‘See you on the other side,’ said Ilkar. He was pushed backwards into the rip, and even as he fell, followed moments later by Talan and Richmond, he saw the skeletons turn and head back to the village.
The girl’s legs, suddenly brown, fur-covered and thick with muscle, thrust forwards, shooting her upright. Clawed feet scratched at the ground, a tail, spiked and leathery, sprouted from the small of her back, and as her dress melted away, it was replaced by a heaving bull chest with prominent ribs above a taut and hairless stomach. Her arms bulged to power, muscles bunched in her biceps and triceps, while those delicate hands swelled, grew and stretched, the fingers clawing to razor-sharp talons.
But the head. It was the head that drew the scream from Hirad’s lips. The girl’s face fell into itself like water down a hole but those eyes held, still blue until the last, when they too disappeared to be replaced by flat black slits. And out of the hole sprang forth fangs in a wide mouth, dripping saliva. The blonde hair remained; the brow was heavy, chin pointed and jaws snapping. A thin tongue licked out of the creature’s mouth and it hissed as it struck.
Reflexively, Hirad brought his sword in front of his face and the creature’s claw skittered off it, nicking the flesh. It howled in pain and backed off a step, small chest still clutched in the other clawed hand.
‘Fuck!’ spat Hirad, shaking all over and moving to cover Denser.
‘Careful, Hirad.’
‘What else do you think I’m going to be?’
The creature flew forwards again, arms flailing, tail whipping in front of it. Hirad side-stepped and slashed downwards into the blur of the attack, praying he’d connect before one of those talons raked or skewered him. His blade connected with wood, then flesh as it hammered through its arc. There was a keening wail, a whiplash sound and a heavy crash. Splinters of wood flew in all directions.
Hirad straightened, trying to take it all in. Denser was lying prone, half in and half out of the door to the building. He wasn’t moving. The creature had retreated to the back of the room, clutching at the stump of its left hand, trying in vain to stop the pulses of blood gouting from the wound. Its hand lay on the floor close to Hirad’s feet, and in amongst the debris of the broken wooden chest lay a single sheet of parchment, folded, brown and dog-eared.
Even as he laid his eyes on it, the barbarian heard the whimpering stop. He looked up into the feral, now yellow eyes of the beast as it rose to its feet, new hand growing out of the healing end of its arm.
‘Dear Gods,’ muttered Hirad.
The creature staggered slightly and clutched at a shelf to balance itself. Hirad snatched a dagger from his belt and hurled it forwards as he launched himself at the creature. The gleaming metal blade whirred through the air, catching the creature’s gaze. It traced the dagger’s flight, eyes narrowing until they all but disappeared under its brow.
Hirad moved forwards across the few feet that separated them, slashing at the creature’s neck as it switched its attention to him. The dagger, forgotten, slapped harmlessly into the wall of the building. The creature dodged the blow and whipped its tail into Hirad’s legs, tripping him. He fell, rolled and sat up on his haunches. The beast came on, still unsteady. Hirad scrambled to his feet and the two faced each other.
The creature bellowed, blowing hot, stinking breath into the barbarian’s face. Hirad stepped back a pace at the sound, so deep and powerful from so small a body. He switched his blade between his hands, three times; it finished in his left hand. He clamped his right hand above his left, stepped in again and brought the blade through in an upward left-to-right arc. The creature failed to follow the movement, its hands were too slow coming to its defence and the blade crashed into its pointed jaw, Hirad roaring as he forced the blade through its face to exit from its left eye. The split face sprayed blood and gore as its head snapped up and back on its neck, and the creature screeched and fell backwards, clutching at the sides of the gash.
Hirad stepped up, looked down on it, shuddered and drove his sword through its heart. Another screech and the creature jerked spasmodically and lay still.
‘Burn it.’
Hirad spun round and saw Denser sitting up, leaning against the door frame, massaging his side, his cat nuzzling his face from a perch on his shoulder.
‘Burn?’
‘Now. It’ll recover if you don’t.’
The barbarian turned back to the creature and saw immediately that it had begun to breathe.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said. He sheathed his sword and scrabbled in his belt pouches for an oil flask. He pulled a tiny phial out along with his flint and steel.
‘Here,’ said Denser. A much larger flask rattled to the floor by Hirad’s feet.
‘This won’t burn properly, it’s lamp oil, isn’t it?’ said the barbarian, snatching it up.
‘Trust me, it’ll burn.’
Hirad shrugged and ran over to the creature. He sprinkled the oil over its furred body, spread some tinder on its chest by the wound in its heart, which was closing even now, and struck the flint and steel next to it. A sheet of flame instantly smothered the body. Hirad leaped back, wiping at the heat on his face.
The creature’s eyes flickered and opened. An arm twitched.
Hirad shook his head. ‘Too late.’ He drew his sword and repeated the stab to the heart. The beast lay still. He walked backwards, watching the fire take hold. Wood crunched under his foot. He glanced down and saw he’d trodden on the large part of the shattered chest. His foot was right next to the parchment; he stooped and picked it up.
‘Is it damaged?’ asked Denser from behind him.
‘No, I don’t think so. How about you?’
‘I’m all right, just winded.’ He rubbed his side. ‘We were lucky it was a parchment and not a crystal or something. That blow of yours would have finished our job rather abruptly, wouldn’t it?’
Hirad raised his eyebrows, ambled over and handed the parchment to Denser, helping the Dark Mage to his feet. Denser looked over his shoulder and nodded.
‘What was it?’
‘Sentient conjuration,’ said Denser. ‘It takes so long to cast, I never really bothered with it. Obviously Septern did.’ He turned his attention to the parchment.
‘Why was it a girl to start with?’
Denser stopped reading. ‘Well, a sentient conjuration is created for a specific purpose, in this case to protect this parchment. While they have no actual life, they can reason to a degree and that allows them to assess situations and react accordingly. I would guess the girl we saw was the image of a relative of Septern’s, because if the mage has clear memories, the image requires much less mana to create and sustain.’
‘But why—’
‘Hold on, I know what you’re thinking. The girl would have been the “at rest” manifestation, because the beast, something out of his nightmares by the look of it, would take too much mana to sustain, see?’
‘Kind of, but even so, three hundred years . . .’
‘Yes, quite. I can’t believe that even Septern, powerful though he must have been, could create a sentient conjuration able to exist for anything more than forty years at the absolute outside. Presumably the rips provided it with enough static mana to keep it going.’ Denser went back to the parchment, leaving Hirad to walk back towards the rip a few paces. All was quiet. He frowned and jogged further on.
‘Ilkar?’ he called. ‘Ilkar!’ Nothing. No answer, but no villagers either, and as he moved to the border of the village, he could see why. They had all dropped maybe eighty paces from the village, forming a carpet of bone. A line of cold ran up Hirad’s spine. If The Raven had managed to kill them all, then where were they? And if they hadn’t, then why had the skeletons fallen?
He turned a quick full circle, acutely aware of his isolation. Above him, the dark cloud boiled along, chased by an awesome wind he couldn’t hear. Below, flash followed flash as lightning deluged the lands beneath, while dotted across the skyline, like sentinels of some ancient doom, the other plateaux loomed, their shapes dim against the blackness, their presence fraying his courage. Where were The Raven? He prayed that they had returned through the rip. The alternatives were unthinkable.