“That ax of yours. Where did you get it?”

  Kwasin looked at the stranger, who still lolled casually against the tree. Something about the man woke bees in Kwasin’s stomach. Moments later he understood why he felt this way.

  “I’d like nothing more than to discuss the virtues of this most faithful of women,” Kwasin said, panting, and he swung his ax in a mighty arc sure to give any mortal enemy pause. “But the hounds are at bay, and if you don’t get out of my way, my loving bride may yet turn fickle and leap out of my hands at you.”

  The stranger seemed unfazed by Kwasin’s bravado. He no longer even looked at Kwasin, but now seemed intent on studying an insect crawling up a long grass stem at his feet.

  Kwasin started up the hill toward the stranger, but when the man spoke again, surprise froze him.

  “If I find that harm has come to Lalila, her child, or the manling Pag,” the stranger said, “I will hunt you down and kill you.” Then the man threw back his head and, shaking a black mane of hair, sniffed the air like a lion scenting its prey. “Though the wind tells me you may already be doomed,” he added, his keen eyes again returning to Kwasin.

  “How do you...?” Then the cloud of befuddlement cleared as if Resu, the Flaming God, shone forth his brilliant glory inside Kwasin’s skull.

  So this, then, must be the man said by many to be Sahhindar, the Gray-Eyed Archer God! The Son of Kho in the flesh! Or so the scribe Hinokly had claimed when he told the story of how his expedition encountered Kho’s exiled son in the hinterlands beyond the empire. Sahhindar, protector of the golden-haired, violet eyed beauty Lalila, the moon of change, and her daughter Abeth, and the dwarf Paga, who had given Kwasin his mighty ax, and whose name the god pronounced strangely. If not for them, Kwasin would never have ended his exile and returned to Khokarsa, at least not yet.

  No, Kwasin thought, he would not now be standing upon this hill outside the capital if his cousin Hadon had not won the Great Games of Klakor, and if the oracle had not then sent him off on a fool’s quest to the Wild Lands to bring back the woman, her daughter, and the manling, who were said to be under Sahhindar’s guardianship. But the oracle of Khokarsa had decreed that only upon accomplishing this task would Hadon be granted the king’s crown that should have been his right as victor of the Great Games. And it was during his fated expedition to the Wild Lands that Hadon had run into Kwasin, serving out the sentence of exile that had been imposed upon him for ravishing a priestess of Kho. Kwasin had counted himself blessed by the Goddess and sworn an oath to obey his cousin until they got back to civilization, hoping that Hadon, with his expedition’s goal achieved, would then assume the throne and pardon his exile.

  That had not happened. Instead the journeyers returned from their adventures to find that King Minruth and his priests had revolted and overthrown the natural ascendancy of the Goddess and the rule of Her priestesses. War and chaos reigned in Khokarsa.

  Now that Kwasin was here, at the empire’s hub, he was released from his irksome contract with Hadon. Free, he thought, if not for the soldiers at his heels, the priestesses who wanted him exiled, and the god who stood mockingly before him.

  “Sahhindar!” Kwasin bellowed. “If indeed you are the Son of Kho, then we are brothers! Both exiled by the Great Mother to spend our days wandering the Wild Lands. But an exile’s dishonor need not be our fate. Let us turn and seek Kho’s forgiveness by slaughtering Her enemies!” Kwasin waved his ax back toward the adjoining hill. The dogs’ barking was much louder now and at any moment the soldiers might charge over the hill’s crest. "

  Cool gray eyes regarded Kwasin. “Not my fight,” the god said; then he turned and scrambled up the oak tree like a monkey. “If you run into Lalila or Pag,” Sahhindar shouted down at Kwasin through the leaves, “tell them to head south, far south, as quickly as the wind will take them. There is not much time left.” The leafy foliage swished in the god’s wake and Sahhindar was gone.

  Kwasin turned around just in time to see the first soldier sprint over the nearby hilltop. The soldier fought to hold the reins of a monstrous dog, its mane thick and bristling, and fangs so large Kwasin could see them even at a distance of two hundred yards. Several more soldiers followed over the lip of the hill, two of them also led by the large, wolflike dogs. But Kwasin did not take long to look at them. Quickly he slipped behind the same oaken trunk against which Sahhindar had leaned.

  He waited. No longer would he run. He was not like his cousin Hadon, who had turned and fled as he, Kwasin, leaped into the nearest boat of Minruth’s soldiers and stood alone against those who would have killed Hadon and his friends. No, Kwasin had stayed behind then, like any red-blooded man would have, to give the beauteous Lalila a chance at survival. As he had done then, Kwasin promised himself that one day, if the woman lived, he would look into those violet eyes again and that in them he would see Lalila’s burning desire for him. He grinned at the thought. Then he corded the leather thong of his ax around his wrist and hand, stepped from behind the tree, and charged.

  Down the hill he went, roaring like a mad lion, his mighty ax swinging above his head.

  The three wardogs at the front of the group oi soldiers strained against their handlers’ reins. The men and dogs had already passed the bottom of the adjoining hill and were halfway up the hill down which Kwasin madly ran. Too close now to use their sling-stones effectively.

  The plumed iron helmet of a captain in the Sixth Army of Khokarsa appeared behind the dogs. The handlers, amid much snapping of their charges, managed to steer the dogs off to the sides. The officer raced forward. Though Kwasin could not hear the man’s words over the dogs’ hellacious barking, he could see the officer cursing at the handlers as he passed them and moved into the lead. The man pulled a square-ended iron sword from its scabbard as he pumped furiously with his legs. A numatenu. Though Kwasin did not belong to the order of the term, the fool officer undoubtedly saw it as a matter of honor that he confront the giant before his soldiers did. To kill Kwasin, exiled ravisher of Kho’s priestess, would certainly bring the fellow much fame. The man was so sure of himself he did not even carry a round wooden shield like his fellows.

  Now the war dogs and handlers broke even farther to his left and right. No doubt they meant to outflank Kwasin while the officer took him on. Kwasin had just enough time to take this in. Then they were upon him. Or he upon them.

  Kwasin’s ax crashed against the officer’s swinging blade, ripped it from the man’s grasp. The man did not even have time to look surprised before Kwasin, bellowing with laughter, kicked him in the face with the thickly callused sole of his bare foot. Blood spurted from the man’s crushed nose and teeth and he fell backward down the hill. They did not make numatenu like they used to.

  Kwasin whirled, expecting the dogs to be upon him. Then he saw why they were not. Two more men with plumed helmets stood to either side of him on the sloping hill, their long, slightly curving iron swords drawn. Minruth had sent not one, but three numatenu after him. Kwasin’s reputation had grown large indeed.

  In the time it took him to observe this, Kwasin did not pause. Already his ax whistled at the man to his right. At the same time as the ax smashed a hole in the soldier’s wooden shield, Kwasin spun toward the man on his left and with his bare foot kicked off against the advancing man’s raised shield. The numatenu stumbled backward but did not lose his feet.

  Kwasin turned back to the man with the damaged shield. He clung to the useless thing for a moment, but seeing the giant before him raise his enormous ax, the man cast the shield at Kwasin’s face and retreated several steps. Kwasin raised his free arm to block the hurtled shield, which upon impact pivoted on his forearm and whacked hard against the bridge of his nose. Warm blood gushed from his nostrils onto his lips and bearded chin. Kwasin howled out his rage and whirled about with his ax.

  The massive head of the weapon caught against the edge of the other man’s shield and tore it from him. Under the momentum of the blow, the officer fell back and to the side, pummeling into one of the dogs behind him. This was too much for the blood-frenzied descendant of the wild dog of the plains. Barking and snarling, the dog leaped ahead and pulled its handler helplessly forward. Then the beast was on the fallen numatenu, its large, clawed feet scraping furiously at the man’s lacquered breastplate as it tore open his throat with its teeth.

  Even over the yelping and growling of the dogs Kwasin heard the heavy footsteps coming from behind. Knowing he did not have time to again raise and swing his heavy ax, he jumped forward, landing on his stomach close to, but not touching, the dog that had just dethroated the other numatenu. Then he rolled to one side and hurtled himself downhill through the gap between two of the surrounding soldiers. By the time he got back to his feet, he was grinning. The numatenu who had charged him had come too near the ravenous wardog, which—infuriated because it had not caught Kwasin before he rolled away—had locked its monstrous jaws upon the soldier’s leather-kilted upper thigh. The man was down on both knees. Then a moment later, facedown, dead.

  Kwasin’s delight evaporated quickly. Now situated downslope from the soldiers, he faced a severe disadvantage. In addition to the fact that the high ground now made it much easier for his opponents to attack him, the soldiers could unleash their sling-stones on him; and though pleased to have eliminated three numatenu so easily, he had hoped to take down at least five or six men and one of the dogs while he still held the high ground.

  No. He had not incapacitated all of the numatenu. The first man he had engaged in his charge down the hill was up again, shouting orders at his men. Blood spewed from the gap in the man’s front teeth, but he did not seem to notice. Perhaps here was a real numatenu after all.

  Under the officer’s orders, the two handlers on Kwasin’s upper-right flank sicced their dogs on him, coiling out the dogs’ long leashes. Why the man did not order his slingers to take down their enemy, Kwasin did not know. Perhaps the idiot officer hoped for the beasts to bring down Kwasin so the man could then deliver the fatal blow to the legendary exile personally.

  That did not matter now. His current situation was bad enough. The leopardsized beasts bolted down the hill, and at less than half a dozen yards away the lead dog launched itself into the air at Kwasin.

  Kwasin dropped to his knees and simultaneously heaved up his ax before him in a quick underhand swing that only he could have been powerful enough to accomplish. It hit the canine squarely beneath its jaw, cleaving in two the beast’s head. Kwasin did not see what happened to the dog’s corpse after that, as its two companions hurtled onto him from above.

  He toppled back beneath the blow of their bodies, his ax arm carried backward over his head. One dog’s jaws clamped his right thigh, and his left shoulder seared with pain under the other’s teeth. While this happened he was sliding headfirst on his back down the wet, grassy hill, all the while trying to maintain a hold on his massive weapon which preceded him down the slope. The slick, resin-covered shaft that made it possible for Kwasin to wield the ax with lightning speed now threatened to cause him to loose his hold. He sought to get a grip on the knobby protuberance at the bottom of the haft, but a sharp rock on the hillside struck his hand. The ax flew out of his grasp, though the leather thong attached to it yanked hard against his wrist.

  But the pain in his wrist was nothing compared to the fire in his leg and shoulder. As he writhed under his attackers, a thick doggy odor sought to smother him and he gagged. For a moment he thought he saw Sisisken’s dread face, but then the visage of the goddess of the underworld vanished in the dark well of his anger. He was a hero—more of one than his spoiled cousin Hadon—and he refused to die under the fangs of the hyena’s cousins.

  Finally Kwasin and the mass of canine fangs and fur hit a shallow gulley in the hill and their wild slide stopped. Kwasin roared. He twisted his hips toward the dog biting his thigh and crossed his free leg over the beast’s torso, sliding down along its body as he squirmed uphill, so that the dog’s fangs could not emasculate him. But if the beast wriggled free, it would. Still, he had to do something, and as he clamped the dog with his legs, he reached for the other beast—its teeth sunk deeply into his shoulder’s flesh—and grabbed it by the throat beneath its powerful jaw. He squeezed both dogs, the one with his hand, the other with his legs.

  The dog between his legs squealed. Kwasin heard ribs breaking beneath the corded thews of his thighs, but he was forced to let go the canine when the other dog arched its neck and snapped out a fleshy chunk of his forearm.

  With his free arm, Kwasin yanked and swung upward with all his strength against the ax’s leather thong. He had not known if could do it, but he managed to tug the thong hard enough to send the bony ball on the end of the ax haft into his fingertips. He jerked the ball toward him, released it, and grasped the haft firmly.

  A crimson haze swathed his vision, whether of blood or anger he did not know or care. In the haze, he saw the ax gleam as if lightning incarnate—or was it just the strong Khokarsan sunlight glinting off the weapon’s metallic head? Whatever the case, it seemed as if the Ax of Victory moved of its own accord, arcing first in one direction, and then another. Using the impetus of the ax’s swing to aid him, he jumped to his feet and found both dogs dead—laid low by his wild and brutal outburst. One of the canines’ heads was rent in two, the other’s chest gaping open, its vital organs spilling onto the ground in a deluge of blood.

  Still Kwasin’s anger raged. He charged up the hill, the turf tearing out from beneath his feet. A sling-stone whirred past his right temple, and then a second ricocheted off the iron head of his ax, which he had just raised to face-level as he ran. Though fury still held him, he grinned fiercely, recalling Paga’s claim that the ax was cursed. Perhaps it had cursed the ugly manling, but right now Kwasin would not have traded it for all the women he had ever bedded.

  He made for the five soldiers clustered around the surviving numatenu. Four other men stood several paces uphill to Kwasin’s right. Whistling slings swirled at their sides, but he didn’t believe the men would let loose their missiles for fear of hitting their fellows, whom Kwasin now engaged head-on.

  Three soldiers’ heads exploded under one terrific swoop of Kwasin’s ax. A violent arc of blood, hair, brains, and skull fragments flew through the air and sprayed across the grassy incline. The remaining officer, who had recovered his tenu, swung his blade at Kwasin. Vulnerable because his own swing had carried the tremendous weight of the iron ax to the end of its arc, Kwasin stepped downhill, forcing the numatenu to advance. The man sliced his blade at him but Kwasin was out of reach, his ax already swaying back like a murderous pendulum.

  Kwasin jumped forward with the ax’s momentum. He landed on his knees, which burned as they slid across the wild grasses. He came to a stop with his ax buried deep in the swordsman’s side.

  Out of the corner of an eye Kwasin saw the dull sheen of metal reflecting sunlight. He rolled in the opposite direction, and a short sword cut the air within an inch of his neck. Now on his side, Kwasin kicked out at his opponent’s leg and hit the soldier squarely on the kneecap. The man buckled forward with a throaty yell. Kwasin raised his ax and smashed it through his fallen foe’s helmet as if it were but an eggshell.

  Then Kwasin was up, heaving the dead soldier’s body before him as a shield and barreling toward the slingers. Hot blood coursed through him in the frenzy of battle and he barely took note of the ax’s tremendous weight as it dangled from the antelope-hide thong around his wrist. The corpse he held up in front of him—or was the man yet alive?—jarred as sling-stones impacted it. One of the projectiles tore through the flesh of the man’s underarm and grazed Kwasin’s shoulder where the dog had bitten him. He growled like an enraged lion through his clenched teeth.

  Two of the slingers broke before Kwasin could reach them. Though he could not see them over his human shield, the two remaining slingers had to be directly in front of him. Then one of the men appeared over the corpse just before Kwasin rammed him.

  Upon collision, Kwasin dropped the dead man and dug his uninjured shoulder under the chin of the soldier into whom he barreled. He fell with all his weight on the slinger. Wind whoofed from Kwasin’s lungs. He rolled away from the soldier and onto his feet, gasping for air. The man on the ground did not move, but another man was running away. Kwasin slipped his ax’s thong from around his wrist and, pivoting on one foot, swirled his whole body with the ax extended at arm’s length. Just before he completed his circle, he released the ax. It arced shallowly upward, then down. The fleeing soldier fell beneath it.

  The two remaining soldiers dashed for the hill’s tree-covered top. One soldier lagged behind the other, appearing encumbered by his armor and the heavy iron tenu he had lifted from the corpse of one of the officers. The fleeing man must have been truly frightened. And stupid. If the other soldier witnessed his action and reported it to his superiors, the man, if apprehended, would be executed for thieving from a member of the noble swordsman class.