and one thumb, the middle being decidedly larger than the others. She blinked, took a moment to consider.
Four-fingered, purple-skinned, white-haired, longfaced women who carry giant slabs of metal, she paused to swallow, and kill demons.
Quietly, she looked up to the sun, beaming proudly upon this towering woman and asked.
‘Why?’
‘SCREAMER!’
Asper staggered back twice; once for the sudden snarl from the woman’s mouth and twice for the fact that she was apparently speaking the human tongue. She froze, fearing that the sound of her rump scraping across the dirt might have attracted attention. For the strange woman’s part, however, she seemed much more concerned with the state of the beach than anything else.
And the beach seemed to annoy her immensely. With another growl, she hefted her huge weapon and brought it down in an explosion of sand. Sand, Asper noted, that was suddenly green as it landed in sizzling blobs upon the shore.
She squinted and, upon eyeing the sickly emerald shimmer to the weapon’s edge, the reason for the Abysmyth’s death at the longfaces’ hands became apparent.
‘Semnein Xhai!’
Another voice, far less hurried and harsh, lilted from the ship as another figure stepped to the prow.
In shocking contrast to the others, this woman was a head and a half shorter than the rest, clad in silken fineries as opposed to heavy black plate. Her face was more rounded, as though better nourished. The billowing velvet of her black and gold robe could not obscure her figure, either. Where the others were lean and hard, this one was frail and slender, where the others bore the modest swell of breasts . . .
‘Oh, you can’t be serious . . .’ Asper muttered to no one in particular.
The male looked wildly out of place amongst the metal and muscle. Where the females sat attentively, grips shifting between oars and weapons, he reclined lazily upon the prow, daintily covering a yawn with a slender hand.
He looked almost approachable, Asper thought, at least compared to the others. The images of the frogmen, frozen upon the earth, and the Abysmyth, shrieking out its last breath, were fresh in her mind. That, and the imposing white-haired female between them, kept her still and silent.
For that reason, though, a thought occurred to her. Fierce as they were, these longfaces had slain an Abysmyth, an impossible task done to an impossible foe. Whatever their motives, they had removed one more piece of filth that stood between herself and the tome.
After all, she reasoned, it wasn’t as though she travelled with the most gentle-looking people herself. Perhaps these longfaces could be trusted, perhaps these longfaces could be her key to delivering Lenk and the others from Irontide.
Of course, perhaps they’d simply carve her open and wear her intestines as laurels and call it a day.
At the very least, it would have helped to have known what they were saying.
The male at the prow called to the white-haired warrior with a lazy lilt, the language not quite so foul from his lips. In response, she whirled about, howling what were undoubtedly curses in her twisted tongue. The male repeated himself with a smirk, holding up a single digit, one of five, Asper noted, and wiggled it.
The female bristled, hard body trembling with restrained fury.
Though she looked like she would have, and could have, hurled her giant cleaver at the male, she settled for stalking back to the ship. Her angry snarl commanded the sound of two sets of boots rumbling up the deck and, within moments, two more of the females had disembarked and stood before her with hard-faced attention.
She barked orders, accompanied alternately by wild gestures and ironclad slaps across the chin. Barely fazed, the females grunted in response, smashing gauntleted fists together in a gesture that appeared half-salute, half-challenge and uttering a unified roar in response.
‘QAI ZHOTH!’
The white-haired female gave them a long, hard stare, as though appraising them. Apparently satisfied, she snarled at them and hefted her weapon over her shoulder. Asper noted grimly the ease with which she hoisted both herself and the weight of metal upon her back into the ship. Tense as she was, though, she couldn’t help but spare a relieved breath as the females’ grunting rose with their oars, pushing the ship away from the shoreline.
The longfaces were departing, leaving her with two heavily armed, possibly deranged purple women.
The thought momentarily crossed her mind to make her move now: as powerful and fierce-looking as these two were, they still resembled dainty purple milkmaids in the