“See,” Via said. “You think Allric is bad, but he is only doing what he has to do to survive. Yes, some of the mixing is repulsive, but he’s alone. The other elves despise him. They would kill him for having magical power. But he isn’t like Feray, he isn’t hoarding his abilities. He is generous, in his own way.”
“I can’t do this,” Orin said.
“Of course you can. I mean, what choice do you have really? If you resist him he’ll have to kill you. Orin, we could be together, surely you see that. You could have hands and we could be happy. Isn’t that what you want?
“What I want is to get you far away from here,” Orin said.
“I won’t go,” Via said, stepping back as if Orin wasn’t tied hand and foot. “Not until I’ve learned all there is to learn from Allric. There’s nothing more important to me. I won’t be left powerless again.”
“Then there’s nothing more to talk about,” Orin said.
“Don’t be a fool, Orin. Men are so prideful. It’s ridiculous, but you’ll see. Allric is your master now, Orin. And he’ll have his way.”
Orin watched her walk away from the clearing. He felt a sense of restlessness he hadn’t felt since he was a boy. He wanted things that he couldn’t have, things that were in complete opposition. His desire to have hands was so strong it made him feel like weeping. Yet he knew that he needed to get away. There was no doubt in his mind that Allric was evil. And the only reason Feray hadn’t offered to give him hands was the fact that she didn’t know she could. That thought felt weak, like he was lying to himself. But he couldn’t fathom that Feray would refrain from doing something that would help him.
She was his friend… wasn’t she?
In his mind the argument went round and round, like a horse tied to a grinding wheel. He fought the doubts, but they found their way into his arguments anyway. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering what it would be like to have hands. The rationalization started small, but soon he was plotting how he might get the hands from Allric and overpower the sorcerer. Fatigue tugged at his mind, muddling his thoughts until only one remained.
He wanted hands. And one way or another, he would find a way to have them.
Chapter 23
Feray managed to catch a few hours of sleep before the sun rose. The sky was still overcast and gray, the forest floor was soft with mud that clung to their boots. The horses were soon covered from their hooves all the way to their chests with mud. When they reached an elvish outpost, nothing more than a group dwelling and a storage structure high in the treetops, Feray made a decision.
“I have to go help Orin,” she told Terreek. “I know I’m asking a lot, but I’ll be able to move more quickly —”
“Without your son?” Terreek said.
“I would only worry if I brought him along.”
“You would really face the monsters the vile sorcerer has conjured all on your own?”
“Orin would do the same for me,” Feray said.
“Perhaps he allowed himself to be captured,” Terreek said. “It could all be part of a plan that you know nothing about. I think it wiser if we continue north to the mountains.”
“I know that and I respect your point of view, but I have to do this. I’ll do it with or without you. I can’t lose Orin, not if I can help it. I’ve lost too many people in my life already.”
“You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Terreek said. “Not everything is your responsibility, I think.”
“Not everything,” she agreed. “But I won’t give up on Orin.”
“It would be my honor to watch over Luc. He will be fine here until you return.”
“And if I don’t,” she said, “make sure he remembers me.”
Leaving her son was the second hardest thing she had ever done. It was almost as difficult as burying her husband. But Luc, always optimistic and hopeful, seemed completely unfazed. He was excited to explore the trees, and he still had Rolo. Feray made him promise to look after Flint and Steel, the two plow horses that had become Luc’s mounts when they weren’t carrying the group’s supplies.
She had gotten good directions from Indobu, although navigating the forest from the ground was different than it was from the canopy. Still, she felt the magic guiding her, and she was confident in that if not in her own sense of direction.
She rode hard for several hours, then walked the horse until sunset. She couldn’t travel as quickly as the elves did through the trees, especially with the thick mud clinging to her feet, but she did her best. That evening, she stopped long enough to scrape the mud from her boots and eat. She only brought dried meat and some fruit, as well as a large canteen of water. Her hope was to reach the sorcerer’s camp the next day, rescue Orin, and return just as quickly, so she had packed light and pushed herself.
Night in the forest was dark. Without a torch or lantern, it was almost impossible to see, but Feray had magical vision. She couldn’t see every detail in the darkness, but she could see the glow of magic in the trees, the power resonating up from the earth, the shimmer of water’s persistency as it dripped from branches and leaves, and even the playful magic of the wind that danced through the forest. It didn’t take long for animals to take notice of the lone sorceress, but she wasn’t fearful. Several owls circled overhead as she traveled. A fox and a trio of raccoons traveled on either side of her. She was forced to hobble the horse when a large brown bear with gray bristles around his head and down his back joined them. She asked each what they had seen in the direction she was traveling and each one showed fear, but support.
A panther with dark fur also joined them, though the big cat kept to the trees. And eventually, Feray had an entire parade of animals around her. When dawn broke she was proud to see that even the nocturnal animals stayed with her, and a few hours later a mocking jay landed on her shoulder.
Danger the bird declared. Ahead! Near!
Feray left the animals and moved forward as quietly as possible, making herself small behind the trees, and taking her time as she moved forward. She was confident in her magical powers, but she didn’t want to fight the sorcerer or his beasts. The best option was to sneak into the camp undetected, and slip out with Orin before the vile elf knew what had happened.
***
The morning was gloomy and gray, with a threat of more rain. Orin felt weak, his muscles cramping from being tied to the board and the rain showers that had soaked him off and on through the night. Allric appeared, only he wasn’t alone. Another elf, the fat, mottled creature Orin had seen while spying on the camp, had a prisoner. To Orin’s shock he recognized the man who was bound hand and foot with chains. He was filthy, and looked as miserable as Orin felt, but his face was easily recognizable as Earl Uthar’s chief steward, Horace.
“What we have here is a real dilemma,” Allric said. “You see, I need your skills to test and prepare my troops. But I have the sneaking suspicion that despite my generous offer, you still plan to refuse me. So! I think what is needed is a demonstration.”
Once again fire roared to life from the pit of charred embers. Orin felt the heat but hated himself for the pleasure it brought to his frigid, soaking body. Allric grabbed Horace by the crown of his hair and jerked his head back viciously.
“As he is, this man is nothing,” Allric said with a wicked hint of glee in his voice. “A weak, frail creature, forced to wear armor and fight with weapons made of steel. It’s pathetic really, your race has so few virtues. But… with a little help, he can be an unstoppable force. Do you know that a dragon’s hide is nearly impenetrable?”
Orin knew that to be untrue, but he didn’t respond.
“It is far more effective than the heavy, clumsy armor human warriors often wear. Humans are weak and slow, but with a little help, all those things can change. I can make his skin as impenetrable as iron. I can make him move with lightning speed, and triple his strength. I can give him the vision of an eagle, and the fearlessness of a lion. But what I can’t do is tea
ch him to adapt to his new abilities. Oh sure, I can hurt him. But what he needs is someone to train him. Someone who knows what it is like to be different. Someone who has had to overcome difficulties and learned to do things that most people take for granted. Are you starting to see where I’m going with this?”
Orin ignored the elf, staring hard at Horace, hoping to see a trace of resilience in the man. He needed a sign that they might find a way to work together, to break free of the evil sorcerer’s grasp and strike a blow the elf wouldn’t soon forget, but Horace was terrified. There were dark circles under his eyes, and ugly bruises across his shoulders and neck.
“This man is nothing to me,” Allric continued. “Absolutely worthless, as a human. But mixed with the right magical species…”
The elf held up a small bit of flesh. Orin didn’t recognize it, although he could smell a strong odor from the morsel. It looked almost like snake skin, with a band of fat clinging to it.
“It only takes a little bit of something grand to make this waste of space into something awe inspiring,” Allric went on.
Orin thought the elf sounded like a carnival barker or traveling minstrel enticing people with his story. The elf closed his eyes and began to chant. The words were strange and unrecognizable to Orin. He struggled with his bonds once more, knowing that the sorcerer was about to work his black magic on Horace, a man who had been kind to Orin when others were not.
“Don’t,” Orin told the sorcerer, who ignored him completely. “I’m warning you.”
Suddenly the elf pressed the small bit of flesh he was holding hard against Horace’s forehead and a bright, dazzling light shone all around them. Orin was forced to close his eyes against the bright light, but things only got worse as Horace screamed.
***
Horace had seen the other knights taken away, one by one, on his first night in the camp. He had heard their screams, and the roars that followed. He had heard the chanting, and seen the lights, but he had no idea what was happening. The clouds rolled in as the wind howled, and rain fell like a volley of arrows in a great battle. At first, he and the other prisoners had suspected that they were being fed to some terrible beast. There were plenty of horrid creatures moving about the camp, some in the trees, others slinking along the ground. Each one looked at the prisoners with hunger in their eyes. Horace had no idea what held them in check, but he was certain they wanted to devour him.
Eventually, Horace caught sight of other humans, or what had once been humans. The men looked somewhat familiar, but they had been changed, transformed into beasts. They had thick, scaly skin. Their feet and hands were morphed into vicious-looking talons with long, curving claws. They even had short tails that sprang forth from their backs just above their thickly muscled rumps. Their physicality had changed as well. They were taller, their shoulders broader, their muscles thick like fat coils of rope. They moved with the grace of big predators, and their faces were longer, their mouths bigger. Horace had even seen wicked-looking new teeth sprouting up in one man’s gaping maw.
It didn’t take long to realize what was happening. They were being transformed into some type of crossbred creatures, something reptilian in nature. Horace watched as one by one his fellow prisoners were led away toward the chanting and screaming. They were still too weak to do anything but obey. And when the sun finally came up, Horace felt a sense of relief that no one came for him. The day passed as bouts of rain came and went through the camp, while Horace huddled by the roots of the huge tree he was chained to. Finally, late in the afternoon, a wave of excitement had rippled through the camp. Horace hadn’t known what was happening until he heard the fat elf mumbling to himself about a man with no hands.
Hope sprang to life in Horace at the very thought of the king’s son, the unrivaled warrior, somewhere nearby. He never dreamed that Orin was captured and strapped to a board just beyond a row of shrubs that surrounded the tree he was attached to. That night more rain fell, and Horace wept openly, unashamedly. He was willing to die in battle, but being a prisoner in the horrid camp was taking its toll. He was hurting, tired, wet, and cold. No one had bothered to feed him. The only water he drank fell from the sky. He was alone, surrounded by terrible creatures he couldn’t understand, and desperate for anything that might end his suffering. Yet when the sun rose and the fat elf came for him, he found that he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to be carried away, or moved from the tree where he’d spent the last two nights.
The elf attached a long rod to the ring of steel around Horace’s neck. After freeing the chains that held him to the tree, he led the shackled captive through the shrubs and toward a fire. He saw Orin, helplessly bound before the evil-looking elf with long, white hair, and all hope died within him.
When the chanting began Horace knew he was lost. He didn’t want to die, but he was helpless and when the dragon flesh was pressed against his forehead a searing pain shot all through his body. It was the most agonizing thing Horace had ever experienced. It was as if he were being ripped apart from the inside. Every fiber of his body tingled with exquisite pain, so much that his brain, which was like the red hot coals in a blacksmith’s forge, couldn’t comprehend it. Yet he didn’t pass out, his awareness didn’t recede, in fact he actually grew more aware of what was happening to him.
Magic, it was the only possible explanation, was devouring his body, ripping him apart and replacing the damaged, weak bits with something else, something foreign, something stronger. He could feel his heart pounding, the volume of his blood increasing, his bones growing. It hurt, and his screams went on as the agony grew even more intense, but eventually he could feel the flow of strength coursing through his body.
“Unshackle him!” Allric commanded, as he paused the chanting for a moment.
The fat elf fumbled with his chains and Horace felt himself growing. The pain was unbearable, yet his body continued to accept it, and his mind seemed to embrace it.
And then it ended, like a fire doused with water. Horace dropped to his knees and did his best to steady his breathing. When he opened his eyes he could see so clearly it was shocking. He saw his hands in the muddy earth, but they weren’t hands anymore, but three-fingered talons, each one ending in a curved claw that pushed down into the mud. And in the mud Horace could see the water and dirt, where it mixed, where it stood apart. He could see the veins in the fallen leaves that were rotting on the ground, even the slight movement of the soil where a worm or insect tunneled through the damp earth.
“Stand up!” Allric ordered, his voice not quite as boisterous. The transformation had weakened him, Horace could hear it, yet something inside of him responded forcefully to the elf’s command. He couldn’t resist it, even if he had wanted to.
He rose up, his legs felt strong, his entire body was tight with muscle, yet flexible and controlled. Looking at Orin, he could see the distress on the man’s face. He could also see the beads of sweat from where he had struggled with his bonds, and even the raw skin around the straps where he was chaffing. When Horace glanced beyond Orin, his sharp new eyes saw deep into the forest. The dire wolves were prowling, like soldiers on patrol. His vision focused in on the stiff, matted hair of a wolf over a hundred yards away.
“Turn around,” Allric ordered.
Horace turned, the movement felt good. He wanted to move, to run and jump, to fight. He wanted to hunt, to feed, to exercise his new powerful body. As he turned back to Orin he caught a whiff of something he’d never smelled before. It was a strong odor, a musky scent that made Horace want to rip the flesh from the big warrior’s bones. With a shock he realized it was fear. He could smell the man’s fear, and what a sweet smell it was. His stomach rumbled and his long tongue flicked out over his rubbery lips.
***
“You see,” Allric said to Orin. “There is greatness in him now. You cannot deny it. I have taken his weakness and made him strong. He has no use for armor, his skin is stronger than any metal blade. He has no need for weapons, h
is hands could tear through steel. He can run faster and longer than any horse. Just look at him. Look at him!”
The elf was screaming, his face contorting in furious passion. Orin didn’t know if the man was angry, or in love with the beast Horace had become. He felt sorry for the man, despite the fact that Horace was staring at him hungrily and licking his lips with a long, forked tongue. He looked alert, anxious to do something other than pose for his master.
“Now, I have shown you what I am capable of,” Allric said. “But my offer stands. I need a man like you, a warrior, someone to help build my army. What say you, Orin? Would you join me? Will you let me give you the things you long for most in the world?”
Orin felt a wave of doubt. The temptation was enormous. He wanted hands. He wanted to be like everyone else, even though he knew he could never trust the sorcerer. If Allric could magically produce hands for him, Orin had no doubt it would render him a slave to the demented elf. Yet part of him thought that a small price to pay. He would be allowed to remain human after all. He could be with Via, who just happened to step into his field of view at that moment.
“She is remarkable, really,” Allric said, turning toward Via when he saw Orin’s eyes shift over to the girl. “Powerful, ambitious, still green, but learning fast. I must admit, I do not understand human mating rituals but I have heard stories of your insatiable desires. I would not stand in your way, Orin. Join me and the girl is yours.”
“She’s not yours to give,” Orin said.
“Your defiance is remarkable, but unnecessary. You see, you have only two options. You will join us, train my army, bond with young Via if you wish. Or, you will join my army yourself.”
The Man With No Hands Page 17