Path of the Tiger, стр. 445
The desert sand was growing steadily brighter, as if it were soaking up and then amplifying the light of the scalding white sun above. The salt-heavy scent of the ocean filled his nostrils, and in a rising roar the cannonade of the deep blue waves pawing relentlessly at a nearby shore boomed in his chest.
‘I’ve had enough of the soldier game Sharaf,’ Asef said, the eight-year-old’s too-large eyes bulging from their shallow sockets in his thin, angular face. ‘Let’s go swimming.’
‘Yes,’ Sharaf whispered. ‘Let’s go, Asef. Let’s swim.’
The sand blazed in a blend of all colours, spinning at a speed that was beyond speed – everything was white now, everything. Undefiled light and loving warmth abounded, driving out pain, driving out fear, regret, anger and hatred, bleaching away a thousand years of memories and experiences and leaving behind only a beautiful nothingness.
A gorgeous, all-consuming nothingness.
‘Yes Asef. You and me … my friend … let’s … goooo…’
***
At the end of the corridor Ranomi and Joao squared off, facing each other in animal form. Each was breathing hard from the effort of the battle thus far, and each was bleeding in many places from wounds inflicted by the other. The two were roughly evenly matched in terms of strength, but Joao’s natural ferocity, imperviousness to pain and dogged tenacity had given him the upper hand. He bellowed and lowered his head for a charge while Ranomi, breathing in short, shallow gasps for air that simply refused to stay in her lungs, gritted her teeth and prepared for impact.
The morbid silence of the moment was, however, smashed to splinters by the floor-tom drum solo of an M-16 assault rifle shaking the walls with its rage. Njinga was bloodied and exhausted, but bright flames licked the rims of her dark irises. With a wordless howl of wrath, she emptied the M-16 into Joao’s buffalo body, peppering the huge animal with searing lead missiles. Joao bellowed in pain and swayed on his legs as blood washed in great, bright swathes down his flanks. Njinga kept firing until the trigger clicked with empty impotence, and when it did, she threw the rifle down and scrambled for another, cursing with naked fury and frustration, utterly caught up in the brutal hysteria of battle.
Joao, grievously wounded now, had had all of the fight knocked out of him. The instinct for self-preservation pumped out one final surge of adrenalin, and in a bid to avoid the certain death that would arrive should Njinga grab hold of another firearm, he turned on his heels, swaying and lurching, and stampeded off into the smoke-choked darkness as fast as his failing strength would allow him to.
Now only Hrothgar remained against the three Rebels. His counter-ambush had failed, but he did not yet know this, for his attention was focused on the furious single combat in which he was engaged with Zakaria as the two of them exchanged, blocked and dodged blow after blow. Now was the perfect time to finish Hrothgar off, but just after Njinga picked up another M-16 from one of the dead troops, an ominous rumble groaned from the wall to her right. The series of impacts from the fighting rhino and buffalo, as well as the explosions from the grenades and the barrage of gunfire, had weakened it to the point of collapse, and that collapse was dangerously imminent. Njinga only just had time to dive out of the way before the wall, and a heavy row of shelving and files behind it, came down in a billowing cloud of grey dust. She scrambled to her feet, peering through the choking clouds and the gloom, and quickly saw, with a stab of dismay, that she and Ranomi had been cut off from Zakaria and Hrothgar by an impassable wall of rubble and debris. They could only hope that the knight could defeat the Viking in single combat.
Beyond the wall of rubble, Zakaria and Hrothgar exchanged another flurry of blows, with Zakaria beating the Viking back and forcing him onto the defensive. Zakaria grinned, whirling his longsword in his gauntlet-clad hands in a flamboyant flourish.
‘It’s all over for you, Hrothgar,’ he growled. ‘Justice has finally caught up with you. You should have known that you could not escape it forever.’
He switched to a single-handed grip and lunged with a stabbing attack, which Hrothgar was only just able to deflect as the sword passed his guard. Hrothgar launched a quick counterattack off the parry, but Zakaria was prepared for it and dodged it with ease, and with a rapid dash forward he thrust his sword through the gap left by Hrothgar’s counter. He pressed the tip against his opponent’s throat, while slamming his open left hand onto the haft of the axe and immobilising it. He fixed an intense stare into Hrothgar’s eyes as both men stood frozen in this moment of time, in which destiny was balancing on the fine edge of a scalpel blade; just one more move remained, and thereafter the wheels of fate would shunt one of these beings into the abyss of oblivion.
‘The game is finally up for you,’ Zakaria rumbled. ‘And I want to you toknow that I have defeated you, that I am the bringer of the death you have deserved for so long. I want to see in your eyes the look that says that I am the instrument of your undoing.’
Even with death drawing its sickle blade across his skin, Hrothgar did not reveal the slightest hint of fear. Instead of cowering he cracked a smile and then threw his head back and laughed. In response, Zakaria snarled and moved to end the fight.
‘If that’s all you have to say, I will let that be