ground. The trails, Kali saw, led back to his stable, where this vicious deed had obviously been done, for there a puddle of blood the size of a small pond had already begun to soak into the straw. With that much blood gone and the wounds that he had, it was a wonder that Horse could walk at all. Kali already felt sick enough but then the true cruelty of what had been done to him — and to her — became clear. Horse's fetlocks had been sliced with an almost surgical precision, to the degree where they were held together only by the finest threads of gristle and tissue, and the fact that he was being forced to walk towards her now was providing the strain that would finish them off. As Kali watched in horror, the remaining threads of the fetlocks snapped away and, with a loud whinny of pain, Horse collapsed, dropping onto his rear, the blood beginning to run from him more freely than ever.
Kali roared and attempted to run to him, but Munch had stationed two more of his men on either side of the tavern door and they each grabbed one of her arms, holding her back. At the same time, more of Munch's men appeared on the roofs of the stables, aiming crossbows down. Munch stepped casually through the door behind her and said, 'The nag was old. If the strain of fleeing once again hadn't killed it, the knacker's yard would have finished it soon enough.' He stepped around to Kali's front, and smiled. 'Trust me, Miss Hooper, I was doing you a favour.'
Kali spat in his face, and struggled anew in the hands of her captors. Over Munch's shoulder she saw Horse fold down onto his front legs and then, with a winded and tremulous expulsion of breath, collapse heavily onto his side, his legs kicking spasmodically. Blood began to pool there, too, and he began to shake, soaked in his cold sweat. His dazed large eyes — as innocent as a child's eyes — rolled in confusion, for there was no way he could understand what was happening to him.
But Kali knew what was happening, and she couldn't believe it.
Horse was dying right in front of her.
'Let me go to him,' Kali said. 'Please.'
Munch laughed. 'The interfering adventurer shows her softer side. A compassion for all living things, all… creatures great and small. What a wonderfully pious attitude.' He chuckled and, leaning in, whispered, 'Perhaps you should consider joining our church?'
'Damn you!'
'The Lord of All knows my cause is righteous.'
Behind her, the others were bundled out of the Flagons. Munch signalled his men on the rooftops to train their weapons on them.
Red and Aldrededor and Dolorosa stared grimly out at the scene before them, the woman raising her hand to her mouth. 'Oh, no, no, no… oh, all the gods,' Dolorosa said.
''Ere, wosh goin' on out here?' another voice enquired, and the Sarge, his head looking as though it had been dunked in a bucket of water, strode from a stable, his men following behind. Munch scowled, and with a flick of his head ordered his men to lower their weapons. Idiots these men might be, but they still represented what passed for officialdom in these parts and, obviously, it was Munch's intention — perhaps his orders — to keep the situation as unofficial as he possibly could.
Unfortunately for him, it seemed to have already gone too far. The sergeant squinted at the dying Horse, then the restrained Kali, his brow furrowing. ''Ere…' he said again.
'There is nothing here to concern you,' Munch said. 'A tragic accident, that's all.'
The sergeant pulled down his tunic, hiccupped and stared at him. 'Looksh a bit more than that to me,' he said. He gestured to his own men, who laid their hands on their weapons. 'I'm afraid, sir, I'm going to have to ashk you for your provincial papers.'
Munch scowled, considering the situation, and then actually smiled. But he made no move for papers of any kind. The poor fool confronting him had no idea how far he had just stepped out of his depth.
'Sarge, don't,' Kali called to him. 'Stay away.'
But it was too late. Munch signalled his men and a rain of bolts took the sergeant's men down. Only the sergeant himself was left unscathed. For him, Munch had reserved something special.
It was over in seconds. Munch grunted as he forcefully levered his gutting knife from the chest of the sergeant fallen before him, and Kali could see him fighting the dull tugs on his bones as the roughened edge of his vicious blade grated and snagged between the dead man's ribs. Pulling it free of the corpse, he took a breath — a very satisfied breath — and then slowly turned and plunged the still-dripping blade into one of the gasping, weeping men who had survived his men's bolts. He did not go for a quick kill, instead impaling the man's guts and then twisting the hilt with both hands so that the end of the wide blade began to gouge a hole the size of an infant's head in the stomach of his screaming and helpless victim. The bucking man tried to grab the blade with his own hands, as if this would somehow ease his agony, but Munch pressed the sole of his boot onto them, slicing the grasping palms down the blade and, fingerless stumps now, into the gaping wound itself. As the man spasmed and uttered a final, guttural sob, Munch swiftly withdrew the blade, spewing a rain of intestinal matter onto his face and ending him.
Munch turned away from the corpses, wiping his knife on a patch of grass, but not replacing it in its sheath. It was clear to Kali that he hadn't murdered these man the way that he had just for fun. He had been performing for her — showing her how good he was.
How much of a challenge she was about to face.
Across the courtyard, Aldrededor knelt by the fallen Horse and trembled in helpless fury. Kali could see in his eyes how much he wanted to help her, to launch himself at Munch and his men for what they had done, and to kill them. But after his years of travelling the world Aldrededor was no fool — he knew the realities of life, of greater numbers, and of age. Instead, the old man stroked the neck of Kali's quickly fading companion, doing what he could to make the last minutes of Horse's life comfortable amidst the carnage. For his part, Horse's eyes were trained on Kali, perhaps wondering why it was she did not come. Wanting her badly to come.
'Arrrrgh!' Kali screamed, straining against the grips of her captors.
'She's mine,' Munch shouted to his men. 'Let her go.'
Her captors released her, and Munch beckoned her to him, the courtyard having become his arena. Kali's first instinct was to charge at the bastard, to rip him limb from limb, empowered by the rage that had built — was still building — inside her like a volcano. But that would be foolish, she knew. She was no fighter, she just threw the punches she had to and, unless she was careful, Munch would likely skewer her before she could land a blow. Instead, she went halfway, starting to circle Munch in a half-crouch, ready, when her opening came, to spring. The trouble was, Munch was far too good a fighter to give her an opening, and as he too circled, expertly swinging his knife in a criss-cross defensive pattern, she knew that any such opening would likely be a feint, designed to draw her in. She had to play him at his own game, let him come to her.
'Something the matter, girl? Don't you hunger for my blood?'
'I'd prefer to just watch it leak away.'
'Well, here's your chance,' Munch said.
He raced at her, roaring loudly, swinging his knife diagonally right and left. The blackjack in her pocket useless to counter him, Kali knew she would have to rely on agility and speed to survive, and allowed herself to fall backwards to the ground. As his knife sliced above her, she rolled neatly out of his way and let his momentum crash him into a stock of barrels behind. Munch righted himself with another roar, and she quickly flipped back to her feet, beckoning to him, their positions reversed.
Munch came again, this time slicing his knife out in a wide arc before him, a manoeuvre that caused the air through which it passed to thrum.
Kali jumped back, jack-knifing herself at the waist so the tip of Munch's blade swept by her abdomen a few inches away and then, as it completed its arc, somersaulted forwards beneath Munch's plane of attack, slamming her soles into his gut. Munch buckled, winded, and, as he staggered back, Kali came upright again, grabbed him by the arm and, by sheer momentum alone, managed to spin him around. Once again Munch careered into barrels and, dizzied, collapsed to one knee. It was obvious he needed a second to recover but Kali had no intention of giving him the chance, and booted him in the face, knocking him onto his back.
Munch struggled to get back up. If his roar had been loud before, then now it was deafening, and purposefully not pressing her advantage — knowing Munch would use every dirty trick in the book and try impaling her from his prone position — Kali smiled. This was exactly what she wanted — to get the bastard angry, because if he was angry then he would start to make mistakes. Panting, she bounced on the balls of her feet like a pugilist, her fists clenched, waiting for him to come again.
