The castaways watched the savage leader, Seward’s Admiral Nelson shout angrily at his stunned people, kicking any that was slow to gain his feet while barking orders to the gathering warriors who ringed him round.
Then he froze in place with mouth agape, eyes glimmering skyward from his bony mask.
One heartbeat, and then...
...a grisly missile hit him full in the face with force enough to snap his spine and fling him head over heels among his frightened followers.
The savages screamed in horror to see that their dead leader’s arms were wrapped around the River Demon’s severed head, and his skull was crushed within its rotten jaws.
A cry of alarm rose up from the masked warriors, and weapons were trained toward the village-ship’s stern for it was from that direction the gruesome missile had come and from which dark smoke now drifted. Flames threw long lambent shards of light to flicker at their sandaled feet.
“The buildings are on fire!” the ranger shouted, scowling back into the village center as Van Resen and the others turned to look.
The smoke and flames snapped the savages from their shock for this was a danger to threaten all of their lives. Their capan had been killed by a dead demon; but he was beyond the death and destruction that the flames promised for the rest.
So leaping up they charged toward the line of huts to extinguish the blaze that burst from among the farthest structures. Already, many of the simple buildings were engulfed in fire, with flames shooting up to threaten their leader’s towering hut. The old, the women and the young ran after the fighters for none could stay with their dead capan’s gruesome remains.
Save two guards who lingered by the cage to eye the castaways fearfully with nocked arrows stroking curved bows, each prepared to stop the strangers from conjuring more demonic aid.
Van Resen and Seward recognized this preemptive course of action as that which had befallen Phillip Holmes, and they leapt back shouting for the others to take cover...
...as a tall, lean silhouette appeared behind the guards.
A harsh wet thud was heard, and a spear tip ripped out through one man’s chest—then disappeared, only to tear bloodily through the throat of the second guard who had turned in his surprise.
The flickering fire pit was muted by the rolling smoke as the silhouette stepped over the bodies and to the cage door where the sharp spear-point was used to slash the bindings that held it in its frame.
Only then did Van Resen sigh with relief, for this one wore no mask or face paint.
Instead, a tall black woman with a shaven head stood there, dressed in hardened leather armor, and skirts—a warrior she was with a bow across one shoulder and a quiver of many arrows on the other.
Thunder rumbled ominously, and the woman paused to glance at the sky before chopping the leather hinges until the door fell to the ground. Then, she retreated in a crouch with spear ready; its tip inclined toward their hearts.
“Hold on, Doc, I’ve seen her before,” Seward warned, catching Van Resen’s shoulder as he started forward. “She watched from a tree when the savages took me and Jacob...”
The scientist gave him a questioning look.
“And didn’t lift a finger to help,” the old ranger finished, raising his fists high.
“She is helping now.” The scientist lifted his open hands to greet the woman as he spoke over his shoulder. “Captain Seward, please gather our party. I believe we are being rescued...”
“Gazda,” the woman said in a strong, inflected tone, her black eyes searching the cage.
“...by a friend of Gazda.” Van Resen’s voice dropped. The muscular warrior woman towered over them, and he shuddered to think of her, should she be like...
“The man with red eyes?” Jacob asked, climbing to his feet with Mrs. Quarrie in his arms. He had moved to help her husband rouse her, and left Miss James to the ranger who hoisted her high.
“He knew Ginny,” the manservant said, as his face paled with realization. “...and Lilly.”
“Where is Lilly?” Mr. Quarrie asked, patting his wife’s hand as she struggled toward consciousness. “And that blasted Phillip Holmes...”
His companions looked away.
“You speak English?” Seward asked, catching the black woman’s piercing eyes and distracted manner. After gesturing for the two old slaves to follow, she looked upon the cooking fire and the spear shook in her hands.
“There’s more of your kin down the stairs.” The ranger pointed toward his old prison cell.
The black woman stared at him suspiciously before her expression softened and she ran toward the stairs as yellow flames leapt skyward behind the line of huts. Van Resen and the others followed, certain that the masked savages would return at any moment.
Gazda ran at the group of warriors that were charging him with their bristling spears level. The skull-masks gleamed weirdly in the yellow flames from the burning huts; but the night ape was undaunted, still enjoying his joke as he was, a hard smile on his full lips.
The bone-face king had looked so stupid watching the sky with his beady eyes in the skull-mask, first pondering the dark, wondering what was moving up there hurtling end over end...
...before Omag’s head smashed down to kill him. Gazda had flung the grisly thing from a grassy roof on one of the huts—a cast made perfect from years of throwing stones.
How he would have liked to do that again and again...
But, the attacking warriors demanded Gazda’s full attention—though his smile remained. He bent his mighty body forward, and upon all fours he sprinted—leaping and tearing at the hard earth as he hurtled to meet his enemy.
The night had saturated his form and thews with all its strength. He felt unstoppable.
Gazda plowed into the closest masked man with his elbows out before him, hitting the bone-face so hard that his ribcage crushed like a basket made of sticks. The impact flung the dying man aside and with a fluid action, Gazda rose to his full
