Black Halo

‘She was … it … so beautiful. Just cut her … no pain, no screaming. Sacred silence.’

‘Who was it, Denaos?’ Urgency she did not understand was in the quaver of her voice and the tension of her hands. ‘Who?’

The next words he spoke were choked on spittle. The agony was plain in his eyes, as was the alarm as he looked past her shoulder, gaping. He raised a finger to the cleft tops of the walls. She followed the tip of it, saw them there, and stared.

And in the darkness, dozens of round, yellow eyes stared back.

Twelve

INSTINCTUAL SHAME

Semnein Xhai was not obsessed with death. She was a Carnassial, proud of the kills she had made to earn the right to be called such, but only those kills. Deaths wrought by hands not her own were annoying. They left her with questions. Questions required thinking. Thinking was for the weak.

And the weak lay at her feet, two cold bodies of the longfaces before her.

‘How?’ she snarled through jagged teeth.

‘Perhaps they were ambushed,’ Vashnear suggested beside her.

The male held himself away from the corpses, hands folded cautiously inside his red robe as he surveyed them dispassionately. His long, purple face was a pristine mask of boredom, framed by immaculately groomed white hair. Only the thinnest twitch of a grin suggested he was more than a statue.

‘It is not as though females are renowned for awareness,’ he said softly.

‘They’re renowned for not dying like a pair of worthless, stupid weaklings,’ she growled. ‘What did they die from?’ she muttered, letting her voice simmer in her throat. After a moment, she turned to the female beside her. ‘Well?’

The female, some scarred, black-haired thing with a weakling’s bow grunted at Xhai before stalking to the corpses. She surveyed them briefly before tugging off her glove. Xhai observed her fingers, three total with the lower two fused together, with contempt. Her particular birth defect, like all other low-fingers, relegated her to using the bow and thus relegated her to contempt.

Her three fingers ran delicately down the females’ corpses, studying the savage cuts, the wicked bruises and particularly well-placed arrows that dominated the purple skin left bare by their iron chestplates and half-skirts. After a moment, she nodded, satisfied, and rose up. She turned to Xhai and snorted.

‘Dead,’ she said.

‘Well done,’ Vashnear muttered, rolling his milk-white eyes.

‘How?’ Xhai growled.

The low-finger shrugged. ‘Same way we found the others. Smashed skulls, torn flesh, few arrows here and there. Somethin’ came up and got ’em right in the back.’

‘I told Sheraptus you shouldn’t be allowed to roam without one of us accompanying,’ Vashnear muttered. ‘If females are incapable of thinking that someone might ambush them in a deep forest, then they’re certainly incapable of finding anything of worth to use against the underscum.’

‘And what would you have done?’ Xhai asked.

His grin broadened as his eyes went wide. The crimson light leaking from his stare was reflected in his white, jagged smile.

‘Burn down the forest. Remove the issue.’

‘Master Sheraptus said not to. It will infringe on his plans.’

‘Sheraptus believes himself infallible,’ Vashnear said.

‘He is.’

‘And yet he wastes three females for each hour we waste looking for means to slaughter the underscum when we have always had the answer.’ He pulled a pendant out from under his robe, the red stone attached to it glowing in time with his eyes. ‘Kill them all.’

‘That won’t work against their queen. The Master says so.’

‘He cannot know that.’

‘He has his ways.’

‘And they are not working.’

Slowly, Xhai turned a scowl upon him. ‘The Master is not to be questioned.’

‘Males have no masters,’ Vashnear replied coldly. ‘Sheraptus is my equal. You are beneath him and beneath me.’

‘I am his First Carnassial,’ Xhai snarled back. ‘I lead his warriors. I kill his enemies. His enemies question him.’

Vashnear lofted a brow beneath which his stare smouldered, the leaking light glowing angrily for a moment. It faded, and with it so did his grin, leaving only a solemn face.

‘Our search continues,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve sent Dech out to find further evidence. We will find her before we lose a Carnassial instead of a pair of warriors.’ He walked past her, his step slowing slightly as he did. ‘Carnassials are killers. Nothing more. Sheraptus knows this.’

She turned to watch him go. At her belt, her jagged gnawblade called to her, begging her to pluck it free and plant it in his back. On her back, her massive, wedged gnashblade shrieked for her to feed it with his tender neck flesh. Her own fingers, the middle two proudly fused together in the true mark of the Carnassial, humbly suggested that strangulation might be more fitting for him.

But Sheraptus had told her not to harm him.

Sheraptus was not to be questioned.

‘What do we do with the dead ones?’ the low-finger beside her asked.

‘How far behind us is the sikkhun?’ Xhai asked.

‘Still glutting itself on Those Green Things we found earlier.’

‘It’ll still be hungry. It fights better when it’s been fed.’ She glanced disdainfully at the corpses. ‘Leave them.’

The low-finger followed her scowl to Vashnear and snorted. ‘He’s weak. Even Dech says so. His own Carnassial …’ She chuckled morbidly. ‘If whatever’s killing us kills him, no one will weep.’

Xhai grunted.

‘Who knows?’ the female continued. ‘Maybe if we don’t come back with him, we’ll get a reward from the Saharkk.’

Xhai whirled on her, saw the distant, dreamy gaze in her eyes.

‘What did you call him?’

‘Saharkk?’ The low-finger shrugged, walking past her. ‘It means the same thing.’

She had taken two steps before Xhai’s hand lashed out to seize her by the throat. Xhai heard the satisfying wheeze of a windpipe collapsing; she was right to listen to her fingers.

‘He wants to be called Master,’ Xhai growled. ‘And I don’t share rewards.’

The low-finger shrieked, a wordless, breathless rasp, as Xhai pulled harshly on her neck and swung her skull toward the nearest tree.

Kataria felt the bones shatter, the impact coursing through the bark and down her spine. She kept her back against the tree, regardless, not moving, not so much as starting at the sound of the netherling’s brutality. She held her voice and her breath in her throat, quietly waiting for it to be over.

But she had met Xhai before, in Irontide. She could feel the old wounds that the Carnassial had given her begin to ache with every moment she heard the longface’s grunts of violent exertion. She knew that when it came to Xhai, nothing painful was ever over quickly.

Her victim’s grunts lasted only a few moments. The sound that resembled overripe fruit descending from a great height, however, persisted.