‘There’s seven of us, damn you,’ the older warrior growled.

‘Aye. Still, I’ve seen what he can do . . .’

Maquin gave a feral grin. They didn’t know the half of it.

‘Lykos won’t thank us for letting them escape. Who are you more scared of?’

‘I’m not scared of anyone,’ the young warrior snapped. ‘Just being realistic.’

‘We’ll go on a little further . . .’

The old warrior stood and moved on, treading slowly, carefully, his eyes scanning the ground. The seven men filed off, the last one hesitating, glancing behind him. The others were further ahead now, on the edge of sight.

Maquin snapped a twig and leaf, the sound masked by the rainfall, then stretched his arm out, holding his knife by its pommel, blade hanging down. He let the twig and leaf flutter down, landing upon the path immediately in front of the last warrior, who stared at the leaf, then looked up.

Maquin let go of his knife.

It smashed into the warrior’s face, slicing through the warrior’s eye, piercing his brain. He dropped without a sound, one leg twitching.

Maquin slipped from the branch and landed on the path, tugged his knife free and set off after the other warriors.

Six left.

Maquin was surefooted and light on his feet, his training in the Vin Thalun pits having raised his strength and stamina to new levels, his reactions faster than they had ever been. He ran quickly, the flicker of torchlight ahead guiding him, and in a handful of heart-beats the Vin Thalun were in sight. They were moving in single file, the trail constricting them. Maquin slowed as he drew closer, focusing on the last warrior, who gripped a spear and was using it as a staff, his head down, concentrating on where he was putting his feet. Maquin caught up with him, silent as mist, slipped a hand about the man’s face, clamping over his mouth, in the same breath sawing his knife across the warrior’s throat. Blood jetted, the man slumped, Maquin holding him upright and lowering him gently to the floor.

Five. His heart pounded in his head as he waited for the warrior in front to turn, but the man continued walking.

A cry went up from further along the column, bringing the Vin Thalun rippling to a halt. Maquin saw the last warrior turn; this one held a flaming torch. He saw Maquin looming out of the darkness just in front of him and let out a cry as Maquin’s knife slammed into his belly. Both of them tumbled to the ground, Maquin using his momentum to rip the knife upwards, slicing the Vin Thalun from belly to ribs. They both screamed, crashing to the floor, blood exploding in Maquin’s face.

Four.

Maquin rolled to his feet, came up running, snatching at the burning torch.