Ding swallowed hard as dust streamed from stressed, supporting beams and the shop began to creak ominously.
The woman threw herself into the air and across the room, taking the time to wave at the old man as she passed. He, in turn, waved back but Ding could see that he was clearly not as pleased to see her as she was he. As the old man regarded the wreck of a room before him, Ding could have sworn that his nose and ears throbbed a bright red, and that he appeared to grow slightly. This did not, however, stop him coming to the aid of the woman when she needed it. As she was now engaged in a losing hand-to-hand battle with the remaining creatures, the old man opened a cupboard beneath his sales counter and, with a yell, threw her a glove.
Oh, very useful, Harmon Ding thought.
But then his ears flapped as she slipped the glove on and blasted one of her assailants over each of his shoulders with an pulse of energy that drew crackling red circles in the air. Ding watched the two creatures crash screeching through the windows of the shop and then turned back, white-faced now, just in time to see the third creature lunge for the old man. The odd thing was, though, he didn't seem to be the old man anymore, and as the creature reached him something big and green and roaring that stood in his place simply tore it apart.
Nice costume, Ding thought, and fainted.
Or at least tried to. For as he began to collapse something shot from the horse-thing's mouth and wrapped itself about his neck, holding him up.
Oh, he thought, it's a tongue. An impossibly long, slimy tongue.
Instead of fainting, Ding decided, instead, to scream. As the girlish wail erupted from him, the tongue released him and Harmon Ding ran. Ran as fast as his legs could carry him, out of the shop and away. The last words he heard as he headed for the gates of Gargas were: "Fark, what a day. Who was that by the way?"
"That? Oh, don't worry about him. He wasn't real."
Far behind Ding, the old man sighed, not with relief but in an attempt to calm himself down and, as Kali and Horse looked on, his ogur physique began to dwindle until he had returned once more to his half ogur form. Done, he looked around the remains of his shop and then stared at Horse and Kali. His eyebrow rose.
"You could have knocked, young lady."
"Mmm, sorry about that. These things attacked en route, tearing up Horse pretty badly, so we had no choice but to jump here. Should have been outside, of course, but obviously he's not quite himself and overshot." She looked guilty. "A tad."
"A tad?"
Merrit Moon walked slowly forward, feet crunching on broken vials and crushed souvenirs, shaking his head. Despite his obvious dismay about the state of his shop, however, his brow furrowed in concern as he approached Horse. Gently, he ran a palm over the wounds on his armoured flanks — wounds that bled slowly and made the huge beast wince beneath his touch.
"His armour should be stronger than this," Moon observed. "There's a discolouration in it that doesn't look right."
"I know. I think it's something to do with his diet — or lack of it."
"His diet?"
"Worgles. Won't eat anything else. But they've disappeared since these bastards came out of nowhere."
"Really?" Moon said, intrigued. He looked at the tumbleweed like bodies that littered the shop floor. "I take it, by the by, that these are the infamous k'nid?" Kali looked at him and he added: "Oh, yes, I've heard the rumours. I may even have seen them, earlier, out on the plains."
"Yep, that's where they hit us."
"Ah, that was you," Moon said absently. He turned back to Horse. "Well, let's see if we can get some of this fixed up." He collected some balms and a cloth from around the devastated shop began to gently rub them into Horse's armour.
"Hey," Kali said. "I'm injured too."
"What? Oh, yes. Yes, yes, of course you are."
Kali threw up her hands but smiled. The fact was, since escaping the mine, which she now realised must have been inhibiting them somehow, her recuperative powers had worked wonders on her leg and, while not perfect, it would do. Horse was the patient now, and it was nice to see the old man tending to him so carefully. Because, despite her elation at finding he still lived on the Dragonwing Cliffs above Martak, there was one thing she'd dreaded, and that was informing the old man that his own beloved horse — the original Horse — had perished during the course of that adventure.
Constant companions, until the day she'd inherited him from the retiring artefact hunter, she'd never known a relationship between man and beast be so close and knew the news would be shattering to him — hells, it had been shattering enough to her. It was during the telling of it, however, that Horse Two had begin to gently nudge the old man's shoulder, and that not only seemed to alleviate the impact of the news but also create the same kind of burgeoning bond that she herself had felt with Horse's more…. unusual replacement. Over the intervening months, either with Merrit visiting Horse's grave above the Flagons, or they him, here in Gargas, that bond had grown until she had begun to think once more that the old man cared more about Horse than he did about her. Or maybe it was just because he was part of her that he cared. That theory made her feel a little better, anyway.
"Old man?" She kicked the remains of one of the k'nid, exposing its soft underbelly — red, turning now to grey. "What are these things?"
Moon regarded them as he continued to soothe Horse.
"First impressions? Hostile. Wrong."
"Hells, old man, I could have told you that."
"No, what I mean is, they don't belong. They're not a part of the order of things."
Kali kicked the k'nid again. "At least they don't seem as indestructible as the rumours make out."
"Ah," Moon sighed. "I wouldn't chance too many arms on that particular theory. These specimens were transported here with Horse, remember. Forcefully separated from their pack. I believe that together they might be far more formidable opponents. Certainly the number of reported deaths reflects that."
"What? So you're saying they're some kind of group entity?" Kali fought for a comparison. "Like fussball fans?"
"You never did like that game, did you?" Moon mumbled. He patted Horse, finished with his ministrations, and moved over to the k'nid, examining it. Suddenly he pulled his finger back with a hiss and flicked a clear liquid from it, which made a small patch of floor warp and burn.
"What is that? Acid?"
"No, some kind of destabilising agent," Moon mused.
He had used many, many substances in his alchemical experiments but this was a new one on him. He studied the k'nid more closely and frowned.
"This isn't right," he said. He took a small vial from his pocket and sprinkled its contents over the corpse. Nothing happened for a few seconds but then the dead creature began to wrinkle and twist, shrink in on itself, until it became utterly unrecognisable.
"Now that was acid, right?"
Moon shook his head. "It's the same potion I use to limit the influence of the ogur upon myself — to hold the change in check, as it were. Except, of course, that I just gave the k'nid far more than is safe to use on myself."
"So, what? You're saying this k'nid was changed like you were? That your potion reversed the changes, made it what it was before?"
"Exactly."
Kali pulled a face. "But look at it, old man — it's just a mess. It isn't anything."
"That's what worries me." Moon stood and sighed. "I saw something happen in the Drakengrats this morning. A great explosion."