if the hunchbacked driver might have seen them, but he was too busy lashing his mules, trying to make his own escape.
“Ghorhund!” hissed Simia suddenly, staring back across the square.
Sylas’s blood ran cold. There, in a clearing where the commotion had begun just moments before, were two gargantuan black beasts, sniffing the air and prowling through the wreckage of a stall. He saw in them the features of the black hound that had pursued him the previous night: the cruel jaws bearing razor-sharp teeth; the immense, powerful shoulders; and the long, sloping back.
To his relief they seemed to have lost the trail of scent, for as he watched, one of them let out a howl of frustration, its breath clouding the air, and then launched itself at an abandoned cart. It crashed into the cargo of boxes and crates, sending the entire load flying, some high into the air, some off the opposite side of the wagon and on to the plaza. Most of the boxes were smashed into pieces, and lengths of timber and splinters of wood flew in all directions. The beast erupted from the cart amid a cascade of debris, leaving it rocking precariously from side to side on broken axles. But before it could settle, the second Ghorhund struck from behind, propelling the rear of the wagon high into the air until it slewed to one side, tipping its remaining contents on to the paving. There was a sharp crack as the yoke twisted and snapped. The ponies broke free of their harnesses and ran screaming, the whites of their eyes flaring as they galloped through the fleeing crowds.
The Ghorhund tore at the sides of the cart with their huge jaws, pulling away great mouthfuls of timber and metal, then hurling it away with a sharp flick of their powerful necks.
“That could have been us,” murmured Sylas.
Their cart was accelerating towards the edge of the square and they could hear the driver shouting at people to get out of the way and cracking his whip at the mules, trying desperately to make them run faster. The sight of the fleeing ponies had now set them at a full gallop so that the cart was swaying dangerously on the slippery surface. The two children clung on to the sacks, desperate to stay hidden.
“Look!” hissed Simia, her face betraying a new fear.
Sylas followed her frightened eyes and saw three huge figures entering the square, then jogging towards the Ghorhund. They bounded lightly in a way that seemed unnatural in men so large, taking huge strides with ease. He recoiled in horror as he saw why: their powerful legs bent backwards at the knee like the rear legs of an animal, giving them an aberrant, predatory stance. In truth they seemed as much beast as man, with dark, matted fur rising from clawed feet up sinewy legs and appearing again above their black tunics in patches across their shoulders and down their arms to long, hooked fingers. Bristles gathered around the back of their necks to form a thick mane that covered most of their massive heads, which hung low between their shoulders as they ran. Their faces were difficult to see, but even at this distance Sylas could make out areas of pale human skin covering parts of an elongated jaw that rose to what looked almost like a snout.
Almost, but not quite, for there was not one thing about these creatures that was neither man nor beast, but rather a mixture of the two: they moved with the agility and power of an animal, but with the precision and intent of a man; they had the stature and gait of their human cousins, but their manner was of threatening, rapacious hunters.
“The Ghor,” murmured Simia, her voice full of dread.
They drew near the Ghorhund, slowed and then, with a single purpose, fanned out across the square, one loping along each edge, the third jogging into the centre, stooping low at times to examine the paving. Suddenly, just a short distance past the Ghorhund, it stopped and lowered its head to the ground. It paused there for a moment as though sniffing the stone, then raised itself up and looked directly towards the fruit cart.
Sylas could feel its keen eyes searching among the sacks.
Then, in one swift movement, the hunter threw its head back in the air and to his horror it let out a bloodcurdling, canine howl. Moments later it started forward and began sprinting at an astonishing speed towards them. The others changed direction and fell in behind, soon moving as one, striding perfectly in time, their massive claws beating out a single terrifying rhythm. Just moments later they were overtaken by the two Ghorhund, which flew across the square, baying lustily as they rejoined the hunt.
At that moment the fruit cart skidded round a corner into a busy road lined with shops and stalls. The smell of smoke became more powerful and Sylas could hear the chatter and bustle of crowds, but he was hardly aware of his surroundings. Instead his eyes were fixed on the corner that they had just turned, watching for the first sign of their pursuers. Simia pushed herself up on her hands to peer cautiously over the top of the sacks.
“We’ve got to get out of the cart,” she said. “Wait for me to move, then do as I do.”
Sylas nodded and eased himself a little off his haunches to make sure that he was ready. They passed a hanging sign bearing the words The Mutable Inn written in large ornate lettering.
“Now!” exclaimed Simia, and she stood up and launched herself into the air, falling quickly out of sight. He hauled himself to his feet and saw her land some distance away, staggering slightly and bracing herself against the wall of the inn. He heard the cry of the driver from behind and saw a number of faces turn in the street, but dared not look: he braced himself against the side of the cart and threw himself into the air. He cleared the muddy road and landed next to Simia on the stone terrace of the inn, grimacing from the pain in his knee.
Simia drew close to him. “Follow me inside,” she said under her breath. “And, for the sake of Isia, cover up your trinket!”
He glanced at the bracelet shining brightly on his wrist and, with a glance up and down the busy street, he covered it with the muddy sleeve of his jacket. He saw Simia disappear through the large wooden door of the Mutable Inn, and he quickly followed her.
As he pulled it closed behind him, he heard a noise in the street. He was tempted to ignore it, but could not resist peering out through the small glass panel mounted in the door. Once again people were running, screaming and shouting as they glanced anxiously back down the road. Soon their cries were drowned out by the vicious howls of the Ghorhund: and then they came, their massive paws pounding into the dirt with such thunderous force that the door rattled on its hinges. People threw themselves to the ground, against walls and through doorways, as the two black beasts streaked past the inn, crashing through abandoned stalls and boxes, knocking those who moved too slowly to the ground and tearing the road into a shower of mud and grit that splattered the window. They sped on, driven wild by the hunt, oblivious to the pale face peering out at them from the inn.
Sylas watched as the poor people in the road stared fearfully after the Ghorhund, then slowly turned and looked the other way – their faces filling with a new terror. Those who had been thrown to the ground roused themselves and scrambled to the side of the road, heads lowered as if fearing a blow. He heard the Ghorhund reach the fruit cart in which they had escaped, announced by the crash of splintering wood followed by a chilling howl of triumph and the screams of the unfortunate driver.
Then, as a woman whimpered outside the inn door, three silent shadows moved in front of the window.
“… such is their power to change the very fabric of the world.”
THE DARK, ALMOST-HUMAN shapes were stooped forward, their heads sweeping low as they bounded lightly along the street, making so little sound that, were it not for the gentle fall of their feet in the mud, he would have thought them ghosts or apparitions. Sylas knew instinctively that even as they ran they could hear the slightest noise, and he found himself holding his breath as he watched. Their movement was wolfish and hungry, but they moved with remarkable control, striding in perfect unison and in precise formation. They took no notice of each other, their disfigured heads swinging from side to side as they took in the pale, fearful townsfolk at the sides of the street.
For