company
. Nobody! People have tried. If you live in Orangemund and you pay attention, you learn that anyone who tries to do so ends up dead or worse.” He was nodding as much to himself as at her. “Yes, there are worse things than death.” Rising, he placed his hands on his hips and shook himself, adjusting the water in the skin sac as easily as a Natural would reposition a backpack. “I have had enough lies. It is getting warm and I am getting tired. No more lies. No more jokes.” He lifted his right foot. But this time he did not draw back his leg to deliver a kick. Instead, he slowly lowered the sandboot until it was resting on Ingrid’s upturned nose. A great deal of crushing, shattering weight lay behind the deeply scored sole.
“Where … are … the diamonds? Where is the mine, or the field, or the alluvial deposit?” His foot descended slightly. Unable to turn away, she felt the pressure. Her sinuses began to scream. As a doctor she knew in detail the succession of physiological events that would follow if he allowed all his mass to follow his foot. The crunching noise and the subsequent copious blood would be the least of it. More worrisome would be the direction the numerous bone fragments would take as they spread throughout her …
The boot wavered, moving slightly back and forth, and then slid forward off her face to land in the sand. He was straddling her now and swaying slightly. As he turned he reached for the pistol that was attached to his belt. His hand and fingers seemed to freeze. Hardly daring to breathe, she squinted up at him.
Something was sticking out of the side of his neck. Severalsomethings. They looked like green needles. As she stared, another struck him in one fold of his ridged forehead. Reaching up, he plucked it free and gaped at it with a confusion of shock and wonderment. His eyes rose; searching, scanning. Another of the green needles penetrated the left one, just below the pupil.
Screaming and clawing at his face, he stumbled backward and tripped over the body beneath him. She was grateful that he landed nearby and not on top of her. As he rolled in pain and dug desperately at his punctured cornea a hail of pale green needles peppered his body. Water began to seep from his back sac where they pierced the aqueous manip. Soon he stopped screaming and stopped digging. More moments passed before he stopped for the last time.
As Ingrid lay on the ground breathing hard, a small scrabbling noise drew her attention away from the body of the guide. Squinting against the still rising sun she was able to make out shapes gathering along the upper edge of the ravine. More and more appeared until there were several dozen of the upright figures staring silently downward. Each carried a hollow reed that had been strengthened with treatment from vegetable resins and a quiver full of needles slung across its back. A few wore small pouches slung over one shoulder or the other. Their hair ranged from brown to gray and on to white, but their eyes were universally black. None stood much taller than the other.
None stood much taller than a foot.
She was dreaming, Ingrid told herself. That had to be it. There was no other reasonable explanation. On the other hand their tormentor was dead. The freewalker Quaffer lay nearby within arm’s length, motionless and studded with green needles. Moments ago he had been alive and delivering very real threats. Now he was unmoving and harmless. The indisputable cause of his condition stood lining the rim of the ravine and staring down at her.
A glance showed that Whispr was equally mesmerized. But despite the belligerent guide’s evident demise her friend was not as sanguine about their prospects as was his companion. The creatures had killed Quaffer. They could with minimal effort kill him and his equally helpless companion.
They began to chitter among themselves. Then one that was slightly bigger than his companions descended into the arroyo. Small
. Nobody! People have tried. If you live in Orangemund and you pay attention, you learn that anyone who tries to do so ends up dead or worse.” He was nodding as much to himself as at her. “Yes, there are worse things than death.” Rising, he placed his hands on his hips and shook himself, adjusting the water in the skin sac as easily as a Natural would reposition a backpack. “I have had enough lies. It is getting warm and I am getting tired. No more lies. No more jokes.” He lifted his right foot. But this time he did not draw back his leg to deliver a kick. Instead, he slowly lowered the sandboot until it was resting on Ingrid’s upturned nose. A great deal of crushing, shattering weight lay behind the deeply scored sole.
“Where … are … the diamonds? Where is the mine, or the field, or the alluvial deposit?” His foot descended slightly. Unable to turn away, she felt the pressure. Her sinuses began to scream. As a doctor she knew in detail the succession of physiological events that would follow if he allowed all his mass to follow his foot. The crunching noise and the subsequent copious blood would be the least of it. More worrisome would be the direction the numerous bone fragments would take as they spread throughout her …
The boot wavered, moving slightly back and forth, and then slid forward off her face to land in the sand. He was straddling her now and swaying slightly. As he turned he reached for the pistol that was attached to his belt. His hand and fingers seemed to freeze. Hardly daring to breathe, she squinted up at him.
Something was sticking out of the side of his neck. Severalsomethings. They looked like green needles. As she stared, another struck him in one fold of his ridged forehead. Reaching up, he plucked it free and gaped at it with a confusion of shock and wonderment. His eyes rose; searching, scanning. Another of the green needles penetrated the left one, just below the pupil.
Screaming and clawing at his face, he stumbled backward and tripped over the body beneath him. She was grateful that he landed nearby and not on top of her. As he rolled in pain and dug desperately at his punctured cornea a hail of pale green needles peppered his body. Water began to seep from his back sac where they pierced the aqueous manip. Soon he stopped screaming and stopped digging. More moments passed before he stopped for the last time.
As Ingrid lay on the ground breathing hard, a small scrabbling noise drew her attention away from the body of the guide. Squinting against the still rising sun she was able to make out shapes gathering along the upper edge of the ravine. More and more appeared until there were several dozen of the upright figures staring silently downward. Each carried a hollow reed that had been strengthened with treatment from vegetable resins and a quiver full of needles slung across its back. A few wore small pouches slung over one shoulder or the other. Their hair ranged from brown to gray and on to white, but their eyes were universally black. None stood much taller than the other.
None stood much taller than a foot.
She was dreaming, Ingrid told herself. That had to be it. There was no other reasonable explanation. On the other hand their tormentor was dead. The freewalker Quaffer lay nearby within arm’s length, motionless and studded with green needles. Moments ago he had been alive and delivering very real threats. Now he was unmoving and harmless. The indisputable cause of his condition stood lining the rim of the ravine and staring down at her.
A glance showed that Whispr was equally mesmerized. But despite the belligerent guide’s evident demise her friend was not as sanguine about their prospects as was his companion. The creatures had killed Quaffer. They could with minimal effort kill him and his equally helpless companion.
They began to chitter among themselves. Then one that was slightly bigger than his companions descended into the arroyo. Small
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