Rune and Ruin

20 - Creature

391 B.C.E. -  The Road to Rune, Coast of the Tasurian Peninsula, Spring, Month of Maius

Falx

"This is a fool's errand," Quintus says grimly as we stride away from Caere. We won't fly. Not yet. No point in giving away our position to the leeches from Rune heading toward our city.

"Ulster has fled to Rune. Our female is an Oracle. Breeder marks are etched on female hands throughout the Acera population. We have to do this, Quint," Tems argues.

"So, we leave our females behind? What if Ulster is trying to spring a trap? Worse if he's trying to get us out of our city," Quintus argues.

"We've thought of it," I point out, eyes scanning the flat ground ahead. "I doubt he thinks we'd ever all leave together. If he's trying anything, it's to split us."

"We have scouts to do this," Quintus mumbles.

"We don't want to send warriors," Tems says again. "Rumors of all three of us out of Caere, attacking fleeing Runions, that will cause utter panic for my cousin."

"A goddess told us to go on the offensive, Quint," I remind him. "We will not hide in Caere like hatchlings."

"And," Tems rolls his eyes at me, "it's a feint, anyway. We attack, start the rumors, and then return home before our females partake in their cena. Simple."

"I hope you are right, brother," Quintus says grimly.

I hold up my hand. Flickering movement far in the distance catches my eye. My demon stretches, his tongue flickering in eager anticipation. "A league-and-a-half off," I murmur. "Maybe a good target."

"Let's get a little closer," Tems encourages.

As we race closer to the small column of fleeing refugees, only a little time passes. We stop when we can see the crest on their pennants.

"Holy gods'," Tems mutters. "Is that the Dennati House? Are we..." he pats his chest... "that fucking lucky today?"

I can't stop the macabre grin that stretches from fang to fang on my face. "Think Herennius is among them?"

"If he escaped Caere instead of being swallowed by the sea, then yes," Tems replies. "The worm ran home."

"And is returning with a half-centuria only?" Quintus says doubtfully, looking over the scant warriors the noble House brought with them. A good amount for an escort through the countryside, but not when the world is crumbling below our feet.

"Looks like the entire noble household, though," Tems says quietly.

"Easy pickings. A good omen," I murmur.

Blood flows in rivers over the wet earth until, under our claws, the ground has gone to mud. Every Tasuri dies, but three. We spare four Acera, too, all females. Every other soul we dispatch to the Underworld.

Quintus casually tosses one of the Tasuri into the group we've herded together. "Not too many breeding-age females," he frowns at the four Acera females.

If they weren't already weeping and terrified, my brother's words would do the job.

"Gods' Quint," Tems says, exasperated, as he easily catches one when she flees. The female crumples in his arms, and with a look of faint distaste, Tems lowers her to the ground and steps back, dusting his hands across his bloody scales as if she contaminated him.

"What?" Quintus questions him furiously, spreading his arms wide, blood-soaked palms to the sky. "How do they have so few?" My friend turns to one of the surviving Tasuri and asks, "How are there so few Acera females with your group?"