Piss and daemons, Vesna thought, flapping at his chest for a moment before finding his sword. No, where's the bow?

He looked left and right, gasping as he realised he'd cut the back of his head. The crossbow lay only a yard away, still cocked. The quarrel had fallen out of the groove, but it was beside the bow and would take only a moment to replace.

The man in the centre realised what he was doing and slowed, reaching for another arrow, but by then the three were barely twenty yards away. Vesna, dazed as he was, managed get to one

knee and level the crossbow. He pulled the trigger and saw the big man fall with a cry, then threw the now-useless weapon at the other two, who'd faltered as their comrade went down. One looked back down the road; the other hopped out of the way as the crossbow clattered over the ground towards him, his eyes widening as he looked up to see Vesna charging towards them, pulling his sword from its scabbard as he ran.

He closed the ground so quickly he'd barely freed the blade by the time he reached them. Both men carried six-foot spears, but neither looked ready to use them. Vesna smashed one man's spear aside, moving inside its reach to cut down through the man's arm, then he swung back with the pommel and smashed it across the man's face. He fell sprawling into his comrade, buying Vesna enough time to lunge like a fencer, plunging his sword into the second's heart, then withdrawing and stabbing down into the first before the second had even fallen.

He looked over at the big man. The quarrel had taken him just above the hip; he was writhing in agony and screaming rather than retrieving his weapon. Satisfied he was in no danger from that quarter, Vesna looked for the rest of the gang-

There they were, a second, significantly larger, group of men.

'Piss and daemons, I'm dead,' Vesna growled.

He raised his left arm gingerly and worked his shoulder around a little. It was sore, but nothing worse.

'Weapons,' he ordered himself, letting the professional soldier take over his thoughts. Five yards away was the archer, with his bow right beside him, so he grabbed a spear and went to fetch that. To give the big man something to think about Vesna kicked his hip before retrieving the bow. He realised he only had time for one shot and rushed it, the arrow skewing high of its target and barely stalling them as they ducked.

Vesna hefted his plundered spear. The men on the floor were dressed as penitents, he now saw; most likely mercenaries. Better than zealots, he thought as he raised the spear, but not much.

He waited until they were no more than a dozen paces away before hurling the spear. The lead man had been expecting it and dodged, but the man behind him was caught in the thigh and went down yelling. Without any more time Vesna transferred his broadsword to his right hand and drew his duelling dagger, moving clear of the bodies on the ground. The weapon afforded him little in terms of range but the steel guard extended down over his fist and could be used to deflect a blade.

Time to play the only card I've got left. 'Do you know who I am?' he yelled at the top of his voice.

The group slowed to a trot with the lead man indicating for them to fan out around. This close he could see they wore the grey robes of the cult of Death rather than the black of penitents of Nartis.

Shit, both cults are involved, and these ones will be tougher.

They carried an assortment of swords and axes and looked like they knew how to use them. It was a strange thing to be cheered by, but warfare wasn't as sophisticated as duelling. Spearmen would have simply closed in and spitted him like a boar; these mercenaries would swing their weapons in ways he could predict and he was sure none had his skill.

'Aye, we know you, and we're goin' to kill you.' It was a Farlan accent, from the north, which made it less likely they were simple mercenaries out for the highest price.

Vesna turned in a slow circle, not bothering to keep his eyes on the leader. There were twelve in total, more odds than he'd ever faced before.

One at a time, said the memory of a past weapons teacher, a man who'd taught him the value of a kick to the crotch on the first day. Move when they don't expect, kill one and move.

'Then you know my lord,' he said, edging closer to one man in the ring. 'Whatever you're being paid, we will double, treble even.'

The man gave a heartless laugh. 'And get me a knighthood too, I'm sure.'

'It can be arranged. You'll have information we need.'

'Sorry, friend, it don't work like that.'

Vesna kept turning, sword extended, while the others watched him. He was moving in short sharp bursts, not fast enough to get dizzy, but at random, so his back wasn't turned to anyone for long.

'How does it work, then? You don't sound like a fanatic'

'Enough of the pleading, I'd hoped for better from-'

Vesna didn't wait for him to finish but lunged forward at the youngest of the group, the one whose eyes had been darting between the speakers. The boy yelped in surprise as Vesna dodged his axe and rammed his dagger into the boy's guts. He felt the youth's breath on his cheek as he held him in place, his eyes on the next man in the circle. He deflected a sword-lunge and spun his own up and around, faster than his opponent could, his enchanted blade lighter through the air, and biting deep into the man's arm.

The man howled and dropped his sword as Vesna dragged the spitted youth in an arc to block the rest, kicking the wounded man to drive him back into a comrade.

Kill and move, yelled the voice in his head, and Vesna obeyed.

Pushing off one foot he darted out of the way of two blows, then ran forward into two hasty cuts which he caught on dagger and sword. Swerving left he stepped around one and slashed down the man's ribs. He ignored the man's screams and continued moving, kill and move, barely getting his sword up in time to deflect a falling axe before taking the opportunity to hammer his pommel into the next man's face.

Blood squirted down his cheek but Vesna ignored it as he kept up the momentum and pushed past the broken-nosed novice to slash at the next man's legs. The man hopped back and collided with another mercenary as Vesna rashly followed it up. A sword-tip scraped over his cuirass as the man rode the impact and lunged forward himself.

Vesna felt the sword nick his arm but his training saved him as he pulled his dagger back to his chest and twisted left to pin the sword. Pushing off his left foot he cut up into the man's armpit and tore his chest open. Kill and move.

The pinned sword was released as the novice fell so Vesna used the guard of his dagger to flick it at the nearest novice. As that one batted the flying weapon into the ground Vesna turned, aware there were men behind. His fencer's instincts saved him again as a sword flashed forward and a line of fire cut through his ear and scraped his skull; he stepped forward past his enemy's hilt and drove his dagger into the man's side.

Moving like a dancer now, Vesna swung his sword underneath his extended left arm, pivoted and slashed up at the next novice to reach him. Steel rang on steel as the man parried, but Vesna didn't wait to trade blows, instead using his impaled enemy as a shield. In his haste to wound the hero, the mercenary followed and was caught by a comrade's mace. As he cried out, the comrade hesitated. Vesna didn't. Kill and move.

The novice fell in a heap with the injured man as a roar came from somewhere behind Vesna and he turned, caught a sword stroke on his cuirass and again stepped closer to slash at the man's hand with his dagger. Instead, he caught the sword blade, but he smashed down onto it with the dagger's guard and knocked it from his attacker's grip, then stabbed the unarmed man in the belly.