The arrow sank into the water-horse’s eye for half its length, juddering with the force of the impact and surely scrambling what tissue lay beyond. The beast stood stock still for the space of three heartbeats, a rivulet of blood seeping from one nostril, then it collapsed, sinking down onto its belly and lying still.

Clever, the voice opined. Even a body driven by the ichor needs a brain to work.

“A remarkable feat, my lady,” Player told Seeker with one of his florid bows. “Why, not even fabled Juseria herself could match such skill.”

“Juseria?” she asked.

“A legendary figure from the Kraken Wars,” Book explained. “Said to have been blessed with peerless bow skills by the Valkerin gods.”

“Quite so,” Player confirmed. “I was once honoured to play her murdered brother in The Barbarian’s Feast. Even the harshest Atherian critics agreed it was the most accomplished and convincing poisoning ever to grace the stage.”

“I seem to recall it as a minor part,” Book said with a poorly concealed smirk. “Only six lines, I believe.”

Player stiffened a little. “A master of his craft requires no lines to move an audience, sir. With six, I could move a world.”

“Can you move those?” Seeker enquired, gesturing to the waters beyond the island. There were too many scaled heads bobbing above the surface to easily count. The reptiles lingered some thirty feet from the shore and showed no sign of coming closer, but also no sign of leaving. Even if she could sink every arrow in her quiver into an eye, there would still be an abundance of predators to greet them when they left the safety of the Kraken’s grave.

The bone, my liege, the voice said. The kraken’s essence lingers in its bones, not the place.

Pilgrim turned to the moss-covered vertebrae, running a hand over the dark surface he had exposed. It was hard material, and tingled to the touch, but he felt a faint sense of give in it, like old wood. Raising the sword, he waited for it to thrum then brought the blade down on the wing-like protrusion on the flank of the bone, severing it from the main body. Several more strokes, delivered with sufficient speed to make the blade seem a silver blur, resulted in seven evenly sized chunks.

“Here,” he said, tossing a piece to each of his companions. “Keep them close.”

“Are you sure?” Book asked, eyeing the lump of bone in his hand. “Will a mere fragment be enough to keep them at bay?”

“We’ll find out shortly.” Pilgrim raised a questioning glance to Priest who pointed to a northward stretch of road beyond the wall of ribs. “Unless you’d rather stay here and starve.”