by Mike Truk
The man was sallow-skinned, once no doubt very handsome but now, much like the manor, run to ruin. Straight nose, aristocratic mien, faded and filthy clothes, his face carved by deep lines of tension or strong emotion. His eyes were sunken, filmed over with white, yet it was his helm that drew the eye: a gleaming, wondrous piece of art, made entirely from one piece of hammered platinum with a ring of golden roses running around the brow.
“Master Kzzgt,” I said, bowing as my friends pressed in behind me. Only then did I see the frog-like creature seated in the corner of the room upon a pile of mildewy cushions; he was obese, his skin gleaming like that of a newt and the color of silty mud. I barely had time to register the two heavy nails hammered into his eyes before my attention was drawn back to the seated man.
“Master Kellik. Word has reached me of your exploits at the docks. Something about a war troll? And now you come offering the services of a dark elf. You are a fascinating man. This is she?” Kzzgt’s head jerked away to stare at where Netherys had moved to stand against the wall, hands held behind her back.
“This is she. My frigate intercepted her boat as we came down from Port Gloom. She was its most precious cargo; an Elias or the like had purchased her from the slave owners of Paruko. Alas, he won’t be receiving his prize. She’s controlled by a spell placed on her by my mage, though she only obeys my commands. For the right price I’ll give her to you. I’m sure you have patrons who would enjoy her… skills.”
“Dangerous,” said Kzzgt. His voice was eerie, without inflection, and seemed to come from the very base of his throat. “Dark elves are a risky proposition. There are few creatures more cunning. Who are these two others you have brought with you?”
“My body guards,” I said. “Not for sale.”
I tried and failed to not glance at the goblin-sized frog-thing. Not a pet, I decided; it was staring right at me, or whatever it was a blinded creature did when it seemed to study you. Clearly alive and not in distress.
“Let me introduce you to Faverash, my associate,” said Kzzgt. “He is, as you have surmised, a brown svarten, and an invaluable part of my organization. Faverash, what are your thoughts on this situation?”
The svarten scratched at its belly. “Fascinating. I smell strong magics on them. That they found us is curious. But that I cannot pin the nature of their magics is more interesting still. That one there -” And he pointed at Iris with a black nail, “is terribly powerful. She scares me. I think we should kill her. That one, her bow, it stinks of power. The dark elf. I don’t smell controlling magic on her. A lie? A ruse? Magic more cunning than I can fathom? I don’t know. Fascinating. Curious. Very, very dangerous.”
“You say you control the dark elf,” said Kzzgt. “Demonstrate your control. Have her do something she’d never willingly do.”
My heart had begun to pound. “Like what?”
“Tell her to cut off her own foot.”
I blanched. “What? And damage her irrevocably?”
Kzzgt shrugged. “With a long enough skirt nobody would notice a missing foot. And why do you care?”
I scrambled to respond. “Because if we fail to reach an agreement, I’ll be left with damaged goods with nothing to show for it.”
“A fair point.” He pulled a sack out of a drawer, reached it into, and somehow pulled forth a much larger pouch that clinked as he set it down on the table.
I frowned. How had he pulled a larger sack out of…?
“Then let us agree now,” continued Kzzgt. “If she proves herself your slave in truth and cuts off her foot, I will buy her for two hundred gold crowns. Fair?”
Was that fair? I’d no idea. I fought to keep calm. On principle one never accepted a first offer. “Five hundred.”
“Three hundred and ten,” said Kzzgt without hesitation.
I had to think of something. “Three hundred and seventy five.”
“Three hundred and fifty. My final offer.”
“Done.” Sweat prickled my brow. “But first, tell me about this place. Would she fit in? Do you have any other rare species here?”
“We can discuss details after I have determined you are not seeking to trick me.”
“Why would I place myself in your power like this if I were attempting to cross you?”
“Why indeed? Yet your group is powerful enough that I need be wary. I shall now demonstrate my caution.” Kzzgt stood, stepped over to a small door, and pulled it open. “Faverash? Will you summon Plashasvart?”
I tried not to tense up as the entire doorway filled with craggy red flesh. A war troll? No. Something far more alien. A being pushed itself through the doorway, its flesh and bones soft and pliable so that when it emerged on our side it began to grow, and I was reminded of how a rat can insinuate itself through the smallest of holes. It rose up, expanding, till it stood larger than Pony; its massive, broad head was reptilian, its mouth a puckered seam that extended all the way around, its eyes small and yellow, and I got nothing so much as the impression of a huge, muscled toad. That is, if a toad weighed several thousand pounds of muscle and bone, with front arms like pillars that terminated in great clawed hands, shoulders a rich crimson that faded to a blackish red across its chest and stomach.
Why the fuck hadn’t we brought Pony?
Plashasvart loomed over us all, a wall of bloody flesh, its face inscrutable, reeking of damp and mold. The damn thing filled half the room.
I took a step back. “What - I don’t mean to be rude - but what is that?”
Kzzgt turned to consider the monster. “Plashasvart? A svarten, by which, as should be obvious, means he’s a member of their warrior caste.”
Cerys had her hand on the doom bow. Iris was gazing at the svarten with obvious interest, apparently unconcerned. Netherys was as inscrutable as the toad monster.
“The, ah, svarten,” I said weakly. “Local species?”
“Indeed. It is said they once ruled an empire that stretched across the entirety of the swamps, thousands of square miles. You can still find their ziggurats sunken here and there if you voyage inland. But their power was crushed by humanity millennia ago. They are greatly fallen. Now they are few in number, and with the new efficiency and murderous habits that the swamp goblins have been showing these past few years, they’ve been forced off what little territory they still claimed nearby. Their leaders - the brown svarten, like Faverash here - have seen the wisdom of allying with certain partners, and loan out their warriors at exorbitant rates.”
Kzzgt turned back, steepling his fingers and gazing over their apex at me. “I find it useful to employ a few. To make sure nobody gets any bad ideas. You understand. Now, the dark elf’s foot?”
“The helm,” said Netherys. “Kzzgt is the helm, not the man.”
“Good enough for me,” said Cerys, and faster than I could follow unshouldered her bow, strung an arrow, and loosed.
The arrow blazed with ensorcelled blue and purple light, struck the helm square on the brow, and knocked it from the Kzzgt’s head. The helm fell to the floor, and Kzzgt - or whomever the man was - toppled over to lie face down on the desk.
Several things happened at once.
Plashasvart gave a strangely underwhelming croak, its vast mouth unseaming itself to reveal rows of stony, triangular teeth. It swept a clawed hand through the air to tear off our heads with all the force and speed of a ship’s boom swinging across the deck.
The blind svarten, Faverash, croaked as well, though his was more a panicked sound of alarm, and immediately began to chant.
I ducked under the svarten’s blow as I drew my borrowed blade. What I wouldn’t give for my frost sword now! Iris pressed back against the wall, while Netherys and Cerys ducked in similar manner.
Time seemed to slow. Gouts of mud leaped from Faverash’s hands to splash across Cerys, driving her back and nearly off her feet, sticking her to the wall and pinning her there. Netherys extended her hand in Plashasvart’s direction and cried out in her dark elven tongue, causi
ng a cloud of black smoke to fly forth and envelop its head. This didn’t deter it, however; its other arm snaked out with shocking speed to close its fingers about her wrist, lift her off the ground, and slam Netherys into the wall.
Blade in hand, I hewed down at Plashasvart’s huge arm. It was like attempting to cut a rotten log. The edge of my blade cut open its hide, but didn’t find enough resistance to cut deep; the blow was absorbed even as I heard Netherys’ scream choke off into a gurgle.
Kzzgt stood up. Turned toward the svarten, and I saw his fingers shed flesh like falling rose petals to extend into wicked scalpels of bone. It dove at the massive frog beast’s side, cutting open wicked rents in its gut.
All of this was happening in a chamber that felt far too claustrophobically small for us all. The mud that had spattered onto me clung like tar. Giving up my blade as useless against the svarten, I turned on Faverash instead as he swung his hands in my direction, causing the fount of mud to hammer into my legs, knocking my feet out from under me. I lunged, straining for reach, and brought my blade hacking down on the svarten even as I crashed to the floor. The blade took Faverash in the shoulder and sank in an inch, lodging itself in the joint.
Faverash’s scream was drowned out by the Plashasvart’s croaking roar. I couldn’t make out what was happening. My legs were glued to the ground. I had to focus. Faverash grabbed my blade with his hand, cried out a word, and the metal length of it collapsed into fragments of rust.
Blood was pouring from the wound in his shoulder. Face transfigured by hate, brows lowered over the twin nails that were pounded into his head, the brown svarten hissed a guttural stream of words and extended his palm toward my face. Brown smoke flew forth to envelop my head, and immediately I began to burn.
Before I could scream, however, purple fire coruscated around me, enveloping the brown smoke, and Netherys limped into view, one hand to her throat, the other extended as she strained against Faverash’s power.
Each thrust their palms at the roiling ball of brown smoke and purple fire, sinews standing out in their necks, hissing words of power.
I dug my hand into the tarry mud, grabbed the hilt of my dagger at my belt, and jerked it free. An underhand toss, and the knife spun through the air to clock pommel-first just above Faverash’s left eye.
It was enough of a distraction. The svarten cried out in surprise, and then the purple fire moved the brown smoke over the goblin’s head, obscuring his visage.
Faverash began to scream as his own smoke devoured his flesh.
All the while the red svarten was croaking and hissing and throwing its huge bulk about the room, smashing from one wall to the other.
Faverash collapsed, and the mud that held me and Cerys lost its adhesive property. I rose to my knees, turned - and gagged.
The Kzzgt corpse was crawling into Plashasvart’s side through the huge incision it had made in its belly. The svarten was ripping at the corpse’s legs, tearing entire chunks off, and even as I watched it grasped Kzzgt’s lower half and tore it completely off to fling what remained of its legs and abdomen across the room.
It wasn’t enough.
Fascinated, horrified, I watched as Kzzgt’s upper half swam into the svarten, causing its hide to bulge over its belly. Plashasvart screeched, slammed its claws into its own torso, sliding its fists into its gut as it sought to close its fingers around the corpse.
Blood poured forth in horrific amounts. With a final, retching croak, the huge red svarten tore Kzzgt free, along with half its intestines which spilled out over the broad desk in a glistening mass, and then collapsed. It fell over the desk, claws scoring deep tracks in the wood, then slid off to hit the ground with a wet smack.
I remained frozen on my knees, eyes wide.
The air stank of rank herbs, coppery blood, pungent intestines and feces. I could barely breathe.
Plashasvart trembled. It placed a huge, clawed hand on the corner of the desk, then levered itself slowly up to its feet. A hole large enough for half a corpse to crawl into gaped in its side, intestines hanging down to its knees like some ghastly apron.
Its yellow eyes were dull in death, but still it rose to its full height, and then it simply stood there, as simple as a statue.
Iris stepped away from the wall. “What a glorious creature. How lovely.” She turned to me and smiled. “What was it you wanted to do here, Kellik? Or are we done?”
“Mother Magrathaar,” whispered Netherys, staring at the towering svarten corpse.
Cerys stared at Plashasvart as well, then turned to me, wide-eyed, eyebrows raised.
I dry swallowed. “We’re… we’re almost done. Thank you, Iris. Just a moment more.” I took a deep steadying breath and gazed down at Faverash’s corpse. The svarten’s head had been reduced to a gleaming, crimson ball of bone and flesh. On impulse, I carefully sidled past Plashasvart and behind the desk, where I picked up the gleaming helm.
A wave of overwhelming urgency filled me, a terrible desire to place the helm on my head. Grimacing, I extended it to Netherys, who frowned, plucked up the sack that Kzzgt had taken from his drawer, and dropped the helm inside. She followed this with the sack of coin, and then wiped her palm on her hip. “Nasty thing.”
My throat was dry. “Well. That, ah. Yeah. Thanks. How does that sack…?”
“Pocket dimension,” said Netherys, bringing the otherwise plain-looking hempen sack to her nose and giving it a sniff. “Quite a large one, too. We’ll have to explore later what else may be in there.”
Cerys was slowly and methodically cleaning the gobbets of mud from her clothing, using the blade of her hand. “Improvised plans. Your strength, you said.”
“I… I guess not. I mean, cut off her foot?” I shook my head in amazement. “What the fuck? Anyway. We’d best find our lampetraman and get out of here.”
“Agreed,” said Cerys. “Especially since it looks like we just destroyed the Fever Dream.”
“Which means,” said Netherys, voice bruised, “that the company elite are not going to be pleased with us.”
I blew out my cheeks. “Wonderful. Just wonderful. Shall we?”
Cerys opened the office door and gave a sardonic bow. “After you, Master Kellik.”
“You’re too kind.” I tipped an imaginary hat, cast one last look at the destruction we’d wrought in the Fever Dream’s office, and stepped back out into the hall.
Chapter 11
I led the way back into the waiting chamber, a tight smile on my face, hand repeatedly patting the empty spot where my sword hilt should have extended from my scabbard. How was I going through blades so quickly? Thank Blind Fortuna for being deep underground; the sheer amount of solid stone between the office and this parlor was such that people glanced up at me with some measure of concern, but little more.
“Is everything all right?” asked one man from the depths of his couch, a lit pipe glowing cherry red in his fingers. “I heard - I thought I heard - shouting?”
“Everything is well, nothing to worry about,” I said, patting his shoulder as I passed him by. His coat was excessively fine. “Just a minor disagreement about rents. Nothing to concern yourself with.”
“I say,” said the butler, emerging from the shadows. “Is your business concluded? If so, I’ll escort you above?”
“Master Kzzgt would like a word,” said Netherys before I could respond. “He asked that you attend him immediately.”
The butler blinked. “Most assuredly.” He brushed past Netherys, who followed him into the dark hall.
“Now,” I said, brushing at the spattered mud that ruined my costume. “To work. If you’ll excuse me.” My tight smile became a grimace as I led Cerys and Iris through the compact knot of chairs to the back of the chamber, where a tunnel extended into rose-lit gloom, a dozen doors leading off of it.
A well-dressed gentlemen in a waist coat and flaring sleeves stepped in my way just before I could enter the corridor. Something about his rakish smile and the gleam in his eye
immediately betrayed him for one of my kind, however, and not a true elite. “Excuse me, sir, but this hallway’s for clients of the highest degree. You squared everything away with Master Kzzgt?”
“Not really, no,” I said. “But I’d appreciate your directing me to the lampetraman.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That don’t add up, see. Why should I allow you to sample our wares free of charge?”
Cerys reached over casually and pressed a small blade to his neck. “I’m sure we can find an adequate incentive.”
The man’s smile didn’t falter. “Now see, that’s some good incentivizing right there. I can accommodate such motivations with ease. Third down on the left.”
“Good man,” I said, patting him on the shoulder. “I’d not try and raise the alarm while we’re in there.”
“Well, that’s sort of my obligation, isn’t it, seeing as I’m a paid employee of this here rarefied establishment, and would like to remain as such.” His smile turned apologetic. “Don’t see as I have much of a choice.”
Netherys joined us, brushing her ashen hair back over her slanted ear. “You’ll have to wait to make your report to Master Kzzgt,” she said, drawing the helm out of our new sack so that it gleamed for but a moment before she let it fall back within. “So you might as well take a seat and wait.”
The man’s face paled. “Ah. I see. So that’s how it is. I must admit, my knees are feeling a little weak. I’ll just take a load off, shall I?”
“Good man,” I said again, and pressed into the hall. I didn’t know how much time we had before the alarm was raised. How many more svartens were hiding behind overly small doors. So I strode with purpose to the third down on the left and knocked briskly.
“Come in,” someone said, voice muffled by the door.