Answers in death, he thought to himself. I’ve seen much death.

‘And you haven’t learned anything, Wisest,’ the grandfather whispered, unseen.

Death is a better answer than nothing.

There was no response to that from the grandfather. No sound at all, but the hush of the waves and the sound of boots on sand.

‘Is that it?’ a grating voice asked, suddenly. ‘It’s pretty big, isn’t it?’

His nostrils quivered: iron, rust, hate.

He turned and regarded them carefully, the trio of purple-skinned longfaces that had emerged from the night. They clutched swords in hands, carried thick, jagged throwing knives at their belts. How easy it would be, he wondered, to stand there and let them carve his flesh. How easy would it be to find an answer in his own blood, dripping out on the sand.

He hadn’t learned anything that way so far.

‘You have humans,’ he grunted. ‘I will take them.’

‘They yours?’ one of them asked. ‘How about we burn what’s left of them and what’s left of you in a pile? Fair?’

He stepped forward and felt refreshed by an instant surge of ire welling up inside him. It might not have been the most profound of solutions, but then, this was not the most difficult of problems.

For this question, for anyquestion, violence was an answer he understood.

The netherlings shared this thought, bringing their swords up, meeting his bared teeth with their jagged grins.

Humans were nearby, he knew, and they were likely dead. Netherlings were closer, he knew, and they would soon be dead. He would find answers tonight, answers in death.

Whose, he wasn’t quite sure he cared.

Lenk felt the chill shudder through his body, seizing his attention.

‘ They have come to a decision.’

The sight of drawn swords and grins of varying width and wickedness confirmed as much. The netherlings’ brief argument over who was going to kill whom had lasted only as long as it took for words to give way to fists, with the least battered picking their prey. The one most bloodied settled with a grumble for Dreadaeleon’s unconscious form, still beside Lenk.

The one with the broadest grin and the bloodiest gauntlet advanced upon him, pursued by scowls from the ones with the most knuckle indentations embedded in their jaws. There were many of those, he noted. She had wanted him badly.

‘ She shall never have us,’ the voice muttered. ‘ We will find her first, show her revelation, show them all.’

‘Revelation,’ Lenk whispered, ‘in blood, steel. We will show them.’

‘Show us what?’ the advancing netherling asked, tilting her head to the side.

‘He could show us his insides,’ one of the longfaces offered.

‘Rather, youcould,’ another replied, kneeling beside the prone form of Denaos. ‘I intend to make this one die slowly. Xhai is going to be pissed.’

‘ Die?’ the voice asked of Lenk.

Lenk shook his head. ‘Not us.’

‘ Not if she is to survive.’

A sudden heat engulfed Lenk, bathed his brow in an instant sweat. ‘ And what of your survival? Save her, even try to, and you’ll die, you’ll rot and she’ll be-’

The sweat turned cold, froze to rime on his skin. ‘ Meaningless. Duty above survival. Duty above life. Duty above all. They are coming. They will die, as these ones here die.’

‘As all die,’ Lenk murmured.

‘Now you’ve got it,’ the netherling said, grinning as she levelled her sword at the young man’s brow. ‘This is just how it is, as Master Sheraptus says. The weak give all, the strong take all.’ Her grin grew broader. ‘Master Sheraptus is strong. We are strong.’

‘ Weak enables strong. Strong feed on weak. Not incorrect.’

‘Her perception is wrong, though,’ Lenk muttered.

‘What?’ The netherling smiled with terrible glee. ‘Oh, wait, are you going to do one of those dying monologues that pinkies do? I’ve heard about these! Make it good!’

His stare rose to meet hers. Instantly, her smile faded, the wickedness fleeing her face to be replaced with confusion tinged by fear. His eyes were easy as her sword arm tensed, his voice emerging on breath made visible by cold as he stared at her and whispered.

‘We are stronger,’ he said evenly. ‘We will kill you first.’

She recoiled at that, as if struck worse than a fist could. ‘I hoped to enjoy this,’ she growled, drawing her blade back, ready to drive it between his eyes. ‘But you ruinedit, you stupid little-’

A roar split the sky apart, choking her voice in her throat. Her arm steadied as a new kind of confusion, fear replaced with curiosity, crossed her face. She looked over her shoulder, milk-white eyes staring down the beach, seeking the source of the fury.

‘That’s …’ another longface hummed, squinting into the gloom, ‘that’s one of the low-fingers, isn’t it? That the Master sent out?’

‘ It is,’ the voice answered in Lenk’s head, ‘ what we have waited for.’

He felt his eyes drawn to the beach. Movement was obvious, even in the darkness: purple flesh shifting beneath moonlight as a netherling charged down the beach. But her gait was awkward, bobbing wildly as she rushed forward. The peculiarities grew the closer she drew: the jellylike flail of her arms and legs, the hulking shadow behind her body.

By the time Lenk saw the longface’s head lolling on a distinctly shattered neck, it was clear to him and everyone else what was about to happen.

‘Oh, hell, it’s that … that red thing!’ a netherling snarled. ‘What are they called?’

‘It was supposed to be dead, wasn’t it?’ another snarled. ‘The screamer said!’

‘It’s not,’ the third laughed, hefting her jagged throwing blade. ‘This day just gets better and better.’

‘What about the pink things?’

‘Kill ’em if you want. Don’t expect any scraps.’

A cackle tore through the longfaces. A chorus of whining metal followed as jagged hurling blades flew, shrieking to be heard over the war cry that chased them.

‘ QAI ZHOTH!’

With each meaty smack, the longface’s corpse shuddered as the blades gnawed into lifeless flesh and stuck fast, leaving the creature behind it unscathed. It rushed forward, trembling as a roar emerged from behind the shield of sinew. Lenk saw flashes of red skin, sharp teeth and dark, murderous eyes. He found he could hardly help the smile creeping upon his lips.

And behind the corpse, Gariath’s grin was twice as long, thrice as unpleasant.

‘ AKH ZEKH LAKH!’ the longfaces threw chants instead of knives, hefting their swords and shields as they charged forward to meet the dragonman’s fury with their own.

‘ Distracted. Escape possible. Death inevitable. Duty will be fulfilled.’

‘My hands are tied,’ he whispered.

‘ Move or die.’

‘Fair enough.’ He pulled at the ropes; he knew little of knots, but it seemed reasonable that the netherlings would not plan to hold prisoners any longer than it took to gut them. With a little guidance, he was sure he could break free. ‘Denaos, can you-’

‘ He can,’ the voice replied. ‘ He did.’

The slipped bonds on the earth where the rogue had lain was evidence enough of that.

‘ We did not need him. Do not need any of them. Focus. Time is short.’

A challenging howl confirmed as much. Gariath had dropped his corpse to the earth, seizing it by its ankles and dragging it to meet his foes. Their anticipation was evident in the gleam of their swords, the grin on their faces.

‘ QAI ZHOTH!’ the leading one howled, leaping forward. ‘ EVISCERATE! DECAPITATE! ANNIHILA-’

The chant was shattered along with her teeth as two thick skulls collided. He swung the corpse like a club of muscle and flesh. Limp arms flailed out to smash ironbound hands into chanting jaws. Bones cracked against bones, casting the attackers back as Gariath grunted and adjusted his weight for another swing.