still. If I hadn’t moved, I would have lost you. Thus, follow. You ask the strangest questions.”
Logan flung his hands up in frustration.
Rytlock stepped forward, Sohothin before him. “You saw what this sword can do. Give us your name.”
“I’m Caithe. But what does my name have to do with what your sword can do?”
Rytlock rolled his eyes. “It was a threat.”
“I’m not the one in danger here,” Caithe said.
“Is that a threat?” Rytlock asked, eyes growing wide.
“Not a threat. A warning.”
The charr laughed harshly. “You? Warning me?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“Being killed.”
“You think you can kill me?”
“No.”
Rytlock stared at her, waiting for elaboration. None came. Finally he asked, “So, who, then?”
“Chief Kronon.”
“Who’s that?”
“The chief of the local tribes.”
“What does he want with us?” asked Rytlock.
“You killed his son, Chiefling Ygor.”
“The one with the iron helm,” Logan said, snapping his fingers.
Caithe continued placidly, “When Chief Kronon finds out, he and his hunters will track you down.”
Rytlock stared at the dead ogres lying between the pyres. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
The sylvari clenched her teeth. “That’s exactly what I was telling you but was sidetracked by all those hows and whys and ridiculous commands to come into the light so that all three of us could stand here and be surrounded by devourers.”
“Devourers!” Logan blurted, just before the first giant scorpion scuttled into view.
It was a devourer, all right, its armor as thick as plates and its two tails curved in deadly arcs above its back. The creature ambled up just behind Caithe.
“There’s a swarm,” she said in a lecturing voice, “which means we’ll all be fighting. Now, I’ve seen you two fight—too much power, too little care—which means you’ll win, but not before the ogres get here, which means we all lose.”
Claws clicked the ground behind Logan. He spun to see another devourer creeping up on him.
“I’ve got one, too,” Rytlock announced, raking his sword out before him. The darkness beyond shivered with scaly claws and venomous stingers. “Hate these things. They’re attracted by the smell of death. It’s their food.”
“But the pyres,” Logan said. “We burned the dead!”
“So they want their food cooked. ”
“Too many!” Logan hissed as a pair of devourers scuttled up to him. He swung his hammer, and their tails darted down to spurt venom into the air.
Rytlock’s sword was even worse, drawing the great scorpions like a candle flame.
“Put away your weapons,” the sylvari said easily. “Devourers have better weapons than you. You need to dictate the battle. Draw the monster in. Get it to strike, but when you want it to.”
Whirling around, Caithe flung her arms toward the sky and set her feet wide apart, becoming a living X before the giant scorpion. It scudded forward, its scales shivering with anticipation. The two poisonous tails quivered, and drops of venom hung from their ends. The devourer snapped its pincers and clicked its feet, watching for an opening. Suddenly, both poisonous tails lunged toward Caithe.
She flung her hands back from the stingers, which jetted poison. Then, with catlike reflexes, she grabbed the tops of the stingers.
“What are you doing?” Logan shouted.
The sylvari only smiled again as those muscular tails lifted her up over of the devourer’s snapping claws and carapaced back. Caithe raised a spike-heeled boot and brought it down on the base of the scorpion’s tails. Her heel punched through the thick armor and into the nerve core. The two great tails wilted, slumping to the ground.
“Every creature’s got weak points,” Caithe said as she drew a knife from her belt and stabbed the beast’s brain. “Learn the weak points, and you can lockpick them. For these devourers, the weak point is where the two tails diverge.”
A half dozen
Logan flung his hands up in frustration.
Rytlock stepped forward, Sohothin before him. “You saw what this sword can do. Give us your name.”
“I’m Caithe. But what does my name have to do with what your sword can do?”
Rytlock rolled his eyes. “It was a threat.”
“I’m not the one in danger here,” Caithe said.
“Is that a threat?” Rytlock asked, eyes growing wide.
“Not a threat. A warning.”
The charr laughed harshly. “You? Warning me?”
“Yes.”
“About what?”
“Being killed.”
“You think you can kill me?”
“No.”
Rytlock stared at her, waiting for elaboration. None came. Finally he asked, “So, who, then?”
“Chief Kronon.”
“Who’s that?”
“The chief of the local tribes.”
“What does he want with us?” asked Rytlock.
“You killed his son, Chiefling Ygor.”
“The one with the iron helm,” Logan said, snapping his fingers.
Caithe continued placidly, “When Chief Kronon finds out, he and his hunters will track you down.”
Rytlock stared at the dead ogres lying between the pyres. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
The sylvari clenched her teeth. “That’s exactly what I was telling you but was sidetracked by all those hows and whys and ridiculous commands to come into the light so that all three of us could stand here and be surrounded by devourers.”
“Devourers!” Logan blurted, just before the first giant scorpion scuttled into view.
It was a devourer, all right, its armor as thick as plates and its two tails curved in deadly arcs above its back. The creature ambled up just behind Caithe.
“There’s a swarm,” she said in a lecturing voice, “which means we’ll all be fighting. Now, I’ve seen you two fight—too much power, too little care—which means you’ll win, but not before the ogres get here, which means we all lose.”
Claws clicked the ground behind Logan. He spun to see another devourer creeping up on him.
“I’ve got one, too,” Rytlock announced, raking his sword out before him. The darkness beyond shivered with scaly claws and venomous stingers. “Hate these things. They’re attracted by the smell of death. It’s their food.”
“But the pyres,” Logan said. “We burned the dead!”
“So they want their food cooked. ”
“Too many!” Logan hissed as a pair of devourers scuttled up to him. He swung his hammer, and their tails darted down to spurt venom into the air.
Rytlock’s sword was even worse, drawing the great scorpions like a candle flame.
“Put away your weapons,” the sylvari said easily. “Devourers have better weapons than you. You need to dictate the battle. Draw the monster in. Get it to strike, but when you want it to.”
Whirling around, Caithe flung her arms toward the sky and set her feet wide apart, becoming a living X before the giant scorpion. It scudded forward, its scales shivering with anticipation. The two poisonous tails quivered, and drops of venom hung from their ends. The devourer snapped its pincers and clicked its feet, watching for an opening. Suddenly, both poisonous tails lunged toward Caithe.
She flung her hands back from the stingers, which jetted poison. Then, with catlike reflexes, she grabbed the tops of the stingers.
“What are you doing?” Logan shouted.
The sylvari only smiled again as those muscular tails lifted her up over of the devourer’s snapping claws and carapaced back. Caithe raised a spike-heeled boot and brought it down on the base of the scorpion’s tails. Her heel punched through the thick armor and into the nerve core. The two great tails wilted, slumping to the ground.
“Every creature’s got weak points,” Caithe said as she drew a knife from her belt and stabbed the beast’s brain. “Learn the weak points, and you can lockpick them. For these devourers, the weak point is where the two tails diverge.”
A half dozen
Similar Books
