Keith Decandido - Under the Crimson Sun

Of course, the creature could have come through days before. Gan certainly hoped so-anakores were pains in the ass.

Naturally, that meant that one leaped out of the sand right toward him.

Gan barely had a chance to slash at the creature with his bone knife before it was on top of him. Weighing in at somewhere around three hundred pounds, the creature had Gan pinned to the sandy ground before he consciously knew what was happening, the anakore’s clawed hands holding him down, rendering him unable to take a second swipe with his knife.

The first swipe, sadly, barely made it through the anakore’s skin, and it wasn’t even bleeding very much.

In the flickering torchlight, Gan couldn’t really see the creature’s tiny eyes, but its spinal ridge and flat ears stood out in the light.

Gan couldn’t move his arms, but his legs were completely free, so he wrapped his legs around the anakore’s torso and locked his ankles. It didn’t do too much to immobilize the anakore in and of itself, but an anakore’s spinal ridges weren’t just decorative: they had cilia on the ends that enabled the anakore to detect movement against the shifting sands. The ridges were there to protect the ultra-sensitive cilia, but they were still exposed on top, which meant that Gan’s legs clamping down on them caused the anakore distress.

With a howl, the anakore thrashed between Gan’s knees, and its grip on Gan’s shoulders loosened a bit.

That was enough for Gan to yank his right arm loose and stab the anakore in the left bicep.

The creature’s tough skin meant it wasn’t much more than a flesh wound, but it distracted the anakore enough that Gan was able to flip the creature over with his interlocked legs, slamming it into the ground to Gan’s left.

Such a move would have been more effective on solid ground, but at least it gave Gan the opportunity to get to his feet. He held his bone knife out, taking the anakore’s measure.

As he studied the creature, he saw that the anakore was a bit on the skinny side. Usually when you found an anakore alone, it had gotten lost from its tribe, and this one had apparently been lost for a while.

That meant it was desperate and wouldn’t go down easily.

Anakores also had long arms and claws, so he was better off with a weapon that had a longer reach. He pulled out Fehrd’s father’s staff, hoping that the one lesson he took from Fehrd would take.

He swung the staff toward the anakore’s head, not actually coming anywhere near it. The anakore snarled and backed off a step, then lunged. Gan swung desperately again, but it went under the anakore’s arm. Gan felt the wind of the anakore’s claws as they just missed raking his face, and it was his turn to back up-and stumble onto his rear end in the sand.

The anakore leaped onto him once again, slicing at Gan with his claws. Pain ripped through his shoulder as the anakore drew blood.

Through the haze of agony, Gan registered that the anakore had actually pinned his legs, so he wouldn’t be able to use the same move as before.

But he had the staff, which he wrapped around the anakore’s back, grabbed it from the other end, and then rubbed it up and down the spinal ridges.

That did more than discomfit the anakore, and it screamed to the night sky.

And then it slashed at Gan’s face. Salty blood seeped into his mouth from the fresh cuts in his cheek. Had the anakore struck an inch higher, Gan would have lost his one remaining eye.

Letting go of the staff with his right hand, he brought it away from the creature’s back and thrust it up into the anakore’s belly. While he did that, he once again grabbed his bone knife with his right hand and tried to make an upward thrust.

Neither really did much harm to the anakore, but it did once again get the thing off him.

Trying to recall the grip Fehrd taught him, Gan raised the staff over his head and struck straight downward, at the last second recalling that he should use the palm of his right hand to help drive the staff with more force.

To his utter shock, the anakore didn’t parry the strike.

After a second, he realized why, as it hit the creature on its bony head to absolutely no obvious ill effect. The impact of bone striking bone shuddered through Gan’s arms, and almost forced him to drop the staff.

It was starting to get brighter. That didn’t make sense to Gan, as dawn wouldn’t come for hours.

“Having a little trouble?”

Gan whirled around to see Rol holding one of the torches-which explained the brighter light.

“No, no, doing just fine,” Gan said. “Feel free to lounge about and watch it claw me to pieces.”

“I would, but I’d honestly prefer to get some sleep.” Rol swung the torch at the anakore. It backed off, whimpering. Anakores’ biggest weakness was bright light.

Rol swung it a few more times, laughing, then leaped straight at the anakore.

For a moment, Gan couldn’t believe his eye. It was one thing to get into a grappling match with a human, elf, dwarf, or mul-but an anakore? That was suicide. Gan’s own techniques only worked temporarily because of the sensitivity of the top of the spinal ridges, and all that did was keep him from getting killed in the first two seconds of the fight.

Rol and the anakore rolled around on the sand for a few turns, taking them farther away from Gan-and from the torch, which Rol had dropped.

Gan bent down to pick up the torch. As he did so, blood dripped onto the sand and the torch itself from the wounds in his cheek and shoulder. He knew that he’d need to tend to those soon-but his first priority was Rol. The idiot had saved Gan’s hide, and Gan needed to return that favor.

They were a team, after all. That was what they did.

Howling loudly enough that Gan was amazed it hadn’t attracted the attention of the entire caravan, the anakore managed to pin Rol the same way it had pinned Gan.

But unlike before, it had two opponents. Gan shoved the fiery end of the torch into the anakore’s face, causing it to recoil.

That distracted it long enough for Rol to reach up, grab the anakore’s head at each flat ear, and then twist it far enough that its neck snapped with a crack that echoed into the night.

Rol then threw the anakore’s corpse off to the side and got to his feet.

Gan just stared at him.

“Something wrong? Besides the fact that you’re covered in blood?”

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

Pointing at the anakore, Gan said, “That! I’ve seen muls who couldn’t break an anakore’s neck like that.”

Rol just shrugged. “It was pretty skinny-probably weak. I don’t think it’s been with its tribe for a long time.”

Gan nodded, having come to a similar conclusion. “Yeah, but still-”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” Gan swallowed and tasted more blood. “I need to get these wounds tended to.”

“Are you all right?”

Gan turned to see Tirana running up to the pair of them. Several other people from the slaver’s caravan were behind her, approaching more cautiously.

“It’s all right,” Rol said. “Nothing to be concerned about.”

One of the slaver’s people asked, “Was that a braxat?”

“No,” said another, “I think it was a gith.”

“Don’t be an ass, that was definitely an anakore.”

“That doesn’t look anything like an anakore.”

Rol bellowed, “It’s dead, is what it is. That’s all that matters. Look, we took care of it. That’s what we’re here for. All of you, please, go back to sleep.”

Tirana, though, wasn’t having any of that. The head of the slavers wasn’t either, and the two of them approached Gan and Rol.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”