For what seemed a long time, Ryana remained motionless, her crossbow held ready. There was no sign of movement out beyond their camp, and she could now hear nothing but the rustling of the wind in the dry desert grass and the pagafa branches overhead. The fire was almost completely out now. She expelled her breath, suddenly realizing that she had been holding it, put down the crossbow, and reached for some more branches to put on the fire.
A shadow suddenly fell over her, and she felt powerful arms closing around her from behind.
With a cry, she raised her arms up and slithered out of the attacker’s grasp, then rolled and kicked out in a sweeping motion behind her with one leg. She felt her foot connect with something and heard a deep grunt as someone or something fell to the ground, then she rolled to her feet to face whatever it was that had attacked her.
The dry branches she had dropped onto the fire suddenly burst into flame, and she saw what at first looked like a man getting to his feet. He was very tall and powerfully built, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, long dark hair, and gaunt features. But the proportions were all wrong somehow. With his exceedingly long arms and legs, he looked almost like a male villichi, though, of course, that was impossible. She saw his pointed ears and thought he was an elf, and then she saw his hands as he raised them up in front of him, fingers hooked like claws. The hands were very large, more than twice the size of normal human hands, and the fingers were at least three times as long. They seemed to flare out at the tips, and then she suddenly realized what they were. Suckers. With an involuntary shudder, she realized what she was facing. It was neither man nor elf. It was a thrax.
At one point, it must have been a human, but it was not a human anymore. It was a vile creature that had been created by another like itself. The first thraxes were abominations created by defiler magic as a scourge to direct against their enemies. But not even the defilers had been able to control them. They ran wild and escaped into the desert, where they stealthily preyed on travelers. Shifting into shadow form, the thraxes would creep up on their unwary victims and then solidify behind them, grasping them in powerful arms, fastening suckers on them and draining their bodies of moisture. They would inflict such pain that usually their victims could not even struggle, and they would die in agony, reduced to desiccated corpses.
Ryana had never heard of anyone who had survived a thrax attack. Even if the victim broke free somehow, as this one must have done, contact with those suckers would make the vile magic that created the vampiric creatures pass to the victim, and in time, another thrax would be created. The magical mutation would begin with an aching in the hands and feet, then in the arms and legs as the bones started to elongate. The pain would increase, spreading out throughout the entire body, and then the skin at the fingertips would rupture and begin to bleed as the flesh sprouted into suckers. At the same time, the raging thirst would strike, a thirst that could, perhaps, be initially assuaged by draining the moisture from small mammals, but that was not enough. The thirst would grow and grow, driving out all sanity, and only a victim that was humanoid or human could provide enough bodily moisture to slake it... and then only for a short time.
As the thrax crouched across the fire from her, its long, sucker-tipped fingers extended and waggling obscenely, the puckered mouth of the vile creature twitched with thirst. Ryana knew that there was only once chance to escape death, or a fate even worse than death, and that was to strike a mortal blow while the thrax was still solidified. Her crossbow was out of reach, on the other side of the fire. Her sword was still in its leather scabbard, beside the rucksack where she had left it. She had only her knives. Moving quickly, she reached down and drew one of the blades from the top of her high moccasin and, in one smooth motion, hurled it at the creature. The thrax immediately shifted into shadow form and the blade passed through it harmlessly, striking one of the thick trunks of the pagafa tree, where it stuck. The vile shadow solidified once more as the thrax crouched, preparing to leap.
Without taking her eyes off the creature, Ryana quickly reached down and drew her other boot knife. She held the long stiletto blade out before her and crouched slightly, feet spread wide apart. The thrax saw the second blade and hesitated. In that instant of momentary hesitation, Ryana reached out with the power of her mind, and, with psionic force, flung the burning branches in the fire directly at the thrax’s face. Instinctively, the thrax recoiled and raised its hands, and Ryana lunged toward the creature. But the beast recovered quickly, much more quickly than she had anticipated, and as she stabbed out with her blade, it passed through shadow.
The shadow leapt back, away from her, and the thrax solidified once more, more wary this time, circling and watching her intently. It feinted toward her once or twice, attempting to bait her into throwing the knife, but Ryana already knew that would not work. Instead, she drew another knife, the large, wide-bladed one in the sheath fastened to her belt.
These blades were the only weapons she had left—along with her psionic power and her ingenuity. The thrax knew now that she was not an easy victim, a solitary woman who would fall prey to her own fear. But the creature was thirsty, and she was the only drink for miles around.
They circled warily, neither committing to an attack. The thrax tried to bait her into throwing one of her weapons, but she resisted the temptation. She, meanwhile, remained alert for any opportunity to strike, but each time she made a move toward the deadly creature, it shifted into shadow once again and faded back, attempting to lose itself in the other shadows and come around behind her. Ryana could not allow her vigilance to relax even for an instant. That instant would be fatal.
She knew she could not keep it up. Sooner or later, the thrax would fool her and slither around in shadow form behind her, or else its thirst would drive it into a direct frontal attack, in shadow form, enveloping her and passing through her, wrapping its shadowy appendages around her, and then solidifying into death.
Even as she thought of it, the thrax shifted into shadow and leapt toward her. Instead of recoiling, as it had expected, Ryana lunged to meet it, passing through the creature in its shadow state before it could solidify its grasp around her.
She fought the gorge rising in her throat as she forced her way through the shadow, feeling its foul chill permeate her.
Once beyond it, she turned to face the thrax again as it solidified, too late to trap her, but ready for another try. How long could she keep this up? Time favored the thrax. She was tired, and the creature knew it. One slip, one misstep, and it would be all over.
Their positions now were almost identical to what they were when the thrax had first attacked. The crossbow was still out of her reach, as was the sword, and she could spare no time to grab for them.
But she was villichi, schooled in the Way, and it was only that, if anything, that gave her the advantage. As she watched the thrax, not taking her gaze from it for a second, she reached out with the power of her mind, focusing upon the knife she had thrown earlier, now embedded in the pagafa tree. Slowly, it began to pull free behind the thrax. As she felt it coming loose, she kept her focus on the knife, and at the same time threw one of the other blades she held.
The thrax quickly shifted into shadow form and the blade passed through it harmlessly. As it solidified again, Ryana quickly threw her second knife, purely by reflex, all the while keeping her psionic focus on the knife that she was working free from the pagafa trunk.