Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [50]
Akarr lifted his lips, exposing his teeth, his eyes cold in the firelight. “It is you who err, Riker. We would duel this moment if it wouldn’t jeopardize the very men that worry you so.”
“If there’s one thing that doesn’t worry me, it’s the prospect of—”
“Sculper!” cried Takan from the other side of the fires, where he’d remained either ignorant or uncaring of the confrontation within the camp. “More than one!”
Careless movement in the brush came on the heels of his words, and Riker whirled away from the fire, grabbing the opportunity to scoop up his club—and finding himself suddenly eye to eye with the sculper. His breath exploded out in a startled shout of attack as he turned the scooping motion into a swing, right at the sculper’s he adIt was gone again, effortlessly bounding back out of reach—and, as Riker staggered ahead with his own momentum, leaping forward once more. Not to shoulder him out of the way, not this time—this time the creature came in all jaws and teeth, its hackles raised, its two short tails standing stiffly at attention, and Riker wrenched himself back into a ragged guard, bringing the bat’leth up, arms bent to take the shock of impact
as the animal launched itself—one bound, two—and abruptly stopped, its nose in the air, and just as suddenly changed course, no less purposeful.
Riker, no longer between the sculper and the cave, threw himself after it, landing heavily in the damp, trampled ground growth Missing the creature entirely.
But the creature didn’t miss its intended prey. A harsh Tsoran scream filled the night as Riker scrambled to his feet, heading for the dark pocket of space in the shallow cave, driving himself at the braced hindquarters of the sculper—braced, like a dog playing tug-of-war—and then throwing himself to the side when it whirled to turn on him. Even then, he kept his forward movement, aiming the end of the bat’leth right down its throat.
It dodged, of course. But the blade dug into its neck at the shoulder, and it screamed just as throatily as its Tsoran victim as it broke away and bolted out of the cave.
Panting, somehow already smeared with sculper blood, Riker climbed to his feet and ran to the cave, where he found Ketan sprawled in a dazed and bloody state, his previously wounded arm now badly bitten as well. Gavare, a club discarded at his feet, knelt not by Ketan’s arm, but by his legs. As Riker frowned, trying to make sense of it, Akarr rushed into the cave.
“It’s gone?” he demanded, looking around as though it might be lurking nearby.
“It’s gone,” Riker affirmed, and when Akarr reacted with an angry snort, Riker gave him an incredulous look and said, “That’s a good thing, Akarr.”
Akarr stalked to the entrance of cave, standing by the edge of dirt and rock and staring into the darkness, his nostrils flaring, his pouched lower lip working. “You might have delayed it until I arrived.”
So that’s what this was about. Again. “I meant to drive it off.” Actually, he’d meant to kill it. “If you want to gather a trophy, you’re just going to have to be faster.”
“Akarr?” Rakal called from beyond the fire, his voice anxious.
“Stay on watch! All is well,” Akarr shouted back.
Riker looked down at Ketan. “Not exactly well.” He crouched down, joining Gavare, finally able to see that Ketan’s leg had swollen to alarming proportions. “What happened?”
“This,” Gavare said, holding up a stout quill as long as Riker’s hand. “From the creature’s tail. When I attacked it… when it turned on me, Ketan was behind it. There’s just not enough room in here …”
Gavare. Clearly still dizzy and finding it hard to navigate, never mind to attack an animal as big as he was. Befuddled enough to answer Riker’s questions without posturing, without measuring daleura at every word. Riker eyed the quill, found the dark trickle of blood on Ketan’s leg where it had gone in. “Is it lethal?”
“It’s not supposed to be,” Gavare said, which told Riker more yet. The Tsorans didn’t have any close experience with the sculpers. They should never have been this