Fifty Five: The Shadow Self
The Kahn watched us with dark eyes, his head tilted in amusement.
Beneath him, his mount advanced slowly, unhurried. I could see the sick gleam in the gold eyes. A predator that had cornered its prey.
“You must forgive my Outrider his manners,” said the Firebrand. His voice was deep but unexpectedly clear - as if common was his native tongue.
“It is.. distasteful to allow our mounts to indulge in the consumption of flesh. Once they get a taste they are easily addicted and harder to control.”
Behind him, the Outrider dipped his head and yanked the reigns of his mount causing the creature to reluctantly prance backward.
My men and I stood back to back, shields raised and weapons bristling. My pulse thudded in my ears. Any moment now, I expected death to come. But the Firebrand seemed in no hurry.
From beside him, Orks came from the shadows. Their ranks blocked any hope of escape for those who might want to try their luck fleeing around the Outriders.
There was truly no way out. The Orks jeered, many of them making vulgar or obscene gestures. Urksol seemed unmoved as he listened to his people chant and growl.
“They wish for me to make you my slave,” he said, leaning back in his saddle with a clink of armor.