The Bonehunters

If Quick hasn't smelled all this out he deserves to get his tiny head ripped off. 'Never mind them.' Twisting round, Fiddler squinted into the darkness south of them. 'Any chance of moving to better cover?



This ditch ain't worth a damned thing.'



'Sergeant,' Bottle hissed, his voice tightening, 'we ain't got time.'



****

Ten paces apart and moving now parallel along the route of the old road, one taking the centre of the track, the flankers in the rough ditches to either side, Dejim Nebrahl glided low to the ground, tipped leathery ears pricked forward, eyes scanning the way ahead.



Something wasn't right. Half a league behind the three the fourth kin limped along, weak with blood-loss and exhausted by fear, and if the hunters remained close, they were now stalking in absolute silence.



The kin halted, sinking low, head swivelling as its sharp eyes searched the night. Nothing, no movement beyond the flit of rhizan and capemoths.



The three on the road caught the scent of humans, not far, and savage hunger engulfed all other thoughts. They stank of terror – it would taint their blood when he drank deep, a taste metallic and sour, a flavour Dejim Nebrahl had grown to cherish.



Something lumbered onto the track thirty strides ahead.



Huge, black, familiar.



Deragoth. Impossible – they were gone, swallowed by a nightmare of their own making. This was all wrong.



A sudden howl from far to the south, well behind the fourth kin, who spun, snarling at the sound.



The first three D'ivers spread out, eyes on the lone beast padding towards them. If but one, then she is doomedThe beast surged forward in a charge, voicing a bellowing roar.



Dejim Nebrahl sprinted to meet it.



The flanking D'ivers twisted outward as more huge shapes pounded to close with them, two to each side. Jaws spread wide, lips peeling back, the Deragoth reached Dejim Nebrahl, giving voice to thunder.



Massive canines sank down into the kin, slicing through muscle, crushing bone. Limbs snapped, ribs splintered and tore into view through ruptured flesh and hide.



Pain – such pain – the centre D'ivers sprang into the air to meet the charge of the Deragoth ahead. And his right leg was caught in huge jaws, jolting Dejim Nebrahl to a halt in mid-flight. Joints popped even as the leg bones were crunched into shards.



Flung hard to the ground, Dejim sought to spin round, talons lashing out at his attacker's broad head. He tore into one eye and ripped it loose, sending it whirling off into the darkness.



The Deragoth flinched back with a squeal of agony.



Then a second set of jaws closed round the back of the kin's neck.



Blood sprayed as the teeth ground and cut inward, crushing cartilage, then bone.



Blood filled Dejim Nebrahl's throat.



No, it cannot end like thisThe other two kin were dying as well, as the Deragoth tore them to pieces.



Far to the west, the lone survivor crouched, trembling.



The Hounds attacked, three appearing in front of the last D'ivers.



Moments before they closed, all three twisted away – a feint – which meantWolf jaws ripped into the back of Dejim Nebrahl's neck, and lifted the D'ivers from the ground.



The T'rolbarahl waited for the clenching, the killing, but it never came. Instead, the beast that held it was running fast over the ground, others of its kind to either side. West, and north, then, eventually, swinging southward, out into the wastes.



Untiring, on and on through the cold night.



Helpless in the grip of those jaws, the last D'ivers of Dejim Nebrahl did not struggle, for struggle was pointless. There would be no quick death, for these creatures had some other purpose in mind for him.



Unlike the Deragoth, he realized, these Hounds possessed a master.



A master who found reason to keep Dejim Nebrahl alive. A curious, fraught salvation – but I still live, and that is enough. I still live.



****

The fierce battle was over. Kalam, lying near Quick Ben, narrowed his gaze, just barely making out the huge shapes of the demons as they set off, without a backward glance, westward along the track.



'Looks like their hunt's not yet over,' the assassin muttered, reaching up to wipe the sweat that had been stinging his eyes.



'Gods below,' Quick Ben said in a whisper.



'Did you hear those distant howls?' Kalam asked, sitting up. 'Hounds of Shadow – I'm right, aren't I, Quick? So, we got lizard cats, and giant bear-dogs like the one Toblakai killed in Raraku, and the Hounds… wizard, I don't want to walk this road no more.'



'Gods below,' the man at his side whispered again.



****