‘Perhaps we should begin the retreat now,’ Petal suggested.
Skinner waved them off. ‘Go.’ He started down the slope. Black moved off. Petal edged back as well. But Mara hesitated. Something pulled at her; a fascination. What was this thing? And could Skinner truly face it down? Certainly his armour, the gift of Ardata, had been proof against everything so far. And they still did possess all the gifts of the Avowed … She caught Petal’s gaze. ‘I will stay. Someone has to.’
The big man frowned as if pouting, glanced to the lines disappearing round the rear of the hillock. ‘You should not remain alone.’
‘I will watch from D’riss.’
He rubbed his chin, clearly troubled. ‘Still … I should …’ His voice trailed off as his gaze left her to climb up to the canopy.
Mara spun. Something was moving there. A pale enormous shape that could somehow rear that tall. A gigantic limb as white as snow and speckled with blotches of crimson rose to push against a tualang that fell, wood bursting and shattering, to cut a slash through the canopy. A wide flat head rose, utterly colourless, albino. Veins pulsed blue and carmine beneath the translucent flesh. Crimson eyes, large as shields and bright as fresh wet blood, blinked, searching.
‘Burn preserve us …’ Mara breathed. ‘What is that?’
‘A creature from the heart of the earth,’ Petal answered, grim.
She sought out Skinner, standing alone close to the jungle verge, helm now secure on his head. This is absurd! What can one person possibly … He must flee with us. She started down.
‘Mara, no!’ Petal called.
The monster cracked open its slit mouth and a great bellowing roar shook the trees and the ground beneath Mara’s feet. Stones the size of chariots came tumbling down the hillock. Ancient trees wavered, crashing down. The ground shook again beneath an awkward step from the beast that levelled a swathe of the forest. Tumbling, Mara raised her Warren to repel a wash of stones and gravel that would have buried her. She fended off a rolling tree as thick in girth as a man.
Throughout, Skinner remained standing, apparently calmly awaiting the monster that was Rutana. Twin growths as large as sails now rose from either side of the creature’s neck. They flushed and pulsed with blood. Skinner raised the bastard sword in a two-handed ready stance.
The head darted down, lunging. Skinner leaped aside. The slit mouth gaped as wide as any city gate. It hammered into the loose ground, sending Mara flying. The head twisted, gulping and flailing like a dog worrying a bone. Cascades of dirt and rock flew over Mara. She drove it aside with bursts of power. Through the clouds of dust and flying brush she glimpsed Skinner in his glittering black mail. The beast’s roar of rage stabbed Mara’s skull like a spike.
Rain now came hammering down, settling the dust and dirt. It pattered like war drums on the wide leaves. Mara climbed to her feet, panting. Her Warren shimmered in the air about her. The creature reared once again and Mara glimpsed blood running down its clear pallid side. It twisted for Skinner, darting and lunging. Something came flailing from the jungle towards Mara. Tree trunks flew, cut off at the base, as a long low streak hammered her to tumble among fallen stones. She lay dazed.
Roaring shook her from the muted noises and blurred shapes in her vision. She flailed to sit up. Rain still poured down, now even harder, in dense sheets that wavered like hangings. The entire nightmare scene glowed in the jade illumination where a gap in the cloud cover allowed the Visitor’s alien light to stream through.
The creature, Rutana, still stalked Skinner. Its blunt forelimbs pawed at the rise while its head stood taller than the tumbled stones; the trees that once topped the hillock now lay trampled like so much rubbish beneath its feet. Somewhere Skinner must still stand as the beast sought him, roaring its shrieking bellow that shook the rain.
Swordcuts marred Rutana’s chest, forelimbs and mouth, two-handed slices that would have severed a man in two yet only served to irritate this eldritch creature. How could she possibly be slain? Skinner had fought heroically, but surely there could be but one outcome.
The evening’s downpour was passing, the cloud cover breaking up. Starlight shone down upon the wreckage. Rutana glowed a brilliant ghostly white in the cold harsh light. Her twin tall frills blazed, pulsing with blood as if they were aflame. A cut on one sprayed blood with every beat of the creature’s heart.
Rutana’s wide spatulate head snapped round and Mara stood to look: Skinner had emerged to stand in the clear. He held his sword close to side. What was this? Surrender? An attempt at parley? She will not pause. Indeed, Rutana writhed her long torso across the broken trunks and tumbled stone blocks after him like a lizard chasing a meal. Her eyes blazed carmine into the night as if lit from within. Her head arched back, mouth opening, hissing like a waterfall. Still Skinner did not move. Dive! Mara urged. Can’t you see she will take you?
The head snapped down, the mouth ploughing the ground to send up a great wash of stones and sand. Then it rose, gulping, the gullet working. Of Skinner there remained no sign. Mara stared, searching. He must have leaped. He must have. It was a trap — a ruse to draw her in for a thrust. It must have been. Yet still he did not show himself. And Rutana now slowly waddled away to return to the jungle. Her paws pushed awkwardly at the wet mud as she levered her immense bulk off the slope to enter the trees.
Mara stood for some time searching the hillside. Her Warren faded as her concentration fell away. Her robes pulled at her, sodden and heavy. Raindrops still fell on to her nose and cheeks. At least she believed the drops to be rain. Footsteps came sliding heavily towards her and she turned, wooden, not even lifting her arms. It was Petal. His shirt, vest and trousers hung just as wet as her robes. He carefully edged his way down to stand next to her.
‘I am sorry, Mara,’ he offered.
‘This cannot be. How could … It’s not true.’
‘Ardata’s gift could be no defence against that.’
‘Shut up, Petal,’ she said wearily. ‘He stepped out deliberately. He saw he couldn’t …’ She trailed off. Something was happening far off in the depths of the trees.
Some distance off, Rutana’s grating thunderous shriek sounded once more. A new note seemed to have entered it: alarm and pain. Mara’s gaze flew to Petal, eager and hopeful. The big mage just pulled at his lower lip, his expression doubtful.
Further bellows sounded, each more panicked and ragged with agony than the one before. Mara now nodded to herself. She drew her robes tighter against the night’s cold. ‘Get a fire going,’ she told Petal.
‘Why is it always-’
‘Do it. Now. He’ll need to warm up.’
‘We don’t know …’
She waved him off. ‘Go.’
The mage looked at her for a time while her gaze searched the jungle’s edge. He drew a great heaving sigh that raised and dropped his layered shirts and vest like a vast tent. Then he went to collect dry wood.
The fire had been roaring for some time before he appeared. It was long past the midnight. Mara sat with her knees drawn tight to her chest, as close to the heat as she dared. Steam rose from her robes as they dried. She knew she would stink of smoke but she hated wearing damp clothes. Petal sat farther back; he had his Warren raised as he guarded them.
The fire drew him as she knew it would. He came striding out of the utter darkness of the night and for a moment it appeared to her as if the night itself clung to his glimmering black mail. So must the Suzerain of Night have appeared, she thought, almost awed.
Closer, he looked quite haggard: gore and dried fluids smeared him. His helm was gone, his hair plastered and filmed in mucus. Crowding the fire, he held out his gauntleted hands to warm them. In his right fist was the broken grip and hilts of Black’s two-handed bastard sword.