Текст книги "Black Halo"

Автор книги: Sam Sykes

Соавторы: Sam Sykes
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‘I would very much like to have it … them,’ Sheraptus said. ‘It would make me very happy.’ He pursed his lips, furrowed his brows; beneath the fire, he looked almost hurt. ‘Xhai … do you not want me to be happy?’

She recoiled, as if struck. An emotion, close to but not quite the fury that was present earlier, shook her features. After a moment, her face settled into one of cold acknowledgement. She turned her head away and barked a command.

‘ TCHIK QAI!’

There was a scrabble of boots, a few muffled curses from behind a massive, jutting ribcage half-buried nearby. Lenk’s ears immediately pricked up, his attention drawn towards the movement, his heart beating faster at the noise. The reaction did not go unnoticed.

‘ Ignore that,’ a cold voice snarled.

‘ The enemy is before you,’ a hot voice growled.

‘ Duty first. Betrayers die.’

‘ They will all die. They all betrayed you. Forget everything else.’

‘ Kill.’

‘ Listen.’

He did not hear them, felt them as nothing but flashes of hot and cold in his body. His eyes were locked upon the twitches of movement between the bones. He spotted glimpses of purple, but did not pay attention them. Before them, glimpses of colour, white and silver under the moonlight, moved swiftly, but erratically.

The movement stopped momentarily. There was another shout of protest, this one louder but not clear enough to be heard well. It was met with a snarling iron retort and a faint cracking sound. Lenk found himself surprised that he was wincing at the unseen blow, found himself surprised that he was leaning forward, craning his neck to see what emerged from behind the bones.

And despite the fear that had been growing in his chest since he had awoken, he found himself surprised to see a pair of emerald eyes, wide, terrified and searching.

He tried to cry out, tried to scream when he found he couldn’t. His throat was constricting, voice choked.

‘ No,’ another voice answered his unspoken question, ‘ speak not. Draw no attention. Not yet. He does not need you, does not want you. Survive first. Kill later.’

She looks hurt. She needs help. I need to-

‘ Soon. Tome first. Duty first.’

No! Not duty first, she’s more important. She-

‘ Fled. From you.’

What?

‘ Fear was in her eyes. She was right to show us.’

No, she-

‘ Does not understand.’

‘ Cannot understand.’

‘ Your duty … our duty … more important. She cannot see that. Looks away from it.’

She isn’t looking away now.

No response came; he wouldn’t have heard it, anyway. His eyes were locked on Kataria’s, and hers on his, as she was marched forward by ironbound hand and guttural snarls from purple lips. She put up minimal resistance to such, not that her bound hands would allow her much, in any case. Still, Lenk found himself surprised by her passiveness as she was ushered towards the knot of netherlings; he had expected her to be snarling, thrashing, biting and cursing.

To see that anticipated furious resistance emerge from the pale form emerging behind Kataria, however, was slightly more surprising.

‘And after I’ve chewed thoseoff, because I’m sure you things only claimto be females,’ Asper snarled at the netherling shoving her forward, ‘I’m going to rip your eyes out and eat those, too!’ She dug her heels in, shoved back at her captor, tried to break away. All futile efforts, their failures doing nothing to curb her tongue. ‘Get back, you slavering, sloppy little cu-’

‘I know maybe three of those words,’ the netherling snarled back, raising an iron fist. ‘And I don’t know what to sayto make you shut up, but I do know what to hit you with.’

‘ No.’

Bones shook in skin, sea retreated from shore, all eyes looked up and instantly regretted doing so. Sheraptus’ eyes were narrowed to fiery slits as they swept up to the netherling holding the priestess. Like a flower before fire, the females’ resolve withered, hands trembled, gaze turned towards the sand.

Asper’s did not, however. And from the sudden widening of her eyes, the slackness of her jaw, the very visible collective clench of every muscle in her body, it wasn’t clear if she even could. Nothing had seemed to leave her, least of all her fight. Rather, it was apparent that the moment she had met his eyes, something had instead entered her and had no plans of leaving.

And, judging by his broad smile, it was more apparent to no one than Sheraptus.

‘This is it,’ he whispered, stalking closer to her. ‘This is what I came to see, what I continue to see. This … utter rejection of the world.’ He lifted a long purple hand to her, grinned as she flinched away from it. ‘ That. What is that? Why do you do such a thing? You know you can’t flee, know you can’t escape, but you still try. Instinct dictatesthat you sit there and accept it, yet you refuse to. Why?’ He glanced up towards the sky. ‘I had once thought it was your notion of gods, with how often you pray to them, but I see nothing up there.’

His voice shifted to something low, something breathy and born out of his heart. Yet as soft as it went, it remained sharp and painful so that none could help but hear him. His eyes drifted from Asper’s horrified stare, searching over her half-nude body. Slowly, his hand rose to follow, palm resting upon her belly, fingers drumming thoughtfully on her skin.

Her choked gasp, too, could not be ignored.

‘It’s not gods, though, is it?’ His hand slid across her abdomen, as if beckoning something to rise from the prickling gooseflesh and reveal it to him. ‘No, no … something more. Or less?’ His smile trembled at the edges, trying and failing to contain something. ‘I just … can’t tell with your breed.’ His gaze returned to hers, a lurid emotion burning brighter than the fire consuming them. ‘But I dearly look forward to finding out.’

He turned away from her, his stare settling on Kataria for a moment, white brows furrowing. ‘And this one … doesn’t even put up a fight?’ He gave her a cursory glance, then shrugged. ‘I like the ears, anyway. Load them up.’

‘W-what?’ Asper gasped. Vigour returned to her as she was forced towards the black vessel, and she struggled against her captor’s grip. ‘No! NO!’ At that moment, she seemed to notice the others, bound on the sand. ‘Don’t let him do this to me. He’s going to … to …’ Tears began forming in her eyes. ‘Help me … help me, D-’

A rough cloth was wrapped about her mouth, tied tightly as she was hoisted up and over the netherling’s purple shoulder and spirited to the boat.

‘ Asper!’ Dreadaeleon cried out. ‘I can help you … I … I can.’ He gritted his teeth as crimson sparked behind his eyes, the magic straining to loose itself. ‘It’s just … it’s …’

‘Intimidating, isn’t it?’ Sheraptus shot a fire-eyed wink at the boy. ‘I felt the same way when I first beheld it … well, sans the pitiful weakness, anyway.’ He ran a finger along the crown upon his brow, circling its three burning jewels. ‘One can’t help but behold it, like a candle that never snuffs out.’ He considered the boy carefully for a moment. ‘Which, I suppose, would make you a tiny, insignificant moth.’

As soon as he said the word, the boy collapsed, tumbling backwards with his eyes shutting tightly as if to ward against the burning. Immediately, his breathing slowed, his body went still. Lenk couldn’t help but widen his eyes in fear. Nothing he had known – human, longface or otherwise – could kill with a word.

‘Dread?’ he whispered.

‘ Ignore it.’

‘He’s …

‘ Unimportant.’

‘Should we … do something?’

‘I, for one,’ Denaos interjected, ‘fully intend on rising up and enacting a daring rescue, as soon as I finish crapping out a kidney.’

‘Plenty of time for that when I take you to the ship,’ Xhai snarled as she seized the rogue by his hair and hoisted him up. ‘This is better, in fact.’ Her smile was as sharp and cruel as the spikes on her feet. ‘Now, I can take my time.’

‘Semnein Xhai.’

She looked up with an abashed expression that had no business on a face so hard. Sheraptus’ befuddled dismay was just as out of place and somehow even more disturbing as he canted his head to the side.

‘Do I not make you happy?’ he asked. ‘You require this … pink thing?’

‘But you …’ She bit her lower lip, the innocence of the gesture somehow lost in her jagged teeth. ‘We are taking prisoners, aren’t we?’

‘It’s necessary to understand the condition of humans, yes,’ he replied. ‘But it’s only ever seen in females, and two is more than enough. We have no need for males. Leave this one behind.’

She glanced from Sheraptus to Denaos, gaze shifting from confused to angry in an instant. With a snarl, she hurled the rogue back to the earth and swept her scowl upon the remaining netherlings.

‘If anyof you kills him,’ she growled, ‘you will do it quickly and you will notenjoy it. Or I’ll know … and I will.’

‘We have what we came for, in any case,’ Sheraptus said. He made a gesture, and the tome flew from the palanquin to his hand. He spared a smile for Togu. ‘As promised, we leave your island in peace.’

‘Good,’ Togu replied bluntly.

Lenk was aware of movement, netherlings returning to their vessels, chatter between them. He paid attention to none of it, his eyes locked, as they had been for an eternity, on Kataria’s.

Her lips remained still, her ears unquivering. It was only through her eyes that he knew she wished to say something to him. But what? The question ripped his mind apart as he searched her gaze for it. A plea for help? An apology? A farewell?

He was likewise aware of his inability to do anything for her. His bonds would not allow him to rise, to escape. The searing heat and freezing cold racing through him would not allow him to weep, to speak. And so he stared, eyes quivering, lips straining to mouth something, anything: reassurances, promises, apologies, pleas, accusations.

‘Take that one to the ship, as well,’ Sheraptus ordered the netherling holding her.

It was only when Kataria was hoisted up onto a powerful shoulder, only when her eyes began to fade as she was hauled through the surf, only when her gaze finally disappeared as she was tossed over the edge of the black boat that he recognised what had dwelled in her gaze.

Nothing.

No words. No questions. Nothing but the same utter lack of anything beyond a desperate need to say somethingthat he had felt inside of him.

And only then did he realise he could not let her disappear.

‘Very well, then,’ Sheraptus said, pointing to a cluster of netherlings. ‘You five. You have … pleased me. I think you deserve a reward.’ He barely hid his contempt at their unpleasantly beaming visages. ‘The tome is all we require. Everything else can be destroyed.’

‘What?’ Togu spoke up, eyes going wide. ‘We had a deal! You said-’

‘I say many things,’ Sheraptus replied. ‘All of them true. It is my right to take what I wish and give as I please. And really, you’ve been quite rude.’

‘Sheraptus … Master,’ Greenhair spoke, ‘I gave them my word that-’

‘ Bored,’ the male snarled back. ‘I am leaving. Come or stay, screamer. I care not.’

Confusion followed as netherlings hurried back to their boats, Sheraptus idly shaping his earthen staircase and returning to his own vessel. Greenhair reluctantly followed him aboard. Blades were drawn, cruel laughter emerging from jagged mouths. Togu shouted a word and his reptilian entourage fled. White, milky eyes settled on helpless, bound forms.

Lenk cared not, did not hear them, did not look at them. He watched the boat bearing Kataria slide out of view, vanishing into the darkness. He swallowed hard, felt his voice dry and weak in his throat.

‘Tell me,’ he whispered, ‘can you … can either of you save her?’

No more heat. No more fever. Something cold coursed through his blood, sent his muscles tightening against bonds that suddenly felt weak. Something frigid crept into his mind. Something dark spoke within him.

‘ I can.’

Twenty-Nine

THE SCENT OF MEMORY

The grandfather wasn’t speaking to him anymore.

Unfortunately, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still there.

Gariath could see him at the corner of his eyes, held the scent of him in his nostrils. And it certainly didn’t mean he had stopped making noise.

‘We had to have known,’ he muttered from somewhere, Gariath not knowing or caring where. ‘At some point, we had to have known how it would all end. The Rhegawere strong. That’s why they came to us. They were weak. That’s why we aided them. That was what we did, back then.’

Of all the aimless babble, Gariath recognised only the word Rhega. How far back, who ‘they’ were, when the Rhegahad ever helped anyone weak was a mystery for people less easily annoyed. He wasn’t even sure who the grandfather was speaking to anymore, either, but it hadn’t been him for several hours, he was sure.

The shift had begun after they had left the shadow of the giant skeleton and its great grave of a ravine behind them. The grandfather suddenly became as the wind: elusive, difficult to see, and constantly flitting about.

He talks more, too, Gariath thought, resentfully. Much more annoying than the wind.

He had long given up any hopes for communication. The grandfather vanished if Gariath tried to look at him, met his questions with silence, nonsensical murmurs or bellowing songs.

‘We used to sing back then, too,’ the grandfather muttered. ‘We had reason to in those days. More births, more pups. We killed only for food. Survival wasn’t the worry it is today.’

Granted, Gariath admitted to himself, he wasn’t quitesure how the effects of senility applied to someone long dead, but he was prepared to declare the grandfather such. The skeleton had obviously been the source, but further details eluded both Gariath’s inquiries and, eventually, his interest.

The grandfather had faded from his concerns, if not from his ear-frills, hours ago. Now, the forest opened up into beach and the trees lost ground to encroaching sand. Now, he ignored sight and sound alike, focused only on scent.

Now, he hunted a memory.

It was faint, only a hint of it grazing his nostrils with the deepest of breaths, an afterthought muttered from the withered lips of an ancestor long dead. But it was there, the scent of the Rhega, drifting through the air, rising up from the ground, across the sea. It was a confident scent, unconcerned with earth and air and water. It had been around longer, would continue to be when earth and air and water could not tell the difference between themselves.

And he wanted to scream at it.

He craved to feel hope again, the desperate yearning that had infected him when he had last breathed such a scent. He wanted to roar and chase it down the beach. He resisted the urge. He denied the hope. The scent was a passing thought. He dared not hope until he tracked it and felt the memories in his nostrils.

There would be time enough to hope when he found the Rhegaagain.

‘Wisest,’ the grandfather whispered.

Gariath paused, if only because this was the first time he had heard his name pass through the spirit’s spectral lips in hours.

‘Your path is behind you,’ he whispered. ‘You will find only death ahead.’

Gariath ignored him, resuming his trek down the beach. Even if it wasn’t idle babble, Gariath had been told such a thing before. Everyone certain of his inevitable and impending death had, to his endless frustration, been wrong thus far.

And yet, what his ears refused to acknowledge, his snout had difficulty denying.

Broken rocks, dried-up rivers, dead leaves, rotting bark – the scents crept into his nostrils unbidden, tugged at his senses and demanded his attention. The scent he sought was difficult to track, the source he followed difficult to concentrate on.

Each time they passed his nostrils, with every whiff of decay and age, he was reminded of the hours before this moment, of the battle at the ledge.

Of the lizard …

His mind leapt to that moment time and again, no matter how much he resisted it, of the tall, green reptile-man coated in tattoos, holding a bow in one hand, raising a palm to him. He saw the creature’s single, yellow eye. He heard the creature’s voice, understood its language. He drew in the creature’s scent and knew its name.

Shen.

How could he have known that? How could he stillknow that? The creature had spoken to him, addressed him, called him Rhega. How was that possible? There weren’t enough Rhegaleft on the mainland, let alone on some forsaken floating graveyard, for the thing to recognise him. And he was certain he had never seen itbefore.

And yet, it had intervened on his behalf, saved him from death. Twice, Gariath admitted to himself; once with an arrow and again with the surge of violent resolve that had swept through him afterwards. That vigour had waned, dissolving into uncomfortable itches and irritating questions.

Questions, he reminded himself, that you have no time for. Focus. If you can’t feel hope, you sure as hell can’t feel confusion until you find them.

‘Find what, Wisest?’ the grandfather murmured. ‘The beach is barren. There is nothing for us here.’

‘There must be a sign, a trace of where they went,’ Gariath replied, instantly regretting it.

‘There are no Rhegahere.’

‘You’re here.’

‘I am dead.’

‘The scent is strong.’

‘You have smelled it before.’

‘And I found Grahta.’

‘Grahta is dead.’

The grandfather’s words were heavy. He ignored them. He could not afford to be burdened now. He pressed on, nose in the air and eyes upon the cloud-shrouded moon.

Thought was something he could not carry now. It would bow his head low, force his eyes upon the ground and he would never see where he was going.

‘The answer lies behind you, Wisest,’ the grandfather said. ‘Continue, and you will find something to fear.’

The spirit was but one more thing to ignore, one more thing he couldn’t afford to pay attention to. So long as he had a scent to track, answers to seek, he didn’t have to think.

He wouldn’t have to think about how the beach sprawled endlessly before him, how the clouds shifted to paint moonlight on the shore. Still, he made the mistake of glancing down and seeing the shadows rising up in great, curving shards farther down the beach.

Bones, he recognised. More great skeletons, more silent screaming, more shallow graves. How many, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t have the wit to count, either, for in another moment, the stench of death struck him like a fist.

It sent him reeling, but only that. What made him stop, what made his eyes go wide and his jaw drop, was the sudden realisation that he had been struck with no singular aroma. Another scent was wrapped up within the reek of decay, trapped inside it, inseparable from it.

Rivers. Rocks.

Rhega.

No.

That was not right. The scent of the Rhegawas the odour of life, strong, powerful. He seized what remained of his strength, throttled it to make himself stagger forward. He would get a better scent, he knew, smell the vigour and memory of the Rhegathat undoubtedly lingered behind it. Then everything would be fine. He would have his answers. He could feel hope again and this time, he’d-

He struck his toe, felt a pain too sharp to belong to him. A white bone lay at his feet, too small to belong to a great beast, too big to be a hapless human corpse. Its scent was too … too …

‘No …’

He collapsed to his knees; his hands drove themselves into the dirt and began digging. He sobbed, begging them not to in choked incoherencies. Thought weighed him down, fear drove his hands, and with every grain removed, white bone was exposed.

No.

An eye socket that should have held a dark stare looked up at him.

No!

Sharp teeth worn with use and age grinned at him.

NO!

A pair of horns, indentations where ear-frills had been, a gaping hole in the side of its bleached head …

He was out of thought, unable to think enough to rise or look away or even touch the skull. He knelt before it, staring down.

And the dead Rhegastared back.

‘That’s why the scent is faint.’

Gariath recognised the voice, its age and depth like rocks breaking and leaves falling. He didn’t look up as a pair of long, green legs came to stand beside him and a single yellow eye stared down at the skull.

‘It’s in the air, the earth.’ He squatted beside Gariath, running a reverential hand across the sand. ‘So is death. No matter how many bones we find and return’ – he paused to sigh – ‘there are always more.’

Gariath’s stare lingered on the skull, afraid to look up, more afraid to ask the question boiling behind his lips.

‘Are they …?’ he asked, regardless. ‘All of them?’

The Shen’s head swung towards him, levelled the single eye upon him. ‘Not all of them.’

Words heavy with meaning, Gariath recognised, made lighter with meaninglessness. ‘If a people becomes a person, there are none left.’

‘If there is one left, then there is one left. Failure and philosophy are for humans.’ He glanced farther down the beach. ‘They have been here.’

Gariath had not expected to look up at that word. ‘Humans?’

‘Dragged through here, earlier, by the longfaces,’ the lizardman muttered, staring intently at the earth. ‘We had hoped Togu would take care of their presence, but not by feeding them to purple-skinned beasts. He encourages further incursions.’ He snorted. ‘He was always weak.’

‘You have been tracking them? You are a hunter, then?’

‘I am Yaike. I am Shen. It matters not what I do, so long as I do it for all Shen.’

‘You can hunt with one eye?’

‘I have another one. I am still Shen. Other races that teem have the numbers to give up when they lose one eye.’ He hummed, his body rumbling with the sound. ‘Tonight, we hunt longfaces. Tonight, we kill them. In this, we know we are Shen.’ He glanced at Gariath. ‘More bones tonight, Rhega. There are always more.’

‘There is a lot of that on this island.’

‘This?’ Yaike gestured to the skull. ‘A tragedy. The Shen were born in it, in death. We carry it with us.’ He ran a clawed finger across his tattooed flesh. ‘Our lives are painted with it, intertwined with it. In death, we find life.’

‘In death, I have found nothing.’

‘I am Shen.’ Yaike rose to his feet. ‘I know only Shen. Of Rhega, I know only legends.’

‘And what do they say?’

‘That the Rhegafound life in all things. I am Shen. For me, all things are found in death.’

Yaike’s gaze settled on Gariath for a moment before he turned and stalked off, saying nothing more. Gariath did not call after him. He knew there was nothing more the Shen could offer him, as surely as he knew the name Shen. And because he was not sure at all how he knew the name, he felt no calm. Thought felt no lighter on his shoulders.

Answers in death, he thought to himself. I’ve seen much death.

‘And you haven’t learned anything, Wisest,’ the grandfather whispered, unseen.

Death is a better answer than nothing.

There was no response to that from the grandfather. No sound at all, but the hush of the waves and the sound of boots on sand.

‘Is that it?’ a grating voice asked, suddenly. ‘It’s pretty big, isn’t it?’

His nostrils quivered: iron, rust, hate.

He turned and regarded them carefully, the trio of purple-skinned longfaces that had emerged from the night. They clutched swords in hands, carried thick, jagged throwing knives at their belts. How easy it would be, he wondered, to stand there and let them carve his flesh. How easy would it be to find an answer in his own blood, dripping out on the sand.

He hadn’t learned anything that way so far.

‘You have humans,’ he grunted. ‘I will take them.’

‘They yours?’ one of them asked. ‘How about we burn what’s left of them and what’s left of you in a pile? Fair?’

He stepped forward and felt refreshed by an instant surge of ire welling up inside him. It might not have been the most profound of solutions, but then, this was not the most difficult of problems.

For this question, for anyquestion, violence was an answer he understood.

The netherlings shared this thought, bringing their swords up, meeting his bared teeth with their jagged grins.

Humans were nearby, he knew, and they were likely dead. Netherlings were closer, he knew, and they would soon be dead. He would find answers tonight, answers in death.

Whose, he wasn’t quite sure he cared.

Lenk felt the chill shudder through his body, seizing his attention.

‘ They have come to a decision.’

The sight of drawn swords and grins of varying width and wickedness confirmed as much. The netherlings’ brief argument over who was going to kill whom had lasted only as long as it took for words to give way to fists, with the least battered picking their prey. The one most bloodied settled with a grumble for Dreadaeleon’s unconscious form, still beside Lenk.

The one with the broadest grin and the bloodiest gauntlet advanced upon him, pursued by scowls from the ones with the most knuckle indentations embedded in their jaws. There were many of those, he noted. She had wanted him badly.

‘ She shall never have us,’ the voice muttered. ‘ We will find her first, show her revelation, show them all.’

‘Revelation,’ Lenk whispered, ‘in blood, steel. We will show them.’

‘Show us what?’ the advancing netherling asked, tilting her head to the side.

‘He could show us his insides,’ one of the longfaces offered.

‘Rather, youcould,’ another replied, kneeling beside the prone form of Denaos. ‘I intend to make this one die slowly. Xhai is going to be pissed.’

‘ Die?’ the voice asked of Lenk.

Lenk shook his head. ‘Not us.’

‘ Not if she is to survive.’

A sudden heat engulfed Lenk, bathed his brow in an instant sweat. ‘ And what of your survival? Save her, even try to, and you’ll die, you’ll rot and she’ll be-’

The sweat turned cold, froze to rime on his skin. ‘ Meaningless. Duty above survival. Duty above life. Duty above all. They are coming. They will die, as these ones here die.’

‘As all die,’ Lenk murmured.

‘Now you’ve got it,’ the netherling said, grinning as she levelled her sword at the young man’s brow. ‘This is just how it is, as Master Sheraptus says. The weak give all, the strong take all.’ Her grin grew broader. ‘Master Sheraptus is strong. We are strong.’

‘ Weak enables strong. Strong feed on weak. Not incorrect.’

‘Her perception is wrong, though,’ Lenk muttered.

‘What?’ The netherling smiled with terrible glee. ‘Oh, wait, are you going to do one of those dying monologues that pinkies do? I’ve heard about these! Make it good!’

His stare rose to meet hers. Instantly, her smile faded, the wickedness fleeing her face to be replaced with confusion tinged by fear. His eyes were easy as her sword arm tensed, his voice emerging on breath made visible by cold as he stared at her and whispered.

‘We are stronger,’ he said evenly. ‘We will kill you first.’

She recoiled at that, as if struck worse than a fist could. ‘I hoped to enjoy this,’ she growled, drawing her blade back, ready to drive it between his eyes. ‘But you ruinedit, you stupid little-’

A roar split the sky apart, choking her voice in her throat. Her arm steadied as a new kind of confusion, fear replaced with curiosity, crossed her face. She looked over her shoulder, milk-white eyes staring down the beach, seeking the source of the fury.

‘That’s …’ another longface hummed, squinting into the gloom, ‘that’s one of the low-fingers, isn’t it? That the Master sent out?’

‘ It is,’ the voice answered in Lenk’s head, ‘ what we have waited for.’

He felt his eyes drawn to the beach. Movement was obvious, even in the darkness: purple flesh shifting beneath moonlight as a netherling charged down the beach. But her gait was awkward, bobbing wildly as she rushed forward. The peculiarities grew the closer she drew: the jellylike flail of her arms and legs, the hulking shadow behind her body.

By the time Lenk saw the longface’s head lolling on a distinctly shattered neck, it was clear to him and everyone else what was about to happen.

‘Oh, hell, it’s that … that red thing!’ a netherling snarled. ‘What are they called?’

‘It was supposed to be dead, wasn’t it?’ another snarled. ‘The screamer said!’

‘It’s not,’ the third laughed, hefting her jagged throwing blade. ‘This day just gets better and better.’

‘What about the pink things?’

‘Kill ’em if you want. Don’t expect any scraps.’

A cackle tore through the longfaces. A chorus of whining metal followed as jagged hurling blades flew, shrieking to be heard over the war cry that chased them.

‘ QAI ZHOTH!’

With each meaty smack, the longface’s corpse shuddered as the blades gnawed into lifeless flesh and stuck fast, leaving the creature behind it unscathed. It rushed forward, trembling as a roar emerged from behind the shield of sinew. Lenk saw flashes of red skin, sharp teeth and dark, murderous eyes. He found he could hardly help the smile creeping upon his lips.

And behind the corpse, Gariath’s grin was twice as long, thrice as unpleasant.

‘ AKH ZEKH LAKH!’ the longfaces threw chants instead of knives, hefting their swords and shields as they charged forward to meet the dragonman’s fury with their own.

‘ Distracted. Escape possible. Death inevitable. Duty will be fulfilled.’

‘My hands are tied,’ he whispered.

‘ Move or die.’

‘Fair enough.’ He pulled at the ropes; he knew little of knots, but it seemed reasonable that the netherlings would not plan to hold prisoners any longer than it took to gut them. With a little guidance, he was sure he could break free. ‘Denaos, can you-’

‘ He can,’ the voice replied. ‘ He did.’

The slipped bonds on the earth where the rogue had lain was evidence enough of that.

‘ We did not need him. Do not need any of them. Focus. Time is short.’

A challenging howl confirmed as much. Gariath had dropped his corpse to the earth, seizing it by its ankles and dragging it to meet his foes. Their anticipation was evident in the gleam of their swords, the grin on their faces.

‘ QAI ZHOTH!’ the leading one howled, leaping forward. ‘ EVISCERATE! DECAPITATE! ANNIHILA-’

The chant was shattered along with her teeth as two thick skulls collided. He swung the corpse like a club of muscle and flesh. Limp arms flailed out to smash ironbound hands into chanting jaws. Bones cracked against bones, casting the attackers back as Gariath grunted and adjusted his weight for another swing.

‘ Ignore,’ the voice hissed, its freezing tone bringing Lenk’s attention back to his wrists. ‘ Duty is at hand. We must free ourselves. We must kill.’