They rode back into Sand String at noon with the stinger strapped across the back of a spare horse.
That had been Sera's idea. Aegis had suggested the head, and Sera had explained, with enormous patience, that the head weighed more than two of them and would be a soup of rot by the time they reached the cliff. So they took the stinger, four feet of grey plating with the barb still black at the tip, and Sera's line carried it up the rope lift.
The bottom market saw it first. Somebody screamed, and then somebody else started cheering. By the time the lift reached the third terrace there were people hanging off the rails to look.
[Oh, this is GOOD. This is like a parade.]
Aegis waved. A woman selling dyed rope threw a fistful of dried figs at her, which she chose to interpret as affection.
Zafira Summerfang was waiting at the top of the lift with six of her women behind her.
Aegis stepped off the platform in the shirt with the monster's blood dried into it and spread her arms.
