The Crab stood watch a few paces away, while the Skir Master waited by the mouth of the cave. The Crab had brought fifty men with him. They loitered in groups in various positions around the cave. To the casual observer, it might look like they stood in random places. But the Skir Master had ordered them so that only one approach to the cave lay wide open. He expected the monster to come that way. And when it reached them, the five dreadmen who stayed with the Skir Master would spring.

He’d overhead some of the Fir-Noy talking. Twenty dreadmen had been in the Skir Master’s guard. The big one that was his guide made it twenty-one. But twelve of those had been lost at sea in a fire. And Uncle Argoth had come back, sniveling and cringing. He hadn’t been able to hear what had happened. He doubted even the Fir-Noy knew.

The breeze shifted and blew the smoke toward Talen. He picked up the rock he was sitting on and moved out of its way, closer to Uncle Argoth. So much for the Creek Widow’s theory of him being bred to greatness. He’d cracked like an egg.

And so much for the Creek Widow. He wondered what had happened to her.

He wondered about Da. The Skir Master had said the monster had taken him. Talen tried to talk to Uncle Argoth. But the man totally ignored him. He ignored everyone and sat to the side, rocking on his haunches and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

“What do you think will become of us if the Skir Master kills it?” Talen asked.

“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” said Legs. “Usually the bait is the first thing to go.”

“True enough,” Talen said.

They were silent for a time. Talen wondered where Nettle was at this moment. He hoped he was safe but wished, nevertheless, that he was here. Then Sugar spoke up. “Once he faces off with that creature, I say we slip away. Because if he takes it, he doesn’t know where the monster’s cave is, which means we can walk straight into that lair and retrieve whoever is still alive. And if he doesn’t destroy it, then I certainly don’t want to be anywhere close.”

“The only clear path is up that hill,” Talen said. The outer dreadmen and Fir-Noy had positioned themselves everywhere else. Talen didn’t think running would work since the Fir-Noy had horses, but thinking about escape was better than thinking of being devoured by a monster or questioned by a Divine whose ship had burned underneath him.

Uncle Argoth reached out and gripped Talen’s arm much too tightly.

“Uncle?” Talen asked.

“He knows,” said Uncle Argoth, his grip tightening even further. “He knows everything.”

“What’s he talking about?” Sugar asked.

Talen shrugged. He tried to pull away but his uncle would not let go.

A dreadman broke the tree line on the other side of the meadow on the valley’s floor. He was tall and thin and fast, as fast as a horse at full gallop. He ran across the field and in moments he stood before the Skir Master. “Cos and Heel are dead, their backs broken.”

“Shegom reports nothing,” said the Skir Master.

“They’ve been dead for at least an hour.”

The Skir Master studied the hills about the valley. To this moment, he hadn’t yet withdrawn any of the hag’s teeth. He did so now, removing one of the silver spikes from its blue velvet bed and grasping it in his white, gold-studded glove. “Where are you?” he said under his breath.

As if in answer Talen saw a stone above the mouth of the cave move. He looked closer.

“Goh,” he said. It was as if a part of the hill had come alive.

The Crab followed Talen’s gaze.

Then the creature jumped, dropping down with a thud only paces behind the Skir Master. In the morning light its features were clearer than they had been that night in the yard. It was a grotesque giant. And while clumps of grass still clung to it here and there, he saw the underlying color was of dirt and blue stone. One shoulder was burned. Along the other, a patch of small white flowers grew.

The Skir Master turned, but he was too late and the creature slapped the hand holding the tooth. The hand flew backward violently.

The Crab cried out. He clutched at his throat, at the spike that stood out of his neck. Then the end of the spike curled like a worm. In a flash of silver it wriggled into the Crab’s neck.

The Crab gasped and stumbled. He tripped toward Talen and the others. Talen tried to scramble back, but Uncle Argoth would not release him. Then the Crab twitched and toppled into the fire. Ash puffed up in a billow.

Talen tried to pry Argoth’s fingers away, but could not. He choked on the ash that blew into his face.

The Skir Master danced back with blinding speed, trying to pull another spike from his case, but the monster moved more quickly and swatted the case out of his hand. The case flew wide, disappearing into the brush a number of paces away.

“The teeth,” said Uncle Argoth. He released Talen’s arm and scrambled to the bushes where the case had fallen.

Leaf cried out, drew a black-bladed sword, and charged the monster. The speed of the dreadman was frightening.

“Shegom!” the Skir Master yelled and dodged away from the monster.

Another dreadman, who had been hiding only paces away from where the monster had first appeared, stood and flung his wide noose around the creature’s head. The dreadman yanked his noose tight about the monster’s neck. Another dreadman sprung from his hiding place in front of the cave and threw his noose. A third dreadman joined him, and the two of them pulled the creature back. It lurched into a small trap that had been dug for it.

Yards away, a dozen Fir-Noy heaved on the rope that lined the trap and caught one of the monster’s legs. A Fir-Noy slapped the hind of one of the two horses harnessed to that line, and the animals surged forward.

The monster spun. The power of the horses and soldiers would have pulled a normal man to the ground, but the monster was too quick, too strong. Instead of falling to the ground, it took a giant sideways step and then braced itself in a wide stance, the grass still clinging to its body shuddering at the impact.

It reached down and grabbed the line around its foot.

Another noose flew, but missed the monster.

Leaf, the big dreadman with the scorched eye, rushed forward. The blade of his sword was as black as a crow-a spirit sword. In a blinding move he hacked into the creature’s side. Talen thought he’d cleaved the monster in two. But the monster did not seem to be affected by the blow.

It ignored Leaf and yanked on the line holding its foot. The group of Fir-Noy on the other end stumbled backward into a heap. The two horses were also forced back and trod upon the men in the rear. Men cried out. The horses whinnied in confusion. One leapt forward again. The other skittered sideways. Then, as if the monster had pinched the thin stem of a weed, the line snapped.

“The teeth!” the Skir Master roared. “The teeth!”

“Here!” Uncle Argoth cried out and held the case up. “Master!”

The Skir Master turned and dashed toward him.

Leaf snatched his sword out of the creature’s side. He swung the flashing black blade again in the early light, but the creature ripped it out of Leaf’s hand and flung it away. It grabbed one of the lines connected to a noose about its neck. It twisted around violently, and the dreadman who had tied the other end of the rope about his waist cried out. He was yanked from his position and into the air.

The monster twisted and yanked again. In midair, the dreadman lurched horribly in a new direction. This time there was no cry of pain. The monster swung him like a man swinging a stone at the end of a rope.

The Skir Master snatched up the case from Uncle Argoth’s outstretched arm and held it above his head. “Here, son of Lamash!” he yelled, his face full of fury. “Here is your doom!”