He shook his head to clear it, then rose to his feet and walked around camp. Snoring, wriggling forms were barely visible beneath heavy layers of furs—an arm over here, a foot there sticking out, but for the most part his companions were well covered. The fires had diminished a little, and fuel in this part of the land was hard to come by, so he didn’t stoke them quite yet. He would before it was time to wake Amoni for her shift—the fires couldn’t be allowed to go out, or everyone would freeze, furs or no.
Walking around the outside rim of the fires’ warmth, Corlan considered the night’s drama. Myklan, a murderer? Hard to believe. The man had confessed, though. And in truth, he had never known Rieve’s father that well. Solyara, yes, and Tunsall, and even Sheridia, who had often been busy at some pursuit or other that Corlan now knew probably involved her magic. Myklan kept to himself, though, when he wasn’t out overseeing the family businesses. On those occasions when Corlan had spent time with him, it often seemed that his thoughts were elsewhere, far away. Now Corlan realized, with a shiver, that at any of those times he might have been thinking about his killings, or dwelling on the lust for elf women that was the source of his self-loathing.
One aspect of Myklan’s confession, though, came as good news to Corlan. He had recognized a growing attraction between Rieve and the half-elf Aric, and that, on top of his unthinking response to Rieve’s troubles, had made him worry that he was losing her. But if she and Aric were half-siblings, then Rieve wouldn’t act on that attraction, however strong it was.
His feet crunched on the desert sands as he walked in circles, determined to remain alert. He didn’t know something else heard him, something that lived underground but could sense prey moving about on the surface.
Then it exploded out of the ground, sending up a flurry of sand. Corlan heard it and cried out. He grabbed for a bone sword he had liberated from a fallen raider at the fort.
Some of his companions awoke, lurching upright as the desert mastryial attacked.
The beast was as long as Corlan was tall, a giant scorpion almost invisible until firelight glanced off its dark brown carapace. Its huge pincers clacked together and its tail arched over its back, the stinger at the tip bobbing as it scuttled forward on six legs.
Corlan thrust at it with the bone sword, but it only glanced off the creature’s hard chitin, which was widely prized for its excellent armor. He shouted again, a wordless sound, and swiped at it again, holding off the advance of those fearsome pincers.
The half-giant, Ruhm, charged forward wielding his greatclub. He gave a cry and swung the club down at the mastryial. The weapon smashed into the thing’s left pincer with a great cracking sound, and the mastryial gave a squeal of pain. Its other pincer darted faster than Corlan’s eye could follow, grabbing the club and wrenching it from the grasp of the mighty goliath. When the tail stabbed toward Ruhm, he had no choice but to leap backwards, out of its path, and the creature hurled the club far from the firelight. Ignoring the darkness, Ruhm dashed after it.
Amoni, Aric, and Myklan arrived at Corlan’s side together, and a few steps behind came Sellis, his twin swords whistling in the dark, and Mazzax bearing his heavy-headed maul. Amoni’s cahulaks spun on their rope, and Aric jabbed at the beast with a sword of gleaming steel. Amoni closed with the mastryial first, her weapon biting into its carapace. It skittered backward, stabbing at Amoni with its long, segmented tail.
Sellis sliced at that tail, but it whipped about so fast that his blades cut only air. Aric thrust his sword’s point into one of the segments. The mastryial grabbed at his blade with one of its pincers. Having seen what it did with Ruhm’s club, Aric tried to yank his sword away. The thing’s grip was too firm, and it tugged Aric forward, off his feet.
The creature darted forward and back, its many legs carrying it in quick, jittery motions. Too many tried to fight it, and with Aric sprawled before it, Corlan bumped into Amoni and tripped over Aric’s legs. He landed on Aric’s back with a heavy thump, pinning Aric to the ground. The mastryial’s stinger hovered over them.
Putting all his strength into the effort, Aric heaved his chest and shoulders off the ground, rolling Corlan off his back. Aric got a foot under him, but the stinger darted toward him.
And then someone landed on the mastryial’s back, flinging arms around the tail, keeping the stinger from sinking into Aric.
It was Myklan. Amoni lunged forward, attacking the thing’s free pincer with her cahulaks, cutting the tender flesh just beneath it. The mastryial dropped Aric’s sword and tried to grab Amoni with the other pincer, but Sellis blocked that attempt. A few mighty swipes with his swords severed the other pincer. Aric scooped up his sword and stabbed the beast repeatedly, as the dwarf pounded on its carapace with his maul. Corlan jabbed his bone sword into the thing several times.
But that tail whipped up and over itself. It buried its stinger in Myklan’s skull. The man screeched, his face twisted in agony. But only for a moment. As the venom took quick effect, he froze. The mastryial freed its tail from his grip and the man toppled over. The beast tried to back away. It was bleeding from a dozen wounds, though, many of them serious, and it only made a few steps before Aric raced past the slowing tail and drove his sword downward through the thing’s head. The mastryial twitched its legs several times, then went still.
Myklan was half buried beneath it. Amoni, Mazzax, Sellis and Corlan lifted the beast while Aric pulled him out. Too late, however; Myklan was dead, his eyes open, face still contorted in pain and fear, mouth open as if to catch one last breath that he would never draw.
Ruhm wandered back into the firelight, half frozen, clutching his beloved club. At the same time, Rieve caught a glimpse of her father’s still form. Corlan ran to intercept her, not wanting her to see the sight, but she twisted free of his grasp. “Father!” she cried. “Oh, Father!”
The rest of the family gathered around as Rieve fell to her knees, burying her face in Myklan’s chest. Her back and shoulders spasmed with sobs. Pietrus joined her over the body, his own grief accompanied by anguished wails. Tears traced down Tunsall’s face, but he stood still, mourning Myklan with quiet dignity. Sheridia and Solyara, mother and daughter, stood back a few paces and watched.
Corlan threw aside his bone sword and crouched beside Rieve, draping an arm over her back. He tried to whisper soothing words, but his tongue seemed tied in a knot and she couldn’t have heard him anyway. He settled for just being there, hoping she knew that he was.
Aric wondered if Myklan had not confessed to the affair with Keyasune, and to the murders, would the women have been more disturbed by his death? None of it seemed to matter to Rieve, whose grief was abundant and loudly expressed, but the others were more reserved in theirs.
Aric tried to feel something, but he couldn’t.
Myklan had saved his life. More than once, probably, over the years, but directly, indisputably, just now. For all he knew, though, Myklan’s action this time had not been the selflessly heroic one it had seemed, but yet another evasion of responsibility. Myklan had agreed to accept the blame when they reached Nibenay. Had he meant it? Or had he never intended to see Nibenay again? He had, after all, hidden from Aric’s mother, and even when he took some interest in Aric’s life it was from a far remove, a safe distance. He had allowed himself to keep on killing, even when he must have known on some level that it was wrong. Was this just the final, self-preserving act of a small-minded man? Was a quick death preferable, in Myklan’s mind, to the public humiliation and no doubt agonizing punishment that would have faced him at home?
Aric regretted Rieve’s grief. He worried about Pietrus, who, without Myklan’s confession to protect him, might still be held responsible for the murders, if the family still chose to accompany Aric and the others back to Nibenay. And he regretted not having a chance to see his father meet justice. But he couldn’t manage more than the slightest twinge of sorrow over the man’s death.