to the earth, glancing over the jungle soil. ‘Something came through here, but I can’t tell who or what. Nothing’s clear.’
The leaves shook in the trees. Birds fled in a sudden burst as a thunderous roar split the forest apart. Kataria rose to her feet, following Lenk’s gaze out and away, towards the distant shore.
‘That is, though.’
Gariath could tolerate wounds of all kinds: piercings, cuts, gashes, bruises and assorted scrapes were things he could remember, things he could touch, things he could respond to. For those few injuries that drew no blood and beat no flesh, he had no patience.
‘Stand still!’
He lashed a claw at the female and, again, she stepped away from him. This routine was becoming quite tiresome. The creature’s relentless darting hardly irritated him as much as the serene expression she wore, unflinching, beyond offering him a congenial smile.
‘There’s no smiling,’ he snarled, ‘in battle!’
His roar drove his fist as he rammed it forwards, preparing to pulp her placid expression. Her sole defence was an upraised hand, a demure smile and a gentle hum.
Music filled his head, smothering him like a tide. His howling seemed so quiet, so meek, his muscles like jelly. When he opened his mouth to curse, he felt his jaw drop and hang numbly. Summoning what remained of his fury, he lunged forwards, arms flopping out before him like flippers.
And then they were lead weights, pulling him to the ground with a crash.
He roared, or tried to roar, both at himself and at her. He tried to rise, to crush her jaw, rip out her tongue, smash her face in so that she might only sputter out a tune with notes of broken teeth. His body, however, would not answer him. His eyelids became heavy like his arms.
A sweet, soothing darkness enveloped him.
The female tilted her head at him, gills flickering curiously, her gaze lingering only for a moment before she glanced up at the sound of shrieking.
The arrow bit angrily through the air where her head had just been, spitefully taking a few strands of green hair as it sped past her and sank into the sands beyond. The female blinked through eyelids that closed like twin doors and regarded the two pale shapes at the distant end of the beach.
‘What the hell was that?’ Lenk cried, punching Kataria in the arm. ‘Shictish archery, my left tes—’
‘She moved,’ the shict spat back, ‘she moved, damn it!’ Shoving him away, she drew another missile and narrowed her eyes at the wispy creature. ‘I’ll get her this time.’
Like a silk-swaddled bellows, the female’s chest inflated, mouth opening so wide as to threaten to dislocate her jaw. The arrow was lowered in momentary curiosity. Shict and man stared dumbly as the female took one step forwards, turned her mouth upon them and screamed.
The noise was shrill, getting shriller; annoying, Lenk thought through his fingers, but little more than that.
Kataria seemed to disagree.
Collapsing next to her bow, the shict writhed upon the ground, shrieking as she clawed at notched ears that withered like roses. Her legs kicked as she proceeded to bash her head against the sand, straining to pound the noise out of her head.
That left two companions down, Lenk thought, more than enough reason to stick a sword into something.
His weapon was up as he charged towards the female. Her alien features did not cause him to falter; he had killed things much more ferocious than her. He aimed at a spot between her breasts, undoubtedly where her heart was. If it wasn’t there, he reasoned, he’d just keep stabbing until he found something.
It was going to be messy. He found himself smiling at that.
It was only when he drew close enough to see her eyes that he hesitated. She cocked an eyebrow, or rather an eyeridge, at him, smiling. He returned the gesture with a confused expression.
Who, he wondered, smiles at someone charging at them with a sword? It’s like the stupid thing doesn’t even know I’m about to kill it.
Even as he continued to advance, his sword held high, still she did not seem to recognise his intent. She cocked her head, regarding him curiously. Good; better that she focus on him than look behind her. Better she lock eyes with him than be tempted to follow his gaze over her shoulder.
If she did, she might have seen Denaos looming up behind her, a long knife clenched in one hand.
The rogue’s scowl was as cold as his hand was quick. He slipped