Kaldar screamed.
His legs carried him to the creature, and he hacked into the writhing mass with his knife and kept screaming and screaming as blood and tissue flew in a salty spray from his blade. Tentacles raked his back but he kept slicing, oblivious to the pain. He carved his way to the torso and plunged his blade into the human stomach. Tentacles flailed, and the monster’s human mouth hissed. Kaldar jerked his knife free and stabbed again and again and again . . .
CERISE kicked a body off her blade. All around her the fight raged: reanimated corpses jerky on their feet, huge dogs, the Hand’s freaks, furry, scaled, armored, clawed, fanged, feathered, and the family, all clawing at each other in an insane race to kill. Blood spilled into the sludge, and lives were torn from the still-warm bodies.
She’d killed and killed and killed, slashing again and again. Now she was tired, and the fight wasn’t anywhere near over.
In front of her a scaled clay paused in his killing spree and raised his arm with a shout. She followed his gesture and saw William on the hill.
Her heart skipped a beat.
He clashed with a lean blond man—Spider, she realized. They moved so fast, it took her breath away.
She had to get to that hill.
Cerise dashed forward, slicing at the scaled clay in passing. Her flash-blade severed his thigh, cleaving through the bone. He crashed down. She didn’t pause. Someone else would finish him.
A red-skinned woman broke from a mound of torn thoas corpses and ran toward the cliff and the two men fighting on it. Veisan, Cerise’s memory supplied. Spider’s assassin.
Cerise sprinted across the muddy ground. Veisan squeezed out a burst of speed, but Cerise was closer to the cliff. She reached the pond and spun about it.
Veisan saw her. Her hands balanced two wide curved blades, thin and sharpened to razor precision. They would slice a limb in a single strike. A grimace raked Veisan’s face. Her mouth gaped, her eyes turned wide.
She was afraid for Spider.
Cerise rubbed the ground with her foot to gauge the slickness.
Veisan looked at her.
“No,” Cerise told her.
Veisan flipped her blades and charged.
SOMETHING steel-hard clamped onto Kaldar’s leg and pulled. He fell forward into the bloody mass. The force dragged him away from the body. He clawed at the slick ground, but the thing that held his leg was too strong. It pulled him free. Kaldar squirmed onto his back and found dog jaws on his leg. Erian loomed in the rain.
“They’re dead,” Erian said. His voice was dull. Pain contorted his face. “They’re both dead.”
He turned and hurled himself at the nearest freak. Kaldar sat up. A tangled mass of flesh lay on the hillside. The rain diluted the blood spilling from the severed tentacles, and it spread in a pale red across the sludge. Kaldar rushed to his feet and dove at the gory mess, hurling the severed pieces of flesh out of the way. He dug in through the corpse until a human arm emerged. He grabbed it and pulled, slid on the mud, fell clumsily, scrambled to his feet, and pulled again. The twisted mound of flesh shifted and Murid’s shoulder and then her head came free. He grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her out.
Murid stared at the sky. The raindrops fell into her eyes and bounced off her bloodless cheeks.
Kaldar shook her. He clasped her shoulders and shook, sending her black braid flapping, willing her to live. “Don’t. Don’t!”
She lay limp in his arms.
He shook her one more time and then set her gently down on the ground. His knife lay in the mud a few inches away. It was still sharp and there were still freaks to kill.
VEISAN cried out, spinning wildly, her blades a glittering whirlwind of metal. Strike, strike, strike, strike.
Cerise swayed from the first, dodged the second. The third caught her on the shoulder, slicing through the sleeve and skin. She parried the fourth with her sword. Veisan kept striking, leaving no openings, backing her to the pond.
Cerise sank into the rhythm. Time slowed to a ponderous crawl. She saw Veisan with crystal clarity: the white knuckles of her fingers straining as she gripped her knives, the panicked expression on her face, the cords of veins bulging in her neck, as she advanced, her dreadlocks flying.
Slash.
Slash.
Slash.
Cerise moved with the blow, sweeping past Veisan. The line of magic slid along her blade, pulling the last of her reserves from her body. Cerise struck.
Blood spatter flew. The red-skinned woman kept moving, her body not realizing that she was already dead. Veisan whirled to deliver another blow and halted. Blood gushed from a hairline cut on her neck.
Her mouth opened.
Veisan dropped her swords. Her hands went to her neck, trying to stem the gush of life from her neck. She grabbed at her neck. Her head slid off her shoulders and fell into the mud.
For a long second the body stood frozen and then it, too, toppled over like a log.
Cerise turned to the cliff.
WILLIAM parried a barrage of blows and ducked. Spider’s knife swept above his head and severed a sapling to his right. The wood slowed Spider’s speed by a fraction. William lunged through Spider’s defenses and slashed at Spider’s midsection. The blade grazed Spider’s chest, and he smashed his elbow into William’s back. Pain burst in his spine.
William lunged to the side and rolled clear. Spider’s breath was coming in ragged gasps. He sucked air into his lungs and charged again. William parried, counter-attacked in a flash. His blade sliced Spider’s thigh, as hot metal whisked along his left arm. He withdrew again.
He was getting tired.
William gritted his teeth. He had to stay calm now. Spider was too good, and if he let his fury take over, Spider would kill him.
Spider bled from a dozen minor wounds. So did he. Neither of them could keep this up for long.
If he lost, Cerise would be the next one to die. Spider would never pass on the chance to kill her.
He had to end it now. Whatever it took.