The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [67]
“You’re dressed like a boy. Your hair is cut like a boy’s. And the countess called you male.”
“So I am, and so it is, and so she did,” Vaseto said. “And that’s plenty of talk on that subject. Anyway, we’ve other things to worry about at the moment.”
“Such as?”
For answer, an arrow thumped into the trunk of an olive tree, just a yard from Neil’s head.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE UTIN
ASPAR LOOSED AN ARROW at the thing before he could even see what it was. It hit, he was certain, but the arrow didn’t seem to have much effect. A long, clawed limb whipped out and struck Stephen to the ground.
As Aspar loosed his second arrow, a film of light seemed to settle on everything. The leaves that had concealed the pit where the creature had been hiding turned slowly as they fell, each distinct—ironoak, ash, haurnbagm, poplar.
As the leaves settled, the utin was revealed.
The first impression was of a huge spider—though it had only four limbs, they were long and spindly, attached to a torso so compact as to be boxlike, a mass of muscle covered in what looked like brown scales and sparse greenish hair that grew thicker on its upper spine and ruffed a short, thick neck. Yellow eyes glared from an enormous oblong of dark green horn with only slits for nostrils and holes for ears. Its mouth was the laugh of a Black Mary, a slit that cut the head in two and champed around wicked, black, uneven teeth.
The second arrow took it high in the chest, where its heart ought to have been. The creature turned away from Stephen and dropped to all fours, then sprang toward Aspar with terrible speed.
Aspar got off another shot, and so did Ehawk, and then the monster was on them. Its stench hit Aspar in the gut, and his gorge rose as he discarded the bow and yanked out his fighting dirk and throwing ax. He struck hard with the latter and dodged as the thing swept by. A six-clawed hand swiped at him and narrowly missed.
He whirled and fell into a fighting crouch.
The utin paused, bouncing slowly up and down on its two weird long legs, its body upright, fingers tapping at the ground. It towered a kingsyard above Aspar.
Aspar shifted back, hoping he was a little out of reach.
“Winna,” he said. “Get away from here, now.”
Ehawk, he noticed, was slowly creeping to get behind the beast.
“Wiiiiiinaaah,” the thing croaked, and Aspar’s flesh went as crawly as if he’d stumbled into a nest of worms.
“Wiinaah gooh, yah. I find you later. Make fun.”
The language was the local dialect of Almannish.
“Grim’s eye,” Aspar swore. “What the sceat are you?”
For answer, the utin swayed forward a bit, then plucked one of the arrows from its chest. Aspar saw the scales were more like bony plates, natural armor—the shaft hadn’t penetrated deep. More and more he was reminded of the greffyn, which had also had much of the reptile about it.
If this thing was poisonous like the greffyn, Stephen was already as good as dead. So was he, if it touched him.
He waited for its next move, looking for soft spots. The head was plated, too, and was probably mostly bone. He might hit one of the eyes with a good throw. The throat, maybe?
No. All too far in. Its limbs were everywhere. He shifted his knife hand slightly.
The utin suddenly blurred toward him. Ehawk gave a cry and fired an arrow; Aspar ducked, leapt inside the reaching claws, and slashed at the inner thigh, then stabbed toward the groin. He felt flesh part at the first cut, and the thing howled. His thrust missed as the monster leap-frogged over him and then dealt him a terrific kick that sent him sprawling. It turned before he could even think about getting up, tore a branch from a tree, and hurled it. Aspar heard Ehawk cry out, and the thump of a body hitting the ground. Then the utin bounded toward him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Winna armed only with a dagger, rushing in to help.
“No!” Aspar shouted, levering himself up, lifting his ax.