He stumbled into the clearing and stopped in horror. Two creatures were attacking Fleya. They were twisted and misshapen things, with large bulbous heads and gro-tesquely bulging eyes. One had grabbed Fleya from behind, its left arm wrapped around her throat in a grip that was choking the breath from her. The other was standing before the witch, its hands clamped on either side of her face so she was forced to look straight into its wide-open mouth. White, smoke-like stuff, was being drawn out of his aunt into that mouth, the extraction accompanied by a sound, like a lover’s sigh. Whatever the creature was attempting to take by force was weakening her so much, she seemed on the point of collapse.

Lann took all this in, in a heartbeat. Roaring with anger, he leaped forward, lifting the black blade over his head as he did so and swinging it at the nearest monster.

The blade sang as it cleaved the air, a low, thrumming noise that caused the creature to stop and look back over its shoulder just as the edge bit into the flesh of its neck. Time seemed to slow almost to a halt for Lann. He watched as the blade cut easily through flesh and bone before it emerged again on the other side, droplets of inky black ichor flying from its tip and out into the night air. There was a surprised expression on the foul creature’s face as its head toppled to the floor.

The second creature let out a terrible scream of fear and rage. Fleya was momentarily forgotten, thrown to the ground, as her tormentor leaped towards Lann, clawed hands outstretched to rake flesh and tendon. But Lann, empowered by the magical sword, moved like a shadow. Swiftly stepping to his right, he twisted his torso so the black talons missed him by inches, while simultaneously reversing the swing of the sword, pulling it up and across, so that a huge diagonal gash opened the creature from hip to shoulder. As he delivered that dreadful slashing wound, Lann bellowed a war cry in a long-dead language, becoming, in that instant, one with the Dreadblade.

A terrible screech filled the air, and the creature stumbled to a halt, looking down in surprise as its entrails tumbled out into the night. The monster grabbed at the steaming, grisly mess as if trying to put its innards back where they rightfully belonged, before crumbling and joining its dead partner on the forest floor.

Plunging the blade into the ground, Lann hurried over to his aunt, dropping to his knees by her side. Tears fell from his eyes at the thought that she might be dead, but he hurriedly cuffed them away and forced himself to think straight. With shaking hands he sought out a pulse.

‘Please be alive. Please be …’