Gruntle, who appeared to have been the Che’Malle’s original target-carried off in the first attack and presumed by the others to be dead-had then returned, an apparition engulfed in the rage of his god. Veered into the form of an enormous tiger, its shape strangely blurred and indistinct except for the barbs that writhed like tongues of black flame, he had launched himself into the air in an effort to drag down the Che’Malle. But it eluded him and then, wings hammering, it fled skyward.
Mappo subsequently learned from Gruntle-once his fury was past, something like his human form returning-that his first battle with the thing had been a thousand reaches above the Wastelands, and when the Che’Malle failed to slay him, it had simply dropped him earthward. Gruntle had veered into his Soletaken form in mid-air. He now complained of bruised, throbbing joints, but Mappo knew it was a fall that should have killed him. Trake intervened. No other possible explanation serves.
He thought again about that horrifying creature, reiterating his own conviction that it was indeed some breed of K’Chain Che’Malle, though not one he had ever seen before, nor even heard of from those more intimate with the ancient race. It was twice the height of a K’ell Hunter, although gaunter. Its wingspan matched that of a middle-aged Eleint, yet where among dragons those wings served to aid speed and direct their manoeuvring in the air-with sorcery in effect carrying the dragon’s massive weight-for this Che’Malle all lift was produced by those wings. And its weight was but a fraction of an Eleint’s. Gods, it was fast. And such strength! In its second attack, after Gruntle was gone, the Che’Malle had simply lifted the entire carriage into the air, horses and all. If the carriage’s frame had not splintered in its grip, the beast would have carried them all skyward, until it reached a height from which a fall would be fatal. Simple and effective. The Che’Malle had attempted the tactic a few more times, before finally descending to do battle.
To its regret.
And, it must be admitted, ours as well. Glanno Tarp was dead. So too Reccanto Ilk. And of course Master Quell. When Mappo had reached the carriage to pull Precious Thimble from the interior cabin, she had been hysterical-Quell had interposed himself between her and the attacking Che’Malle, and it had simply eviscerated him. If not for the Boles leaping on to its back, it would have slain her as well. Mappo still bore slashes on his hands and wrists from the woman’s blind terror.
The carriage had proved beyond mundane repair. There had been no choice but to continue on foot, carrying away their wounded, with the threat of another attack ever looming over them.
Still, I think the Boles hurt it.
That Che’Malle, it wasn’t out here waiting for us. Its attack was opportunistic-what else could it have been? No, the creature has other tasks awaiting it. For all I know, it too is hunting Icarium, a possibility too terrible to consider. In any case, let us hope it has now concluded we’re too much trouble.
His eyes strayed to his mace, lying on the ground close to hand. He had managed to strike the Che’Malle one solid blow, enough to rock it back a step. It had felt as if his mace had collided with an iron obelisk. His shoulders still ached. The eye looks past the target, to where the weapon is intended to reach. When it fails, shock thunders through the body. Every muscle, every bone. I can’t even remember the last time it so utterly failed.
‘Who are these strangers?’ Faint asked.
Mappo sighed. ‘I am not sure. There is an undead ay with them.’
‘A what?’
‘An ancient wolf, from the age of the Imass. Their bloodline was harvested in the shaping of the Hounds of Shadow… but not the Hounds of Darkness. For those, it was the bloodline of a breed of plains bear. Ty’nath okral , in the language of the Bentract Imass.’
‘An undead wolf?’
‘Pardon? Oh, yes, called an ay when alive. Now? Perhaps a maeth ay , one of rot or decay. Or one could say an oth ay , referring to its skeletal state. For myself, I think I prefer T’ay -a broken ay, if you will-’
‘Mappo, I really don’t care what you call it. It’s an undead wolf, something to keep Cartographer company-he’s back, right? I’m sure I heard him-’
‘Yes. He guided these others to us and now interprets.’
‘They don’t speak Daru? Barbarians.’
‘Yet two of them-those twin girls-they possess Daru blood. I am almost certain of it. The boy now clinging to Gruntle, there is Imass in him. More than half, I would judge. Therefore, either his mother or father was probably Barghast. The leader among them-she is named Setoc and proclaimed by Gruntle to be the Destriant of the Wolves-reminds me of a Kanese, though she is not. Some scenes painted on the oldest of tombs on the north coast of Seven Cities display people much like her in appearance, from the time before the tribes came out of the desert, one presumes.’