Ursa danced around in front of it, thrusting his sword at the creature. His tawny hair was tossed back, his dark eyes glinting with determination.
Droopface, who had sneaked onto the lip of the cave, stepped forward and heaved a big net over the creature.
The slig threw back its head, crying out fiercely, trying to shake the net off. Droopface immediately fell back out of sight, clinging to the rock ledge. The slig seemed off balance without its tail and careened toward Ursa, making desperate but powerful swipes with its thick, muscular arms.
Kit glanced over toward Colo, who was bunched up on the ground, shivering and moaning. Not much to be done there, not now. Kitiara scuttled toward her sword lying in the dirt and managed to grip the hilt.
Ursa had not backed off, and Kit was impressed by his strength, his courage, his resolve. The slig made furious charges at the mercenary leader, but Ursa gave no quarter. Then the beast stumbled, and Ursa rushed in, plunging his sword deep into the slig's side. Black ichor poured out.
The slig swung recklessly and smashed Ursa in the face. Yet the mercenary held onto his sword and, with a superhuman effort, pushed it in even deeper. As he did so, from behind them both came Kit, at a running leap, thrusting her own weapon deep into the right calve of the slig. She immediately pulled her sword out, then plunged it back into the beast's torso.
The slig lurched backward so abruptly that Kitiara lost her grip. Swaying and falling face forward, it knocked over Ursa, pinning his right leg. Hurrying to the fray, Droopface helped Kit pull their leader out from under the dead creature.
After a moment Ursa sat up, a shaky grin on his face. A bloody gash ran across his shoulder, and his face was bruised and raked with scratches. But he flexed his leg without much pain and managed to stand.
Across the cave, Droopface was already tending to Colo. He had stripped off her clothes and was rubbing her body with one of his unguents. Her moaning had subsided, although every once in a while she yelped in pain. Rolling in the dirt had not been just a reflex; Colo had slowed the effects of the spittle with her actions. Kit knew, from Ursa, that a slig's venom stung like an army of bees, but if treated swiftly, could be counteracted. The ugly slig lay twisted and motionless in a dark pool of ichor, its stench filling Kit's nostrils. Looking down at it, she asked, somewhat breathlessly, "What now?"
"We cut off its head to prove we killed it," said Ursa. They got to work with their swords, she and Ursa. It was hard slogging, for the slig's plated orange hide and corded neck muscles made it like cutting through stone. Only out of this particular stone poured a fetid black mess of blood and innards. After toiling at the grisly task for some time, Ursa stood up wearily, the job done. He had secured a rope around the slig's head so they could lower it from the cave without having to carry the heavy, dripping trophy.
Kit went to Colo, who sat on a rock. Her skin was all red and blistered, and she was naked except for a coating of ointment and the blanket that Droopface had draped loosely around her.
"Thanks," said Kit awkwardly. "If it hadn't been for you . . ." Ursa came over, too, and grinned down at Colo. "The pain will start to go away in a couple of hours," he said, then added, "if Cleverdon knows his stuff." Even under the adverse circumstances. Kit was struck by Colo's lithe, sensuous figure. The female mercenary didn't show any false modesty. Colo didn't draw the blanket any more tightly beneath their gaze. She looked up sulkily at both of them, settling her disgruntled face on Ursa.
"Slime and spittle," she muttered with a curse. "It hasn't been my day."
* * * * *
They rigged up a crude pulley and lowered the bloody head of the slig, the size and weight of a boulder, onto the ground below the waterfall. This took some time. It was past dusk and darkness was descending swiftly. Ursa dragged the slig's head several hundred feet into a small clearing and dropped the rope.
"We may as well camp here tonight," said the mercenary, rubbing the wound on his shoulder ruefully.
"What about the horses?" wondered Colo, who was still draped with a blanket.
"I'll get them," said Droopface, setting off in the direction from which they had come.
"I'll help," volunteered Kit, starting to follow.
Droopface waved her off and disappeared into the dark woods.
"He'll be all right," said Ursa.
"What about, er, that thing?" asked Kit, indicating the slig's gruesome head.
"Oh," said Ursa, "it isn't going anywhere." With some effort he lifted the bloody trophy and stuck it on the end of a short, thick branch thrusting out of a nearby tree. It dangled there, askew, like some grotesque pumpkin-face.
"It'll give the owls
