The K’Chain Che’Malle, her terrifying guardians, clung to the ground like rush-beaten curs.
And the thunder shook the earth again and again. Teeth clenched, Kalyth forced herself to tilt up her head. Dust had lifted like mists over the land. Through the brown veil she could make out incessant argent flashes beneath the bruised storm front, but the clouds themselves remained dark, like blind motes staining her eyes. Where were the spikes of lightning? Every blossom seemed to erupt from the ground, and now she could see the sickly glow of fires-the blasted plain was alight.
Gasping, Kalyth buried her head in her arms. A part of her sank back, like a bemused, faintly disgusted witness, as the rest of her trembled in terror-were these feelings her own? Or waves emanating from the K’Chain Che’Malle, from Gunth Mach and Sag’Churok and the others? But no, it was more likely that she was but witness to simple caution, bizarre, yes, and extreme-but they did not shiver or claw at the ground, did they? They were so still they might have been dead. As perfect in their repose as she-
Taloned hands snatched her up. She shrieked-the K’Chain Che’Malle were suddenly running, low, faster than she had thought possible-and she hung in the grip of Gunth Mach like a bhederin flank torn from a kill.
They fled the storm. North and east. For Kalyth, a blurred passage, nightmarish in her helplessness. Tufts of yellow grass spun past like tumbled balls of dull fire. Sweeps of bedded cobbles, sinkholes of water-worn gravel, and then low, flattened hills of layered slate. Stunted, leafless trees, a scattered knee-high forest, dead and every branch and twig spun with spider’s webs. And then through, on to a pan of parched clay crusted with ridged knuckles of salt. The heavy thump of three-toed reptilian feet, the heave and drumming creak of breaths drawn and then hissed loose in whistling gusts.
A sudden skidding halt-K’ell Hunters weaving outward, pace falling off-they had ascended a hill, and had come face to face with the Shi’gal Assassin. Towering, wings folded like spiked, barbed shoulders framing the wide-snouted head-the glisten of eyes above and below that needle-fanged mouth.
Kalyth’s breath caught-she could feel its rage, its contempt.
Gunth Mach’s arms sagged down, and the Destriant twisted to find purchase with her feet.
Kor Thuran and Rythok stood to either side, ten or more paces distant, heads lowered and chests heaving, swords dug point-first into the hard stony earth. Positioned directly before Gu’Rull was Sag’Churok, standing motionless, almost defiant. Unashamed, hide gleaming with exuded oils.
The bitter reek of violence swirled in the air.
Gu’Rull tilted his head, as if amused by Sag’Churok, but his four eyes held unwavering on the huge K’ell Hunter, as if not too proud to admit to a measure of respect. This was, to Kalyth, a startling concession. The Shi’gal Assassin was almost twice Sag’Churok’s height, and even without swords in his hands his reach matched that of the K’ell Hunter’s weapon-extended arms.
This thing was bred to kill, born to an intensity of intention that beggared the K’ell Hunters’, that would make the Ve’Gath Soldiers appear clumsy and thick.
She knew he could kill them all, here, now, with barely a lone drip of oil to mar his sleek, glistening hide. She knew it in her soul.
Gunth Mach released Kalyth, and she stumbled, needing both hands before she managed to regain her feet. ‘Listen,’ she said, surprised to find that her own voice was steady, if a little raw, ‘I knew a camp dog, once. Could face down an okral. But at the first rise of wind, or the mutter of thunder, it was transformed into a quivering wreck.’ She paused, and then said, ‘Assassin. They took me away from that storm, at my command.’ She forced herself closer, and coming up alongside Sag’Churok she reached out and set a hand against the Hunter’s flank.
Sag’Churok need not have moved to the shove she gave him-she did not possess the strength for that-but he stepped aside none the less, so that she now stood directly in front of Gu’Rull. ‘Be the okral, then.’
The head tilted further as the Assassin regarded her.
She flinched when his huge wings snapped open, and staggered back a step as they swept down to buffet the air-a minor thunder as if mocking what lay far behind them now-before he launched himself skyward, tail snaking in his wake.
Swearing under her breath, Kalyth turned to Gunth Mach. ‘It’s almost dusk. Let us camp here-every one of my bones feels rattled loose and my head aches.’ And that was not true fear, was it? Not blind terror. So I tell myself, words that give comfort.
And we know how useful those ones are.
