‘Sergeant?’
‘Bottle says there’s two in there. I want you to walk up peaceful-like and call ‘em out-you’re thirsty and want to ask for a ladle or two from that well there.’
‘I ain’t thirsty, Sergeant.’
‘Lie, soldier.’
Bottle could see the notion upset her. Spirits fend, the things you find out…
‘How about I just ask to refill my waterskin?’
Aye, that will do.’
‘Of course,’ she said, frowning, ‘I’ll need to empty it out first.’
‘Why don’t you do that?’
‘Aye, Sergeant.’
Gesler twisted to look at Bottle, and the young mage could plainly see the man’s battle with pathos and despair. ‘Get yourself ready,’ he said, ‘to hit ‘em with a glamour or something, in case things go all wrong.’
Bottle nodded, then, seeing an entirely new expression on Gesler’s face, he asked, ‘What’s wrong, Sergeant?’
‘Well, either I just wet myself or Uru Hela’s draining her waterskin. On some level,’ he added, ‘I think the distinction’s moot.’
That’s it, Sergeant. You’ve just won me. Right there. Won me, so I’ll give you what I got. From now on. Yet, even with that quasi-serious notion, he had to turn his head away and bite hard on the sleeve of his tanned leather shirt. Better yet, Sergeant, wait till we all see that fine wet patch on your crotch. You won’t live this one down, no sir, not a chance of that. Oh, precious memory!
Strapping her now empty waterskin onto her belt, Uru Hela then squirmed forward a little further, and climbed to her feet. Adjusting her heavy armour and plucking twigs and grass from metal joins and hinges, she tightened the helm strap and set out for the farmhouse.
‘Oh,’ Bottle muttered.
‘What?’ Gesler demanded.
‘They’re suddenly alert-I don’t know, maybe one of them saw her through a crack in the window shutters-no, that’s not right.’
‘What?’
‘Still not talking, but moving around now. A lot. Fast, too. Sergeant, I don’t think they saw her. I think they smelled her. And us.’
‘Smelled? Bottle-’
‘Sergeant, I don’t think they’re human-’
Uru Hela was just passing the well, fifteen paces from the farmhouse’s door, when that door flew open-pushed hard enough to tear it from its leather hinges-and the creature that surged into view seemed too huge to even fit through the frame, coming up as if from stairs sunk steep below ground level-coming up, looming massive, dragging free an enormous single-bladed two-handed wood-axe-
Uru Hela halted, stood motionless as if frozen in place.
‘Forward!’ Gesler bellowed, scrambling upright as he swung up his crossbow-
Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas charged past the sergeant, blade out-
Bottle realized his mouth was moving, yet no sounds came forth. He stared, struggling to comprehend. A demon. A Hood’damned Kenryll’ah demon!
It had lunged clear of the doorframe and now charged straight for Uru Hela.
She threw her waterskin at it, then spun to flee, even as she tugged at her sword.
Not nearly fast enough-to escape-the demon’s huge axe slashed in a gleaming, blurred arc, caught the soldier solid in her left shoulder. Arm leapt away. Blood spurted from joins in the scales right across her entire back, as the blade’s broad wedge drove yet deeper. Deeper, severing her spine, then further, tearing loose with her right scapula-cut halfway through-jammed on the gory blade as it whipped clear of Uru Hela’s body.
More blood, so much more, yet the sudden overwhelming gouts of red quickly subsided-the soldier’s heart already stopped, the life that was her mind already fleeing this corporeal carnage-and she was collapsing, forward, the sword in her right hand half drawn and never to go further, head dipping, chin to chest, then down, face-first onto the ground. A heavy sound. A thump. Whereupon all motion from her ceased.
Gesler’s crossbow thudded, releasing a quarrel that sliced past Corabb, not a hand’s breadth from his right shoulder.
A bellow of pain from the demon-the finned bolt sunk deep into its chest, well above its two hearts.
Corabb Bhilan Thenu’alas closed fast, yelling something in the tribal tongue, something like ‘Leoman’s balls!’
Gesler reloading on one knee. Stormy, Saltlick and Shortnose thundering past him, followed by Koryk and Tarr. Smiles swinging wide, crossbow in her hands-one of Fid’s weapons, this one headed with a sharper-which she then trained on the farmhouse entrance, where a second demon had appeared. Oh, she was fast indeed, that quarrel flitting across the intervening space, making a strange warbling sound as it went, and the second demon, seeing it, somehow swinging his weapon-a tulwar-into its path-not much use, that gesture, as the sharper exploded.