again; they shattered like dry firewood. He could hear the rumblings of its belly, the grunts of pain with each broken bone.
Then, suddenly, the creature’s weight was gone. He staggered, nearly fell, his shoulder pounding. It stood on its hind legs, claws flashing about his face, blocking the wind, the rain, the light, like a wall. Its ribs were grinding, blood streamed down its belly and legs.
The thing has made its mistake.
* * *
Triq leapt her little mare straight at the monster.
The creature was big – the femininity of breasts and face somehow more disturbing than the stallion’s insanity. Shrieking fury into the dark sky, she barged the mare broadside into the beast’s lower chest, haunches shoving at it like a cavalry mount. Snarling, it dropped the bow and made a grab for Triq’s wet hair. She dipped sideways, one blade opening a triangular tear across its ribs.
Foreclaws useless, the creature closed to shove back. It kneed the mare repeatedly in the belly, making her snort and bare her teeth to bite. It was close, too close, over her. She could smell the horse-stink of skin and hide and anger, the sweat, the fury. She could see where it had sunburn, the worn, wet leather of the halter top it wore, the white scar that crossed one shoulder. Its coarse, rain-soaked mane was hitting her in the face.
Spitting, shaking herself free of itch and water, Triq shoved back, but her little mare was too small. Savagely snarling, wordless and furious, the creature was gaining ground. Its hands grappled for her wrists.
It said
The word sent a chill through Triq’s flesh – as though some daemon figment had called her by name. It was a hiss, an accusation.
“Don’t bet on it, sunshine.” Barging, barging repeatedly, Triq fought to push it back. Its claws pulled chunks out of the soil, raking at the mare’s delicate legs. Triq’s shortsword tore open another ragged gash, and another. Blood seeped into the rain on its skin. “You know what this weapon is?” Slash, jab. “Do you know?” Barge, slash. “It’s the one that killed your
The beast’s expression twisted, it bared predator’s teeth. Its dark eyes – so human, so animal – met hers. Just for a second, there was sanity, realisation.
Motherhood.
Then one huge fist smashed her in the face.
Triq wasn’t fast enough. She snatched her head sideways, but the blow caught her ear, slamming pain through her skull and making her reel in her saddle. Thunder rolled – she wasn’t sure if it was inside her clanging head.
The beast was brutal – not fast, but powerful. It reached a hand for Triq’s neck and brought the fist back to slam again.
She was dizzied, sparks exploding in her vision. Pain blinded her; rain battered her shoulders. She held on to both blades – just – kept the mare under her with a grip that was pure reflex.
The creature was laughing. In and out of focus, it swam in the grey air.
The hand caught her by the throat. Squeezed, crushed. She coughed, gasped, struggled to breathe. With half-panicked determination, she hacked one serrated blade viciously at the creature’s inner wrist. Fighting to inhale, she dragged it through flesh, into bone.
It ripped, rasped, tore chunks from skin and muscle.
Then it shattered, terhnwood splinters stinging at the creature’s arm – and at her own.
The beast spat ferocity, threw Triq back against her saddle; clamped the injured arm in its hand. Blood pumped through its fingers. It gave ground. Her head hammering with pain, rain streaming from her skin, Triq threw herself forwards and rammed the remaining blade, point first, into the pool of stark shadow under its arm.
This time, she made it scream.
* * *
For a moment, Redlock stood silent, the huge beast reared over him.
Then he moved, hard, fast, focused. He lunged forwards, slammed both axes into its soft belly.
And slashed them downwards.
The impact jarred his elbows, he felt them hack – cutting deep, flesh parting before steel. The beast juddered, screamed. As he heaved the blades free, he was up to his elbows in gore.
Intestines spilled from twin wounds, hitting his shoulders, sliding down his chest, staining him with the creature’s death.
As it crashed back to the ground, he dove sideways and heard one foreleg crack.
It buckled, but still didn’t fall. Its claws were catching its own sliding guts, they dragged, filth covered, through the muddy grass.
Yet it laughed, manically, vicious humour across the downpour.
“You want to stop me, warrior? You think you can?”
With a grim twist to his mouth, Redlock hit a low crouch and slammed one axe into its rear leg, just above the dewclaw. The second axe followed it, this one into the slender bones below its knee.
Its leg shattered. It faltered, staggered.
It plunged away from him, reeling, trying to turn. It was slipping on grass soaked in blood, tangling itself in its own viscera.
A second, vicious double blow, ribs breaking under the impact.
Another.
It was faltering, now, trying to get away from his relentless onslaught. Its hide was matted with rain and blood and fluid, its intestines were spilling from it like uncoiling rope. Its eyes were wild, terrible; its breath ragged. It half turned, raised the bow as if to strike...
And it started to shake.
The muscles in its legs were quivering. It staggered, just for a second, righted itself.
But Redlock was still moving.
Holding hard to his lunch, he ducked sideways through the wall of grass and came up before it with both axes gripped centre-shaft – ready.
He heard the scream that came from the creature Triqueta was fighting...
...but the stallion was still going.
A final, desperate effort.
It rode him down.
* * *
Ecko’s boosting was running out.
He was coming down, shivering with aftershock. His belly was twisting round that familiar, hollow sense of loss.
The beast was searching for him. It was lurching painfully, claws raking, hands reaching into the grass. Its face – how did it manage to look so fucking girlie? – was twisted round hurt and savagery and suspicion.
And without his supercharged strength and speed, he’d got nothing that’d touch it – no weapon, no flamer, fucking sod all. What was he supposed to do – bite it to death?
He wondered what’d happened to Tarvi – she still had her spear, her bow. Unable to come up with anything any more creative, he loosed his Bogeyman breathing: wet, dank, rotting. And he kinda hoped the beast had read the comic books.
It turned, its shattered knee twisting, but it was sharp as a hunter, seeking the sound through the rain.
“I can hear you,” it said. “Kartian creature – like us, created. Better than born!”
“Make that ‘upgraded’.” His voice came from behind it. As it spun, he was off through the grass, heading low and swift for the lifeless black wall of the bank.
Weapons. He needed weapons. He’d sell his fucking soul right now for a carbon-fibre blade and a couple of spools of monowire...
“You think?” The creature whirled, straining to see. “Better than we?”
“You betcha ass –” The taunt ended in a clumsy exclamation as his stealth-cloak caught in the grass, a
