Furnace (Hunter-Killer #1)

Chapter 24 - Barriers

Ryke's heart hammered so hard that he thought it might explode out of his chest. Shoulders square and jaw clenched tight, he forced one foot forward in front of the other, moving slowly and quietly as he crossed the threshold into the holding chamber. A musty burning smell swept over him as he entered, mixed with the antiseptic metal tang of the holding area. He realised rather abruptly that he didn't know what a Scraegan actually smelled like.

The walls soared up around him, plated with sheet after sheet of hard-forged metals, but he could see where Hackley's shock rods had driven the beast into a rage. Some of the immense armoured slabs were dented and scratched from where their captive had tried to escape. Lighting bars fixed to the ceiling high above his head provided a cold, white-blue illumination, and to his right sat a colossal water trough, big enough for several people to take a bath in it. Next to it a small panel of a door stood behind a basin which he assumed was used to feed the thing. He didn't know what they ate, but he was willing to bet they wouldn't turn their noses up at a good slab of meat.

Apart from that the room was essentially featureless – a prison cell worthy of the name. He took another step forward, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that told him to put a stop to this craziness here and now. Someone had to have the spine to see this through. It might as well be him.

Then his eyes fell upon the Scraegan.

And he stopped walking.

Even slumped in a heap on the far side of the room its very presence filled him with an instinctive, gut-wrenching dread. Rationally, he knew how big the creature was – he'd tangled with it up close in his Hunter-Killer – but seeing it again without the reassuring armour and ordinance of his war machine was very, very different. It still wore the huge robes that they'd captured it in, but that did nothing to assuage the sheer bestial power that radiated from the colossal animal. It looked like it was asleep for the moment, its huge chest rising and falling with low, bass rumbles of breath.

Ryke glanced up to his left and right. There were no windows in the chamber, but he knew cameras were following his every movement. Fixing his eyes back on the sleeping Scraegan, he breathed in deep through his nose; out through his mouth.

Then, unsure of what else to do, he very loudly and deliberately cleared his throat.

For a couple of seconds nothing happened. He stayed rooted to the spot, watching, waiting and praying that this crazy venture wouldn't end up being the stupidest thing he'd ever done. Then the Scraegan stirred and it took every scrap of his self control not to turn tail and run for the door. Instead his muscles clenched tighter and he held his ground.

A snorting grumble echoed around the room and like a building coming to life the Scraegan lumbered awkwardly to its feet. It unfurled, rising to its full height and filling the far side of the room with its immense bulk. Like a moving mountain it turned to face him.

He felt his legs tremble as the Scraegan's eyes fixed on him, jet black orbs that were totally inscrutable. Easily nine meters tall, this primal god of Rychter's sands loomed over him, scrutinizing the lone human that had entered its prison. With it facing him fully now Ryke could see blackened scorch marks on its fur and robes where the immensely powerful shock rods had been pressed into the creature's body. The dark eyes narrowed.

It took a step forward.

The sheer weight of the Scraegan's step sent vibrations through the floor but Ryke stayed put, ramming the fear away as determination gripped him. He kept his eyes fixed on the creature's muzzle, seeing the lips curl back slightly to reveal huge, blunt teeth.

Riverlords, if you're watching, Ryke thought, look after me now.

The Scraegan's head dipped as it took another step towards him, bringing its eyes closer to examine him. The thick silver fur on its snout seemed to ripple and he saw its nostrils flare briefly with a whuffing intake of breath. It must have been scenting him, he assumed, and still he didn't move. He had a definite feeling that if he did anything sudden the enormous Scraegan would paste him into a bloody pulp before anyone outside the room could intervene.