The Ragged Man by Tom Lloyd Page A

badly scratched.

    ‘Isak,’ he whispered as he freed the white-eye, ‘can you hear me?’

    Mihn could sense the daemon’s evil delight as Isak did not respond. Though it kept its distance, watching them, its forked tongue tasted the air as though lapping up the last few scraps of Isak’s torment.

    Isak’s white eyes were open, but staring at nothing. Mihn gripped one of the shards of iron protruding from Isak’s body and yanked it out, eliciting a low howl of pain. That wound continued to bleed as Mihn worked on removing the other bits piercing his skin, adding to the covering gore on Isak’s skin.

    ‘More use to me than you,’ the daemon cackled. ‘Leave it here and I shall grant you a long lifetime before you return to me.’

    ‘The span of my life is in the hands of another,’ Mihn said sharply, ‘and she carries a Crystal Skull. If you cheat her of it, her vengeance will be terrible.’

    Once Isak was free of the daemon’s implements Mihn cradled his lord’s massive head in his hands and peered into his eyes.

    ‘Isak,’ he said piercingly, ‘hear me, Isak.’ The rune on his chest pulsed briefly. The daemon felt it too and whimpered, scrabbling at the rock in an effort to retreat from the light.

    Isak’s eyelids flickered and Mihn saw even they bore the scars of damage.

    ‘Gods, how long have you been here?’ Mihn asked softly, wondering whether Isak would ever be able to stand long enough to be helped out.

    ‘An age!’ crowed the daemon from the other side of the prison, ‘ten thousand days pass in a heartbeat here, empires fall in a day!’

    The figure at Mihn’s feet mumbled something in a ruined voice, still staring into nothingness. He couldn’t make out the words.

    ‘Then ten thousand days is long enough,’ Mihn declared. He held out a hand to Isak and commanded, ‘Get on your feet, soldier; this is the long walk home.’

    Isak’s fingers twitched, but other than that there was no sign he had even heard the words.

    ‘ Brace yourself, ’ came Xeliath’s voice in Mihn’s ear.

    Before he had time to realise what she was going to do a flood of magic surged through his body. The rune flared white, the daemon screamed and Isak convulsed as though caught in the teeth of the storm.

    ‘Get up!’ Mihn roared, buoyed by the energising rush of raw power in his veins. He stood and gripped Isak’s arm, pulling with all his strength. ‘Isak Stormcaller, on your feet!’

    Somehow he managed to yank Isak to a seating position while crackling sparks of magic raced over the white-eye’s body. At last Isak moved by himself, his limbs wobbling as, with Mihn’s help, he raised his body until he was close enough to upright. The white-eye, swaying, towered over Mihn, but it was only the smaller man’s efforts that stopped him toppling face-first into the void.

    As Mihn struggled to steady him, using both hands, he suddenly felt droplets spatter onto his face and he flinched away, thinking it was blood. Then Isak’s head turned and he saw it was tears, streaming from the man’s agony-wracked face.

    ‘Give me Eolis,’ Mihn demanded, taking Isak’s chin and angling his head so the white-eye was looking him in the face. Behind him the daemon screamed and cursed them both, but he ignored it and put his fist inside Isak’s clawed hand.

    ‘Give me Eolis,’ he repeated, placing his other hand on the rune on his chest.

    Xeliath obliged with another burst of magic, but it was only when he repeated the order again that a spark ignited Isak’s eyes and the prison shook with a sudden crash of light. When Mihn blinked away the dazzling flares dancing before his eyes there was Eolis, lying in his hand: the long single-edged sword with an emerald pommel that had been bound to Isak’s soul.

    Carefully, he unpicked Isak’s fingers which had automatically closed about Eolis, trapping his own, and took the weapon.

    ‘Leave,’ the daemon hissed frantically, ‘you must leave