Longknife

Longknife killed. He did it well. He was the most powerful member of the tribe, and the most feared. From the time the tribe had entered the rocky valley Longknife`s victims had supplied them all with good meat. He was a master hunter.

Despite his name, Longknife used whatever weapons came to hand; rocks, sticks, bones, antlers, or the spears, handaxes or knives crafted by his own or another tribe. It didn`t matter to him. All he knew was that when the blood-rage came upon him, no-one could stand in his way.

Longknife understood that he would need the blood-rage now, to combat what might be his tribe`s greatest foe. Recently several young, strong hunting males had gone up into the hills and failed to return. Longknife`s people had begun talking about some terrible predatory beast that lurked among the boulders to ambush any who wandered that way. Searching parties had found no remains, although strange lights or fires had been seen on the plateau in the centre of the hill region. Perhaps it was the killer-beast`s terrible eyes, or maybe it was an enemy tribe invading the territory, or possibly it might be…

And while the tribe elders argued and bickered and got nowhere, Longknife made his decision. He would seek. He would kill.

*

He set off just before dawn the next day. The way through the rocks was lonely and difficult and hazardous. Longknife could see far below through a thin mist of cloud the woodlands that skirted the hills; the land dropping even farther just beyond that to the river valley which his people called home. He could even make out the smoke from their fires, and at that point his courage almost failed him. But he had come too far now to turn back. He searched deep inside himself and knew that the rage was still there, and that gave him the strength to go on.

The morning passed and although the sun rose higher the temperature dropped. The wind took on the cutting edge of a flint blade and the granite outcrops become more difficult to negotiate.

Presently he reached a narrow pass that rose up to a rocky rim overlooking the plateau. Longknife could not have prepared himself for what he saw.

There were his missing tribespeople, sitting in a circle around a fire that burned without flame. Close by was a slab of crystal as clear as the purest ice. Flashes and spirallings of light stirred in its depths, and not far from that –

Longknife nearly cried out aloud at the sight of the two demons squatting on a flat boulder surveying the scene. They looked to be as tall as men but were built like children, slender and smooth. Their skin was a silvery white and they spoke to each other with rapid liquid sounds that carried no meaning for Longknife.

He had with him the weapon that had given him his name, and a throwing spear. His eyes measured the distance and his skin and nostrils read the book of the wind. Yes, it would be a difficult throw but possible.

He rose up from the rocks and hurled his spear.

The first creature died instantly. Even as it fell backwards with a cry, Longknife was hurtling down from the rocky lip. The other demon had terror in its eyes and ran among the plateau`s scattered boulders towards its lair.

Longknife smiled at the creature`s stupidity. Its fear scent was obvious and its flight was haphazard. He soon caught it and drove his blade into its heart. Its eyes were blue and its gaze was meaningless now.

Longknife walked back towards his tribesfolk. He paused once to sniff the breeze and look about himself. He surveyed the rocks and the shadows and the feathery clouds high in the sky. But his mind failed completely to comprehend the huge silver ship, empty now, that glittered in the fierce rays of the midday sun.

*

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