Lakshin coughed up water several times, and managed to give a ragged nod.

‘Are you ready?’ Vasin didn’t wait for an answer.

To his credit, the Opal drew his curved dagger even as he spat the last of the filth from his mouth. Together, they began to fight back, knocking back the Murkers, and helping the stunned hunters regather their wits.

There came a moment, before the battle had fully turned, when Vasin paused amid the chaos, some instinct telling him that for once he should think instead of do.

He looked around and realized there were yet more demons tucked between two fallen trees. A thick cluster of them, at least as many again as they were fighting, and within them, a familiar many-eyed shape. Quiverhive.

It struck him that they were not engaging nor were they fleeing. They’re watching us. But why? What is it they’re looking for?

He turned his attention to the fight, trying to see it as the demons might. Lakshin and his hunters were making a real impact now, but at least in part because the Murkers were targeting the Ruby hunters, only engaging the Opal when they were forced to. It is just as Anuja said. They’re singling out the Rubies? Why do that? And why spare me? Nothing has even tried to attack me. And when I confronted the Weeper, it pulled away rather than take advantage.

A second look at the demons confirmed his suspicions. If they committed to the fight, they could inflict terrible damage upon us, but they’re holding back. It’s not that they’re afraid. It’s like … they’re observing. Studying us.

Lakshin was fighting with his hunters now, but still there was a lack of conviction that could be exploited. Quasim was the opposite, reckless to a fault. Quiverhive would know this now. What else would it have learned?

A small-winged Lizardkin, no longer than Vasin’s hand, alighted on Quiverhive’s back. Its long tongue shot out and adhered to one of the demon’s rippling eyes. After a few seconds the Lizardkin shivered and straightened, it’s red and green scales glimmering in the sunslight. Suddenly purposeful, it flew away, swiftly vanishing from sight.

Another movement caught Vasin’s attention, a glint of silver moving in the swamp that he recognized. My spear! It was still attached to the Weeper, which was trying to slink away. Three splashing bounds caught him up to it. Grasping the shaft in both hands he pulled it free before plunging it back into the Weeper’s body, letting the crystal spear head burn it from the inside. Four times he repeated this. Three to kill it and one more to be sure.

When it was truly, finally dead, he turned back towards Quiverhive, struck by a compulsion to impress it, to show that they weren’t all flailing amateurs. But it and its demonic entourage had already left.