At Khillairkos’s command Georges dashed forwards towards the three figures standing in front of the door, following his comrades as he carried the captured Larakian under one arm. Just before they all reached the trio, though, the old man spun around and held his staff up. Georges’ vision lit up for a split second and he felt himself collide with some sort of invisible wall, the vibrations from the impact ringing around inside his helmet. He staggered backwards, clutching his head with his free hand.

But the Larakians were knocked backwards too, into the house.

“Miserable Larakian trick!” Khilliarkos said, himself getting to his feet. “After them!”

Georges followed the other soldiers into the house. As quick as he could, he placed the young Larakian girl he had captured down against a wall, just inside the door, still bound and gagged. Then he looked up to survey what was going on in the house.

Inside were a man and woman, who Georges recognised must be on their side, since they joined them in their attack on the trio of Larakians, along with three boys with expressions of wide-eyed terror on their faces.

He realised that one of the boys could be the child that the Larakians were seeking, though he couldn’t make out whether any of them had a scar. The boys had started shouting at something or someone outside, through the windows. They looked as if they were contemplating jumping out of them.

All of Georges’ comrades were already locked in battle with the three Larakians. Seeing an opportunity to take glory for himself, he ran over to the boys just as they made a move towards the windows and said “Not so fast!” He got in front of them, between them and the windows, barring their exit.

Something bounced off the back of his helmet, thrown by someone outside. But Georges paid it no attention. Instead, he growled at the boys. Though somewhere he thought that he had been just like them, once, this was only the faintest of recollections. His mission was to kill, to destroy them. He would take delight in it.

The boys looked around frantically.

“Help us!” one of them called out.

Georges glanced over to see how the battle was going. It was going well. The others had the Larakians surrounded, trapped, in a circle. No one would be coming to the boys’ aid.

“What are they doing here?” asked the man who had been inside the house already, who Georges had perceived was an ally.

“They are looking for their heir,” said Khilliarkos.

“The one mentioned in the last directive?” said the woman who had already been inside the house, this time.

“Yes,” said Khilliarkos. “A young boy with brown hair and a scar on his cheek.” The commander turned to look at him. “Kill them, Georges, for Echthros’ sake!”

Georges needed no further orders. He raised his scythe, obeying the command.

As he brought it down, someone shouted “NO!” and appeared as if from nowhere, knocking his scythe away with a sword and sending it clanging back in the wrong direction.

It was the Larakian woman. Elderly as she was, she had vaulted the circle of his comrades and come to the children’s defence. She landed with her sword out to one side, ready to fight, with fire in her eyes.

Georges roared with anger and flung more attacks at the woman, which she continued to block and parry, always seeming to choose the best place to put herself or her weapon. In turn he tried to stay close to the windows so that the boys could not escape through them. A little way away he was dimly aware that the battle had erupted again—or perhaps properly for the first time. He had not realised how skilful and powerful the Larakians could be. He had not been told anything about this. But he was too focused on trying to kill the Larkian in front of him to pay this much mind.

The woman was too skilful for him. Eventually she got her blade hooked into the inside of Georges’ scythe and brought it around and down with a scraping of steel, pinning it to the ground.

She looked Georges in the eyes and then her brow furrowed.

“You are not of this world, either!” she said. “You do not belong here. I perceive some good in you…”

Before she could say anything more or Georges could respond, she whirled away to one side, dancing out of the way of a thrust from a black spear. Khilliarkos had come to relieve him.

“I will take care of this one!” Khilliarkos shouted at him as he threw more thrusts at the woman. “I will be the one to kill her! Go and keep guard of your catch, you fool!”

Georges looked around to see what Khilliarkos meant. Further down the room, he could glimpse the little Larakian girl running towards the other identical Larakian that he had captured, whom he had lain in a corner. He had forgotten about her, about his orders. He cursed himself for being so negligent, then roared again then took off, using his wings to carry himself towards her as fast as possible. He would not have his prize of the night stolen from him so easily.

He landed in front of the girl. One of the boys had broken away from the others and joined her and they were in the middle of some kind of argument. Killing him would be an added bonus. He swung his scythe to reap his reward, but somehow the girl leapt backwards. He stuck again, but the girl had a sword as well and somehow it was already in the way.

Curse these Larakians always being in the way! Georges thought. There was only the tiniest echo in his mind of the afterthought from the old George, Some of my friends have little sisters just like this girl…

Georges redoubled his efforts. The girl and he were almost perfect equals, matching each other blow for blow. Soon they became stuck in a stalemate, each one unable to gain an advantage over the other.

Then, unexpectedly, the girl threw out an offensive strike. But she had mistimed it, and missed, leaving herself exposed to Georges’ next blow. Surely she would not have time to block this one.

Just then something hit Georges hard in the stomach and he was sent backwards into the wall behind him.

He blacked out for a moment, then opened his eyes to find himself lying on the floor. Now the older Larakians were back with the girl, picking up his catch and leading her out of the house in flight. Khilliarkos was shouting something after them. Georges was furious. Curse those Larakians, incapacitating them all and wrecking his weapon!

They were heading out of the door now. The boys who had been inside the house already were running after them too, making their escape, though one of them seemed to be lagging behind, his eyes still looking around the room as if he was trying to find something to take with him.

Seeing another opportunity, Georges used the last of his strength to force himself up and stagger the paces to the front door, throwing himself at the child. He caught the boy in his arms and put a hand around his mouth to stop him calling out. The door slammed shut after the Larakians.

Something seared in Georges’ finger and he cried out. The boy had bitten him! He dropped the boy to the floor and then clobbered him over the head with his other hand. The boy went down straight away.

Satisfied that he was out of action for the meantime, Georges surveyed the aftermath of the battle.

To his surprise, his comrades were all on the floor, moaning or unconscious themselves, except for Khilliarkos, who had been pinned to the wall by the Larakian woman’s sword, and who was still shouting:

“Curse those Larakian reprobates! Curse them!”

“Don’t worry, Commader Khilliarkos, sir,” said Georges.

“I am not worried, Private Georges, I am angry at their pathetic, cowardly ways! What is it?”

“I caught one of them.”