David Gross: An Opportunity for Profit

The others were nowhere to be seen, so Sharessa crept up to the edge of the lantern light but did not yet enter. She kept her eyes on the trees above and strained to see through the darkness.

"Quiet!" called Belmer from the shadows on the other side of the lamplight. He was obeyed.

Sharessa heard the gentle shaking of the leaves, the panting of the sailors. The rest of the world held its breath, and then she heard a wet tearing sound in the trees above Anvil's lantern. She started to cry out to him, but it was too late. A dark, ragged mass fell upon him with a sickening smack.

Anvil shouted in surprise and fear, but he held onto the lantern. Even as she darted forward, Shar knew she was too late to help. She watched as Anvil thrashed against his flailing attacker, trying to free his cutlass from the entangling limbs without dropping the lantern.

Shar was still ten steps away when the silhouette of a long, thin blade pierced the attacker's odd, barely human body. It vanished and appeared again, this time at another angle. The weird figure fell to the ground before Sharessa had closed.

By the time she reached them, Sharessa saw Anvil's bloody figure crouched protectively around the lantern. The light spilled out to show Belmer, standing beside Anvil with his rapier and dagger poised to strike again, his own hands and face spattered with gore. They all looked down at the creature.

At first they couldn't tell what it was. Slick, gory flesh glistened in the yellow lamplight. Flaccid tentacles emerged from its torso, and… no, those weren't tentacles at all. The dead figure had been savaged beyond recognition.

They stared at the ruined body of another sailor.

"How could it do… that to him?" asked Ingrar in disbelief. "And so fast!" The Sharkers and the surviving sailors from the Morning Bird crouched on the sand around the two remaining lanterns. Turbalt hadn't spoken since Anvil and Ingrar caught up with him near the shore. Even the eight remaining sailors ignored Turbalt now, looking to Belmer and the Sharkers for direction.

"I don't know," said Sharessa. "I don't know."

"It's a fiend," offered one of the sailors. "Definitely a fiend. Definitely."

"No argument about that," said Rings. "Let's just hope it's had its fill."

"Definitely a fiend," continued the babbling sailor.

"They don't get full," said Belgin. "They don't hunt to feed. They kill because they like it. It's what they're made for."

"How do you know?" asked Brindra. "How does anyone know what a fiend wants?"

"Definitely. Definitely a fiend."

"Somebody shut him up," grumbled Rings and Brindra together. Sharessa almost smiled at their chorus, but the amusement drowned in the rising fear that had surrounded them.

"You're right," said Belgin. "No one really knows what they want. We just hear about what they do."

"It's gone now," said Belmer, across the lanterns. "But if what you say is true, we can't just stay here and wait for it to return."

"We can't go deeper into the forest," said Ingrar. "It can pick us off one at a time in there."

"We can't stay here," returned Belmer. "There could be more of them, too. The longer we wait here, the greater the chance they'll gather and find us."

"Good point," said Anvil. Sharessa nodded. She knew she didn't want to be outside anywhere in Doegan. The stories she had heard convinced her that there were more fiends than ever in these lands.

"Let's at least wait until dawn," said a sailor.

"Aye," agreed one of his mates. "The thing didn't attack until night."

Sharessa turned to see what Belmer's answer would be. He didn't speak at first, only reaching up to stroke his chin. Across the lanterns, Belgin was making exactly the same gesture. Despite the nearly tangible fear among the Sharkers and the sailors, a few smiles appeared, yellow crescents on the shadowed faces.

Belgin mocked his own signature gesture by turning left and touching his chin with his right hand, exaggerating his nervous expression. Then he turned right and took his chin in his left hand, adding a fair imitation of Belmer's serious expression. Rings chuckled, and a nervous laughter eddied around the group for a moment. Even Belmer smiled briefly.

The laughter died after a moment. In the silence, all eyes rested on Belmer. His serious, commanding expression had returned.

"We'll wait until dawn," he announced. A few of the sailor's heads bobbed in eager agreement, and Sharessa heard Ingrains sigh of relief beside her.

"First we close these lanterns," continued Belmer. "Then well move about a mile along…"

A low moaning interrupted Belmer's orders. Sharessa looked around to see which of the sailors had made the sound, but then it came again. It was from the trees.

"Close the lanterns!" hissed Belmer. "Spread out. When we move, it's north along the beach."

Everyone obeyed, except Turbalt. The captain of The Morning Bird knelt in the sand, clutching one of the lanterns. "No," he said in his quavering voice. No no no no no no…"

Belmer lashed out, quick as a cobra, slapping the bubbering Turbalt hard across the face. As the man's hands released the lantern, Belmer hooked it with one toe and kicked it away, toward the forest. Turbalt fell to the sand, his arms raised to ward off more blows. None came, as Belmer whipped away to join the line of Sharkers and sailors who stood matching the lantern and the forest.

The beach was bone pale in the moonlight. From he black tree line came the moaning. It grew louder as the lantern tumbled across the sand, miraculously, the lamp did not break. It lay tilted against a stone near the forest's edge, casting its yellow light against the nearest trees, and then upon what emerged from them.

Ghosts, thought Sharessa. The first looked like one of the great bloated dead of the sea. Huge and pale, with thick wallows of fat rolling down from its hairless head, it shambled toward the light. More emerged from behind it, their skin twisted and grotesque as if ravaged by disease. On some Sharessa could see patches of bone where the flesh had flowed away like lava from a dying volcano. In other places the flesh had run together and hardened in ugly knots.

From their hands twitched long, hard claws. Shadows spidered across their naked skin, and the lamplight trembled at their approach. Where their feet fell, twigs cracked and stones groaned. All the while, the monsters moaned in discontent, wiggling their long, clawed fingers.

Three, Sharessa counted, then five, then eight, and more kept coming. With them came a ghastly wind. Sharessa couldn't feel it on her face, but it blew through her bones, leaving them brittle and fragile. She had seen the restless dead clack across her ship's deck on bony feet, and with Belmer and the other Sharkers she had fought them. Even the grave could not ooze this fearsome atmosphere. These were horrors from a farther shore, blown into the world by the icy breath of hell.

Sharessa wanted to look for Belmer, but she couldn't take her eyes away, lest upon turning back she find one of the fiends standing beside her, reaching out with those hard, sharp fingers.

"Go!" hissed Belmer.

Turbalt shrieked, and Shar looked to see him kneeling on the sand, alone. His men had already heeded Belmer's order or their own terror. They ran with frightened speed, the Sharkers not far behind. "Go!" repeated Belmer. "Now!" Shar paused for less than a second, then spun on her heel and ran north, leaving the blubbering Turbalt behind. Anvil ran before her, purposefully slow to let Sharessa and Belmer catch up. Sharessa could feel Belmer beside her, but all she could hear was the pulse of blood in her ears.

Turbalt screamed louder than ever, and Shar turned back, slowing to a jog.

The shuffling fiends had reached the lamp. A few milled around it, muttering in confusion or fascination. The rest shambled past, toward the sound of rurbalt's panic. The ship captain screamed, stumbling backward toward the surf despite the wide es-: ape route to the north.