Jehenna was ready to kill someone. Perhaps everyone. She had pulled herself up out of the basket and climbed the lines to the cockpit, a point a few feet under the bobug where the ropes were tied to the creature’s harness. A small rope seat was fixed to the harness for journeys not requiring the carriage below. Jehenna had told the group that she was just carrying out a routine check of the harness, but that was a lie. All she wanted to do is get a bit of space between her and the five individuals in the basket below. Almost three days had passed and she felt that if they did not reach the western landing soon, she would shoot them all, or throw herself into the Mire – whichever was easiest. She looked down at the group crammed into that little space thirty feet below, and realised she disliked the entire lot of them, albeit some more than others.
Sela – the colourfully-robed, colourfully-spoken Tamuan. Still smarting from the pain of quills piercing her buttocks in an unfortunate accident on the second morning of the journey, Jehenna held the Tamuan in nothing less than absolute contempt. Sela had complained every hour of the journey, even in her sleep. She had the uncanny ability to evoke a reaction in at least one person around her. At first Jehenna had gained a small degree of pleasure from her verbal jousts with the Tamuan consul, but she had found her to offer poor competition in a battle of wits and the exchanges quickly became tiresome.
Rama – the tall, polite Ankaran. A gentleman perhaps, but not one without his failings. Blind Rama seemed so at peace with himself and the world around him, his inability to be annoyed by anything had to be considered a significant character flaw. Also, the man seemed to be narcoleptic. He had slept for most of the journey, a situation exacerbated by the fact that he was a frequent snorer. Not the quiet, gentle snorting that could almost be considered endearing. No, Rama indulged in an impossibly loud, basket-rattling snore that seemed to put his very life in danger. At first Jehenna was concerned that he was overly sensitive to the sleep-inducing fumes below, but Rama had informed her that like most members of his race, he was predisposed to slumber and took every opportunity for sleep. It took Jehenna some time to get accustomed to the constant staring that accompanied his sleeping hours – his lidless eyes never closed. Even in the depths of sleep they just continued gazing back at anyone who looked his way.
Tawhawki – the stern, sombre Caquikki. Intelligent, observant and almost tolerable if not for certain unpleasant behaviours involving personal hygiene. In one corner of the hempen carriage a flap had been placed for excretion. Whilst most travellers preferred to hold on to their by-products over the three day journey, the flap allowed for occasions when one just couldn’t wait. However, Tawhawki’s equine body did not enable him to use such amenities. Yet rather than summon up the self-discipline to contain himself until the western landing, Tawhawki chose to unashamedly relieve himself twice in the corner of the basket. It was at these times that Jehenna saw him as a beast and not a member of one of the most articulate and sophisticated races in the Myr. Furthermore it gave Sela something to harp on for hours after each event. Jehenna was astounded – if not jealous – that Rama could sleep through the jumentous smell. To add insult to olfactory injury, the Caquikki took up most of the carriage and whilst he was apologetic for the discomfort he was causing, Jehenna found herself constantly romanticising about what the journey would have been like had he fallen from the basket back at the eastern landing.
Kali – the gentle-eyed Kolpian. The clumsiest assassin imaginable. Jehenna sported the bruises to prove it. Kali took up the little amount of space that Tawhawki didn’t use and spent most of the journey accidentally stepping on feet or bumping the heads of those around him. He was clearly ill at ease with the mode of transportation and in the light of the bobug, Jehenna could see his brown skin had taken on a greenish hue.
Bormanus – the foppish, white-haired Cephalonian. Perhaps the least irritating of the squad, but too aloof to be trusted and too effeminate to gain her respect. He never prepared meals, never offered to stand so that others could sleep and at one point, Jehenna watched him place Rama’s cloak over Tawhawki’s mess in an attempt to stifle the offensive smell. Although these were small things, in the confines of the carriage every personality flaw took on the dimensions of a heinous crime. Bormanus spoke only when necessary but Jehenna had the impression his mind was racing, even in sleep. His eyes were sharp and reminded the Acoran of the way the Elidese aardwolves look for competing scavengers when the scent of carrion is in the air.
Jehenna had spent time in the cockpit fine-tuning her two arm-mounted crossbows and cleaning the feathers of the bolts. The crossbows were another testament to the engineering brilliance of the Acora. When strapped to the forearm, a quick upward movement of the wrist would snap open the lathe and cock the weapon. A downward movement of the wrist would fire it. As a bolt was discharged a gearing mechanism placed another bolt into the tiller and drew back the string. A skilled marksman could fire a volley of five shots in the space of a few seconds. Few other races in the Myr had the skill to operate the weapon as most found the firing action to compromise their aim. Jehenna was highly adept in its use. She loaded the bolts into each crossbow and mused that she could take out everyone in the basket before they had a chance to look up.
Although she could see them, Jehenna could not hear anything from the squad below. The bobug was moving at a phenomenal speed and all that could be heard in the cockpit was the sound of the cool air rushing past, and the click-click sound of Ema’s hooked claws connecting with the iron rings lining the cavern roof.
Even in the darkness, Jehenna was familiar with this section of the track. They had been travelling down an extremely narrow passage for a number of hours. The sound of their transit had reverberated off the cavern wall which could be seen flying past in Ema’s glow. Suddenly, the sound fell away as they emerged into a massive space. There were no cavern walls to be illuminated; all that could be seen was the bobug, the carriage and the next pair of rings further up the track.
‘We’ll be in Harvagor in a few minutes,’ Jehenna called down to the others. ‘Prepare to disembark.’
Unsurprisingly, Sela scoffed. ‘Prepare to disembark! I’ve been prepared for three days now!’
Rama tilted his head as if listening to something. ‘Something is here…’
‘What do you mean?’ Sela asked hurriedly, alarmed by his manner.
In the cockpit above, Jehenna had been gazing out at the rings emerging out of the darkness, enjoying the visual accompaniment to the rhythm of Ema’s movements. The rings were reassuring, a reminder to her nation’s creativity and industry. Every leap of the bobug towards a pair of rings was a step closer to home. But as they neared the end of the great expanse something unexpected and terrible happened. Ema leapt forward but no rings came in view. Her claws scratched at empty space and then she shrieked, hurtling through the air like a glowing orange stone.
They slammed into a rock-face with a sickening thud. The carriage tore loose of the bobug and all its occupants were thrown free. Jehenna was mercilessly catapulted from the cockpit and disappeared into the darkness.
Ema bounced down a steep embankment. After falling for what seemed an eternity her descent was abruptly halted. Near the bottom of the cavern, a razor sharp black stalagmite pierced the creature’s chitin-coated belly. Impaled on a rock, her phosphorescent blood seeping out onto her thorax and legs, poor Ema was a monument to the tragedy that had swiftly befallen the squad.
When Kali hit the side of the cavern, he was lucky enough to grab hold of a small outcrop of rock. He was winded, but conscious. He clung on to his precious rock ledge, terrified of falling any closer to the mud he could smell beneath him. To his left he felt the impact of Sela and Rama upon the rock. He lashed out a hand to catch Sela who was nearest but only caught her fingertips for the briefest moment. It was not enough and in his dazed state, he felt her slipping away into the darkness. Kali had to decide whether to drop down below to help her or ensure his own safety by climbing up. He was spared from having to make a decision. Seconds after colliding with the ledge, a spear made of thick bone crashed down on his wide hand, pinioning him to the rock.
Tawhawki knew his fetlock was broken the moment he hit the rock. The sound was unmistakable and the pain confirmed it. He bellowed in agony, a cry cut short by the realization his downward movement had not stopped. He was sliding. The Caquikki consul kicked and snatched at the air around him, vainly reaching out for something that would slow his momentum. He could feel the loose scree under his back. Dust filled his broad nostrils. Tawhawki thought there was a chance he could live through this, if he could only…
Could only…
His brain was trying to tell him something but his usually sharp mental processes had become confused. There was something he had to remember. Something worse than a broken fetlock. Suddenly, he stopped sliding and felt something warm embrace his legs. Mud. He was up to his gaskins and sinking fast. Then everything started to get very blurry, very quickly.
Rama was in a bad way. He had hit the wall at the worst possible angle. His head had buckled under the weight of his body and had he been slightly more rigid, his spine would have snapped in two. He was concussed and his descent to the cavern floor resembled that of a rag doll thrown down a flight of irregular, sharp-edged stairs. He made no sound himself but the sound of his wrist cracking and his ribs breaking was a sickening embellishment to his fate. He wheeled across the dirt at the base of the cavern and was fortunate he not to roll into the Mire, but it would not take long for the fumes of the mud to consume his still body.
Sela was in such a state of disbelief that she could not even contemplate screaming. As she hit the rock-face, in the fading orange glow of the falling bobug, she could see Kali’s outstretched hand vainly reaching for her. She felt his nails scratch her skin and then she was falling. She instinctively rolled herself up into a ball. Fortunately, when she hit the embankment the quills lining her back did much to slow her descent. The smell of the mud was palpable but she was not drowsy – yet.
Below her the bobug was pathetically clawing at the air, a stake of stone piercing its abdomen. Her heart ached at the sight of the creature in so much pain. In its death throes, the bug shone brightest of all, and in that illumination, Sela could see the prostrate body of Rama in the dirt on the shores of the Mire. But it was not his proximity to the mud that alarmed her. It was the group of figures surrounding him. She knew what they were immediately. They were the Ghul.
Bormanus fared the best of the group in the carriage. The Cephalonian had displayed remarkable agility and presence of mind when the bobug plummeted into the black. He had jumped clear of the carriage before it hit the rock-face and was lucky enough to land on a shelf of granite high above the bog. He was on his feet before Ema had ground to a halt at the bottom of the embankment. For a politician, it was a remarkable display of reflexes, but even more surprising was the fastidious way he dusted himself off before looking over the ledge to the scene of carnage below him.
From her position aloft, Jehenna had been thrown further than the others and this proved to be a fortunate thing. She had landed high above in the passage leading to the western landing. Her flight had been terrifying but it was characterised by horizontal movement, not vertical. Jehenna had tumbled a considerable distance down the path leading to the landing but she was unhurt. She found her feet, pirouetted, and sprinted back towards her squad.
When she reached the lip of the expanse, she was overawed by the events before her. To her right she could see Bormanus wiping dirt off his cloak. Far below him, she could see Sela running down the slope towards Rama who was surrounded by the Ghul. Directly beneath the ledge upon which she was standing, Jehenna could see Kali, one hand skewered by a Ghul spear, the other clutching his aggressor by the throat. To Kali’s right, she could see Ema’s final movements, and below her, in the black ooze of the Mire, she saw Tawhawki sink to his knees. Rage belted on the door to her brain, but she kept it in check. In the space of a second, the situation was analysed and all options considered.
Her only choice was to get to Tawhawki before he lost all consciousness. The others had little hope, but it was more than the Caquikki had, if Jehenna did not go to his aid. She threw herself from the ledge towards the bobug. As important as the creature was, she could afford it little respect. In the growing dark it was the best thing to aim for and she would rather land upon its body than the shale of rock surrounding it, or the quagmire enveloping Tawhawki. Mid-flight Jehenna could feel herself falling short of the bobug and so curled herself into a ball and somersaulted, kicking out after two rotations. It was enough. Her feet pounded into the creature’s thorax. Jehenna used her forward momentum to leap from Ema’s body down to the shoreline. Tawhawki was falling into the bog’s grasp.
Jehenna raised her right armed and aimed. ‘You’ll thank me for this in the morning.’ Her right hand dropped, the crannequin clicked and a bolt exploded from the crossbow, embedding itself in the Tawhawki’s shoulder. He screamed in pain, but he was conscious and that was all that mattered. Jehenna grabbed his hands and pulled, and growled: ‘If you don’t move it, I’m going to sink another bolt in your hairy white rear.’ Tawhawki’s eyes focused and he smiled at the Acoran. Then he erupted into action. He jumped clear of the mud and buckled on the shore.
‘My fetlock is broken.’
Jehenna knew that this was no small issue but could give no sympathy. ‘Well, you have three other legs don’t you? I’ve only two and you don’t hear me complaining.’
She knew how to motivate him. Despite the broken leg and the wound Jehenna had just inflicted, he rose majestically to his feet. ‘Climb on Jehenna. You can’t stay here either.’ He extended a hand and in a fluid motion swung her onto his back and struck off across the shale.
Sela pulled her vibrantly coloured robes over her head and crouched down into a ball. She held Rama beneath her and went still. In the glow of the dying bobug, it seemed she had just curled into a foetal position hoping her attackers would simply go away. But the Ghul would not go away. Before them lay two Myrrans ready for slaughter and their small hearts had already started beating faster in anticipation of the occasion. The sound of bone swords being drawn from leather scabbards punctuated the silence.
Sela was shaking. It looked as if fear had taken control of her. The Ghul came closer. The Tamuan’s quills rose. When the Ghul were within a few feet of their quarry, an eruption of spines brought the bone-clad warriors to an unexpected end.
Or so it seemed.
Ten Ghul lay writhing on the ground around Sela and Rama. The leader lay gargling with a quill embedded so far into his throat that it stuck out the other side of his neck. Another had two quills buried in his eyes. Next to him a female lay kicking as her hands clawed at the quill piercing her heart. And so on. But none were dead. All were suffering greatly but none had been claimed by death. What should have been mortal blows merely mutilated the Ghul.
Sela cradled Rama maternally. He had not stirred.
The sightless Ghul pulled the quills from his eyes and regained his feet. Sela fumbled down the side of her boot and withdrew a short knife she had concealed there. In an admirable display of marksmanship, she flung the knife into the Ghul’s stomach. ‘Stay dead, you devils!’ she snarled. The Ghul doubled over, but refused to die.
Sela sunk back to the ground. ‘What does it take to kill them?’ she cried to herself. Her despair quickly turned to horror as she noticed her slurring speech. Adrenalin had provided a momentary protection against the power of the Mire but now she could feel its pull towards sleep. In a supreme display of will, she lifted her head to see a heartbreaking truth – the mud had no effect on the Ghul, who were making their way to the pair, their approach as relentless and inevitable as the tide.
Sela found herself succumbing to the sleep, even though she knew it meant her death. Her vision clouded and all sounds became dull. Her eyelids were a hair’s breadth away from being closed.
‘No!’ screamed Jehenna. ‘You’ve got to stay awake!’
The Acoran came in from above, galloping on Tawhawki whose gait was so uneven that Jehenna eventually spilled from his back into the space between Sela and the Ghul. She had wrapped a sash around her face in an attempt to avoid the narcotic effect of the Mire. It was a temporary escape from the fate the mud had in store, but it gave her time to take the situation in hand.
Without turning back to look at him, she bellowed orders to Tawhawki. ‘Take them away from the Mire. I’ll handle these… things.’
The Ghul had all risen and clasped eyes upon Jehenna. The Acoran stood her ground, legs apart, arms by her side, afraid of nothing.
‘You are bold Acoran,’ rasped the Ghul with the quill sticking from his throat. ‘But you won’t live long enough for your friends to get away.’
‘Who are you? Why have you done this?’
‘You fully know who we are Jehenna Canna, Consul for Acoran, wife of Maeldune Canna, and sister-daughter of Queen Ana Carrucan.’
Jehenna blanched to hear her name spoken by creatures such as these. She raised both her arms and prepared to fire.
Tawhawki picked up Sela, whose muttering indicated she had not completely given herself to the mud. He then slung Rama on his back. It was unclear whether the Ankaran was even alive.
The weight of his two passengers made progress back up the slope extremely difficult, but Tawhawki knew he had no choice but to ignore the pain and get them to higher ground. His broken fetlock screamed every time it brushed against a rock, but the agony of his injury helped keep the Mire at bay. After what seemed like an eternity, he clambered up onto a shelf of rock where he could lay Rama and Sela upon the ground.
It was dark now. Only a faint glow emanated from the body of the bobug many yards below the ledge upon which they rested. Tawhawki could hear Sela’s rapid breath and when he felt around and came into contact with Rama, he could tell by the rise and fall of the Ankaran’s chest that he too was alive.
Suddenly, Tawhawki was aware of movement to his left. Silhouetted against the dying light of the bobug, he could make out a large shape approaching him.
‘Who’s there?’ he called anxiously, but the dark shape gave no answer.
The Ghul shuffled towards Jehenna. Their flesh was torn where Sela’s quills had pierced their wan bodies and dark green blood dribbled down their skin. They had formed a circle around her, a circle they were closing as fast as their shredded limbs would allow.
Tawhawki watched the large shape kneel down beside him. It was Kali. Even in the dull light, Tawhawki could see that he was wounded. His hand was bleeding so profusely, Tawhawki was surprised the Kolpian was still conscious. Kali’s other hand held a Ghul soldier the way a child would hold an old doll. The Ghul was still conscious but only just. Its limbs dangled uselessly and its eyes bulged. Kali had gripped the Ghul’s neck so hard, it was broken. The head lolled about in his fist. Whilst the soldier was still alive, it clearly posed no threat to anyone. Not knowing what to do with the pallid puppet, Kali had dragged it with him.
Rama was coming to and much to Sela’s relief, her efforts had not been in vain. In his unconscious state, he had not been affected by the Mire. His wrist was broken, as were two of his ribs, but he was alive. When he had gathered his senses, his first comment was: ‘Where’s Jehenna?’
‘I’m here,’ came a voice out of the darkness.
‘You’re alive!’ cried Sela.
‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ Jehenna replied.
‘But my quills didn’t kill them. How did you…?’
‘Survive? Simple. I killed them before they killed me.’
Tawhawki shared Sela’s surprise. ‘But we have heard countless reports of how the Ghul cannot be killed. Look at this one. Kali has broken it neck and yet it still lives. And Sela could only maim the dreaded things with her quills.’
‘All I know is I shot ten Ghul and ten Ghul died,’ Jehenna said proudly. ‘Exploded in fact.’
Sela’s head sprung up. ‘Did you say exploded?’
Jehenna nodded, but in the faint light the gesture was difficult to see. ‘Yes. There’s nothing left of them but ash.’
Rama considered this for a moment, then asked, ‘Jehenna, what are your bolts made from?’
She plucked one out of the chamber on the underside of one of her crossbows and placed it in the Ankaran’s hand. ‘The feathers are taken from the wings of a white larida. The shaft was hewn from ironwood, and the tip was forged from shatterstone.’
Despite a fractured wrist and broken ribs, Rama smiled to himself. ‘I have a theory. We’ll test it on Kali’s prisoner.’
The Ghul soldier was laid across the rock between them. His eyes flicked back and forth as he was placed on his back. Kali held the Ghul by his wrists, pinioning his hands to the rock so firmly that the prisoner did not consider trying to escape. Tawhawki lay his hind quarters across the Ghul’s thin legs.
‘What’s going on?’ said a thin voice. It was Bormanus. His white hair and fair skin made him look like a ghost in the dull light. He stepped forward and gazed curiously at the Ghul captive.
‘We are going to conduct a test,’ said Rama. ‘I believe the Ghul are vulnerable to shatterstone.’
‘It would explain why some Myrrans have been able to kill them. It would also explain what I saw in the cavern back in Tamu. The bodies there had been blown apart. There were a number of Myrran weapons lying around the site of the battle.’
‘What sort of weapons?’
‘Mainly Kobold axes.’
Tawhawki looked up at Bormanus whose face was blank as he listened to the other. ‘I must concur with Rama. It is likely that the axes were forged from shatterstone. It has always been the Kobolds’ favourite metal.’
‘Well, there’s only one way to find out,’ said Bormanus. He drew his weapon, a thin, silver rapier, made from Sessymirian steel, and held the tip over the Ghul’s heart. Without a moment’s hesitation, he pushed forward and the sharp blade sliced through the Ghul’s pale skin and slid into his heart. The Ghul’s face scrunched up as the pain of Bormanus’ thrust shot through his body, but he did not die.
Jehenna pulled a shatterstone-tipped bolt out of the tiller of her crossbow. She held it aloft so all could see the black metal tip at the end of the ironwood shaft. ‘Shatterstone,’ she said as she touched the sharp tip. She then turned her attention to the Ghul captive. ‘Normally I would not mistreat a prisoner-of-war in this way, but you Ghul have proven yourselves to be the epitome of evil. Your conduct in this campaign you have waged against us has been nothing less than obscene. I know what you did to those poor Acora who fell before you at the breach near Lucien. At least you will die with the knowledge that we will not feast upon your flesh, which is more surety than we can hope for.’
Despite the broken neck, the Ghul had a response for Jehenna. ‘You speak like a pampered princess, Jehenna Canna,’ he croaked. ‘Do what you will to me but do not bore me with your justifications. Know this, you face an enemy you can’t defeat in Caliban. The Ghul will keep coming. We are legion.’
Jehenna leaned forward and snarled, ‘So are we. The allied forces of the Myr will wrap you up in your dark crypt and you will be nothing more than a bad memory.’
A sneer formed across the Ghul’s thin lips. ‘Allied forces you say. Not as united as you think, arrogant one.’
‘What do you mean?’ growled Jehenna, leaning even closer.
She received no answer. The Ghul soldier had achieved what he set out to do – he had unsettled her.
Realising that the foul creature would give her nothing more Jehenna clenched the shatterstone-tipped bolt and rammed it into his chest. The Ghul did not scream. His eyes continued to stare into the darkness above as mortality claimed him. His skin erupted into flame and his chest burst open as it had been a cannon and his heart the cannonball. A slew of flesh, bone and blood was thrown out into the air. Sela screamed as some of the bloody waste fell upon her bare arms.
The vivid death was ended. The remnants of the Ghul lay before them, around them, on them. Rama wiped his blood spattered face and said prosaically, ‘I think we can now conclude that the Ghul are vulnerable to shatterstone.’
‘This is news that should be shared,’ said Jehenna. ‘We have found the chink in the armour.’
‘Would you have us return to Cessair?’ Bormanus asked skeptically.
Jehenna shook her head. ‘No. Of course not. We are almost through to Acoran. We could not go back even if we wanted to. The only way is forward. Our mission demands it. But if we should meet Myrrans we can trust, this is information we must divulge.’
‘Myrrans we can trust? That’s a bit cynical isn’t it Jehenna?’ Bormanus said frivolously.
‘I don’t think Bannick Landen would agree with you. The fact is those Ghul knew we were coming. This was a trap.’
In the darkness of the cavern, the squad members attended to their wounds. Kali’s hand was bandaged, Rama’s wrist was wrapped. Jehenna found the crumpled carriage at the base of the incline and before the Mire could take hold of her, she retrieved a number of supplies including some flasks of water, and a light woollen blanket which she cut up to wind around Rama’s rib cage. ‘This won’t ease the pain,’ she said dryly as she wound the cloth around his torso.
‘We mend quickly,’ Rama said stoically. Jehenna wasn’t sure whether this was true or not, but she was pleased that the Ankaran had said it.
Jehenna also attended to Sela’s bumps and bruises. The Tamuan would not remove her mask outside her own country but she willingly gave her arms and legs to Jehenna to clean. For the first time since the start of the expedition, Sela was quiet. It made for a nice change.
Jehenna looked at the quills running down Sela’s back, intrigued. Despite the fact that Jehenna had seen hundreds of quills embedded in the Ghul she had killed, Sela’s back seemed to host a full complement of long, transparent spines. ‘That thing you did with your quills – can you do it again if you need to?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Sela replied hesitantly, unsure of Jehenna’s interest. ‘The quills grow back within minutes.
‘You know Rama would be dead if it weren’t for you,’ the Acoran said as she wiped the Ghul’s blood from Sela’s forearm.
Sela nodded, unsure of how to respond. ‘Did I surprise you, Jehenna Canna?’
Jehenna thought about her response before opening her mouth. After long seconds, she said, ‘Yes. Yes you did.’
‘I guess I have to thank you for rescuing me,’ Sela said reluctantly.
‘No. You don’t.’
‘Thank-you anyway.’
‘You’re welcome Sela.’
‘This doesn’t mean we’re friends does it? I would find that just too awkward to deal with.’
Jehenna laughed as she took Sela’s other arm and dabbed at her abrasions. ‘No, it doesn’t mean we’re friends. All it means is I’ll think twice about shooting you when you start complaining again.’
They were quiet for a moment and then Sela sniggered to herself.
‘What is it?’ Jehenna asked.
Sela swallowed hard to stop herself from laughing further. Finally when she had composed herself, she said, ‘Pampered princess! The Ghul called you a pampered princess just before you killed him.’
Jehenna smirked. She dropped Sela’s arm and walked away. Suddenly she stopped and turned. ‘Remember, he said it just before I killed him! You would be wise to consider that before you start using the phrase yourself.’
She disappeared into the darkness to find the shatterstone bolts she had used to kill the other Ghul.
Sela looked across at Tawhawki who was tightening the bandage around his fetlock. ‘I’m lucky she hasn’t killed me already,’ she said.
