his pistols. He stepped into sight and the men scrambled to their feet, dragging knives and hatchets from their belts of rope and hide. Shannow’s guns came up and then he spoke.
’Thou shall be visited by the Lord of Hosts with thunder and with earthquake and great noise . . .’
He triggered the pistols and two men flew backwards. The other five screamed and charged. One went down with a bullet in the brain, a second fell clutching his belly. A third reached Shannow and the man’s hatchet flashed for his head, but Shannow blocked the blow with his right arm and thrust the left-hand pistol under the attacker’s chin. The top of his head flowered like a scarlet bloom. A club caught Shannow on the side of the head and he fell awkwardly; his pistol fired, shattering a man’s knee. As a knife-blade rose above his face, Shannow rolled and shot the wielder in the chest. The man fell across him, but Shannow pushed the body clear and lurched to his feet. The man with the shattered knee was crawling backwards.
’. . . and great noise, with storm and tempest and the flame of devouring fire.’
The cannibal raised his arms against the pistols, covering his eyes. Shannow fired twice, the shells smashing through the outstretched hands and into the face beyond, and the man pitched back. Shannow staggered and fell to his knees; his head was pounding and his vision blurred and swam. He took a deep breath, pushing back the nausea that threatened to swamp him. A movement to his right! He pointed his pistol and a child screamed.
’It’s all right,’ said Shannow groggily. ‘I’ll not harm you. “Suffer little children to come unto me.” Just give me a moment.’
He sat back and felt his head. The skin was split at the temple and blood was drenching his face and shirt. He sheathed his guns and crawled to the children, cutting them free.
The taller of the two sprinted away the moment the ropes were cut, but the other raised a hand and touched Shannow’s face where the blood flowed. Shannow tried to smile, but the world spun madly before his eyes.
’Go, boy. You understand? GO!’
Shannow tried to stand, but fell heavily. He crawled for several yards and found himself lying next to a small clear pool of water. Watching his blood drip to the surface and flow away in red ribbons, Shannow chuckled.
’He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.’
The child came to him, tugging at his arm. ‘More come!’ he said. Shannow squeezed his eyes shut, trying to concentrate.
’More Carns come. You go!’ shouted the child.
Shannow slipped his pistols into his hands and knocked out the barrel wedges, sliding the cylinders from the weapons and replacing them with two fully loaded cylinders from his coat pocket. He fumbled the wedges into place and sheathed the pistols.
’Let them come,’ he said.
’No. Many Carns.’ The boy’s fingers flashed before Shannow’s face. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty …
’I get the message, lad. Help me up.’ The boy did his best, but Shannow was a tall man and the two made slow progress into the woods. Angry yells and cries pierced the stillness and he could hear the sounds of many men crashing through the undergrowth. He tried to move faster but fell, dragging the child with him. Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbled on. A blue- and yellow-smeared body lunged through the bushes and Shannow’s right hand dropped and rose, the pistol bucking in his hand. The warrior vanished back into the undergrowth. The boy ran on ahead and unhobbled Shannow’s horse, leaping into the saddle. Shannow staggered forward, caught hold of the pommel and managed to step into the saddle behind the child.
Three men burst into view and the horse swerved and took off at a run. Shannow swayed in the saddle, but the boy reached back and grabbed him; he managed to sheathe his pistol and then darkness overtook him. He fell forward against the boy as the horse raced