the other chamber. I think the monster took her as well.”
“It’s as I told you, Great One,” Uncle Argoth said. “The creature is not ours. Something else is afoot.”
“Maybe not yours personally,” said the Skir Master. “But you’re only one man. How do you know the two Koramites, whom you trust so much, are not part of another murder of Sleth?”
The Skir Master motioned at Talen, and the dreadman guarding him wrenched Talen up by his hair. He grasped Talen’s head in a one-armed lock and held it firmly against his abdomen.
“I swear,” said Talen. “I’m telling the truth.”
The dreadman drew his knife. “Hold still,” he said and gave Talen a shake. The tang of his body odor encircled Talen.
“I can show you the footprint!” cried Talen. “The monster was here.”
The dreadman changed his grip on his knife and readied it to plunge into Talen’s eye.
“Stop,” said the Skir Master.
Talen stared up at the thin point of the blade.
“Tell me everything you know.”
Everything? Talen wondered. Where would he start? With his mother? With the fact that he was some soul-eater’s artifact? Or should he simply blurt out that his family were all soul-eaters? And then there was Uncle Argoth—was he playing some ruse or had he been subverted? Tell the truth or fabricate a story, either might conflict with what Uncle Argoth had already told the Divine. He decided it would be best to interpret “everything” to mean only what he knew about the monster. He needed to resist them.
“He’s going to lie,” said the dreadman. His face with its burned eye was terrible to behold.
“Then give him a bit of motivation,” said the Skir Master.
“No,” said Talen.
But the dreadman brought the knife down. Talen tried to squirm away, but the man’s grip was like stone. Talen closed his eyes at the last moment and felt the burn as the blade sliced open the skin on his cheek below his eye.
“I saw it first at our farm,” said Talen.
But the dreadman kept cutting. Blood ran down the side of Talen’s face and to his ear.
“Please. I only learned about the Grove just two days ago. I’ll tell you everything.” He was ashamed at how easily he broke. But that disappointment was quickly put aside as he rattled off everything he knew about the creature. His only triumph was that he did not talk about anything else.
The dreadman lifted the knife away from Talen’s face.
Talen continued with every detail he’d seen and all those he’d heard from Da about the battle in the tower. He ended by saying, “Its footprints are here. I can only suspect it’s taken my brother and the Creek Widow, who led us here. I’ll show you.”
The Skir Master regarded him, then nodded, and the dreadman let him up. Talen immediately put his hand to the cut on his face. He pressed his fingers to the cut to hold it closed and stop the bleeding, then walked to the clearest set of prints.
“Here,” he said and pointed at a footprint. “And here.”
The Skir Master squatted down and examined the prints. After some time, he said, “If it’s lore masters this creature wants, then a lore master is what it will get. I think I know what’s been let loose upon your lands.” He stood and turned to the Crab. “We’re going to need at least five sturdy ropes, no shorter than forty feet. Go.”
“Yes, Great One,” the Crab said, then exited the chamber.
The Skir Master turned to the lead dreadman. “This creature cannot be beat by force of arms alone. It was bred by lore, and lore alone can defeat it. If it’s rescuing the soul-eaters, then it will come for the clansman. If it’s merely collecting them, eliminating them, then it will still come because I will raise a bait it can’t resist. We need nooses and snares. You must hold the thing, if only for a moment. I want five of you here. Set the other four to watch. You will distract it. And I shall take it with the ravelers.”
“What about Shegom?”
“The skir will conceal herself elsewhere. I must catch the creature off guard. Shegom will only make it wary.”
The lead dreadman bowed and led his men out of the cave.
Talen looked over at Sugar. The expression on her face told him she was at as great a loss as he was. Legs had not moved, but still lay upon his belly.
The Skir Master turned to Uncle Argoth. “You didn’t tell me about your