Muscles coiled, Silentium at the ready, I backed off the pier. Unease settled in my chest like a stone as I stared out at the black water, wishing for a foe I could sink my blade into.
What other horrors would we face before morning?
WHAT REFUSES TO DIE
Arioch
Asound woke me.
Not a footstep or a voice, but a wet, uneven slapping against earth, like raw meat being dragged across stone. My hand found Silentium’s hilt before my eyes opened.
Moonlight slanted through the canopy of alien trees above our camp, casting warped shadows across the limestone ledge. Tyrin sat upright against his boulder, axe across his lap, chin dipped to his chest. He had fallen asleep on watch. I would not fault him for it. The gargoyle had flown the same distance as I had, and his reserves were not what they once had been.
The sound came again. Closer.
I rose on silent feet, eyes adjusting to the moonlit night. Something lurched between the trees at the base of the ledge. Two somethings. They moved with off-kilter gaits, each step punctuated by a thud and a drag, as though half their bodies refused to cooperate with the other half.
“Tyrin.”
His eyes snapped open, and he was on his feet with his axe raised. Following my gaze, he went rigid.
Two shaggy-haired figures emerged from the tree line. Even in the moonlight, the sight of them defied reason.
Each creature bore only half a face. One eye, one nostril, half a mouth stretched in a perpetual grimace. Their bodies were bisected as though cleaved by a god’s blade, the wounds cauterized and covered in skin. They hopped and lurched on one leg with terrible efficiency, covering ground far faster than their anatomy should have allowed.
A gurgling shriek forced through damaged vocal cords scratched at my eardrums.
“Nesnas,” Tyrin identified, shifting his weight to his front foot. “Arabian desert creatures. I thought they were a myth.”
“Evidently not. Weaknesses?”
“If I recall correctly... none.”
None? The creature was half-dead already. How difficult could it be to finish it off?
The first nesna crested the ledge in a single hop that would have been impressive had it not been so profoundly disturbing. Its lone eye fixed on the remains of our fire and then swiveled to me. Hunger contorted its half-mouth.
The breeze shifted, carrying the stench of carrion directly into our faces, and even Tyrin—with his inferior gargoyle nose—blanched in distaste. It was all I could do not to retch.
I brought Silentium to bear. The nesna lunged with startling speed, its single clawed hand raking toward my chest. I sidestepped and swung my sword in a clean arc, severing the arm at the shoulder.
The limb hit the ground with a wet smack, palm up, yet it was far from vanquished. Finger bones squeezed and released, rocking the hand back and forth.
“Helheim take you,” Tyrin swore.
The severed limb flipped itself over.
We both took a step back.
Fingers clawing at the earth, it dragged itself across the stone, returning to the body that bent low, balancing precariously on itssingle leg, allowing the arm to climb up and reattach itself to the stump. Sinew stretched and connected. Flesh knitted together with a sucking sound that would haunt my nightmares for decades. Fingers flexed, the shoulder rolled, and the nesna lunged for us once again.
Behind me, Tyrin’s axe connected with the second creature, splitting its torso from shoulder to hip. Both halves hit the ground and immediately began pulling themselves back together.
“You were not exaggerating about the lack of weaknesses,” I said, parrying a strike that left frost on the creature’s claws.
“I take no pleasure in being right.”
I drove Silentium through the first creature’s chest, pinning it to the earth. It writhed and clawed at the blade, its single eye rolling with mindless fury. The second lunged at Tyrin, who planted his axe squarely in its skull. It crumpled, twitched, and began reassembling.
