Antyr staggered back under the impact of Ivaroth’s sudden counter-attack, and tumbled incongruously on to the ground. The clinging mist billowed around him.
Ivaroth levelled his sword at him, then set it to one side and bent forward, bringing his face close to Antyr’s.
‘Know, Dream Finder, that it is an honour to die on the sword of Ivaroth Ungwyl, Lord of all the tribes, Mareth Hai. Know.’
Antyr quailed before the night-black eyes and the night-black void that was Ivaroth’s mouth. Then, scarcely aware of what he was doing, he spat into the dreadful mask of his impending death.
For an instant it seemed that all noise and movement had ceased.
Then, through the silence, Antyr saw his left hand seize Ivaroth’s sword arm.
And the tumult was alive again.
Antyr’s right hand drove Captain
