The blast of bullet-laden light that burst from the end of my gaar’kon caught the grotesque creature squarely in the chest. He seemed to freeze in midair for a split second, limbs askew and mouth wide with his bellowed screech, before he was thrown backward. His lean form slammed against the ground and sent mud spattering in all directions. The awful shrieking died on his lips in lieu of a pained gasp. The moonlight cast a milky glow on his already pallid skin, and I could see shimmering moisture beginning to blossom in the center of his night-black tunic.

Though the cacophony of voices and bangs from inside the camp continued without interruption, my senses had numbed, and I heard only a loud hum instead. We were under strict orders to limit deadly force to extreme circumstances, and while the Novai’s attack would be considered such, I knew it would still result in a number of questions and legal proceedings—not to mention a potential outbreak of vigilante justice from the victim’s tribe. This was far from an ideal situation.

Writhing in the mud, the Novai emitted a hoarse shudder. It was a sound spoken by all races and one I recognized easily: the death rattle. His jaw slackened, his hands twitched, and his eyeless face dropped to the side as the rattle died from his scarlet lips. He was no more.

I had killed before, of course. My many years as a warrior of Pentaba had been peppered with Albaterra invaders and small inter-kingdom battles that regretfully necessitated such violence. It was an act questionable to the A’li-uud creed, but it had been unavoidable at the worst of times. I had followed my orders and protected my people as I was destined to do. Every kill had left me with nightmares and regret, but this one was different. The Novai’s blank face began swimming before my eyes, and I wondered if this was the death that would strip me of my sanity.

His body remained still, but the empty divots where eyes should have been darkened. It was as if thick smoke was swirling behind the thin, semi-translucent skin, filling the hollows until they were solid black. The rims began congealing, bubbling into elliptical borders of charred scabs. In contrast to the thick, ivory ridges that individually defined each Novai’s face, it looked as if his unoccupied sockets were burning from the inside out. The skin started melting back, and in its place, two menacing, vividly crimson eyes appeared. They stared at me sightlessly with naught but a vertical slit through the center of each to split the otherwise solid scarlet orbs. I stared back in stunned silence.

Wet, sloppy footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned with the gaar’kon raised. Xam and Qula appeared from the darkness, both jogging with serious expressions. They raised their hands upon seeing my gun to signal their lack of threat, and I lowered the weapon as they drew up.

“Did you meet any Novai between the camp and the Polder Quarter?” I asked Xam before they could speak. The humming in my ears had faded, and I was able to hear the riotous sounds on the opposite side of the fence clearly once more, but I attempted to keep my voice low to prevent making our presence known to those inside.

“We met no one, Chief,” he replied gravely. His phantom gaze flicked from me to the corpse. “It appears you were not so lucky.”

I, too, glanced at the motionless Novai. “He attacked,” I said. “He was hiding in the brush.”

He surveyed my gun-wielding arm for signs of injury. “Are you hurt?” he asked.

“Of course not,” I snapped contemptuously. The very notion that an unarmed Novai colonist could have harmed me so easily was exceedingly insulting, and Xam inclined his head immediately with the realization of his question’s implication.

Qula nudged the body with the toe of his boot, pressing into the cheek to turn the face upward. The fiery, reptilian eyes glistened in the moon rays like bloody tears. With a sharp hiss, Qula leaped away, and the head slumped back into the mud.

“It has eyes,” he snarled. “I thought the Novai had no eyes.”

I set my teeth and said tightly, “Evidently, they do. Though, only in death, it seems.”

If any Novai within the camp had an inkling one of their number was just outside their perimeter without a whisper of life, there was no indication. The pops and bangs were ceaseless, blending into the otherworldly cries to create a malevolent harmony of dissonance, and where there had just been masses of smoke mushrooming toward the overhead boughs now gave way to tongued flames licking perspiration from the night air. A warm, tangerine glow penetrated the jade darkness and marshy lunar streaks to reveal Xam’s concern.

“Shall we take him to the Capital?” he intoned. “Before any of his kind notice his absence?”

My instinct was to insist Sevani be summoned to the scene and take further action under his authority. The peak of night was upon us, however, and there was no time to travel to the Capital to fetch him and return to the Novai camp before daybreak, and it was imperative the corpse be moved before all of Pentaba awakened. Reluctantly, I nodded and said, “Yes. Take him straight to the palace and rouse Elder Sevani. This matter must be addressed with haste.”

Qula bent at once, hooking his hands beneath the Novai’s arms and lifting. The head bobbled from side to side lifelessly with the movement. Xam was slower to obey.

“You are coming with us?” he questioned with a shadow of insistence.

“No,” I replied. “Two empty patrol posts are quite enough.”

“But there may be more rogues loitering outside their confines,” Xam protested. “You may encounter danger.”

Many would have considered Xam’s objections as insolence, but I knew better. He dissented not with authoritative challenge but with concern. Pentaba was a kingdom built of defenses, and one of our greatest defensive advantages was the depth of our bonds with one another. A warrior who fought alongside another had an ally; a warrior who fought for another had a purpose. To care so deeply for our brethren meant we united as one, an army of selves, and our instinct to protect became engrained within us as seamlessly as our instinct to survive. To Xam, my personal risk was his, and his desire to ensure my well-being was an act of dedication rather than insubordination.

“I accepted inevitable danger when I accepted the title of War Chief,” I told him. He frowned but said no more, and I jerked my chin to the Novai, who Qula held in a morbid half-sitting position. “Go now. Quickly, before we are seen. My boat is docked north at the Wat’lek Wetlands; you may take it. Be sure to avoid the high-traffic canals, and do not wake any civilians if you can help it. Tell Elder Sevani I will report to him at dawn.”

Xam hesitated for another moment, then resigned himself to my command and hunched over to seize the alien’s ankles. Just as he hoisted the legs, the body held aloft between the two warriors, two new shrieks pierced the air. They were high-pitched and hair-raising, but they were distinctly different than those of the Novai, and I whipped around on the spot immediately. The screams were human, female, and desperate, piercing the night from the innards of the swamp like javelins. The cadaver fell unceremoniously to the ground as Xam and Qula reached for their guns, but I swung my arm back at them.

“No!” I barked. “You must take him and go!”

“But—” Xam began.

I threw the most intimidating look I could muster at him over my shoulder. “This is an order, Xam.” Before he could respond, I drew my own gaar’kon and bolted into the boggy blackness toward the terrified cries.