Cullen grunted, face twisting with pain, and Sig knelt beside him. She breathed a sigh of relief as she lifted the shattered shield away. The spear had pierced his bicep, punching clean through and out the other side, but Cullen’s chainmail shirt had slowed it there, done enough to save the lad. A few rings were shattered, the spear-point cutting through the wool and linen beneath, a bloom of blood, but it was only a shallow wound.

Not that the fool boy will be doing much more leaping around for a ten-night or two.

‘I can fight on,’ Cullen mumbled, trying to stand. His eyes rolled white and he slipped back to the ground with a groan.

‘No, you can’t,’ Sig said.

‘Will I die, then?’ Cullen whispered, struggling for breath.

‘Of old age, most like, but not this day, laddie,’ Sig said and stood, raising the spear in her hand. She saw the shadowed streak of Rimmon as he sped towards an exit from the chamber, hefted the spear a moment, finding its balance and judging its weight, and then she threw. It flew straight as an arrow, punching through one of the Kadoshim’s wings, low, where it thickened and joined the shoulder. There was a scream, Rimmon plummeting to the ground.

‘Got to leave you awhile,’ Sig grunted down at Cullen.

‘Bring me its head,’ Cullen mumbled.

Sig ploughed through the chamber, smashing any before her out of her way. In heartbeats she was at the spot where the Kadoshim had fallen, saw the spear she’d cast at the Kadoshim lying on the ground, its blade dark with blood. Darkness thick as smoke filled the tunnel, so Sig grabbed the weapon, tore a dead man’s cloak from his back, wrapped it around the spear shaft and stabbed it into a fire-filled brazier. Soon flames were crackling and she lifted the torch and glanced back.

There were knots of combat still raging about the chamber, but to Sig’s eye Elgin and his men had the measure of it, far more of them still standing than their frenzied enemy.

They can finish here. I’ve got a Kadoshim to kill.

Sig gritted her teeth and ran into the tunnel, no time for care or caution.

Darkness retreated before her; the tunnel sloped upwards, closing tight about Sig, constricting and claustrophobic after the high-roofed chamber. Soon the noise of battle faded. Side tunnels breached the main path, but fat spots of blood showed Sig the way, leading her ever higher in the main tunnel. Then she saw Rimmon running ahead, a shadow at the edge of her torch’s reach, the tunnel too close for him to unfurl his great wingspan.

Or perhaps my spear throw has injured his wing.

Rimmon stumbled, one shoulder scraping against the tunnel wall, righted himself and ran on. Sig increased her pace, no need for stealth. Rimmon knew she was there; knew she was gaining.