The attack lasted only a few moments, but it was long enough for Mark to see what had been making the tapping sound against the cavern ceiling: each leg was encased in armour plating, a protective exoskeleton of some thick chitin-like substance. At the end of each leg, there was a solid mass of dark, muscular flesh, with six or eight long, thin appendages attached, like elongated toes, each tipped with fierce-looking clawed nails. It must have been those nails tapping across the ceiling.
Garec had reacted at Mark’s first cry and was already firing arrows rapidly into the creature’s hidden bulk, but though he was doubtless hitting his target, his strikes appeared to have little effect.
The victims, held fast by the creature’s legs, started screaming for help and mercy, and Mark stared in horror as the elaborate, clawed toes began tearing the Falkans apart, shredding flesh and plucking off limbs. ‘Good God,’ he whispered, frozen in place by the macabre scene.
There was a cry, and a large splash beside him. The feel of cold water on his face startled him enough to tear his eyes away from the carnage. Timmon Blackrun had drawn a short dagger and dived over the side. Mark was incredulous as he watched the corpulent Falkan leader swim the few strokes that separated the two boats. ‘Does he think he can fight that thing?’ he asked out loud.
No one answered.
‘He must think he can.’ Mark answered his own question and looked over at Brynne, but she wasn’t listening; she had her own knife in her hand and had stripped off her tunic. ‘Brynne, no!’ he shouted, but she ignored him and dived in after Timmon, closely followed by Mark’s rowing companion.
Mark could see Garec was almost out of arrows. Before he could talk himself out of it, he stripped to the waist, grabbed his axe and leaped in behind the others.
The water was cold and the chill swept over his body like a sudden Arctic wind. He dived beneath the surface into a cloudy green glow and watched as the creature began to take shape through the gloom. What was it? It was huge, much larger than the boat. It obviously ate people – there wouldn’t be enough fish in this entire lake to keep something this big alive, even for a Twinmoon. He wondered for an instant how it managed to feed. Did it go to the surface or lurk about in the caves? Did it sneak out at night and steal animals from nearby farms? He shook his head to banish his unanswered questions: this was not the time for Show and Tell…
Don’t try to hack off any limbs! He could hear Sallax’s words – the big Ronan had never seen these limbs, but he was right: it wasn’t the monster’s legs Mark needed to attack. Christ, he’d be at it until spring. Instead, he had to find those big bulbous eyes he was certain it possessed and hack them out with the axe. There was no way they were going to be able to kill this thing, not with such rudimentary weapons; the most they could hope for was to drive it off before it killed even more of Gita’s already weakened force – or any of them: Steven, Garec or Brynne. Blinding the monster would cripple it; if it couldn’t see, surely it would have to give up the offensive.
Mark swam beneath the creature and reached out with his free hand to anchor himself. In the half-light he could see thick hair growing across a nearly flat area – maybe its back, or its underbelly, he wasn’t sure which – but as his hand drew near he realised that what he had taken to be thick fur was actually an expanse of clawed toes similar to those that spiked the ends of each armour-plated leg. The spindly tentacles had already gripped him by the wrist; now they began to pull.
He brought the battle-axe around and lopped off the spindles holding him fast, then surfaced quickly to draw a much-needed breath and to survey the battle going on above. He felt something moving fast, brushing against the bottoms of his feet and realised the second creature was closing in on them. He caught a glimpse of Steven, standing in the stern of Gita’s longboat and looking indecisive. If Steven joined them in the water, he might not be able to control the magic fuelling the now-powerful fireball. They would be plunged into darkness – and that would be the end of them all. These bone-collectors ruled the dark. The water’s chill sent an icy finger along his spine as he kicked back beneath the grim assailant. He hadn’t spotted Brynne but couldn’t think about that now.
Mark came up beneath the monster once again, careful not to get too close, and swam towards one end, searching for an eye, or anything that looked vulnerable, but he found nothing except a narrow, tapered end of the tentacled expanse: wrong end. He was about to swim back when the monster began to sink, dragging the remains of the longboat and its crew with it. Mark could see that many of the crew, although injured, were still alive: it looked like the beast was going to drown the remaining survivors, then drag the whole lot off to a quiet beach to feed.
Something went by him in a rush: the other creature? It had circled around and now came at full speed to attack another of the boats. Please don’t let it be Steven’s boat, or Garec’s. Cold comfort that Brynne was already in the water, but maybe while she was trying to kill the first monster she’d be overlooked by the second.
‘Stay there, Steven,’ he prayed, ‘keep the light burning. Hit it if you can, but keep the light burning.’
He turned his attention back to the bone-collector: its surviving victims didn’t have much time. Dodging an armour-plated leg and lashing claws, he kicked down. Maybe he could tug free some of the struggling soldiers.
Then he saw it: glinting in the light, reflecting Steven’s fire like a pane of glass. It shut off suddenly, but that one quick glimpse was long enough: Mark had found the creature’s eyes. So the tapered end was the creature’s head. Perhaps, in battle, it folded its head beneath itself for protection while it gripped its victims with its mighty arms and legs. Arching its protective back and tucking in its head and underbelly would leave no part vulnerable – but Mark had seen the light reflected briefly off its wide black corneas. He knew what to do.
Mark swam to the surface and filled his lungs then, exhaling slowly, he descended back to the monster’s face. As he passed through a thermocline he realised it was getting too deep: he had just this one chance. The creature, as if sensing his approach, swiped a massive forearm, trying to crush the annoyance, but Mark saw it coming and just managed to spin out of the way. He could see, even in the murk, a number of Garec’s arrows had pierced the creature’s armour after all.
Suddenly he spotted an opening. The beast, a hideously mutated child of the gorgon, lashed out at him with the spiked appendages that dotted its face and neck. Mark chopped away half a dozen of them, but had to dodge and dive to avoid the one free limb still groping for him.
There it was! The creature’s eye opened again, and without even pausing to think, Mark took his best shot, plunging the blade of the battle-axe deep into the iris. The monster screamed, a shriek that resonated throughout Mark’s body and echoed around the vast cavern like a crowd of banshees heralding the death of deaths; it so unnerved him that he inadvertently drew a breath, stopping just in time as the lake water filled his mouth. As he stretched for the surface the monster released its grip on the longboat and its crew. The creature rolled its head, presenting the other eye, and even though he was in danger of choking, Mark could not resist the chance to repeat his success and swiped with his axe as he swam past. This time he wasn’t so lucky: a flailing tentacle sliced a gash across Mark’s stomach, and he clutched the wound as he broke the surface of the lake. He trod water for a few seconds, gasping and coughing out the last of the water. His stomach hurt, but he wasn’t dead.
He looked around. No sign of the monster, and Mark had no idea if any of the victims had survived. Flotsam from the wrecked longboat bobbed on the water around him. He started to push his way past the bloating corpses, feeling weak, exhausted and in pain.