Emboldened, Haskeer tried it again. Launching himself from another rock, clutching his spear, he fell towards a snaking tentacle. The spear struck, and snapped in two. He was propelled sideways by the awkward impact, landing heavily on the beach. For a moment he lay there, the wind knocked out of him, his head swimming. Until he felt something nasty brushing against his leg.
The tentacle darted at him. Thicker than he would have been able to hug, had he wanted to, it moved with shocking speed. Haskeer rolled clear, narrowly avoiding its embrace. He kept moving, backing off, hands pushing at the sand, feet kicking; scuttling like a crab, the need to move outweighing his inability to get up. The tentacle came after him. He took a chance and scrambled to his feet, a whisker shy of getting caught. Still retreating, engaged in a grotesque dance to avoid being seized, he tried staving off the thing with a hastily drawn dagger.
Wheam arrived, along with a couple of the other tyros, Keick and Chuss, the latter still game despite nursing his wounded arm. They laid into the tentacle.
“What kept you?” Haskeer barked.
They were too busy to reply. He added a hatchet to his knife and joined in.
Pepperdyne and Coilla battled a rearing tentacle. Their blades slashed it in a dozen places, yet still it came on. After much dodging and swerving they managed to get either side of it. Their determined, coordinated hacking separated a goodly length of flesh, releasing its foul odour. The rest of the tentacle pulled away. But there was a legion of replacements
“This is hard work,” Pepperdyne said. He was panting.
“It’s gonna get harder,” she told him, pointing.
The Krake had got a lot nearer. It was not far off the shore now, a mountain of quivering grey flesh, uncurling more of its tentacle emissaries.
“Can it come on land, d’you think?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“We have to pull back!”
“Too right.” She looked around, spotted Stryke. “Stryke! Stryke! Look!”
He saw, and began bellowing orders.
The Wolverines disengaged, leaving the beach to the fleshy invaders, and headed his way.
“Inland!” he cried, urging them on. “ To the trees!”
Haskeer was the last to retreat. Passing a hunting tentacle on his way, he gave it a mighty kick, which proved ineffective but satisfying.
As the band ran for cover the shadow of the Krake fell across the beach. They crashed into the jungle, and kept going until Stryke judged they had penetrated far enough and called a halt. A movement in the undergrowth had them raising their weapons. Hoisting out the source, not too gently, few were surprised to find it was a cowering Standeven.
“What now, Stryke?” Jup wanted to know.
“I guess we wait it out.”
“That’s it, is it?” Haskeer said. “We hide in here and hope that thing goes away.”
“Got a better plan?”
“Fight it.”
“You go ahead.”
“It’s what we do, Stryke. We don’t run from a fight like frightened hatchlings.”
“And we don’t waste lives going against something we can’t fight. Maybe we’d stand a chance if we were an army and not just a war-band. But we’re not.”
“Well, I reckon-”
There was a sound from the direction of the beach. A rustling, splintering noise. Something was moving their way.
“Look!” Coilla exclaimed.
A tentacle ploughed through the jungle. It came to a particularly large tree, wrapped itself around it, uprooted it with ease and tossed it aside. Hardly slowed, it continued towards them. Some way to their left a second tentacle appeared, destroying all in its path.
“Back!” Stryke ordered. “Everybody back!”
They needed no urging. As they retreated deeper into the jungle the sounds of destruction kept pace, from behind and on either side. The vegetation was much thicker here, and the air was fetid with the sickly sweet smell of rotting things and stagnant water. A reminder that living places were also dying places.
A little further on, the commotion of the pursuing tentacles still plainly heard, they passed a small clearing. At its centre stood a modest-sized altar, made of stone and simple in its design. Four icons were carved on its face. To most in the band there was a familiar look about it.
They pushed on, everyone alert. The band were using swords to hack through the foliage; Jup and Spurral preferred to beat obstructions aside with their staffs. As usual the tyros stuck together, with Dallog to the fore. Wheam plodded grimly, his precious lute strapped to his back. Standeven shadowed Coilla and Pepperdyne, as though the latter was still his beholden protector. In the event, any rescuing Pepperdyne did was confined to hauling up Standeven every time he tripped over a root.
The next attack came with little warning, save a rustling in the green canopy overhead. Suddenly, a tentacle jabbed down like an angry giant’s finger, hit the ground and surged in their direction. The band lobbed spears, and peppered it with arrows. Coilla tugged out one of her throwing knives and tossed it with sufficient force to penetrate the tough flesh. The limb withdrew. Not completely, but enough for them to continue their flight.
“Looks like we slowed it down a bit,” Pepperdyne remarked to Coilla as they battled through the jungle.
“All I’ve done is lost a good knife,” she complained.
“Those tentacles are blind. Obviously, they’ve no eyes. So how do you think they home in on us the way they do?”
“Who knows? Instinct?”
“Maybe they can detect movement. You know, vibrations or-”
“Does it matter? Getting clear of the things is more important, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, course.”
They kept going, and the sounds behind them grew more distant.
“Reckon it’s given up, Stryke?” Jup asked.
“Don’t know. Could be.”
“How far do you think those limbs can reach?” Coilla wondered.
“An incredibly long way,” Spurral told her.
“More good news,” Haskeer grumbled.
Stryke looked doubtful. “Not this far, surely?”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Spurral said.
“This isn’t that big an island,” Jup reminded them, “and it’s much longer than it’s wide. So wherever we go we could be within its reach.”
“Perhaps not,” Pepperdyne replied.
“What do you mean?”
“A creature the size of the Krake would live in deep water. It might not even be able to come on land, the same way a fish can’t. Which is why it uses its tentacles to snare prey.”
“How does this help us?” Stryke wanted to know.
“Those islands not far from the shore we’re heading towards. The scouts said the water’s shallow enough for us to wade across.”
“There’s nothing but rock over there.”
“The important thing is the depth of the water around the islands. It wouldn’t be deep enough for something as large as the Krake.”
“You’re guessing that. Like you’re guessing those tentacles couldn’t stretch as far as the islands.”
“If they can,” Jup said, “with no shelter over there we’d be ripe for the plucking.”
“You’re right,” Pepperdyne said, “I’m guessing. But has anybody got a better idea?”
The ensuing silence was broken by a fresh upheaval behind them. Two or three tentacles were coming their way.
“We’ll do it,” Stryke decided. “Let’s move.”
They had to travel faster, whatever the obstructions; the limbs were noisily closing the gap. After what seemed an age the jungle began to thin. The trees were sparser and they had glimpses of a much brighter, open space beyond.
Shortly after, they burst out of the jungle. They were on a beach, meaner and more pebbly than the one they had started from. Not far offshore, perhaps a decent arrow shot away, was the nearest of the adjacent islands. It was much smaller than the one they were on, and completely stark.
Snatching a spear from one of the grunts, Haskeer hurled it high and arcing, so that it came down about a third of the distance to the island. It landed almost upright, less than half its length submerged.