In the Eye of the Storm

32. The Art of Losing your Way

Let me clarify: And by 'ran into a bandit' I don't just mean we knocked heads. I really mean 'ran into a bandit'. The tip of my dagger was just about belly-high. We collided, and there was strange, wet thud, like a blade being slammed into a soft sheath.

Only – the sheath was a man's belly.

'Mmpf!'

'Arg!'

We both toppled over, rolling across the floor, blood streaming over us. For a moment, I didn't know whether it was mine or his, then I felt him twitch under me, caught in his death throes. Above me, I heard yells and the trampling of feet, and I pulled in my head just in time. A boot stomped down where it had been a moment ago. Man after man jumped over me in the rush to storm the cave. I growled. I didn't like men going over my head, whether metaphorically or literally.

'Ouff!' A boot hit me in the side, and all the air went out of me. Another boot hit. And other. 'Ouch! Careful! Live one down here!'

Another boot hit.

'This is all your fault!' I growled at the man beneath me. 'Couldn't you have gotten out of my way in time?'

The corpse stared up at me with glassy eyes, not appearing in the mood to reply. Another boot hit me in the side, this time so hard that I rolled over and came to a stop with the dead bandit on top of me.

'Yuck! Get off me!'

I pushed, but nothing happened. The corpse only lifted a few inches, then smacked back down on top of me. That made me angry. Really angry. I pushed again, with all my might, and the corpse slid off me and onto the floor, leaving me panting, with a bloodstained dagger clutched in my hands.

If only Aunt Brank could see me now...

Not too far way, a scream sounded. It tore me from my paralysis. Bloody hell! I had to get off this floor, or I would soon join my friend, the disgusting corpse, in the underworld!

Rolling around, I pushed myself to my feet and steadied myself against the cave wall. Quickly, I looked around the cave to see what was happening.

It was mayhem. Utter and complete mayhem. Throughout the cave, bandits and Mr Ambrose's men were duelling with daggers, scimitars and sabres. Every now and again, a small explosion would light up the cave, and I knew that someone had thrown an explosive or dropped a lamp. The smells of sweat, blood and burning oil filled the room.

'Him! Over there! Get him!'

My eyes flicked to the origin of Mr Ambrose's voice. There he was, pointing to a big, bearded man, who, standing atop a ledge, seemed to be commanding the bandits. He was all the way across the cave, too far for Mr Ambrose or me to reach – but not for someone else.

'Jita la'ī!'

With a bestial war cry, a huge figure darted out of a second cave entrance halfway across. I needed only a glance to recognize that massive mountain of a man, even without the beard. If his stature had left any doubt, the turban would have clinched it.

'Karim!' Mr Ambrose bellowed. 'Get him! Get that man!'

The bodyguard's eyes flicked from Mr Ambrose to the big Egyptian atop the ledge, who had to be the bandit leader. Karim's face twisted into a fierce scowl. Roaring like a lion, he leaped forward, catching hold of the ledge and pulling himself up. The bandit leader's eyes went wide, and he hurriedly stepped forward to tread on his approaching assailant's fingers, but Karim was already up and storming forward. The Egyptian had just enough time to pull his scimitar free, before Karim brought down his own weapon.