enough. What would he suggest you do, then?’ The rogue shrugged. ‘Sit here? Wait for whatever’s happening out there to find its way in here?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Lenk might not be like me. He’s reasonable. He’s cautious.’ He levelled an even stare at her. ‘He would run . . . but he would want you with him.’
I can’t really afford to make that kind of choice right now, he added mentally. I’m sorry, Kat. The dagger slipped into his palm. This isn’t my fault.
He didn’t believe it then, either.
Something heavy slammed against the stone, water erupted behind him.
He whirled about, springing backwards at the sight of the great, white-eyed shadow barrelling out of the darkness. The Abysmyth clawed its way into the corridor, dripping water and black ichor from a number of festering emerald wounds that criss-crossed its body.
Denaos held the dagger high, ready to throw as the beast stretched out a claw. Yet, as vacant as the creature’s stare was, there was no mistaking its direction. The Abysmyth looked past Denaos, past Kataria, to the great, stone slab. Its mouth dropped open.
‘Prophet . . .’ it gurgled, ‘why . . . won’t you help—’
Its question ended in a violent sputter and a blossom of iron. Faster than Denaos could even gasp, a great wedge of metal burst out from between the thing’s jaws. It spasmed as green-tinged froth spilled out of its maw to splatter on the floor, twitched as something pulled on the metal and ripped the weapon free from the back of the demon’s skull. It toppled forwards and Denaos immediately forgot how close he had been to killing his companion.
The appearance of the newcomer demanded far more attention.
The woman, or what appeared to be a woman, swung her massive weapon over her shoulder, heedless of the black liquid dribbling down its length. With equally callous casualness, she stepped atop the creature, iron boots crunching upon spine and ribs.
Kataria met her gaze. It occurred to her that the stare, milky white, was not unlike the slain Abysmyth’s. Where the demon’s was vacant and unfeeling, however, this . . . woman’s stare leaked hunger and scorn as though they were tears.
Her purple flesh was as lean and hard as her black armour. Even her face was long and thin like a spear. The fact that her metal was still slick with the Abysmyth’s essence did not encourage the shict to lower her weapon. She had cut down a demon with such cruel callousness and now regarded the rogue and shict with an angry ivory scowl. Any idiot could tell she was no ally.
And, as if on cue, Denaos rushed up to meet her.
‘Well done!’ He slid about the female, seeming to place her between himself and Kataria. ‘Quite a fine blow there.’
You can’t be serious, Kataria thought. Was the woman’s malice not apparent to him? Did she strike him as another lusty tramp eager for his seduction? She would have put an arrow through the woman in that breath, but white eyes held her in check, daring her and warning her at the same time.
‘Any lady that is a foe to any Abysmyth is a friend of ours,’ he said, smiling broadly to compensate for the cold scowl she shot him.
‘Abys . . . myth?’ Her voice was a knife, raspy and cold. ‘Is that what they are called? Master Sheraptus refers to them as “underscum”.’
‘A fine term.’ Denaos’s laugh was a bit strained. ‘What does he call us humans?’
‘Overscum.’
‘Clever. And what do we call you?’
The woman regarded him cautiously for a moment, then turned her gaze back to Kataria. Her eyes narrowed, she forced the word into a sharpened blade aimed at the shict’s head.
‘Xhai.’ She swept that scornful gaze about the corridor. ‘Semnein Xhai.’ She waved a hand. ‘Unimportant. Where is the leader of this weak gathering? Where is the Deepshriek?’
‘We’re not entirely certain,’ Denaos replied. ‘Our friend slipped into that room there, see, and—’
‘Useless.’
His jaw became a gong of bone and blood, her gauntlet the hammer that sent it ringing through the hall. His whimper was somewhat less impressive as he crumpled to the floor in a whisper. She spared a derisive glob of saliva for his body before turning to the shict.
There was no time for Kataria to wonder whether her companion still drew breath. Her bow was up and levelled. All that stayed her arrow was the odious malice that oozed from every inch of the female’s skin.