It was Sir Kralaford's unborn child that saved his life on the evening of Glok's Ascension Day. The light from the open door of the washroom's antechamber woke him. Tahlessa's pregnancy, with the child's position and constant kicking, was evidently taking its toll on her bladder again. He rolled over to turn his back on the light from the door. It could have been the second time his wife had left the bed that night, or maybe the third. He could not tell what hour it was, but he could see that the night beyond their bedchamber window, left open to relieve the room of its humid heat, was still black.

He would have returned to sleep, but as his eyes were about to close, they caught sight of an unfamiliar shadow beneath the window, where a shadow should not have been. He lay there unmoving, his eyes fixed on the patch of darkness, expecting it to resolve itself into something familiar, but it did not. Instead, it began to move. Without a sound it stretched itself along the floor, seeking the darker corners of the room.

Sir Kralaford moved his arm slowly, loosening the bedclothes wrapped about his shoulder, and the shadow stopped its movement, becoming innocuous once more. The knight froze in turn, though he tightened his fist, taking in it a handful of bedclothes as he continued to watch the darkness where the shadow had stopped. Maybe a minute passed before he saw the slow movement again, and once he had targeted its source, he took a breath, readying himself. With a swift movement, he leapt from the bed, pulling the covers with him and casting them like a net at the patch of slowly moving darkness.

As he landed on his feet, he saw the pale form of the thrown bedclothes undulate and then, before any chance was given for him to secure the thing beneath them, there came a sharp ripping, and a dark shape rose and lunged towards him. Something cold latched onto his arm with a sucking grip, and he thrust forward with his other arm to grab a bony limb, wrapped with sinewy muscle. A second tight claw gripped his neck and something seized his leg, so that he seemed suddenly ensnared by limbs. Without stopping, he tightened his grip on the arm he had caught and pulled backwards, dragging the thing from the darkness, across the room, still half wrapped in the billowing bedclothes.

They fell together into the light from the washroom's open door, and he saw the thing before him, its face centimetres from his own, twin rows of red eyes blinking rapidly in the sudden brightness. Its ridged and bony mouth folded open, splitting the creature's face in two from top to bottom and revealing four curved mandibles, which seemed to tremble and twitch and strain towards his throat.

There came another ripping sound and the remaining bedclothes split open. Something long and sinuous encircled his legs, while a second prehensile feeler wrapped itself about his waist so that he was completely ensnared, with no limb free and no weapon with which to defend himself.

Except for one.

The creature hissed in anticipation and drew its head back to strike. Sir Kralaford's blow was quick. Aimed with brutish efficiency. There was a crunching crack as his head connected with the creature's mouth, and it spat its anger as it pulled its head back, dark blood, streaked with clear venom, dripping from its broken fangs. It hissed again and lifted its remaining free arm, its bony fist clenched and held before Sir Kralaford's face. With a wet sucking click, a long spike of bone emerged from between its two thick fingers. There came another sickening click and Sir Kralaford saw that the creature's limb, that he still held firm, had also sprouted a sharp bone shard.

The creature's broken mouth folded back once more, seemingly in amused anticipation. It had him entrapped with its limbs and its twin sinuous tails, but it was still smaller than him by far and did not possess nearly half his strength. Though his left arm was held, he pushed forward with it, and the creature's strength was indeed no match for his. It did not loosen its vacuum grip, but could do nothing to prevent him from seizing its remaining free arm at the elbow and pushing it away from him. He could feel the creature's muscles strain, trying to bring its weapons to bear, but he held it fast.

Sir Kralaford felt the creature release its hold on his arm and transfer its grip to his neck, so that two claws clasped at his throat, a tightness that no amount of strength could resist. He tried to take a step forward, to reach the wall of the room and dash the creature's head against the hard metal, but his legs were still entwined and he stumbled forward onto his knees, gasping for air that the claws at his throat would not allow to pass.

Soon the darkness would close about his eyes and his strength would leave him. With a final burst of desperation, he tightened his grip on the creature's two arms. And he pulled. He forced them apart, stretching his arms as wide as they would go, feeling the resisting bone and muscle of the creature's body. A body that he intended to break.

As he pulled with the last of his strength, the darkness danced in front of his eyes in specks and circles of colour. And when he thought he could pull no more, there came a hard dull click from where the creature's arm joined its second upper limb, and it gave a screech of pain. Sir Kralaford twisted the arm that he still gripped at the elbow and it moved loosely, while the creature screamed, tightening its grip on his legs. It released its hold on his neck and scrabbled with those wet talons at his arms, which still pulled and caused it so much pain.

Sir Kralaford heaved in a grateful breath, but he had no time to draw a second before a weight fell on his back, dropping from the darkness above. His arms were immediately ensnared by familiar damp, sucking claws and sinuous tails, and his new attacker did not give him the chance to counter. He felt its breath on his neck as its mouth drew back, its fangs primed to close on his throat and fill his blood with their poison. It had an assassin's speed and it was in its element of surprise.

In that moment, there was only one thing in the room more deadly.

Sir Kralaford heard the merest thrum of sound, and the creature at his back went suddenly rigid. He felt its fangs close, creasing his skin with a tiny scratch, but then its muscles fell limp and he shrugged it off his shoulders, throwing it to the floor. It landed with a lifeless thud, the arrow that had been driven through its head jutting towards the dark ceiling.

Gasping new breaths of air, Sir Kralaford returned to his struggle with the other creature, which remained in his grasp. He released the ripped and dislocated arm, and instead seized the long point of bone on the arm that he still held tight about the wrist. He gave a great roar, twisted and pulled, and the shard broke from the creature's hand with a wet grinding snap. He held it up by its bloody root, and the creature chittered and squealed as though pleading for his mercy.

Sir Kralaford had none.

First he stabbed upwards, piercing the thing's upper chest, then drew out the spike of bone, reversed his grip and thrust downwards, through the lower ribcage, where he knew its second heart beat. The creature's red eyes bulged in fear and pain, its free limbs twitching and its tails lashing about his legs. Sir Kralaford took in a deep gasp of air, inhaling the creature's dying breath, and threw it onto the floor, where it continued to writhe and twitch beside the body of its accomplice.

He turned to see his wife, the Lady Tahlessa, standing in the shadows by the open washroom door, still in her nightgown and with another arrow nocked on the string of her hunting bow. She held the bow at the diagonal so her aim would not be hampered by the bulge of her swollen belly.

Without a word, Sir Kralaford turned and stepped over the body of the creature he had killed. The thing was finally still and lay on its back, its limbs curled about it like a grotesquely displayed giant insect. He pulled the glow-light lever and they rippled into life, throwing back the shadows, then he picked up his sword from where it lay on the wall table and drew it from its scabbard. He glanced quickly around the room's dark corners before he crossed to the heavy chamber door, pulled it open and stepped into the room beyond.

"Sentry!" he bellowed as he pulled the outer chamber door open.

A soldier in the grey uniform of his Chapter appeared immediately, his eyes widening when he saw the dark blood smeared over his commander's arms and hands.

"Alert the Fortress Custodian! We have intruders!"

Sir Kralaford went back into his bed chamber. His wife had crossed the room to the window, her bow still drawn and a belt of hunting knives now slung over her shoulder.

"Take care," he said as he crossed to the bed. With his sword ready, he placed one foot on the side of the heavy wooden frame and pushed, sending it scraping and sliding over the metal floor, crumpling the ornate rugs that covered it. The space beneath the bed was empty.

He crossed to the window to stand by his wife, who was scanning the night outside.

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

He rested one hand on the ledge and looked down into the shadows of the keep's towers, their darkness capable of concealing any number of potential assassins. Lights were already appearing in the windows in the keep below as the fortress was roused from sleep. A karabok horn sounded on the battlements below, and its call was repeated along the outer fortifications and then far in the distance, as the soldiers in the barracks were woken.

"Sir?" said a voice from the bedroom doorway behind them.

Sir Kralaford turned to see a tall soldier in the uniform of one of his Section-commanders standing there. He glanced down at the two dead creatures lying on the rugs of the bedroom floor, but his face remained impassive.

"Sir! The Custodian requires a report."

"Tell him we have nadidge in the fortress. Two are dead but there may be more. He will know what actions to take."

The soldier saluted and turned away.

"And send a doctor up here," said Tahlessa. "Fos if you can find her."

The soldier nodded and left.

Sir Kralaford went to one of the dead creatures and nudged it with his foot.

"I think it is a little late for doctors, my love."

"Not for them," said his wife, coming to his side.

She raised her hand to his neck and wiped away a droplet of blood.

"I think it got you."

"It is nothing."

"Still, I wish to be sure," said Tahlessa as she turned and dropped her bow and belt of knives onto the bed.

Sir Kralaford looked down at the creature he had killed. Its skin was already fading to grey, though it was still mostly black from its mimicry of the shadows, and dark purple where it had started to turn the same shade as his night shirt.

"They are as ugly as the demonologies portray," said his wife, who had returned to his side.

"Indeed. I had hoped to live without ever seeing one within the walls of Klinberg."

Sir Kralaford took his wife's hand and stood looking at the smear of blood she had wiped from his neck, then he looked up into her eyes.

"Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For my life, of course."

She smiled at that.

"What wife would do less?"

He smiled grimly.

Tahlessa looked down at their kills.

"What does this mean?"

"Dark times," said Sir Kralaford. "And trouble."

From the window, he could see the dots of glow-lights as troops began to search the battlements below.

It would be a long night. And the search would doubtless be futile.