with the Murashev had taken much of his power, and he had not been able to consume any more blood and flesh since then.
The Rossin could feel his enemy’s grasp puncture his flesh. He turned in ever decreasing circles, snapping with his teeth, but she was faster. She swapped her hands, yanking her body out of the way just in time. They were nearly at the bottom of the river, and both wrapped in slimy riverweed. Terrified fish and crocodiles swam away from their thrashing bodies, which churned the water.
Hatipai would take the remaining power for her own—thus had it always been between their kind—only the strong would survive and feed off the lesser. He spun and twisted, but now rocketed up toward the surface.
Hatipai laughed, triumphant. Revenge is indeed as sweet as humanity says.
Yet the Rossin was not as he had been when last they tangled. Deep down was the Bond, the connection that ran invisibly between the geistlord and the two most powerful Deacons in Arkaym. Just as his attacker pulled the Rossin down to take everything that remained, the Bond bloomed. The power of the Active and the Sensitive filled him—sweet and delicious. It fueled his depleted muscles, giving the Rossin enough strength to complete his last hope.
The great mer-cat leapt clear of the river’s surface, a lion’s roar breaking the quiet of the morning. This time Hatipai’s human body did let her down. She slipped and lost her grip as he tumbled through the air.
The Rossin dived back in, turned savagely about, and fell on her like the beast it had chosen to be.
In an instant it ripped apart the flesh and bone she had taken such pains to construct. Though it felt very good to tear and rend, he had to be quick. If he could get to her core hidden in the soft meat and devour it, her power would instead become his.
Yet it was a long time since he had fought another geistlord, and Hatipai was unfortunately too fast. She gave up the rent shell of flesh, leaping away skyward, where he could not follow without great risk. Her voice floated down to him. I know what you are doing, old friend. I am not as foolish as the humans.
The Rossin was left bobbing in the river, his thick tail wrapped around the remains, while his eyes followed the trail of her flight. He knew that she would not give up so easily. Geists, most especially geistlords, were creatures of infinite malice and infinite determination. Hatipai would come again—but first she would regroup and find more power.
Deep within the Rossin he felt Raed struggle, pitting his useless strength against a foe he had never won against. First we must feed. Discarding the now flavorless corpse, the Rossin ducked under the lapping waves of the river. This place was full of humanity, and he would not be caught unawares like that again. He would take blood and wreak havoc in the villages—only then would he surrender the reins of control back to his host.
Let him do his weeping and wailing once it was over. Grief and kindness were not emotions the Rossin knew. He did, however, have a sense of self-preservation—and Hatipai had been a fierce opponent in the Dark Time. He would not be this weak again.
With a snarl, the Rossin flexed his scaled tail and made for the shore. Blood and flesh would fill him. Let the humans of Chioma run screaming; it only added flavor to what he needed. Their laws and fears were of no concern to him.
NINE
Into the Hive
“Are you aware that no one actually knows how ancient the city of Orinthal is?” Sorcha had already noticed with some amusement that there were certain subjects that revealed Merrick’s youth.
He certainly made her feel old, leaning over the edge of the airship with unmistakable glee—ready for whatever came his way. His curly dark hair was fluttering in the breeze, so that when he glanced back, he did indeed appear like a young boy. “Bandele says that I may find in the Prince’s library many things that not even the Imperial Palace
The Rossin could feel his enemy’s grasp puncture his flesh. He turned in ever decreasing circles, snapping with his teeth, but she was faster. She swapped her hands, yanking her body out of the way just in time. They were nearly at the bottom of the river, and both wrapped in slimy riverweed. Terrified fish and crocodiles swam away from their thrashing bodies, which churned the water.
Hatipai would take the remaining power for her own—thus had it always been between their kind—only the strong would survive and feed off the lesser. He spun and twisted, but now rocketed up toward the surface.
Hatipai laughed, triumphant. Revenge is indeed as sweet as humanity says.
Yet the Rossin was not as he had been when last they tangled. Deep down was the Bond, the connection that ran invisibly between the geistlord and the two most powerful Deacons in Arkaym. Just as his attacker pulled the Rossin down to take everything that remained, the Bond bloomed. The power of the Active and the Sensitive filled him—sweet and delicious. It fueled his depleted muscles, giving the Rossin enough strength to complete his last hope.
The great mer-cat leapt clear of the river’s surface, a lion’s roar breaking the quiet of the morning. This time Hatipai’s human body did let her down. She slipped and lost her grip as he tumbled through the air.
The Rossin dived back in, turned savagely about, and fell on her like the beast it had chosen to be.
In an instant it ripped apart the flesh and bone she had taken such pains to construct. Though it felt very good to tear and rend, he had to be quick. If he could get to her core hidden in the soft meat and devour it, her power would instead become his.
Yet it was a long time since he had fought another geistlord, and Hatipai was unfortunately too fast. She gave up the rent shell of flesh, leaping away skyward, where he could not follow without great risk. Her voice floated down to him. I know what you are doing, old friend. I am not as foolish as the humans.
The Rossin was left bobbing in the river, his thick tail wrapped around the remains, while his eyes followed the trail of her flight. He knew that she would not give up so easily. Geists, most especially geistlords, were creatures of infinite malice and infinite determination. Hatipai would come again—but first she would regroup and find more power.
Deep within the Rossin he felt Raed struggle, pitting his useless strength against a foe he had never won against. First we must feed. Discarding the now flavorless corpse, the Rossin ducked under the lapping waves of the river. This place was full of humanity, and he would not be caught unawares like that again. He would take blood and wreak havoc in the villages—only then would he surrender the reins of control back to his host.
Let him do his weeping and wailing once it was over. Grief and kindness were not emotions the Rossin knew. He did, however, have a sense of self-preservation—and Hatipai had been a fierce opponent in the Dark Time. He would not be this weak again.
With a snarl, the Rossin flexed his scaled tail and made for the shore. Blood and flesh would fill him. Let the humans of Chioma run screaming; it only added flavor to what he needed. Their laws and fears were of no concern to him.
NINE
Into the Hive
“Are you aware that no one actually knows how ancient the city of Orinthal is?” Sorcha had already noticed with some amusement that there were certain subjects that revealed Merrick’s youth.
He certainly made her feel old, leaning over the edge of the airship with unmistakable glee—ready for whatever came his way. His curly dark hair was fluttering in the breeze, so that when he glanced back, he did indeed appear like a young boy. “Bandele says that I may find in the Prince’s library many things that not even the Imperial Palace
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