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As far as he knew, his only supply of drinkable water was that tank of evil-smelling rain which would be speedily evaporated by a sun such as the one now beating down on him. And between him and the shore was the sea, a sea which harbored such creatures as the fork-tail he had watched die.
Shann thought them suicidal in their indifference as fork-tail, short legs sending the fine sand flying in a dust cloud, made a rush toward its enemies. The Wyvern who had led the beast ashore did not move. But one of her companions swung up a hand, as if negligently waving the monster to a stop. Between her first two digits was a disk. Thorvald caught at Shann's arm. "See that!
Shann, frantic with pain, drove his free fist into one of those eyes. Fork-tail jerked convulsively; its head snapped down again and Shann was free. The Terran threw himself back, keeping his feet with an effort. Fork-tail was writhing, churning up the sand in a cloud.
Fork-tail had crouched again for a spring, but that throat-crackling blast appeared to startle it. Shann, blade ready, took a dancing step to the right. The thing was scaled, perhaps as well armored against frontal attack as was the shell-creature he had fought with the aid of the wolverines.
He sniffed at a dollop of blood, the dark, alien blood, spattered on Shann's breeches, and then his head came up with a reassuring alertness as he looked to where his mate was still worrying the now quiet fork-tail. With an effort, Taggi got to his feet, Shann aiding him. The man ran his hand down over ribs, seeking any broken bones.
Why had he not tried the stunner on the beast? He had just never thought of it when he had taken that leap into the role of dragon slayer. "Not that it would have done you any good to try the ray; it has no effect on fork-tail." "You tried it?" "Naturally. But you didn't know that, or did you pick up that information earlier?" "No," answer Shann slowly. "No, I don't know why I used the knife.
Fork-tail wrenched its body, striving to reach its tormentor with fangs or clawed feet. And in that struggle to achieve an impossible position, its head slued far about, uncovering the unprotected area behind the skull base which usually lay under the spiny collar about its shoulders. Shann went in.
Her foot slipped into a hole and she was thrown backward, her control disk spinning out of her fingers. At once the monster she had charmed shot forth its head, snapped at that spinning trifle and swallowed it. Then the fork-tail hunched in a posture Shann had seen the wolverines use when they were about to spring.
Bone, muscles, scaled flesh, half buried in the sand, swept up a cloud of grit into the face of the man and the animals. Shann fell back, pawing with his free hand at his eyes. The wolverines circled warily, trying for the attack they favored the spring to the shoulders, the usually fatal assault on the spine behind the neck. But the armored head of the fork-tail, slung low, warned them off.
The wolverine used her claws to hitch her way up the spine of the sea monster, heading for the mountain of blood spouting from behind the head. Fork-tail fought to raise that head once more; then the massive jaw thudded into the sand, teeth snapping fruitlessly as a flood of grit overrode the tongue, packed into the gaping mouth.
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