themselves vicious warriors, on the walls of their own city. Along with his devil skin, whatever gods the Seven had stolen him from had also blessed Radok with a powerful, athletic physique that made him a physical match for any man.
But this was a different life, and both men had seen a turn in fortunes. Radok had been ravaged by the lungrot, his physical presence melted away, his health a distant memory. Tala
k, meanwhile, had found himself blessed by the Eighth. He was still as talented with the sword as he ever was, but now the Black Wind guided his hand, sharpening the edge of his blades with death for his enemies.
Talak's sword slashed at Radok's face, but the Wolfeater deflected it away. Talak used the block to drive his own sword along the edge of Radok's blade, then flicked it back to open a slice on Radok's arm. Blood spattered in the snow, yet Radok barely flinched. Stepping back for just a moment, he pressed in again, hacking and slashing. Talak backed away, deflecting Radok's attacks with ease. Whispers carried on the wind governed Talak's movement, as he ducked and swerved Radok's attacks.
Radok feigned a slash, then lunged at Talak's midriff with his sword. Talak sensed the move as it unfolded, ignoring the feint and swerving around the lunge. His own sword licked out, slicing deeply across Radok's left leg. The Wolfeater felt that. His leg almost buckled beneath him and he limped away wincing. He kept his sword up and his front to Talak, as he tried walking off the pain.
Talak smiled. 'Swords are the Eighth's favourite toy, Wolfeater. This is a game you cannot win.' He glanced at Nyana, who stood among the handful of spectators, looking nervous. Her face was twisted in concentration, with each of her senses trying to paint a picture of the fight that her eyes could not. Talak sneered at her. 'I hope you know how to fly, Little Sparrow.'
Radok's fury erupted like a volcano. His voice bellowed out in a roar of frustrated emotion and he charged forward, his left leg dragging behind him. The ferocity of this new attack took Talak by surprise, and it was all he could do to get his sword up in time to defend himself from the savage blows. Time and again he turned Radok's attacks aside with his own sword, his arms threatening to buckle under the pressure of the unrestrained fury.
Radok's voice boomed out between each sword stroke, 'She. Is. Not. Your. Little. Sparrow!'
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