He took a step closer, the shadow falling away to reveal the other half of his face.
Elora was shocked to find that this side had an even meaner look. A savage scar forked across his jaw, ending above his hairline. An ugly red mess that pulled the skin in some places and puckered it out in others. And where his eye should have been, was a bright white stone that reflected the scene before her.
“It’s the Pearly White,” exclaimed the man with the bleeding arm.
The grin vanished from the newcomer as his arm whipped out lightning fast, striking the takwich in the throat. He collapsed to the ground, clutching at his Adam’s apple; his gun forgotten.
His comrade clicked loudly. The sound escaping his mouth like an old wooden clacker. He drew his weapon on the old man who sidestepped the bullet and brought his hand down on the gun, twisting and squeezing - releasing another bullet that exploded into the takwich’s chest. His body fell through the gate, the gun spilling to the floor.
Elora rose unsteadily to her feet, regarding the tall man warily. This was Diagus. The Shadojak. He stared back, his white eye seeming to pierce her very soul.
“Where’s the boy?” he asked, sternly.
As if to answer his question, Bray’s body hurtled backwards through the kitchen window and fell to the floor in a shower of glass.
“Bray!” Elora shouted and made to run to his unmoving body but the old man grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
“Stay behind me,” he ordered. She wanted to tell him to go to hell but something in his command rooted her to the spot. And so she followed him as he prowled into the courtyard.
As she passed the man clutching his throat, he collapsed onto his side, arms falling limp beside him. Dead, Elora realised. The Shadojak had killed two men with no more remorse than swatting a couple of flies.
The kitchen door swung in and Reuben stepped out, holding Bray’s sword. He spied them approaching and smiled.
“Today I get to kill a Shaigun and the Shadojak. Your blade will make a handsome gift for my Lord. Unless of course, I keep it for myself,” he said.
Diagus approached him, opening a smuggler’s pocket and drawing out a sword that was almost identical to Bray’s although it’s blade had a dark green hue to it.
“Now, I’m supposed to offer you the chance to yield but I’m guessing that you would refuse, so I won’t waste our time with that nonsense,” the Shadojak said, raising the sword before him.
“Clever man,” Reuben replied, bringing Bray’s sword to bear.
Elora went to Bray and rolled him onto his back. He gazed up at her, his breathing sounding worse than it had before the attack, but she saw no mortal wounds on him other than the one on his arm which had opened afresh. She tore a sleeve from her shirt and wrapped it around the large gash, staunching the flow of blood the best she could, then rested his head upon her lap like she had in the fairy circle although now they lacked the fairies.
Reuben circled the Shadojak, sizing him up like a cat deciding how it was going to kill a trapped mouse. Diagus remained still, poised yet motionless. His eyes, both blue and pearl, gave away no hint of his intentions.
Suddenly and without warning, Reuben struck out with the sword. It swung low making a whistling noise in the air. The Shadojak parried it easily, blue sparks flashing where the metal met as he danced away with the fluidity of water. Twice more Reuben slashed towards the old man, first aiming high then low yet each attack was met with the slightest of movements, the blades touching for the briefest of moments.
Diagus tiptoed around Silk’s man as light as a ballerina compared to the bull-like aggression used by his opponent. Elora wondered why the Shadojak didn’t strike back. Each calculating movement was one of defence, there was no offence as yet.
Bray weakly grasped her hand and squeezed. “What’s happening?” he croaked.
Elora gazed into his face, his skin as pale as snow. “The Shadojak is here. He’s fighting Reuben.”
“Diagus,” he whispered, his eyelids slowly closing. Elora thought that his body suffered too much and that the poison had taken its ugly grip once again. He needed the antidote immediately.
“Shadojak,” she shouted, hoping that he could hear her above the ringing of clashing steel. “Bray will die soon if we don’t get him inside.”
The Shadojak gave her a quick glance, raising an eyebrow. Then simply ducked beneath Reuben’s next blow and brought his sword up as he stepped towards her.
Reuben paused mid-swing, legs locked in place, arms still gripping the sword but didn’t turn around. Elora was expecting him to strike Diagus in the back now that it was exposed, yet he didn’t so much as twitch. It was like he was playing his own game of musical statues and the music had stopped.
The Shadojak put his sword away into his invisible pocket and crouched down, placing a calloused hand upon Bray’s head.
“What about Reuben?” Elora asked, her eyes still on Silk’s man.
Diagus glanced at her, a wicked grin spreading across his face, the ugly scar pulling his skin tight against his jaw. “He hasn’t the mind to fight no more.”
Elora frowned, her gaze switching back to Reuben in time to watch his head slide sideways from his shoulders and tumble to the ground, making a dull thumping sound. His body teetered forwards and then collapsed beside the head. Elora’s mouth fell open, she suddenly felt sick. It was the Shadojak that finally drew her attention away from the mutilated body.
“Grab his legs, girl,” he ordered.
Between them they carried Bray’s body into the kitchen and lay him down on the chaise longue.
“Grendel!” the Shadojak shouted. “Grendel, if you don’t get your skinny arse in here, I swear by the Blessed Mother I’m going to judge you here and now.”
Grendel burst into the room carrying a silver syringe. A small boy with the same dark eyes, at her heels.
“I’m sorry my Lord. They said they would take my child’s head if I didn’t do what they asked,” she cried as she knelt by Bray.
“I’m no Lord, wench. Now fix the boy with the draught. And if he dies you’ll share his fate.”
Elora watched Grendel administer the antidote, then grasp his wrist and count his pulse. “He needs rest.”
“How long?” the Shadojak growled.
“A couple of days. Maybe a week. The longer he rests the better he will heal. Knoll sap is a hideous poison.”
“We can’t spare that long,” Diagus spat, running a hand through his hair.
