A flicker of movement between the trees.

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The centremost of the three searching Shaltine saw the brief rush some eighty yards away – as if part of one great tree trunk had blurred sideways to meet the next, then the second blurred towards a third, and the third towards a fourth...

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It reported the sight to its two comrades with a short, high-pitched call resembling a bird-screech. The three of them focussed on the same position at once and scrutinised it.

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Nothing.

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A trick of the light? A loose branch blown across the distance by one of the swirling gusts of wind that danced through the forest this morning..? An animal, hunting or fearful of being hunted..?

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They noted the position and would check the ground there for tracks when they reached it. Right now, their search resumed and they paced forward. Other patrols were located out of their sight, the closest pair about three hundred yards to their left and right. The expanse of land which could contain the fugitives was too vast to be scoured by closer search teams – and they knew that with every hour, the area grew potentially larger. A sense of hopelessness might have pervaded the thoughts of a human, the Shaltine would search for decades unless told to do otherwise.

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So far today, not a single human track had been located. Not even a broken branch to indicate the passage of the Shaltine’s prey. Their own trail, of course, would have been obvious enough for a child to follow. The chilling aura surrounding their armoured bodies provided abundant evidence. Around and inside their heavy footprints, the forest floor had withered to brown; frozen grass had shattered under pressure, rather than just being crushed. Leafy branches pushed aside by the searchers had also frozen – the moisture-rich pulp at the middle of the tree limbs had swelled and ruptured the bark; leaves had transformed to green ice, to either be shattered by touch or turn brown and perish later once they warmed...

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Another rush of motion.

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This time it was unmistakable. A lithe human figure darting between the trees sixty paces away, ahead and to the right. Forest shadows hid the details of the person, but their vague outline was definitely human—

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The figure had zigzagged sideways from where it had last been seen, slipped behind a group of entwisted trunks and now...

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Seemingly panicking, it left cover entirely and ran away from its hunters.

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Each Shaltine threw itself into a lumbering run in the same moment, their weapon-readied arms slashing branches out of their path. The thudding rush of their bodies startled birds nesting in nearby trees and the creatures flew off, squawking in panic.

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Ahead, their quarry retained a straight line, discarding stealth in favour of speed. The Shaltine had already reduced their distance to forty yards – minutes more and they would finally have one of their targets. They saw the figure blunder into a small clearing and rush towards the tree line on its far side...

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One of the Shaltine uttered a loud, reverberating eagle-shriek – a signal to the other teams of their success...

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At this cry, the running human stopped and turned. Did it stupidly hope for mercy..?

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They were close to the edge of the clearing now. Their keen vision recognised the halted figure to be a woman...

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The rightmost of the trio suddenly realised it was dying. It had no idea where the attack had come from, only that the lower right side of its torso was gaping open and its Nectar life-fluid was coursing free with the speed of a flowing river. The Shaltine turned its head to the right, even as its limbs sagged and it began to fall.

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Hector stood there. He had slipped from the trees silently. Now his booted right foot came up and he kicked the dying Shaltine sideways into the central member of the search party...

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This Viron automaton had not seen the Trojan appear, and did not notice the odd reaction of its comrade until it was too late. The impact of the heavy, draining corpse threw the inhuman warrior off balance—

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Hector slipped to the side of the momentarily entangled pair. He thrust his sword over the shoulder of the dead Shaltine to rip the other’s throat... and rushed on towards the third automaton, certain of his second victim’s helplessness and imminent death—

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The last Shaltine had been given the greatest warning. It met Hector shield-ready and blade-arm lashing brutally for his head.

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The Trojan ducked the sweeping blade easily. He sprang back up to full height as the enemy weapon continued to arc – and swung his own sword for the elbow of the Shaltine’s blade-arm. Hardened steel cut through the automaton’s limb like an axe hewing a sapling. The blade-ended forearm flew away – looking somewhat akin to a hurled spear – pursued by a torrent of escaping Nectar.

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He paced out of the range of the last dying monster. It crashed to its knees and toppled to land face-down on the grass.

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Hector thrust the tip of his borrowed sword into the ground and freed the dagger from his belt...

 

*     *     *

 

The call which the two nearest Shaltine parties had answered should have led them to signs of victory: the killing of one or both of their targets.

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Instead, the six Shaltine were astounded to find three of their brethren lying dead at the edge of a clearing.

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They had been slain with speed. The positioning of their corpses, all side-by-side, displayed this. There had been no chance to spread out and fight.

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Someone had cut away the arm-blades and shields of all three of the victims, then the head of one... For trophies? No, this was unlikely, given the threat facing the Atlans...

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And lastly, before leaving, one of the slayers had left a message behind. A single word, carved into the back of the centremost victim:

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ACHILLES