With His Own Moustache

She backed up. There must be something in the room, some way to scare it or fight it, but there was nothing, just Mother's book, an old chair, the dresser that blocked the door.

And then it was at the window. Its eye, flat and black and hollow, so close, staring right at her, and she felt naked under the weight of it, but it was still outside. It couldn't get her when she was locked in, could it?

Then the eye was gone, and there was a hand instead, too large for the window frame. It tugged at the masonry and began peeling pieces away, carefully lifting them one by one to make a bigger hole, and she wished she still had her knife, but she did not, it was stuck in that old man's body down on the lawn.

The hole was much bigger now, and the roof shook, and little streams of dust fell from the beams. Maybe she could climb up high and hide. No, it would just keep taking the room apart until it got her.

It was strong, and it was careful, but she was clever. There was always a way.

The man was still bashing at the door.

Bash, and all the bottles and jars tinkled.

Bash, she leaned into the dresser and slid it away.

Bash. Timing was important. Wait, just a second more...

She lifted the latch, and let the man in.

He blundered through the door, stumbled, and fell headfirst over the chair. He screamed in pain. His fingers were blue and black, that was something at least, and at that moment, the huge fist pushed through the hole and snatched him up. Through the hole, she glimpsed the creature holding the man upside down by one ankle, studying him with those calm, expressionless eyes, then she was out the door and running down the stairs two at a time.

The room came apart behind her. Masonry crashed into the stairwell. Dust flooded down and engulfed her. She raced along the hall, passing mother's bedroom, passing her own bedroom, glimpsing her own bottles and jars with regret. Her silk squares, neatly folded in her drawer. The soft pillow that father had brought. She left it all and raced for the servant's stairs, down and down, and behind her the walls were coming off, huge hands were reaching in, battering in the hallway flapping like bat wings, grasping at furniture, crushing and breaking, and still she ran, sliding down the spiral, into the kitchen, and through the door she could see the legs, terminating in points, hovering a few inches above the ground.

And then there was Llan.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

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Taliette stood on the lawn, facing the creature, Llan by her side. She had managed to gather a big handful of arrows from the lawn on the way, not that they were going to do any good at all.

The thing was tearing into the Cara Llandrel like a child opening a present, peeling away great chunks of stone, pulling out furniture. Its feet hovered a few inches above the grass. It leapt up high, hovering for a second over the tower, peering into the holes it had made, touching down silent as snow.

It reached inside and pulled out a man by the feet. He wriggled in the creature's grip, trying to reach the fingers with his knife. His greasy hair was flopping down around his ears. His moustache was messed up.

Stent! Stent was going to get carved up! She put a hand on Llan's arm, holding him back.

"Just wait a minute."

"Wait a minute?"

"See what it does."

"It's distracted, we should..."

"Just wait."

Again, the hot, flushed feeling that started in her chest and worked its way down to her tummy.

Stent was thrashing around less now. He hung upside-down in the creature's fist, suspended by his ankles. She could see his mouth moving. He was trying to talk to it. Greasy, greasy Stent trying to talk to a Sintarael! It was too good!

It extended one long, pointed finger, curved, elegant as a bow. The tip of its finger touched Stent's lip. Shhhhhhh. Then it hooked its finger in his mouth and unzipped his top lip, pulling it away, moustache and all.

Stent's scream was probably audible from the other side of the garden, the sobs and the wails, and still, the creature had his bloody moustache stuck to the end of its finger, studying it as though it were some extraordinary discovery.

"Why don't we attack it?" said Llan.

"Hush, we're buying time for Fen to escape. Keep quiet. Maybe it won't notice."

The elegant giant held the moustache, so delicately, balanced on the end of its finger, then very gently, it pressed it into his mouth. She heard the teeth crack, and the small choking as the finger went all the way in, all the way down the neck and into the middle of him. The little rip as the neck split open.

"It fed him his own moustache," she breathed.

"What?"

"Are you done now?" whispered her heart.

"I said we should go and save your sister."

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Fen sprinted for the door. Llan was right outside, he had his sword out, he leapt at the creature, hacking at the legs, throwing up showers of sparks.

His blade sang as he worked at it, and the creature was stooping to snatch him, but then there was Taliette. She stood, legs apart, bow up, one black arrow knocked and true. The arrow sang a sweet song. It pierced the creature through the knee, between two plates, jamming in deep, the little point stuck right there. The creature bellowed and fell, and it was tugging at the wall as it fell, and the side of the kitchen was slumping, and the great oak beams were ping-pinging out of their sockets, and she ran, as the kitchen collapsed behind her, out of the door as the lintel tilted, and the smoke billowed up behind her.

There was the Sintariel, thrashing on the ground, bellowing and heaving, and there was Taliette, poised on the back of the armoured head, shooting arrow after arrow at the joint between the head and the neck.

Then Llan had her, and she was clinging to him with her arms and legs wrapped right around him, and he was jogging away from the fallen monster and the wreckage of their home. She felt his breath, warm and safe in her hair.

"Don't leave me," she whispered into his neck.

"I'm sorry."

"Please, don't leave me again."

"I promise."

He squeezed her so tight she could hardly breathe, and she felt his tears on her forehead.