The Spook 9 - Slither's tale

by Joseph Delaney

  In response to my words the crowd gave a roar of approval. But I did not fool myself into thinking that they were now on my side. It was just the opposite – they were looking forward to my bloody defeat. But my words had given them hope that I would make a proper fight of it; that the spectacle would not be over quite as quickly as was the norm.

  ‘You speak boldly, but soon you will start to scream, haizda mage. I will bite off your arms and legs, and lick the stumps to stop the flow of blood. Then I will give you a slow, painful death so that all can delight in your screams. Finally I will slice the soft flesh of your purrai very slowly, savouring each morsel.’

  Hearing those words, all three captives became even more hysterical, straining against their ties in vain, but I did not reply. We had talked enough. Action would speak much louder than words.

  Then came the second trumpet blast. In the following silence I heard the Haggenbrood begin to move. As the creature dragged itself out of the pit, I registered a razor-beak and two murderously sharp-clawed hands. Within seconds, the first of the selves had emerged and was regarding me with hostile, hungry eyes.

  I had never been so close to the unconfined Haggenbrood before, and it momentarily filled me with dismay. It was even more formidable than I had imagined. Despite the fact that each part of it had only four appendages and a long serpentine neck, they resembled nothing more than insects. Glistening as if smeared with some gelatinous substance, the sides and arms were covered in plates of bone like the ribbed armour worn in battle by Kobalos High Mages. It gave off a new stench now. I smelled its hunger and eagerness for battle.

  I took a deep breath, straightened my back and gathered my courage. I was a haizda mage, an undefeated warrior. I would prevail.

  Within moments its three selves were crouched on all fours, ready to spring, but they could not do so until the blast of the third trumpet was heard.

  I prepared myself to cut the bonds of the human witch and thrust the blade into her hands as she had asked. I was reaching for it, but suddenly, at the last moment, I changed my mind and left it in my pocket – with good reason too.

  OUT OF THE previous trial encounters that I had studied, on only two occasions had the Haggenbrood concentrated its efforts on its opponent, waiting to attack and devour the sacrificial purrai until after he was dead.

  In both cases the opponent had somehow managed to inflict the first wound on the Haggenbrood. In neither case had the trial lasted long, but the move had succeeded in changing the pattern of conflict. If I could get it to concentrate solely on me, then the intervention of the witch would be an even more effective surprise.

  As the sound of the third trumpet echoed from the walls of the auditorium, the twelve limbs of the Haggenbrood extended, and the three selves each came up onto two legs, growling with battle-fury. Then it attacked. I was the target, not the purrai.

  But a fraction of a second later I began to move too – directly towards it. In my left hand I held Old Rowler’s sabre; in my right my favourite dagger.

  Five strides, each faster than its predecessor, brought me to the edge of the pit and within cutting range of my multi-selved opponent. The element of surprise was now mine. It had not expected me to be so bold. Teeth snapped towards me. Hot foul breath was in my face. Talons missed my face by the thickness of a rat’s whisker.

  Then it was my turn.

  I attempted two blows, one fractionally after the other. The scything cut with my sabre missed because of the amazingly rapid reaction of the self I’d targeted; my favourite dagger didn’t.

  Its tip penetrated an eye. The crowd roared. Three throats gave a simultaneous delicious scream. Each self felt the pain. That was good to know.

  Now the Haggenbrood only had five eyes left.

  Then I leaped across the pit, landing safely on the other side. My tail was parallel with my back and ready. I needed it for balance.

  The selves scuttled towards me, jaws open wide, faces twisted in fury. But they didn’t leap over the pit. They kept to the edges – two on my left, one on my right. I waited until the very last moment, then did a back-flip, returning to the opposite side. Quickly I ran towards the post where the witch in the shape of Nessa was secured, and cut her bonds.

  As I handed her the blade, a huge gasp went up from the crowd. This had never been done before, but there was no mention of it in the rules. It was perfectly legal.

  We stood side by side facing the pit. Once again the three selves of the Haggenbrood circled it slowly, five eyes signalling their fierce intent.

  Sometimes in battle we act instinctively. The thrust of a blade, the avoidance of a spear is automatic and faster than thought. One enters a trance-like condition in which the body moves of its own volition, far faster than any action can be planned.

  So it was now. And there was something else: when I fought alongside the witch, it was as if we shared one consciousness. Whether she employed some human magic to achieve that, or whether, in the heat of battle, we somehow became transcendent, elevated to a fighting ferocity where our two bodies were controlled by one joint mind, I didn’t know. But it seemed to me that the way we two fought was similar to the Haggenbrood’s coordinated selves.

  My concentration was total and I no longer heard the baying of the excited crowd. I fought with Grimalkin in a pocket of silence.

  One touch was enough to cause kirrhos, the tawny death, but as we attacked, taking the battle to the Haggenbrood, its claws missed my face by inches. I felt its collective corrosive breath singe the skin of my face, but our blades flashed and the creature screamed. We cut it and it bled.

  I was aware of Grimalkin’s cuts and thrusts as if they were my own; no doubt she too felt my strikes at the enemy that confronted us. It was as if I were floating just above my body, watching us do battle below. I remember briefly wondering how the fight appeared to the spectators on their tiers of seats. Surely they would not see it as I did?

  For how could the purra, Nessa, fight with such consummate ferocity and skill? Somehow the witch must be cloaking that from their gaze, making it seem as if the brunt of the battle was all mine. In truth, it was hard for me to judge which of us made the greater contribution. As I said, we were like one. My arms were her arms; her blades were my blades. It was a pleasure to share combat with such a warrior.

  Within moments two of the Haggenbrood’s selves had been cut to pieces, their body parts scattered across the arena floor. Victory was almost ours, but then, with victory almost in sight, there was a small reversal of fortune.

  The last of the enemy selves broke away from us and scuttled straight towards Susan, the elder of the two bound sisters. This took me completely by surprise: the creature had hitherto shown no interest in the captives, who had their eyes shut in terror. The creature was defeated, and could not have achieved anything by such an act unless it could slay both purrai – but it would not have time for that. Perhaps it was sheer spitefulness.

  I intercepted it, slaying it on the spot by burying a blade deep within its left eye. It twitched, jerked and went into a death spasm. Seconds later all life had left its body! We had defeated the Haggenbrood. I had won!

  My unexpected victory caused an uproar which came close to a riot. Over a hundred stewards rushed in, and immediately set about the foolish spectators with clubs and maces. I watched heads break and bleed as the stewards laid about them, clearly enjoying their task. Soon more blood flowed there than had ever graced the combat area itself. It was enjoyable to watch and I savoured every moment. But all too soon the unruly spectators had been forced back into their seats.

  After order had been restored and the bodies removed, the trial judge climbed up into the arena and formally announced my win. He did not look happy at my unexpected and unorthodox triumph. I could see that he was struggling to conceal his shock and dismay. But what could he do other than confirm my victory?

  This time he did not read aloud. No doubt he had prepared only one statement – that announcing my ex
pected defeat and death. But he spoke slowly and ponderously, as if weighing each phrase in his mind before uttering it.

  ‘The haizda mage who stands before you has triumphed in combat and proven his case beyond refute. Both the Shaiksa Brotherhood and the Triumvirate must acknowledge and abide by this outcome. He is free to leave the city and may take his purrai with him. They are now officially his lawful property. That is the law and none are above it.’

  All that remained was for me to seize my property, return to my quarters and leave as soon as possible. I cut the youngest purra, Bryony, free, but when I approached the stake to which Susan was bound, I suddenly realized what had happened.

  As I’d intercepted the third self of the Haggenbrood, unknown to me, the tip of its claw must have penetrated the skin on Susan’s forearm. That had sealed her fate. Her skin had become yellow-brown in colour and as dry as ancient parchment. Her face was distorted and she was gurgling deep in her throat, obviously in the grip of terrible pain. Even as I reached her, she took her dying breath, a great rattling sob. I could do nothing to help her. There is no antidote, no cure for kirrhos.

  The youngest sister screamed in horror and grief as, within seconds, Susan’s eyes fell back into her skull and her skin began to flake and crack. Within that crust of skin her flesh had melted like soft yellow butter, and her tissues began to ooze out of the widening rifts in her skin, dissolving, dripping down her bones to form a noxious stinking puddle at her feet.

  She had succumbed to the tawny death.

  NESSA

  I WAS IN Slither’s quarters, my thoughts in turmoil, endlessly pacing back and forth across the small room allocated to me. The door was locked, and would remain so until their return.

  I remembered the arena and how Slither had graphically described what might happen. I saw in my mind’s eye the terrible Haggenbrood holding the grille with a taloned hand. Slither had stamped upon it and treated the creature with disdain, but it had never been defeated in previous trials. How would the mage fare when all three selves attacked him in the arena?

  And what of Grimalkin, the witch assassin? She was formidable and had dark magic at her disposal. She was so confident too – so very sure of herself. But if the Haggenbrood proved victorious, then my sisters would both die.

  I heard footsteps approaching Slither’s quarters, and the voices of the beast and the witch. Then a child crying. It sounded like poor Bryony. She must have been traumatized by the events in the arena, but despite that, my heart soared with joy. They were here. They had triumphed, surely . . . Otherwise they would be dead. They had won, and soon we would be able to leave this cursed city!

  Then the key turned in the lock and the door of my room was opened wide. I stepped out to look at each of them in turn. Suddenly my heart sank.

  Where was Susan?

  ‘I did my best, little Nessa,’ Slither said, and for the first time he was unable to meet my gaze, ‘but your poor sister succumbed to the terrible tawny death. Her brain turned to mush, her eyes fell back into her skull and her flesh slid from her bones. The pain was terrible, but she is at peace now. We must be thankful for that.’

  ‘What?’ I cried. ‘What do you mean? Where is Susan?’

  ‘She is dead, as I have tried to explain. One fatality was a small price to pay for such a glorious victory – surely you agree that it is better than all of us being dead.’

  ‘But you promised!’ I said, my throat and chest tightening so that I could hardly breathe. ‘You promised my father to keep my sisters safe!’

  ‘I did my best, Nessa, but the odds against us were great. I could do no more than what I did.’

  Tears sprang from my eyes and I fell to my knees beside the sobbing Bryony and held her close. I felt betrayed. I had sacrificed myself just as my father had demanded, but for what?

  ‘Say nothing more,’ Grimalkin said to Slither. ‘Your words do not help.’

  I was aware of their footsteps fading as they retreated to the far corner of the large room, leaving Bryony and me alone in our pocket of misery.

  I was in two places at once – my imagination recreating the horror of poor Susan’s death; the other part of my mind listening to the conversation between Slither and the witch, which was still just audible to me.

  ‘The two surviving girls both deserve to be taken south to live in peace with their relatives,’ I heard Grimalkin say. She was a witch, but it was good that she took our side.

  ‘I will keep my promise regarding the younger purra,’ Slither replied. ‘But I intend to sell Nessa in the slave market, as is my right. After all, she belongs to me. She is my chattel. I must abide by the law of Bindos or become an outlaw. Records are kept, and after my triumph in the arena my notoriety will guarantee that I am closely watched. The High Mages will seize upon any excuse to bring me down. So do you intend to hinder me?’

  I looked up and saw the witch shake her head. ‘We made a trade and I will keep to it. I always keep my word. But where is the slave market of which you speak?’

  ‘It is held within the large kulad called Karpotha, seventy leagues directly southwest of Valkarky, in the foothills of the Dendar Mountains.’

  ‘Does it hold many slaves?’

  ‘It is the largest of all our purrai markets, but the numbers vary according to the season. The end of winter heralds the first of the auctions. In about a week’s time the first big spring market will be held there. Hundreds of purrai will be sold and bought within its walls before being taken in chains back to Valkarky.’

  Grimalkin was silent for almost a minute and seemed to be deep in thought. At last she spoke again. ‘Where do your own women dwell?’ she asked. ‘Within the walls of your city I found no trace of them.’

  I saw the look of dismay on Slither’s face, and he seemed to stagger as if the question had shocked him to the core of his being.

  ‘We Kobalos do not talk of such things,’ he replied, clearly outraged. ‘To ask such a question is a flagrant breach of etiquette.’

  ‘But I am an outsider,’ Grimalkin replied. ‘One foreign to your customs and beliefs. So I ask you to answer my question so that I may learn.’

  ‘I too would like an answer!’ I called angrily across the room. ‘You are hiding something – I feel sure of it!’

  Slither glanced quickly towards me, but his answer was directed at Grimalkin. ‘Our females were called Slarinda; they have been extinct for over three thousand years.’

  ‘Extinct? How could that happen? And how do you continue your species without females?’ she demanded.

  Slither answered her second question first. ‘Kobalos males are born of purrai – human females held prisoner in the skleech pens.’

  The witch nodded. ‘Why did the Slarinda all die?’ she persisted.

  ‘It is a tale of madness, of a time when our whole people must have become temporarily insane. All our women were executed in a vast arena; once its inner doors were shut fast, it could be flooded. And on that day of madness it was flooded with blood.’

  ‘What?! You murdered all your women?’ I screamed out, clutching the sobbing Bryony even tighter. ‘What manner of filthy beasts are you?’

  I saw Slither’s tail quiver upright against his back, as it sometimes did when he was annoyed or faced danger. But he didn’t so much as glance in my direction. It was as if I had not spoken.

  ‘The Kobalos females were dragged in groups down the steps,’ he said slowly. ‘Their throats were cut and they were suspended from chains that hung from the high roof of the stadium – until all the blood had drained out of their bodies, pooling upon the ice of the arena floor. It did not freeze, for warm air blew from conduits in the sides of the arena.

  ‘The work was carried out quickly and efficiently. Once a body had been drained, it was removed from its chain and carried back up the steps; immediately, another took its place. The females did not resist; most approached their death with bowed heads and resignation. A few cried out in fear at the approach of the
knife; very occasionally, a shrill scream was to be heard echoing across the vastness of the stadium.

  ‘For seven days the work went on, until gradually the arena was filled with blood, almost to shoulder height. From time to time, the mages stirred in small dilutions of other liquids so that it should not congeal. Finally this work of madness was accomplished. At the end of the seventh day, the last female had been killed, and our race now consisted of only males. The path had been cleared; the weakness excised; the stain washed clean. That is what they believed had been achieved.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Grimalkin said. ‘Which weakness do you speak of?’

  ‘It was thought that females made us weak. That they softened males with their wiles and undermined the savagery that is necessary to be a warrior.’

  ‘Do you believe that?’ Grimalkin asked, staring into the eyes of Slither.

  He shook his head. ‘A warrior must always guard against a softening of his nature, but it can come from many sources. It was an act of madness to kill our females, though all societies can temporarily lapse into insanity.’

  I felt sick, but was astonished to hear Grimalkin say, ‘Yes, I think you are correct.’

  ‘Of course, such events are hard to forecast, but in the case of my own people I’m sure that the madness will return. And I know the circumstances that will bring it about.’

  ‘Have you seen this? Or is it common knowledge amongst your people?’ Grimalkin demanded.

  ‘It is a faith that our people blindly hold to. But we mages have probed the future and think that it is very likely to occur again.’

  ‘When will that happen?’

  ‘I know not the “when” but I know the “why”,’ Slither replied. ‘When our god, Talkus, is born, Kobalos strength will be tripled, and we will surge out of Valkarky in a holy war that will wipe humankind from the face of this world. That is what my people believe. They will embrace the insanity of total war.’