Page 61 of Caveman Alien's Bride

“Stay close,” Korr'ax orders. “Use your sword if you have to.”

Swords start clanging.

16

- Bryar -

The weapon is already in my hand, and as the enemies come closer, I get ready to slash at them. But if I seriously need my sword at any point, then things have gone really badly.

I get my mirror instead, because there’s an unusually thick sunbeam hitting the ground right at my feet. Holding the disk with both hands, I direct the light at the Krast man who’s fighting Shaman Vram’az. He yelps in surprised fury, and his attack falters.

The shaman thrusts his blade at the man, skewering him. “One victory, Chief!”

Korr'ax slashes into another attacker before I have a chance to aim the mirror at anyone else.

“Two,” he says tightly as his sword is already clanging against that of a new attacker.

“Three!” says a Tretter warrior.

“It’s not an ambush,” Breti’ax creaks, ducking for a badly swung enemy sword. “These are young scouts who must have followed us from the moment we left the Tretter village!”

Swords clang, and I do my best to help with the blinding mirror. I think it makes a difference, because our five guys are keeping the Krast at bay.

Until Shaman Vram’az takes a hit to the throat and collapses, coughing blood.

Before anyone can react, strong arms grab my shoulders from behind and drag me off my feet.

“The woman!” a hoarse voice wheezes behind me. “I have her!”

“Korr’ax!” I fight and kick and scream, then remember my sword. Still resisting as much as I can, I draw the blade and swing it blindly behind me.

It hits something, and the grabbing hands are gone. I don’t take the time to check, just sprint back to my two remaining friends. The shaman is on the ground in a pool of blood.

Korr'ax swings his sword mightily and cuts down a Krast man. Then the rest of them run away through the underbrush.

“It’s her they want.” Breti’ax pants and nods towards me. “And we should let them have her!”

Korr’ax stands tense for a few heartbeats. When there’s no new attack, he kneels by the shaman.

“Vram’az,” he says softly.

The shaman gurgles something, unable to speak because his throat has been cut.

“Go to the Ancestors, holy man,” Korr’ax says calmly. “You fought well, you won, and you made them proud. You shall be added to the Tretter totem pole.”

Shaman Vram’az doesn’t try to reply. He goes limp, and it’s obvious that he will never pray to his Ancestors again.

“Two shamans lost,” Breti’ax wheezes. “Within less than a month. No enemy could hope to do worse damage. I tell you, Chief, she’s sent from the Darkness to bring us to ruin!”

“Be quiet, old fool!” Korr'ax growls as he slowly gets to his feet. “She fought them, just like we did.” But I notice he looks at me in a new way.

I’m shaking all over. They got the shaman, and they nearly got me. The tip of my sword has a sheen of blood on it, so at least I gave as good as I got.

“We can’t build a pyre here,” Korr’ax seethes. “We must leave the shaman to be eaten like carrion.”

“Let him be eaten by irox,” Breti’ax says, supporting himself on his sword. “There’s no dishonor in that.”

The four cavemen laboriously carry and push the dead shaman halfway up a young tree and tie the body to the trunk and the branches up there.

---