The Soterion Mission by Stewart Ross Read Free Book Online

the hypnotizing words. “Zed blood! Zed blood! Kill! Kill! Kill!”
    The men on either side of him picked up the chant and the Tallins were soon surrounded by a frenzied circle of screaming, stamping barbarians. “Zed blood! Zed blood! Kill! Kill! Kill!” On and on it went, louder and louder, faster and faster, until the very trees seemed to join in the howling. “Zed blood! Zed blood! Kill! Kill! Kill!”
    Cyrus glanced to his left. Roxanne – normally so calm, so composed – was quivering uncontrollably. She had seen all this before, he realized, and it must bring back unspeakable memories. He had to do something before she collapsed completely. Five against twenty would be hard enough; with just four, their task would be all but impossible.
    Keeping his eyes fixed on the tall, bearded man in front of him, Cyrus slowly drew his knife from his belt. At the end of each verse, on the final “Kill!”, he noticed that the Zed looked up at the sky and raised his arms above his head. At that moment, the scarred body, naked to the waist, was a perfect target.
    A flash of bright steel, a slight whirring sound and then a dull thud as the knife struck home, burying itself deep into the man’s stomach. “Zed blood! Zed blood! Kill…”
    The chanting stopped as swiftly as it had begun. The woods were suddenly silent. All eyes turned to the man holding the gut-ripper as he stared in disbelief at the wooden handle projecting from his body. Then, to Cyrus’ astonishment, with a ghastly grin he plucked the bloody dagger from his abdomen and flung it back towards the Tallins. It landed harmlessly a few feet in front of Roxanne.
    The action broke the spell that held her. Keeping her eyes on the enemy, she bent down, picked the weapon up, wiped it on her tunic and handed it back to Cyrus. “Yours, I believe?” she said quietly. “I think you might need it.”
    No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the Zeds, infuriated by her composure and the injury to their leader, leaped forward with hideous cries of murder and revenge.
    Four attackers fell before they reached the Tallins. After managing two short steps, the commander with the gut-ripper sagged to his knees clutching at the wound in his stomach. Blood seeped through his fingers and dripped to the ground. He never rose again. Three other Zeds were pierced by Taja’s arrows. She shot with extraordinary rapidity, taking an arrow from her waist, fitting it to the bow, drawing and releasing it in what appeared to be a single movement. She aimed high, hitting two of her targets in the face and one in the chest.
    Fortunately for the Constants, Timur had chosen the gut-ripper man as leader because of his ferocity, not his intelligence. He had told his band to leave their bows in the camp because they would be useless at close quarters. That left them armed only with a variety of crudely made spears, clubs and hooks, none of which was a match for the better-crafted Tallin weapons. Furthermore, the Zeds had come without dogs in case the half-trained beasts spoiled the surprise of an ambush – the Grozny had even less control over their animals than over themselves. Pain was their only discipline.
    In short, unequal though the battle might have looked in terms of numbers, with five Zeds taken out before hand-to-hand combat began, the Tallins’ position was not hopeless.
    After the first exchanges, it looked even better. Wielding only wooden clubs, the Zeds who charged at Navid were no match for his mighty axe. The first lost an arm, the second died instantly when the blade sliced into his skull. Beside him, another man struggled in vain against the huge dog that pinned him to the ground by the throat. When it came to a fight, Corby was more than a match for any Zed.
    To Navid’s right, Cyrus fought off three opponents with his spear, stabbing one in the leg, another in the throat and a third with a well-aimed lunge to the chest.
    Behind them, Zavar’s sword flashed and