Mood.
Chongo.
They had saved him before. He lurched inside the stockade. Rocked his bullish shoulders back and forth, on his toes.
“Grrrrr … umph!”
Nothing moved but him.
He tried again with the same result.
“Bish!” His voice was more of a croak than a sound.
He’d failed his friends and his dog. He’d failed them all, and they would all die at the hands of the underlings in the end. Now, all he could do was sit in misery and wait for his slow death to come. His thoughts drifted back and forth, between reality and some other world, hour after hour, day after day for all he knew.
His inner fire was dim, but not out. Not as long as the scent of underling skin that he knew so well was about. Hatred kept his heart beating when most men’s would fail. Vengeance stoked the coals in his belly. Somehow, if he could get ahold of one more underling, he could die satisfied. If he could even just sink his teeth around one of their throats.
***
Dead silence. His ragged breathing. His only company until the familiar sound of a key being turned in a lock clicked in his ears. It might as well have been a trumpet blast that jostled Venir from his sleepless slumber. Stiff as a board, every joint in his body ached. He tried to move. The gash in his thigh where the underling stabbed him throbbed with its own life.
“Water,” he said. It wasn’t audible. The deep recesses of his mind blurted out another warning.
Be quiet, Fool! Shut up! Listen!
A steel door swung open and banged against the wall. A rush of cool air followed. Chill bumps rose along his arms, igniting each and every hair.
I’m still alive after all.
Booted feet entered. Rubbing plates of armor and weapons jangling followed. It was music to Venir’s ears―until someone poked him in the ribs.
He jerked in his shackles and moaned.
Bloody bastards!
“Check the cuffs on those leg irons, and unfetter the stockade,” a man said. His voice was familiar.
Venir turned his head. It was the leader of the Brigands. The ones posing as Royal soldiers he’d encountered in the gorge. Venir tried to recall how many men the leader had said they had. Less than a hundred, was it? His blood thickened in his veins.
“Tuuth,” the leader said, “keep that spear on his back in case he makes any sudden moves.”
The orc snorted. “He’s not going to move anywhere. He won’t be able to walk. Look.”
Venir could feel the light from a lantern on his face. The others came closer.
“Gad! That is disgusting!” the leader said. He covered his mouth. “Give me that torch.”
“No,” the orc said. “The underlings like this. It’s not ours to mess with.”
Venir felt a lump form in his throat. What was going on? What was wrong with his legs?
“Give me the torch, Tuuth,” the leader said. “The Bone with the underlings. This man’s a warrior, and he doesn’t deserve to die with his legs eaten off.”
“It’ll be your legs sticking out of the ground, not mine, Fraggon,” the orc said. “You humans are so soft. Like buttered bread.”
“And you orcs are rotten like basilisk eggs. Look at this!” Fraggon held the light closer. “So vile.”
Venir heard another man squat down beneath him and gag.
“Blecht!” Another one spit a mouthful of bile from his mouth. “All these years, and I still can’t stomach it.”
Tuuth shoved one man onto his back and hunched his big frame down in the light. “Bone. That is nasty. Heh. Heh.”
Venir raised his neck from the stockade and groaned. His head felt like it weighed a ton. He mumbled something incomprehensible. He was trying to say, “What’s wrong with my legs?” He couldn’t even feel them.
“Keep him steady while I burn these things,” said the leader, Flaggon. “Hold him, men.”
Tuuth clamped his arms around Venir’s chest. Pinning his arms at his sides.
The others grabbed his legs.
“It’s for the better, Stranger. An act of mercy I don’t normally give, but you’ve earned that much respect from me,” Tuuth said into the bag over his head.
“Mercy?” one brigand soldier started. “He’ll need more than that. These grubs have eaten holes so deep in his flesh I can see the bone.” Venir heard the man swallow. “Ah slat, I’m getting sick again.”
“He’s lucky for the leaches; that much is certain,” Fraggon said. “They suck the blood and numb the pain. Gad, you don’t usually see both like this.” He took a dagger out and sliced one off that was bloated with blood and as big as his hand.
“How this man lives, I’ll never know,” the other brigand said. He spit more bile from his mouth. “He should be dead.”
“Well, the grubs eat the skin, but they cauterized the holes somehow. I’ve seen men with tunnels of holes all over them that still live. But you’re right; he should be dead, and I don’t think the underlings want that yet.”
Venir felt heat on his legs. His heart pounded inside his chest like a war drum. He’d seen grubs and leeches and what they did to the flesh. It horrified him.
What have they done to me!
Fraggon continued. “You’ve been blessed and cursed it seems, Stranger. The grubs and leeches are enjoying their meal, and a big beefy man like you can feed them for days. Well, what’s left of you, anyway. But I don’t think the underlings want you dead just yet; else they wouldn’t have sent for you. But, I can’t guarantee you’ll live through this next step either. I mean, you might live, but I don’t see you ever walking again. A shame too. You have him secured, Tuuth? I’d say there be some fight in him.”
“Should I take the bag off and let him breathe? Let him bite down on something?”
“Are you volunteering your finger, Tuuth? My, so compassionate you’ve become for the stranger. No, just leave it on. It’ll muffle the screams well enough. Not that the underlings would mind that one bit anyway. Stranger, may Bish be with you.”
I don’t have the strength to— “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAWWW!”
It felt like the tendons of his muscles were being pulled from his skin. Inch by inch. It was unimaginable. Excruciating. Mind numbing. His body shuddered from toe nail to chin. The top of his skull was on fire.
Flaggon pulled cord after cord from within and seared his skin with the torch.
Venir screamed. Stopped. Screamed some more.
“My, he’s a gusty one,” Tuuth said.
“That grub’s as long my innards!”
“Keep pulling it out!” Flaggon said. “It’s almost out! Get the knife ready so we can cut the head off!”
It felt like a cord of thick rope was being pulled through his body. He yelled at the top of his lungs, “GET THAT BLASTED THING OUT OF ME!”
“There’s the head! Oh slat! What’s in the mouth of that thing! Keep it still!”
“Kill it!”
The sound of steel cut through the air.
Slice!
“You got it! Bish! Barely! It almost got us!” Flaggon said. “How’s the man, Tuuth?”
Tuuth shrugged his broad shoulders. Venir wasn’t moving. “He’s breathing, not that it matters. He’s crippled now. A peaceful death being eaten alive would have been better.”
What have the underlings done to me!
Thoughts were racing through Venir’s mind despite the agony. How much suffering would they put him through?
Someone pulled the bag off his head
When he managed to look up, it was into the big pale face of the orcen man, Tuuth.
“His eyes still have some fight in them, Flaggon. Look at this?”
Flaggon stepped into view, eyed him and said with avid curiosity, “Can you stand, Stranger?”
“Can underlings die?” Venir said. He pushed against the stockade. Wobbling on his feet.
Tuuth and Flaggon looked at each other, astonished.
“Can you walk?”
Venir took his first step and collapsed face first to the stone floor.
“Help him up,” Flaggon said.
“No!” Venir said.
He was free. Despite all the pain, he was going to enjoy it. Unable to use his hands because of the pain in his wrists, he rolled onto his elbows. He pushed himself over and sat himself up. He felt like he would pass out.
Bone!
He saw his legs. They were raw. Scarred. Pale as the orc. There was a hole in his thigh that led to the bone. That was the first one he saw. To the side, the grub lay dead on the floor, six feet in length. It looked like a hairy earthworm as thick as his thumb. Its head as big as his knuckles and filled with tiny teeth. His stomach churned bile up to his throat, but nothing came out.
“Well, Stranger,” Flaggon said “you can’t walk, but we’ll let you crawl if you like. Else we can carry you.”
“No,” Venir said.
He was numb. Looking at his arms, the bracers on his aching wrists were loose. The bulges in his arms were gone. What had been done to him? The only thing left whole on him it seemed was his beard.
“Then get moving, Stranger. The underlings are expecting you.” The brighter tone that Flaggon carried changed. “And seeing how you survived this much, I can only warn you that the worst is yet to come.”
Venir swallowed hard. On elbows and knees, trembling, he crawled forward.
***
Tuuth rubbed the bracers on his wrists. The haggard form of Venir crawling stirred him. In the little amount of time the man had been imprisoned, he’d become a husk of the man Tuuth had battled earlier. Tuuth would never forget the shock in the man’s granite face when he cracked his wrists. It should have broken the man. But it hadn’t. The Stranger still had fire in his eyes. An anger. A thirst.
Watching Venir crawl up the steps, he shook his head. Tuuth unslung the man’s backpack from his shoulders and pulled out the sack. He’d already been into the woods and back again, searching for the man’s armament. Opening the neck of the sack for what might as well have been the hundredth time, he reached inside and found nothing. Stuffing the sack inside the backpack, he hoisted it back over his shoulders. There was something going on. There had to be. Magic had to be the answer; he’d keep the stranger’s clothes.
Grabbing the cloth bag that hung on the stockade, he caught up to the stranger and stuffed it over his head.
“What’d you do that for?” Flaggon said. “It’s bad enough he crawls on all fours, and now you’ve blinded the man too. At least let him enjoy the sights before he gets there. Heh-heh.”
The torchlight flickered over Venir’s haggard form that kept crawling inch by inch up the steps. Tuuth wasn’t the only one that grimaced a little as Venir dragged his mangled legs over the steps.
“It’ll take him hours to get there at this rate,” Tuuth said. He picked Venir up and hoisted him over his shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Suit yourself, Tuuth. I’ve not the interest to carry the big lout,” Flaggon said. “Come on, men. Let the friendly orc handle this. Seems he has an interest in big helpless men.”
Snickering, they headed up the steps and out of sight.
Several steps up, Tuuth set Venir back down. “Where are your weapons and armor, Stranger?” Tuuth tore off the burlap bag and grabbed him by the head of hair. “Where is it? Is it magic? Can I summon it?”
Venir’s eyes fluttered open. He shook his head. “Comes and goes,” he said.
Tuuth wrapped his hands around Venir’s thigh and squeezed.
Venir groaned and sputtered.
“Do not lie, Stranger. I will have those weapons and armor. Tell me, and maybe I can get you some water.”
“Humph,” Venir said. He spit out a laugh. “Like the wind, fool orc.”
Tuuth squeezed again.
Venir groaned. He stared back in Tuuth’s eyes. “Maybe you didn’t look hard enough, Orc.”
“Perhaps I should break your ankles as well,” Tuuth said. He squeezed harder.
“Perhaps,” Venir said, “you should take a bath, you filthy or—” Venir’s eyes fluttered up into his head, and his body slumped forward.
“Borsch!” Tuuth said. He grabbed Venir by his head of hair and dragged his heavy body up the stairs.
CHAPTER 8
Beneath the clouds above the City of Bone, the most beautiful woman on Bish stood, watching the unraveling chaos below. Trinos. Her world. Her rules. Life and death meant nothing. Meant everything.
Running her elegant fingers through her thick locks of platinum hair, she sighed.
“What to do? What to do?”
In the past, she’d been detached from the lives and deaths of all the colorful people, but now, watching them suffer and cry out, she felt something.
“I wonder where Scorch is, and what he’s doing.”
Scorch had meddled with her creation for his own entertainment. She sought him out, to hold him accountable. It was the most alive she’d felt since she was immortal. She was feeling all kinds of things.
She imagined Scorch was feeling the same, or was he? Shortly after their encounter at the Void, the two infinite beings had agreed that rather than suffer the endless expanse surrounding the tiny world, they would share a fate on the world of Bish. Each had buried the majority of their power in the heart of the world’s center and set out on their own. They hadn’t seen each other since.
Soaring the sky, the high winds billowed the robes along her perfectly figured body. She stopped. Hovered and touched a cloud.
“I imagine he isn’t nearly so attached as I feel. I wonder what he will do?”
Below her, The City of Bone was in turmoil. The Royals that ruled it had made conditions unpleasant enough to begin with, but now the citizens were in deeper straights. The underlings came. A black menace of small people designed to bring nothing but restlessness and terror to the world.
“Humans win; underlings lose. Underlings win; humans lose. I’ve seen it so many times before. But they come up with the most interesting ways to destroy one another.”
Bodies fell. Burned. They were dragged over the cobblestones and torn to bits. It was having an effect on her. The longer she stayed on Bish, the more attached she became. The world itself, a living and breathing thing. She felt it. So many people were dying, screaming, wailing, and begging for life to be over. Some fought. Most ran, and the Royals, the so called protectors, ignored their pleas. The people pounded on the walls of the castles. Their cries were not heard.
Trinos’s fists clenched at her sides when a woman and her children were shot down as they tried to force their way through a gate to find safety. She wasn’t sure which angered her more: the underlings or The Royals.
“The hearts of men are so unpredictable.”
With little thought and a few gestures with her fingers, the Royal soldiers were lifted off their feet and dropped into the street. Two seconds later, a score of underlings appeared and tore into them. She smirked.
“Well, that was entertaining. What else can I do? Should I bring the underlings to men or the men to the underlings?” She closed her eyes. Her mind probed the thoughts of the people within the castle. “Ah, there you are, you catty little sorceress. I’ve got another surprise for you, Manamis.”
With a wave of her hands, a score of underlings were lifted from the street and dropped into one of the courtyards of Castle Kling. Several more were vaulted onto the rooftops and others through the windows.
She heard one voice in particular shriek out. She laughed. Trinos had dropped two underlings into the bedroom of Manamis Kling, the haughty old sorceress who had challenged her at the fountain.
“Surprise!” Trinos said. She clapped her hands together and smiled. “I like it!”
Manamis shrieked. She shouted. White light burst through the window. The shingles crackled. A loud explosion followed that tore the walls down, hurling underlings through the air. Dead. Smoking. Trinos laughed again as the leathery old woman
stood in the smoking hole where the wall once stood, looking around. Trinos grinned. Manamis screamed out orders and blasted the underlings with balls of blue fire.
“Bitter, but strong that one is. Crafty, too. I better keep an eye on her.”
Trinos moved on from one incident to the other, observing, interfering, while trying to sort it all out in her mind. Below, she heard many of the people crying out for her in the 21st District.
She’d known the underlings were coming, but she hadn’t warned the people. She wanted to see what happened and was curious how it would affect her. Corrin, Billip, and Nikkel had survived, while most of her people fell. The fountain was bloody and marred with death. The survivors had dragged the bodies of man and underling from the fountain, and the waters had cleared.
Why did I let this happen to them?
The men were valiant in their efforts, but the price was great. The big black man with a wonderful smile and cavernous voice, Mikkel, had fallen. His son was on his knees, sobbing and drenched in tears. Even Corrin’s hard eyes were dampened.
Trinos felt something stir inside her. Sympathy. Worry.
Focusing, she located Georgio. She liked the young man that was full of hope. Determined to find a friend he so admired. There was something special about him, good, honest and pure. He and his friends were in a bind. The underlings had chased them down the streets and cornered them in an alley.
Georgio and another strange large man stood their ground, each of them battling with the ferocity of many warriors in one, but it would not last forever. They would all die. Even the shaggy bellied animal called Quickster.
“I can’t save them all, but I can at least save the ones I like.”
BLINK!
The colorful eyes of the underlings widened in the alley when the men, women and pony disappeared. Below Trinos, alongside her fountain in the 21st District, the small party re-appeared, dismayed.
“Where in all Bish did you come from?” Corrin cried out.
It was music to Trinos’s ears.
CHAPTER 9
“Mercy!” Joline shouted into the kitchen, “Get out there and take some orders. We’re busy, you know.”
Chaos At The Castle (Book Six) Page 4
