Time passed slowly and light began to creep into the sky. Morning was coming. The river babbled beside her, her sandals beating out a rapid rhythm in the stubbly grass. She left the river behind, running on across the flat landscape, turning now from black to grey. A clump of scrubby trees loomed up.

She crashed between the trunks and slithered down into the bushes, her breath rasping. She shivered in the half-light, heart pounding in her chest. It was silent beyond the trees. Good. She reached inside her clothes and pulled out some bread and a strip of meat, soggy from the swim but still edible. She smiled. She had been keeping half of everything that Yulwei gave her for the last few days.

“Stupid old bastard,” she chuckled to herself between choking mouthfuls, “thought he could get the better of Ferro Maljinn, did he?”

Damn she was thirsty. No help for that now, she could find water later. She was tired though, very tired. Even Ferro got tired. She would rest here for a moment, just a moment. Get the strength back in the legs, then on, on to… she twitched, annoyed. She could think about the where later. Wherever was best for vengeance. Yes.

She crawled through the bushes, sat back against one of the trees. Her eyes closed slowly, by themselves. Just rest for a moment now. Vengeance later.

“Stupid old bastard,” she muttered. Her head dropped sideways.

“Brother!”

Ferro woke with a start, head knocking against the tree. It was light, too light. Another bright, hot day. How long had she been sleeping? “Brother!” A woman’s voice, not far off. “Where are you?”

“Over here!” Ferro froze, every muscle tensing. A man’s voice, deep and strong. And close. She heard horse’s hooves, moving slowly, several horses, and near.

“What are you doing, brother?”

“She’s close!” shouted the man again. Ferro’s throat tightened. “I can smell her!” Ferro felt in the bushes for her weapons, shoved the sword and the knife through her belt, tucked the other knife up her one, torn sleeve. “I can taste her, sister! She’s very close!”

“But where?” The woman’s voice drew nearer. “Do you think she can hear us?”

“Perhaps she can!” laughed the man. “Are you there, Maljinn?” She threw her quiver over her shoulder and snatched up her bow. “We are waiting…” he sang, getting closer still, just beyond the trees now. “Come out, Maljinn, come out and greet us…”

She bolted away, crashing through the bushes, sprinting across the open ground with desperate speed.

“There she is!” cried the woman from behind. “Look at her go!”

“Get her, then!” shouted the man.

The scrubby grassland stretched away unbroken before her. Nowhere to run to. She span around with a snarl, nocking an arrow to her bow. Four horsemen were spurring towards her, Gurkish soldiers, sun glinting on their tall helmets and the cruel heads of their spears. Behind them, further back, were two other riders: a man and a woman. “Stop! In the name of the Emperor!” one of the horsemen shouted.

“Fuck your Emperor!” Her arrow caught the first of the soldiers through his neck and he tumbled backwards from the saddle with a shocked gurgle, his spear flying out of his hand.

“Good shot!” cried the woman. The second rider took an arrow in his chest. His breastplate slowed it, but it still went deep enough to kill. He screamed, dropping his sword in the grass, clutching at the shaft, rolling in the saddle.

The third never even made a sound. He got one in the mouth, at no more than ten strides away. The point went right through his skull and knocked his helmet off, but by then the fourth was on her. She threw the bow to the ground and rolled away as the soldier thrust at her with his spear, then she pulled the sword from her belt, spitting on the grass.

“Alive!” shouted the woman, nudging her horse lazily forwards. “We need her alive!”

The soldier turned his snorting mount and urged it cautiously towards Ferro. He was a big man, with a thick growth of dark stubble on his jaw. “I hope you’ve made your peace with God, girl,” he said.

“Fuck your God!” She scuttled out of the way, dodging, moving, staying close to the ground. The soldier jabbed at her with his spear, keeping her at a distance, his horse’s hooves pawing at the ground, kicking dust in Ferro’s face.

“Poke her!” she heard the woman shouting behind her.

“Yes, poke her!” cried her brother through his giggling. “But not too hard! We want her alive!” The soldier snarled as he spurred his horse forward. Ferro ducked and scrambled in front of its kicking legs. The spear point jabbed, cutting a gash in her arm. She swung the sword with all her strength.

The curved blade found the gap between the plates of the soldier’s armour, took his leg off just below the knee and opened a huge wound in the horse’s side. Man and beast screamed together, fell together to the ground. Dark blood bubbled out across the dirt.

“She got him!” The woman sounded mildly disappointed.

“Up, man!” laughed her brother, “up and at her! There’s still a chance!” The soldier thrashed on the ground. Ferro’s sword hacked into his face, putting a sharp end to his screams. Nearby the second rider was still in his saddle, face twisted, gasping his last breaths, hand clutched around the bloody shaft of her arrow. His horse put its head down and started nibbling at the dry grass by its hooves.

“That’s all of them,” said the woman.

“I know.” Her brother sighed deep. “Must one do everything oneself?”

Ferro glanced up at them as she pushed the bloody sword back through her belt. They were sitting carelessly on their horses not far off, the sun bright behind them, smiles on their cruel, handsome faces. They were dressed like lords, silk flapping round them in the breeze, heavy with jewellery, but neither one was armed. Ferro scrambled for her bow.

“Be careful, brother,” said the woman, examining her fingernails. “She fights well.”

“Like a devil! But she is no match for me, sister, have no fear.” He sprang down from his saddle. “So then, Maljinn, shall we…”

The arrow stuck him through the chest, deep through, with a hollow thud.

“…begin?” The shaft quivered, its point glittering behind him, dry and bloodless. He began to walk towards her. Her next arrow caught him through the shoulder, but he only came on faster, breaking into a run, bounding forward with enormous strides. She dropped the bow, fingers fumbling for the grip of her sword. Too slow. His outstretched arm caught her across the chest with terrible force, slamming her into the earth.

“Oh, well done, brother!” The woman clapped her hands with delight. “Well done!”

Ferro rolled coughing in the dust. She saw the man watching her as she struggled to her feet, the sword clutched in both hands. She swung it at him, a great overhead arc. It bit deep into the earth. Somehow he had already danced aside. A foot came out of nowhere and sank into her stomach. She doubled over, powerless, the air driven from her body. Her fingers twitched, the sword was left stuck in the ground, her knees wobbled.

“And now…” Something crunched into her nose. Her legs buckled and the ground hit her hard in the back. She rolled groggily to her knees, the world turning over around her. There was blood on her face. She blinked and shook her head, trying to stop the world from spinning. The man was moving towards her, tipping, blurry. He jerked her arrow out of his chest and tossed it away. There was no blood, just a little dust. Just dust, curling in the air.

An Eater. He had to be.

Ferro stumbled up, pulling the knife from her belt. She thrust at him, missed, thrust again, missed again. Her head was swimming. She screamed, slashing at him with all her might.

He caught her wrist in his hand. Their faces were less than a foot apart. His skin was perfect, smooth, like dark glass. He looked young, almost like a child, but his eyes were old. Hard eyes. He watched her—curious, amused, like a boy who found an interesting beetle. “She doesn’t give up, does she, sister?”