“Let us serve them up a decent spectacle, then,” the Iron Wolf replied huskily, “something worth telling tales about.”

He brandished the knife which had shot straight into his hand from his sleeve.

“Prepare to die, O Wolf.”

“Prepare to die, O Bird.”

They began to circle the ring, slowly, treading cautiously, eyes never leaving each other. They moved around the circle twice. And then sprang at each other, aiming lightning-fast blows. The Wallcreeper stabbed from above, aiming for the face; the Wolf moved his head a quarter of an inch as he stabbed from below towards his enemy’s belly. The Wallcreeper avoided the blow by twisting his hips, then slashed diagonally from the left. Again, the Wolf saved his throat with a faint dodge and jumped clear. He turned the knife in his hand, feinting, slashing upwards from below, the blade clanging against the Wallcreeper’s similarly positioned edge. They traded several rapid strokes and jumped aside.

Neither of them was even scratched.

“Prepare to die, O Bird.”

“Prepare to die, O Wolf.”

The lights of non-human eyes flickered and swayed in the gloom, the mumbled and excited murmur rose and fell.

This time, they circled each other for longer, now shortening, now lengthening the distance.

The Wolf attacked, slashing diagonally with his knife held straight out, then turning the blade and dealing a treacherous blow to the neck.

The Wallcreeper dodged, himself thrusting from the left, then from below to the right, then quite low with a sweeping blow that ended in a direct lunge and thrust. The Wolf parried the blow with his knife, dodged the thrust with a half-turn, then lunged forward, feinting and leaping to jab from above to the side of the neck. This time, the Wallcreeper didn’t dodge. He parried with his forearm, spun around, turned the knife in his hand and, thrusting with the full strength of his shoulder, stabbed the Wolf powerfully right in the solar plexus. The blade entered up to the cross-guard. The Wolf didn’t utter a sound. He only gasped when the Wallcreeper pulled the blade from the wound and withdrew, hunched over, ready to deliver another blow. But there was no need. The knife slipped from the Wolf’s fingers and he dropped to his knees.

The Wallcreeper approached vigilantly, staring at the fading, iron-coloured eyes. He didn’t say a word.

There was utter silence.

The Iron Wolf gasped once more, bent over and slumped heavily to one side. He didn’t move again.

In the stone circle of the ancient cemetery, in the place of worship to old, forgotten and eternal gods, pulsating with ancient magic and power, the Wallcreeper raised his arms and the bloody knife. And screamed. Triumphantly. Savagely. Inhumanly.

All life around fell silent, horror-struck.

Chapter Six