“YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE TO DO

BETTER THAN THAT.”

Martok coughed, spitting black spots out onto the snow, though the lung puncture might be the least of his worries. With each passing second, strength drained out of him and he felt a strange, unaccountable pressure in his chest around his heart.

Off in the distance, another creature howled; more of Gothmara’s pets on the prowl. Almost as if it could not control itself, the Hur’q before him threw back its head and howled in response and Martok knew he had his chance.

When the distant voice echoed across the plain again and the last before him lifted its head to respond, Martok struck. If not for the deep snow and his shattered leg, the blow would have been perfect, but as it was all he did was slash the monster’s jugular. Blood jetted out as its heart pumped the Hur’q’s life out onto the snow, but life did not flee its body. Snapping its head forward, the beast launched itself at Martok, who was ready for it. He aimed to deflect its attack, to give its heart time to finish the job, flutter and fall silent, but the edge of the cliff was too close and his body too battered.

The pair of them, monster and warrior, scraped to a halt at the lip of the precipice and, for a brief, thrilling moment, Martok thought he might be able to keep the blade pressed against its nose, to hold it, just long enough. Its eyes grew dim and he could feel its breaths coming shorter and shorter. Death would come. Its head would drop onto the ground and Martok would climb up over the corpse, find his communicator and Pharh would get him out of there before the other Hur’q found him. He would be warm again and there would be medicine and food ...

... And then the ice shelf crumbled from beneath them both.