But he survived, and began to hold his ground; then the assassin yielded a few steps before renewing his onslaught.

How could Tom hope to survive such a ferocious attack for long? No wonder most of the fights had been over in a matter of minutes.

But survive he did, matching the Shaiksa blow for blow. Soon time became meaningless. I felt as if we were trapped in eternity, where all clocks ceased to tick. All that existed, all that had ever existed, and all that would ever exist, was this furious struggle. It would go on and on forever.

Grimalkin told me afterward that it lasted just over an hour. That must be correct because finally, when the end came, the sun had set and the light was beginning to fail.

After a while, Tom was clearly gaining the ascendancy. He attacked with speed and precision. He kept passing the Starblade from hand to hand, each time throwing Kauspetnd onto the back foot.

The human audience was no longer silent. Now they were shouting out in excitement and anticipating a long-awaited victory.

Tom drew first blood. He found a gap in his enemy’s defenses and caught him on the shoulder. The Kobalos warrior staggered back, red streaming down his front, while those around me gave a great roar of triumph.

Then Tom pressed the Shaiksa hard. He spun, whirling in Grimalkin’s dance of death. Almost too fast for the eye to see, he dealt a succession of rapid horizontal blows until one found its mark.

He struck the head from the Shaiksa assassin.

He had won!

The head rolled across the stones and into the shallow water, the current swirling away a ribbon of red blood. As the body collapsed, more blood gushed from the neck.

But the great roar of victory gradually died away to a subdued murmur. All eyes were on Tom, who staggered and then dropped the Starblade. He was looking down at his stomach.

My focus had been on Tom’s offensive and the blow that had slain his opponent. I had not noticed what Kauspetnd had done. But now a lump came into my throat and my heart lurched as I saw what had happened.

One of the assassin’s sabers had pierced him. Only the hilt was visible. He staggered again and turned, attempting to keep his balance. I could see his back. The curved, bloodstained blade protruded by at least a foot. Tom reached behind, feeling the steel of the blade, then turned toward us again, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Finally he pitched forward onto his face.

Yesterday was the worst day of my life.

It was the day Tom Ward died.

30

The Grief of Grimalkin

AS long as I live, I will never forget the look of horror on Tom’s face when he understood what had happened. I knew exactly what he was feeling. I empathized with him. My gift was a curse, because it meant that I shared his experience.