Summon the Skirmishers to their eternal purpose, to face a foe who must be opposed at all cost. Gird yourself and join the brotherhood of 'do or die.' Created by Janet Morris and edited by Alexandra Butcher, HEROIKA: SKIRMISHERS is an anthology of desperate struggles in far flung time-scapes, the age old smell of battle and death. SKIRMISHERS --Tales for the bold among you!
Deep in a cave below Harewood Forest, an ancient creature stirred. It stretched limbs cramped from inaction, snaked a neck folded from sleep. Grunted with displeasure as leathery wings, caught by rocky projections, failed to achieve their span. This lair, perfect for a millennium, had become too small. The creature needed a new retreat to accommodate its growing bulk, a bulk fueled by the past ninety years of feeding on human flesh—flesh to sustain its semi-immortal status. Ten more years of such feasting must pass before its soul could fully renew.
It turned, neck feathers flattened, dorsal spikes ripping chunks from the walls, harsh skin rasping on the rock. Clawed feet left furrows as it forced its way down the tunnel, hooked tail lashing. Far above, the earth trembled.
Wet nostrils quivered, sampling the air, seeking the signature of wider spaces. Weak eyes peered, all but useless in the abyssal dark. The natural limestone tunnels, carved by dripping, seeping water over millions of years, stretched unknown for hundreds of miles below the weald. The beast forced itself through fissures, crawling, heaving, scraping, creating sinkholes and tremors above. It neither knew nor cared.
Scenting a void large enough to make a good lair, it turned south. Other, pleasanter scents filtered through the prehistoric chalk—scents of meat, of blood, and that other, heart-pounding, lust-inducing scent: the odor of ripe souls.
It found an echoing, water-worn space abandoned by the subterranean river that had created it, a river now running above ground, providing fresh water, fish, transport and safety for those who lived on its banks. These softer, smoother rocks would cushion ancient limbs; provide sanctuary while the beast digested the souls it must devour to survive another thousand years. A haven safe enough, perhaps, even for its ultimate purpose.
