by Conny Conway
The innkeeper chuckled, “ though she might never be her old self, she’s getting spoiled from everybody in the village, with apples, pears, carrots, barley and anything good and sweet. Did you see the other day Zuzanna and Zanna brushed her mane and tail, then they took strands of silver and braided it into her mane?”
Sparkles lit up the elves eyes.
Lann had seen that glisten, it indicated love and pride for the unicorn. They worshipped the white beast, and nothing was good enough for her.
He should have been happy for Xylophia having found a home, there she was loved and needed, but he couldn’t help himself, he still felt like a traitor, felt like he leaves something important of himself behind.
For once he really didn’t know what to do.
It was true, he and Shiloh had to press on, had to move on to the next quest, to the ninth hell, whatever it was which expected them there.
He had not told Shiloh that the unicorn planned to stay behind for the same reason he felt. He just knew she too would feel guilty of leaving their friend.
It was a hard decision, but it had to be made.
Another evening together with their friend and the next morning Lann and Shiloh, Whiplash and Willie left to face new adventures.
They left the village by a gate in the back of the settlement.
Immediately they were surrounded by walls, made of red brick, the real labyrinth. They wandered for hours, turning left then right, dodged doorways, climbed little walls, stepped over small stones and other hurdles they encountered in the maze.
They missed doorways, because the pattern made them invisible to them. Around noon they took their lunch. Ealhdun had packed a backpack full of goodies and wine.
“How come you don’t show us the way?” Lann asked Willie between bites.
“He doesn’t know it.” The wisp answered solemnly.
“And you fleabag, no idea, no wise cracking how we get out of this mess?”
The feline looked sternly.
“If I had known,
You made fun of me and my advice,
I would come down,
Scratch out your eyes.”
“Calm down, fleabag.” Lann laughed.
“This is not funny. He helped us quite a bit.” Shiloh growled.
“Is everybody in a bad mood today?” The golden warrior inquired.
“What do you expect? We are wandering for hours, most likely in circles and we’re not a little closer at all.” Shiloh said between bites, then decided she had no appetite anymore and threw the bread away.
The brick it laid on lifted magically it seemed and a very small paw fished blindly for the morsel, found it, grabbed it and disappeared under the brick ones more.
The friends had watched in wonder, waited if something else would happen, but the brick stayed in place.
“Did you see that?” Shiloh threw another crumb of bread. As it hit the ground again the paw fished for it and vanished.
“What creature is that?” She asked, throwing more bread this time to a different area. Another brick lifted and the tiny appendage reached for the food, but it was too far and out of reach so a snout with whiskers appeared as the arm stretched.
“It’s a mouse!” Shiloh’s eyes brightened. Intending to feed the rodent a better treat she broke of a small bite of the cheese and threw it. Again the mouse had to stretch even further to get a hold on the delicacy.
That’s when Whiplash darted from the wall, where he had perched and got a hold on the tiny mouse. He had pounced on its paw and the brick, trapping it in such manner, then bit into the paw, deepening his hold dragged the brick aside and pulled the rodent out of its hiding place.
He was about to devour it when Shiloh shrieked.
“Noooo, Whiplash, no. Leave that mouse alone.”
Lann recovered from the shock of the Matagot being that quick and was shaking in laughter, while the flying cat stared deviously at his mistress.
“What do you expect, he is a cat after all.”
The feline growled but didn’t dare to eat the small field mouse, though he didn’t loosen the hold he had on it.
The tiny thing wiggled and squirmed, trying to free itself from the deadly jaws, to no avail. Then all movement seized.
“Let go off it.” Shiloh ordered as she got up and held her hand under the cat’s mouth, which growled one more time from deep inside, but did let his prey go. The mouse fell into Shiloh’s palm. She lifted her hand to her face and petted the lifeless rodent.
Whiplash looked at her puzzled but kept quiet.
Again and again she tried to animated the mouse, even felt its heartbeat with her index finger, though wasn’t sure if the flutter she felt was the mouse’s or her own pulse.
She blow a gentle breath onto the mouse’s nose, it jumped up and whistled in alarm.
“Please, don’t kill me.” It pleaded.
“Oh, I would never hurt you.” Shiloh assured it.
“But….but that…that tiger there…” The mouse stammered.
“That tiger is my Matagot and will do as I bid him.”
The woman glared at the feline, which in turn hissed.
In amazement Shiloh lifted one eye brow. Whiplash hissed one more time then flew towards Lann and settled in his lap.
“See.” Shiloh stated.
The mouse in her palm, she walked toward Lann, sat down next to him, Whiplash turning his back on her, the tail swooshing a hundred miles an hour.
“Now, little one, who are you?”
“I’m….. I’m… My name is Lester, Lester Miggs.” He answered in a tiny voice.
“Miggs?” Willie floated closer. “Like the tailoring Miggs?”
“Yes, uhm, Sir. You heard of us?”
“He heard a story about a mice family, adopted by a tailor, which as he got sick returned the favor and finished a wedding cloak. Some girls were talking about them in his forest.”
The wisp hovered from side to side as it retorted.
“Yep, that’s us.” The mouse was now more animated.
“And what are you doing so far from home?” The golden warrior joined the conversation.
“Oh, that.” Lester whistled lowly.” After we finished the cloak, and the tailor was better, I split. I thought it was time to get my own groove, thought Mum and Pop had taught me enough to swing. I hung with a bunch of brothers, having a blast with a piper until they were so hyped that every single one of them hopped into a river and drowned. Man, I’m telling you, I got off my high quickly and Bro, no lie I fled the scene. I have no clue, when I arrived at my pad, but that what this is.” Lester said.
“What?” Willie wondered.” He can’t understand what you said.”
Whiplash turned his oval head, peered at the mouse.
“No wonder, little flame,
If he talks, it’s still the same,
He’s on my menu for tonight,
Willie, just keep that in mind.
Food should not talk’
Not run or walk,
Just drink some red wine
Get tenderized, you’re mine.”
“Whiplash, you’ll leave that mouse alone. If you hurt one hair on him…” Shiloh left that threat hanging and the cat understood, hissing it turned away again.
“Lester, if this is your pad, do you know your way around?”
Her gaze turned back to her palm, where the mouse had the tiniest comb with which he brushed his forehead. To her amazement she saw the tiny Elvis curl sitting perfectly between his round ears.
His whiskers twitched.
“Will you keep me safe from the monster cat?”
“Of cause, we all will.” Shiloh promised, Willie shook with laughter. “Monster cat!” his flame flickered in color to a purple.” That’s a monster cat, oh my, what a joke.”
“He won't think this so funny,
Purple is a gay color, my honey.”
Whiplash countered sweetly with his eye lashes batting.
“Enough
, you two. You, Willie, leave him alone. And you, Fleabag, will not touch the mouse, is that clear?”
Lann had enough of the bantering.
“It has been over a week,
That I ate my last mouse.
Steadily I’m growing weak,
Let me have this mouse.”
“No!” the golden warrior had raised his voice, but regretted it right away as he spied the hurt look in those cat eyes. “Look, Whiplash, Lester isn’t an ordinary mouse.”
He patiently explained, as the feline turned to him. “He talks, he can express his feelings, he is a hero, he saved a tailor from certain death, because he can sew. Now, your last mouse could it do all this, too?”
The stubborn streak in the Matagot’s eyes faded slowly as he shook his head.
“See, if you would eat this mouse you would murder a legend. I promise you the next normal field mouse is yours. In fact, if you wish I will cook it for you.” He promised.
“Don’t you dare cook a rodent,
Nor fry it in a pan,
Best you eat it in an instant,
After the catch if you can.”
Lann bit away the smirk and tried to look as stern as possible.
“If that is how you like your mouse, that’s fine with me, just not with this one.” Now he changed tactics, “Does it have to be a mouse or could it be a hamster?”
“For a mouse, I will beg.
Hamsters are rough,
Especially the cheeks, the bags,
As leather, so tough.
And now I pledge, dear Lann,
I will not kill this….Lester,
But as soon as you can,
Catch a mouse, for me, just not Lester.”
The winged man stroke the cat’s soft head.
“I knew, I could count on you.”
He winked at the Matagot as he tugged gently his ears. Then all eyes turned back to the mouse in Shiloh’s hand.
He batted its eyes and said:” I know my pad, sis, every cranny and nook.”
“Will you help us then, please?” She pleaded.
“What’s the deal?” He asked.
“You mean payment?”
“Of cause, dough, mullah, money…”
“Cheese.” She interrupted him.
His eyes grew big for just an instance.
“That’s it?”
“We might throw in some bread, but no more.” Shiloh bargained.
Lester’s brown eyes flickered but he hid it immediately.
“Not worth it, Sis. Any idea what waits out there for me? The pimp from above, the brother of…that,” he pointed at Whiplash. “The owl, traps…”
“Okay, okay.” She took a deep breath. “We’ll find our own way.” She sat the mouse on the ground and turned to leave.
“Wait!” Lester chirped. “You’ll only flatten my hood, I’ll take ya.”
Her smile was hidden to him, Lann held a straight face, Willie yelled “Wohooooo”
And Whiplash mumbled.” I saw an opportunity to eat that mouse,
But now I’ll practice unity,
With that mouse,
I pray and hope
No other Matagot will ever hear,
What kind of dope
I’ve become, oh dear.”
The fed Lester some more cheese as they broke their camp. At first the mouse had run in front of them to guide them but was utterly exhausted after a mile or two. Shiloh bowed down, sat him on her left shoulder, while the Matagot perched on her right, from where Lester directed them where to turn, when to duck or when to just go ahead.
It took them but three hours, when the walls opened up and the narrow path widened to a plaza. Lann gazed at their surroundings.
“It’s a coliseum.” He exclaimed.
Chapter 20
Marcus chocolate colored eyes were fixed on the entrée.
He heard them long before he could see them, their chatter and steps, laughter echoed of the walls.
There, another emotion had awoken deep inside of him. This one he knew was called envy.
He did envy them for their bantering, for their feeling of belonging together, the friendship they shared and they took care of each other in every which way.
He wanted to belong too.
But there was no chance in all nine hells that they would accept him in their midst. Besides, he was bound to Balor and had to do the dark lords bidding. Just like he was doing now and in the very near future, he had to bar their entry into the main hall, they were not to be allowed to enter the throne cavern under any circumstances.
The gladiator stood in a stance, his muscular body heavily armored in silver, was adorned by carvings of lions. His head was protected by a helmet, again all present the lion motive.
His calves were also clad in the same carved silver.
The straight blade of his short sword engraved by a whole pride of the majestic cats. He was ready to fight.
He grimaced, no, not fight but slaughter a demigod, his lover and several small magical creatures. These were his orders and they tasted bitter as bile deep in his throat. Gave him the feeling of choking.
The first Marcus spied was the female. She was more beautiful than he remembered.
Her auburn hair shone in the evening twin suns. Her eyes gleamed with laughter. On each of her shoulder sat two of the small creatures, one was a purple, winged cat, the other a tiny mouse with a weird haircut. She had not discovered the formidable Gladiator yet.
She was followed by a floating lantern, which swung back and forth and could have made him dizzy if he would look too long at it.
And last but not least a golden, winged warrior entered the arena, muscular, his golden hair bound in the neck by a leather thong, his cross bow hung over his back, his sword in its sheath at his side.
The difference between this man and his friends was that he discovered the silver Roman at once, took in a breath, his wings unfolded and flames enthralled them, but he took not to the air, instead he hid his friends behind the fiery inferno his wings had conjured. He too went into a stance as he unsheathed his sword.
Marcus closed the distance, threatening to look at.
“Salve, Lann.” he bit out between clenched teeth.
“Really, Marcus?” The winged man retorted.
Just for an instant, Lann saw a soft glimmer in the brown eyes, which was coveted quickly.
“Really.” he said.
He heard a grunt way above them and knew Balor was watching from his box. He hoped that Lann would not be distracted by it, he didn’t want to take the advantage to skewer the demigod.
As he wished, Lann did not lose his concentration but was aware of the stare of that one red eye.
Lann tried to push his self-loathing to the back, he should have known not to trust Balor’s word, should have expected he would send his first in command to seek them, should have waited for Balor’s deathblow.
He kept his eyes on the gladiator, as the roman arched from his left side and attacked with a powerful strike, Lann parried with his own sword, blocking the jolt of the gladiator.
Metal sang and sparks full, both man grunted, the clatter of battle echoed in the arena.
Some creatures filled seats now, following the fight with hungry eyes.
Again the Italian attacked, aiming his sword to decapitate Lann, which anew thwarted the sharp blade with his own. A quick glance over his flaming wing ensured him that the others were safe.
With this knowledge he charged the gladiator, his broadsword slicing viciously through the air connecting with Marcus’s shield or his sword. Marcus parried with his own attack, showed his skill as he ramped his shield into Lann’s chest, arching wide, Lann somewhat disorientated had the wisdom to step back, but the tip of the short sword inflicted a deep incision on his biceps.
He bit out a curse, sucked in air and brought up his large sword, only to be barred by the gladiators.
They danced a deadly dance, while swinging their swords. Marcus’
s shield was bend and his left hand caught painfully in the strap. With a twist and a turn he got a hold on Lann, embracing the winged demigod he rammed his helmet into his opponents skull, holding him tightly to his chest, so the stunned warrior was immobilized and not able to lift his sword arm, behind Lann’s back, Marcus cut the strap of his shield with his sword, relief flooded into his hand with the now free flowing blood in his veins.
He drew back his sword arm to admit the killing blow, when Lann collected his wits and held on to gladiators hand, the rhythm of their deadly dance changed, as they groaned in exhaustion, sweat pearled on both men and ran down their bodies in small rivulets, mixed with blood they left an eerie mosaic in the sands of the arena, which was now three fourth filled with onlookers, cheering when Marcus held the upper hand, booing when Lann did, through it all Balor’s laughter rang like the bells of Armageddon.
The deadly ballet lasted and stretched out. Both fighters barely able to breath, the arena grew quieter.
In the mouth of the entrée Shiloh was on her knees, praying to any which God to increase Lann’s strength, fearing the worse, closing her eyes, when Marcus wielded the upper hand, held her breath when her beloved did so.
Lester hid at her nape under her long mane, Whiplash cowered on the ground, hiding his face behind his purple wings when the situation were dire for Lann, only to flutter up in excitement when the warrior had the upper hand.
Willie took cover in a crevice in the wall, he didn’t want to see any of it, wishing he had arms long enough to plug his ears with his fingers when the crowd roared in pleasure of Marcus’s superiority and he hated it when they grew quieter and quieter throughout the feud. In his opinion that was not a good sign.
Darkness lingered in the dungeon. An eerie quietness covered everyone chained, caged or worse, the silence was seldom interrupted by a groan or a moan of the tortured.
The captive had heard the roar of the crowd followed by the hush. All took those as an omen for foreboding, all but one heart.
