Garth Nix - Beyond the Sea Gates of the Scholar Pirates of Sarsköe

“I told you that I ate my enemies,” said Fury huskily. Her tail twitched and she bobbed her head in a manner no human neck could mimic. Hereward could barely understand her, human speech almost lost in growls and snarls.

“You did not tell me your name, or your true purpose.”

“My name is Hereward,” said Hereward, and he raised his open hands. If she attacked, his only chance would be to grip her neck and break it before those teeth and nails did mortal damage. “I am not your enemy.”

Fury growled, speech entirely gone, and began to crouch.

“Fury! I am not your—”

The leoparde sprang. He caught her on his forearms and felt the nails rake his skin. Fending her off with his left hand, he seized hold of the necklace of yellow diamonds with his right and twisted it hard to cut off her air. But before he could apply much pressure, the beast gave a sudden, human gasp, strange and sad from that bestial jaw. The leoparde’s bright eyes dulled as if by sea-mist, and Hereward felt the full weight of the animal in his hands.

The necklace broke, scattering diamonds, as the beast slid down Hereward’s chest. Fitz rode on the creature’s shoulders all the way down, before he withdrew the stiletto that he had thrust with inhuman strength up through the nape of her neck into her brain.

Hereward closed his hand on the last diamond. He held it just for a second, before he let that too slip through his fingers.

“Inside!” called Fitz, and the puppet was at his companion’s knees, pushing Hereward through the door. The knight fell over the threshold as Fitz turned and gestured with an esoteric needle, threads of blinding white whipping about faster than any weaver’s shuttle.

His work was barely done before the wave hit. The ground shook and the sorcerous bubble of air bounced to the ceiling and back several times, tumbling Hereward and Fitz over in a mad crush. Then as rapidly as it had come, the wave receded.

Fitz undid the bubble with a deft twitch of his needle and cupped it in his hand. Hereward lay back on the sodden floor and groaned. Blood trickled down his shredded sleeves, bruises he had not even suspected till now made themselves felt, and his feet were unbelievably sore.

Fitz crouched over him and inspected his arms.

“Scratches,” he proclaimed. He carefully put the esoteric needle away inside his jerkin and took off his bandanna, ripping it in half to bind the wounds. “Bandages will suffice.”

When the puppet was finished, Hereward sat up. He cupped his face in his hands for a second, but his burned palms made him wince and drop them again.

“We have perhaps six hours to gather materials, construct a raft and make our way out the gorge,” said Fitz. “Presuming the eagre comes again at the usual time, in the absence of Um-Uthrux. We’d best hurry.”

Hereward nodded and lurched upright, holding the splintered doorframe for support. He could see nothing beyond Fitz, who stood a few paces away, but he could easily envision the many corpses that would be floating in the refilled harbour pool, or drifting out to the gorge beyond.

“She was right,” he said.

Fitz cocked his head in question.

“Meat and water,” replied Hereward. “I suppose that is all we are, in the end.”

Fitz did not answer, but still looked on, his pose unchanged.

“Present company excepted,” added Hereward.