Overseer Jewell swung into view, waving his arms above his head to gain his troops’ attention. “Fan out, fan out. Surround the demon. Protect the druids!”

  Vanth had barely noticed the druids. They were kneeling in a ring around the square, their hands raised and their eyes closed. Their voices rose and fell in a deep, rhythmic chant.

  Carefully avoiding the beast swaying above the buildings of the Bard’s Quarter, the Salt Swords scattered across the square to stand before the druids, swords and daggers drawn. The creature turned its great greasy head to follow them, took a lumbering stride towards the soldiers gathering on its right. Vanth tightened her grip on the twin daggers in her hands. Thick webbed feet split the cobblestones as they set down with a force that made the buildings tremble and the chimney pots rattle. Now she understood what the rumbling beneath their feet was. If the creature continued stamping about the city, Armoria would soon be shaken to broken brick and splinters.

  In an effort to keep the creature contained, several Salt Swords stabbed the side of a foot threaded with pulsing veins as thick as rope. The beast roared again—a plaintive howl that pierced Vanth’s eardrums like a needle—and struck out at its aggressors, breaking the bodies of two Salt Swords with the back of one long hand. The hand and the monstrous arm that followed it continued on to crash against the wall of the Bard’s Rest. Much of the right side of the building fell away, revealing the darkened tavern in disarray beyond. A great cloud of brick dust and debris flew into the air, filling the square and obscuring the sun with choking grey.

  Vanth steadied herself, concentrated on slowing her breath. She could barely see beyond a few metres and Albin and Pictor were reduced to hazy dark shapes on either side.

  “I can’t see a bloody thing,” Albin shouted.

  “Be still,” Vanth said. “Don’t attract its attention.”

  A sudden rush of footsteps and muffled crying flew towards her from the gloom. As the sound grew nearer, Vanth could make out a small group of people running from the direction of the tavern.

  “Idiots." They would have been safer staying in whatever hole they had been cowering in.

  Behind her, the druids’ chanting became louder. Vanth risked a look over her shoulder and saw a fine mesh was beginning to glint between the hands of each one, stretching over their fingers like fine rose-hued spiderwebs. Each mesh was steadily growing larger and brighter. So this was how they would subdue the beast, by casting a great magickal net over it and bringing it down like a fish being dragged into a boat.

  The group of running people passed directly in front of her and she tried to stop them. “Be still. Calm down and let the druids work.”

  The group—a young couple and an older changeling man with crow-black hair—slowed and turned towards the sound of Vanth’s voice. Too late. The creature was already marching towards them through a grey dust made denser by the rush of smoking flames beginning to ripple across the rooftops of the square. The demon reared before them, its glassy, soulless eyes fixed squarely on Vanth and the fleeing group.

  Before the monster could strike, Albin and Pictor moved in from either side to attack, hacking at the grey-green skin of its legs. The creature roared in pain and frustration. It reeled back, slamming into a short row of houses beside the sagging tavern. The buildings began to topple forward, chimneys and roof tiles spilling across the cobbles like scattered sand blown across a beach.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  The monster righted itself and staggered back across the square, closer to the chanting ring of druids. As it moved towards her, crushing brick and glass beneath its feet, Vanth quickly calculated the reach of its outstretched arms as it groped in the grey for its attackers. The creature was aiming for both the chanting druid directly behind her and the group of people from the tavern, huddled on the ground with their arms over their heads. She would not be able to steer it away from all of them.

  “Orders are orders, Vanth,” Albin yelled beside her, swiftly coming to the same conclusion. “Protect the druids.”

  Feverishly hoping the creature would withdraw from both attacks, Vanth let her soldier’s muscle memory take over as she joined Albin and Pictor in charging towards the monstrous arm—now milliseconds away from crushing the druid. Incredibly, the druid seemed unaware of the imminent danger. His eyes remained closed and his face was calm, voice ringing out in its droning chant while smoke and ash swirled about him, dirtying his pristine white robes.

  The three Salt Swords struck as one, landing a flurry of cuts and blows on the back of the creature’s slimy hand which it balled into a protective fist before swinging away. Vanth turned to search for the young couple and the changeling but with a brief rush of nausea, she saw the creature’s second blow had landed true. Their bodies were lying together on the ground, blood pooling beneath their heads to run foamy red through the ash gently sifting on the cobblestones.

  As she tore her eyes away from the gruesome sight, looking to rejoin Albin and Pictor, Vanth’s attention was drawn by a strange, blue flickering. She readied her daggers, breath catching when she saw Gwin approaching the creature. Her pale blue hair was streaming out behind her and her arm was outstretched, the eye pendant clearly blazing between the fingers of her tightly clenched hand.

  Vanth quickly scanned the immediate area, checking to see if anyone else had seen her. The grim-faced Asrai remained undetected for the time being but with another cold jolt, she recognised Barlo crouched against a wall.

  Vanth looked down at the bodies broken on the cobbles, then back to Barlo. Swallowing her fear and panic as she had been trained to do, she moved to find her arms-mates. Gwin might be about to blow up the city or get trampled to pulp in the ruins of the Bard’s Rest, but Thetia save her, Vanth was going to help her do it.

  Albin and Pictor were standing further back in the gloom, close to the druid. The blood of those who died in his place was steadily drawing towards him, but he had not broken his concentration.

  “Vanth, we should remain at arm’s breadth,” Pictor said. “Or we’ll just keep losing sight of each other in this stinking mess.”

  “Overseer Jewel wants us to gather on the northern side. The demon is trying to break through the druids’ defences.” Lying to Pictor felt unnatural.

  “Let’s go,” Albin said, clapping Pictor on the shoulder as they moved away. Vanth watched them fall into step together, waiting until they disappeared into the grey haze before turning her attention back to Gwin.

  The Asrai was so intent on her task, she startled when Vanth appeared. The pendant was brilliant in the ashy murk, burning like a star in her hand.

  “I thought I told you to leave that bloody thing at home.”

  “You will soon be glad I didn’t.”

  Vanth stared up at the colossal beast. The back of its thick legs swayed before her as it raged before a group of Salt Swords. They were rushing forward in small waves to attack before dancing away again, dodging the vast hands slick as worn oars. Vanth had a sudden vision of Albin and Pictor being swept aside to lie like bloody piles of rags on the cobblestones. If they died now, it would be her fault for putting them in harm’s way.

  “Let’s do this quickly,” she said, “before the demon kills everyone in the square.”

  “This monster is slower than the one that attacked my homeland, but it’s also much larger. Can you help me get closer?”

  Vanth grinned at Gwin. It was a smile bordering on a grimace, devoid of warmth. “I can get extremely close,” she said, snatching the pendant from Gwin’s hand and launching herself at the creature’s leg before the other woman could stop her.