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Feast, my friends! Feast!”
    At that shout, the shadowkin bounded off the table, their swift movements sending laden platters spinning off the table. Eyes wild and eager, they raced along on all fours as if born to it, spreading across the hall, jabbering in some uncouth, hateful tongue.
    Rathe and Loro ran.

Chapter 5
     
     
     
    Despite their twisted arms and legs, the shadowkin moved far quicker than Rathe would have believed, and with more agility. Before he and Loro reached the first turn on the way back to the horses, the shadowkin burst from the great hall and sprinted after them.
    Rathe kept one hand on Loro’s back, urging him along, the other wrapped around his sword hilt. As they skidded round the second corner, he looked over his shoulder and found the shadowkin bounding closer.
    “Faster!” Rathe warned. “They’re catching up.”
    Loro did not waste a breath to answer, but ducked his head and stretched his legs. He was not a man built for running at speed, but he did so now. Still, the shadowkin gained three steps for every one Rathe and Loro took.
    “Faster,” Rathe urged again, not sure how much faster he could have run, even if not impeded by Loro’s bulk.
    Torches flashed by, followed by stretches of darkness. They careened off walls in their haste to navigate corners. The shadowkin narrowed the gap, wildly cascading down the corridor.
    Knowing they would never make it back to their horses before being overtaken, Rathe slowed to tip a heavy marble bust. It crashed against the floor in a spray of rubble. Each time they passed something he could use as an obstacle, he knocked it over. His efforts slowed the shadowkin but a little. They came on, leaping over all in their path, howling rage.
    He needed something larger. He found her, headless and waiting where she had stood for unknown years. After dumping the statue of the naked woman Loro had tried to molest, Rathe sprinted away. The first shadowkin to reach the toppled statue lost his footing and fell in a sliding sprawl. All who came after became entangled in his flailing limbs.
    As the twisted cannibals yowled and fought to gain their feet, Rathe darted ahead, scrambled around a turn, and discovered Loro had vanished. Rathe ran headlong, and nearly missed the branching corridor. As he slid past, he saw a flash of movement. Loro, far down the second passage, and gaining speed.
    “Not that way!” he cried. His warning came too late, and Loro wheeled out of sight down another passage.
    Rathe ducked into the corridor a heartbeat before the shadowkin rejoined the hunt. Holding his breath, Rathe hunkered in deep shadow a few paces from the opening. Sword held before him, he watched them flash by. He tried to count them, but they were too bunched up, and their bestial gait tricked his eye. It seemed as if the dozen gathered in the hall had become a hundred.
    When he was as sure as he could be that all of them had moved on, he followed after Loro, every few steps looking back to make sure one of the shadowkin had not discovered the deceit.
    All lay dark around the corner where Loro had gone, but the clamor of a ferocious struggle far ahead was unmistakable. Rathe tore into the murk. Low curses, pained groans, and the sound of heavy fists battering ribs guided him. He came to one turn, then another, and the sounds of fighting grew louder. A faint light now lit the way, and he ran faster.
    After a few more turns, he burst into an open chamber. At the same moment, Loro hefted a writhing shadowkin overhead and speared him into a wall. The crunch of the man’s skull cut off his enraged screech. Cursing to shame ten demons, Loro continued to batter the limp figure against the stonework, until Rathe laid a cautious hand on his shoulder.
    At his touch, Loro whirled, teeth bared, eyes blazing. He held the broken corpse in his powerful grip like a crude weapon. For a moment he did not recognize Rathe as a friend, and looked ready to bludgeon him with the dead