Hickok reckoned he must be in a shabby part of the city. But why everyone seemed to be so downcast was a mystery until a commotion broke out, and up the middle of the street came a being out of a madman’s worst nightmare.
CHAPTER 21
Yama hated to lose control. His whole life, he’d trained to always be at his peak mentally and physically. He took pride in his iron will. To pass out, to have a lapse in consciousness he was helpless to prevent, was like a kick to the groin. He hated it.
The instant he realized he had recovered, he was up in a crouch with his Wilkinson at the ready. A fleeting dizziness had no effect. He wouldn’t let it. The same with a brief nausea.
He was Yama, and he would not permit weakness.
To his immense surprise, he was on a roof. A flat, square roof on a building several stories high, but a small building compared to some of the nearby edifices, which reached high into the sky. Nearly all the structures exhibited typical Thai architecture, notable for its many arches and peaks.
Yama moved to the roof’s edge. A city square bustling with activity spread before him. People—and things that weren’t entirely or even remotely human—mingled in a ceaseless flow. The humans, he noticed, always gave way to the creatures who weren’t, scurrying to clear a space like rabbits scurrying from a predator.
Yama’s eyes narrowed.
More than a handful of the nonhuman inhabitants resembled the shapeshifter that had invaded the Home. Gualaons, in their natural, reptilian, form. Over eight feet tall, their eyes were an eerie red, their skin scaly, their fingers and toes capped by sharp claws. They showed clear disdain for everyone and everything else. When a middle-aged woman burdened with a heavy load of rolls of cloth didn’t move fast enough, a Gualaon kicked her out of its way as a human might kick a dog or a cat. In doing so, its claws sliced her side. She fell, screaming, and pressed a hand to a spray of scarlet. In a blur, the Gualaon bent, clamped its jaws on her neck, and ripped out her throat. Raising its head, it gulped her flesh down, its own throat bobbing. Then, without so much as a backward glance, it moved on.
Incredibly, no one did anything. Passersby gave the dead woman a wide berth. She lay there, oozing more blood, flotsam in the sea of creatures.
Yama’s attention was drawn to a monstrosity squatting on the steps to a pavilion. It looked for all the world like a giant toad, all black and shiny like a salamander’s or a newt. Bulbous eyes framed a wide face that was nearly all mouth, even closed. A pair of holes sufficed for nostrils, and now it raised them into the air and appeared to be sniffing. Suddenly it bounded from its perch and waddled into the crowd, which quickly gave way. Unerringly, it made a beeline for the dead woman. A black tongue darted out and lapped at her blood. Its mouth widened and kept on widening until, with a lunge and a swallow, it devoured the woman, clothes and all, whole.
No one paid the toad any mind. No one cringed or showed the least reaction. It was as if things like this happened every day and was of no more consequence than a street sweeper cleaning a street.
Yama moved back before he was spotted. He would stand out as different. Few of those in the square possessed weapons, and the few who did were armed only with swords or knives. There wasn’t a firearm to be seen. Nor had he caught sight of any humans one other than Thais. He would be conspicuous in more ways than one.
Hiking the sleeve to his blue uniform, Yama pressed the power button on the Micro Tech IV. The power light didn’t come on. He pressed the button again, and yet a third time, but the device refused to function. It had worked fine at the Home when they tested all three.
Yama smothered a spike of irritation. The mission had barely begun and he was cut off from his fellow Warriors. It didn’t bode well, but it was what it was, and he must cope.
An open stairwell offered a way down. Yama trained the Wilkinson down the stairs but they were empty. He listened but heard nothing to indicate anyone was below.
About to venture down, Yama dropped into a crouch at a tremendous sound from above.
A flying machine was descending over the public square. The noise it made reminded Yama of the great keening rush of wind of a tornado that once passed close to the Home. Bell-shaped, the thing didn’t have wings or a tail. How it flew was beyond him. The outer surface was ridged, and either bronze or—incredibly—gold-plated. It swooped in low, but no one paid it any more mind than they had the toad or the Gualaon. It briefly hovered. Then, with a louder rush of wind, it flew off toward the tallest of the buildings.
Strangeness upon strangeness. Yama was beginning to get a sense that their plan to dispose of the Lords of Kismet had been based on too little intel. It could well be they were in over their heads, in more ways than one.
There was only one way to find out.
Squaring his shoulders, Yama glided down the stairs.
CHAPTER 22
The huge head that thrust through the foliage was the result of Nature gone amok. The shape was that of a tiger and the eyes and whiskers were cat-like, but there any resemblance ended. Entirely hairless, the scabby skin was festered with oozing sores. Pus dribbled from its nostrils. The thing roared again, so loud it seemed to shake the trees, and bared saber fangs that dripped a yellowish-green ochre.
Blade barely had time to take the sight in when the mutation burst out of the jungle and crouched
