Belly of the Beast

by Warren Thomas

  “Then you’re healed?” he said, ecstatic.

  “Not entirely,” she said. Horror flashed across his face. Raising a hand to stop him from speaking, she said, “We were both weakened by our ordeal. I couldn’t find enough energy to completely heal myself.” Then she gave him a wry smile. “Thank the Gods you didn’t use a sword. That thin, narrow blade was all I could deal with. The less damage, the easier it is to heal.”

  Tane hadn’t thought of that. The thought scared him. What if he had used a sword?

  But Joelle quickly claimed his attention as she began to dress. Her movement was slow and she stopped to rest a few times. Her weakness alarmed Tane.

  “I’ll need more energy, and quick,” she said.

  “You can have more of mine.”

  “No, not if you plan to escape today,” she said, smiling gratefully at him. “No, there is a better way. Are there any horses or cattle in the village?”

  Tane was a bit taken aback by the question. Horses he understood. They could ride them to escape faster. Zombies didn’t ride. At least none of the zombies they had encountered ever rode. But what did she want with cattle?

  “Are you planning to leave the others behind?” he said.

  She looked at him strangely a moment, then smiled as she shook her head.

  “No. I’ll free the others once I have enough energy hoarded to feed the magic. Thankfully, I already know how to counter the spell enslaving them since I freed you that night. But I asked about horses and cattle because I can take life energy from any living creature. The bigger the animal, the more energy they possess,” she said. “Horses and cattle are the largest domestic animals available, and each will provide a virtual feast in life energies.”

  He nodded in understanding. And what a relief. Tane wasn’t certain he could’ve just ridden off and left his friends behind. The priest, if not Dakar Himself, would do terrible things to them if he did.

  “I heard horses a few times yesterday,” he said, trying to remember what he had seen the day before. He had been too depressed to care at the time they arrived. He remembered a pair of dogs, some children. “Yes! The stables are on the other side of the gate. As for cattle...”

  “Horses are good enough,” Joelle said. Standing up on wobbly legs, “Come on. Help me over to the horses.”

  Taking her arm to steady her, Tane asked, “What about the others? Won’t they be suspicious? What do I tell them if they question me about where I’m going?”

  She considered that a moment. “You’re right. You weren’t given permission to wander about. Of course, no one said you couldn’t wander about, either.”

  “Yeah, but the stables are next to the gate. They might think I’m trying to escape,” he said.

  Joelle sagged against him. Tane didn’t feel any better. Tired, dirty and cold, and now this.

  “Dirty!” Tane said. “You’re dirty, and have to clean up.”

  Joelle gave him a baleful look. “You’re not smelling so sweet yourself.”

  Tane almost laughed in his joy. “No. You have to go over to the stables to clean up. You know, after we...well you know.”

  Understanding dawned in her eyes, lighting up her entire face gloriously.

  “Yes, making love can be messy,” she said, delighting in his blush and discomfort. “There will be water at the stables. But you’ll have to order me over there, of course. And do it in front of everyone. Zombies don’t care one wit about hygiene.”

  They took a moment to compose themselves, and then ducked through the door. The frigid air struck them hard. Tane felt all his muscles tense. Then Joelle nudged him in the ribs.

  “Uh, Joelle, go over to the stables and clean yourself up,” he said, trying to sound casual. “You’re beginning to reek worse than a barn.”

  “Yes, master,” she said woodenly as she shuffled off.

  The others were watching him with those blank zombie eyes. None bothered to follow Joelle’s progress to the stables, so they didn’t see her go past the water trough and slip inside.

  “Is the fire ready?” he said, walking over to examine the forge.

  “Yes, master,” Raven said.

  He hesitated, thinking back to the night before. Did he tell the priest he would build the furnace first thing? Yes. But he couldn’t start until the crucible arrived. So he had time.

  “Good,” he said, moving the sword blade to heat up in the fire. If all went well, then they would be gone before the blade was hot enough to work. “Raven, tell me when the blade is the same color as the rising sun.”

  “It’s overcast,” she said. “How will I compare...”

  “From memory,” he snapped. Her brow creased, and she looked back at the sword. “I’m sorry. Do the best you can.”

  “Yes, master,” she said.

  Covertly glancing at the stables, he saw no sign of Joelle. What was taking her so long? It had only taken a few seconds for her to tap his life energy. Waving Armin over, he had him stand next to Quinn. When he questioned the order, Tane simply said he wanted them all to be warm. Armin accepted that without a word or expression.

  After a few minutes, Tane became restless. Now he was worried. She’d been in the stable long enough to eat a horse. What was she doing? Had she encountered someone else in the stable? He listened intently, but couldn’t hear any struggle.

  A movement at the stable door alerted Tane that Joelle was ready. He kept Quinn busy at the bellows, since that meant his back was to her approach. So with Raven intent on the blade in the fire, and Armin positioned so he couldn’t see, it was safe for Joelle to cross and wield her magic without fear of discovery.

  Armin was standing furtherest from the fire so neither Quinn nor Raven could see him without turning halfway around. That allowed Joelle to sneak up and lay hands to either side of her husband’s head. Tane heard a Word of Power whispered and saw Armin jerk, his eyes growing wide in shock.

  Raven chose that moment to turn around to speak.

  “Master, the blade...” she said. Her eyes cut toward Joelle and Armin, “Attack!”

  Without thought, Tane backhanded Raven as she tried to stand. She was left sprawled on the ground, gasping and clawing at her neck. Seeing she wasn’t an immediate threat, Tane snatched up Bearclaw from where she’d dropped it and turned to confront Quinn.

  The half-elf regarded Tane blankly, then looked at Joelle and Armin. It was clear that Armin was free of the enchantment, though still dazed. Joelle’s hands were glowing faintly in the early morning half-light. Then to Tane’s surprise, Joelle darted behind him and to Raven.

  Another Word of Power, and Raven’s muttered curses could be heard behind him. Tane smiled grimly at the wonderful sound of her complaints.

  “Slap me like that again,” Raven said. “And I’ll eat your fingers for lunch.”

  Before Tane could respond, Quinn opened his mouth and bellowed the alarm.

  “Escape! Escape!” Quinn cried. “Escape!”

  Tane, Joelle, and Armin all jumped at him as one. Quinn slapped aside Armin’s sword, then ducked beneath Tane’s fist. He elbowed Tane hard in the ribs, and threw a punch at Armin’s exposed side. The Vikon warrior twisted off the blow, and sent a punch of his own into Quinn’s side.

  Shifting his weight and footing for a dagger thrust to Quinn’s abdomen, and praying Joelle’s magic was up to healing the wound, Tane almost skewered the witch. Joelle appeared between them, laying hands on Quinn and speaking the Word of Power that triggered her spell. Like Armin, Quinn jerked, tensed, then relaxed. Armin stepped in and caught him before he fell.

  “Great,” Raven grouched. “I get slapped to the ground like a cheap whore and you all fall all over yourselves to catch Quinn after he tries to kill you. You always liked him best.”

  “Do you have to make jokes about everything?” Armin asked.

  “Mostly,” she said, a mischievous smile flashing across her face. “Especially when I feel like crying.” She tenderly touched her neck, probing t
he discolored, brutalized flesh. “That misbegotten reject of a God almost twisted my bloody head off.”

  For the first time, Tane saw compassion for her in Armin’s eyes.

  “Can you do anything for her?” Armin asked Joelle.

  “Yes, but not now,” Joelle said. “We have to get out of here, and fast.”

  “I sounded the alarm!” Quinn said, shocked and shamed.

  “Can you run?” Tane asked Raven.

  Before she could answer, Joelle said, “Forget running. Can you ride, Raven?”

  “Like the wind,” she said, heading for the stables at a trot.

  “What about the horses?” Tane asked. “I thought you went to steal their life energies? Won’t they be too exhausted to carry us?”

  “I did,” Joelle said. “But I didn’t touch five of them. The other six won’t be fit for riding before tomorrow, if then. I drained them pretty badly.” Then she grinned at Tane. “I saddled our mounts before coming back.”

  “That’s all I need to hear,” Quinn said as shouts and the sound of running feet came to them. “Let’s ride.”

  Chapter 61

  At first Nizar ignored the screams outside his room’s window. The brazier was cold, the air even colder, but his blankets were warm. The seamster’s wife snuggled up close beside him, adding to his comfort. But a nagging fear was soon born deep in his breast.

  “Damn,” he grumbled, forcing his eyes open and glaring at the door. Outside that stoutly framed door was a dreary, frozen world of white. But, the inn was more comfortable than the village huts. “Probably another villager caught stealing food.”

  Looking out the small window, he saw blue-gray sky and knew it was time to get up anyway. He had duties to attend to, rites to perform now that he was with other priests and devotees. And he had to supervise the swordsmith, else the boy would never complete the first Sword of Power in time.

  Sitting up and pulling all the blankets about himself, Nizar sat quietly while his body got used to being awake. The fire needed building, but it was too cold for him to do it. That would require letting go of the blankets.

  He regarded the blonde Leltic woman curled up beside him. She was awake, her eyes wide and fixed on him.

  Like a trapped animal, he thought.

  Her fear made him smile. Allowing his thoughts to wander, he remembered the night just past. He recalled her warm body, her kisses, the fear in her eyes that she might fail to please him.

  “Get the fire going, then heat up something for me to eat,” he said.

  Mad pounding at the door startled him, making both of them jump.

  “Your Grace! Please!” a female voice called. Nizar recognized it as the Acolyte Olwen, assistant to the village priest. She had been an acolyte of Tuunar, the Arisen God of the Dead, and quickly shifted alliances. Nizar didn’t trust her, but she wasn’t his concern. “Your Grace, please, it’s urgent! Your prisoners all escaped!”

  “My God!” Nizar cried out, leaping to his feet and flinging away the blankets.

  In three strides Nizar was out the door and facing the startled acolyte. The hallway was even darker than his room, with the air so frigid that it made his vacated room seem balmy. The realization that he was naked, both in face and body, flickered in the back of his mind, but was instantly forgotten. If they had lost the swordsmith, then all of them, himself included, were doomed.

  “What did you say? Are you talking about the swordsmith?” Nizar demanded, seizing the girl by both arms and shaking her.

  To his surprise, Olwen easily slipped out of his grasp and flashed enraged blue eyes at him. It reminded him that the barbarian women of these desolate climes had no idea of their proper place, or the respect and diffidence they should show men. They considered themselves equal in all things to men. And their men never said differently, and even seemed to encourage such scandalous behavior. Definitely a morally corrupt people.

  “We lost no one, Your Grace,” Olwen said. “But your prisoner, and all his guards, just rode off.”

  Nizar’s world began to spin. How!? How did he do it? Zombies did not disobey orders. Somehow Tane had freed his friends from the enchantment. But how didn’t matter, yet. Once he recaptured him, Nizar would determine the how and see to it that the swordsmith didn’t have the opportunity again.

  But first I’ll teach him a brutal lesson by killing one or two of his friends, he thought. Maybe the harlot – No! The witch. Somehow, I know she had something to do with this. Probably taught him a spell to counter the slave spell we use. And the elf, who is his best friend.

  Turning his attention back to the acolyte, “I’ll need a horse and supplies.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” she said, though not looking particularly distressed. “But they left our remaining mounts injured in some way before they rode off. They seem to be totally exhausted. The best we can do is send word to a neighboring village and have mounts sent over.”

  Unacceptable, though he knew it was also unavoidable. He absolutely had to leave now, but there didn’t seem to be any way. Tane Kyleson had escaped, and Dakar would hold him responsible.

  “How long will that take?”

  “Maybe midmorning,” she said, shrugging. “Midday at the latest.”

  He nodded, heading back into his room. He would have to pray now, and tell Dakar of his failure. After that, there might not be any reason to worry about anything. Failure in Dakar’s service too often meant a one way trip to the altar, and oblivion.

  Chapter 62

  Dakar reveled in the quiet of night. Frail humans, even His enchanted slaves, required sleep. Their limited senses made nighttime the most logical time to rest. He didn’t complain. When needed, He could send His army on the attack with a mere thought, any time of day or night, anywhere within His domain. But as they slept, His priests were busy making sacrifices upon His altars, sending Him thousands of souls to consume.

  A most pleasant way to spend the dark, quiet night.

  He could feel His strength growing. Without the need to supervise His army and priesthood, He could take the time to enjoy the heady feel of growing power while contemplating His coming victory over His hated enemies. For millennia He had planned for this moment, dreaming of the chance to exact His vengeance.

  Within days I will have the first Sword of Power, He thought, grinning fiercely. Then the Arisen will know terror! All the Realms will feel My power! They will feel My wrath and fury!

  A prayer came to Him. Not a devotee, that He would’ve ignored, but of a priest. A certain priest. Nizar al-Sayyid, guardian of His most prized possession, Tane Kyleson, was calling Him.

  A thrill surged through Him. Had the swordsmith already completed a Sword of Power? Could He begin His attack in earnest now?

  I hear, Nizar, He thought back into the priest’s mind, careful not to fully enter the man’s mind. Of all His priests, the Tameran thief turned priest had the most convoluted, self-serving mind. What is your need?

  Nizar hesitated. Dakar was instantly alert, sending an unconscious mental growl at what that bode. The priest cried out in the distant village, the mental echoes reverberating through Dakar’s mind as well.

  What has that fool done?! He thought, waiting. Then to Nizar, He demanded, Speak!

  It all came to Him in a terrified rush, almost incomprehensible in the priest’s terror of being punished. The swordsmith had escaped, and taken all his companions with him as well. Nizar didn’t know how a simple villager had freed four heavily armed zombie slaves, but he did. Of course, Nizar repeated his innocence every chance he got.

  Dakar didn’t care who was at fault. There was no Sword of Power, no quick vengeance to be had. And now there was a very real danger to Himself. If Tane Kyleson managed to do the impossible, as he had just shown himself capable of doing, then he might actually seal off the only open Gate into Dakar’s personal Realm of Carth-Amon. And He would be trapped once again, helpless and starving.

  “Mogens!” Dakar shouted aloud and ment
ally.

  He sensed the High Priest deep in the temple, sound asleep with one of the new female priests. His mental shout startled both Mogens and the priestess, sending the High Priest scrambling for his robes and leaving the priestess praying for forgiveness for a sin she hadn’t committed. Dakar cared nothing for their “morality.”

  Assured that the Thanir High Priest was rushing His way, Dakar turned His attention back to Nizar. Despite His revulsion, He entered the priest’s mind to ensure he was telling the entire truth. Nizar wasn’t above a lie to save his skin. Humans were the only race that thought they could lie to their Gods.

  Nizar’s mind was in turmoil, guilt fighting terror, shame battling anger. The man barely knew where he was anymore, so sure that he was doomed and would soon be sacrificed atop the nearest altar. Dakar was forced to use His power to calm the human down enough to sift through his memories.

  Satisfied He had the truth as Nizar knew it, Dakar departed his mind and spoke to him, You were negligent. As was the local temple. The swordsmith should’ve never been left near an unguarded gate. All of you forgot the advantage that free-minded men have over My slaves.

  Falling to his face in the distant room, Nizar groveled and cried, “Forgive me, Divine Master! I will make it up to you. I will prove my faith and reliability by recapturing the swordsmith. I will sacrifice his friends to Your glory this time, and force the boy to do Your divine will!”

  Dakar said nothing, letting the priest stew in his own fear and uncertainty. It would make him more cautious in the future, make him strive twice as hard to capture the swordsmith before it was too late.

  High Priest Mogens suddenly burst out of a side passage, winded and nervous.

  “The swordsmith has escaped,” Dakar said. “Have the priest in charge of the village sacrificed at noon, with all the others watching. Let them see what failure earns in My service.”

  Bowing, “As You will, Divine Master,” Mogens said. Then a cold glint entered his eyes, “What about Brother Nizar al-Sayyid? Is he to be sacrificed for his failure? Or do You have special plans for him?”