The Python of Caspia

by Michael Green

  He’s bashful about looking younger, meaning he’s a lot older than one hundred!

  Andy shook his head as tried to understand. The marble is a religious tool. Religious—something? That’s all they’ll say. But religion is looked down on? Maybe that’s why no one ever gave me a straight answer. And things that look like magic aren’t called magic, but are actually religious. And I should be ashamed of wielding the Argument-marble.

  Andy chuckled.

  This is what it’s come to: the Argument-marble.

  “What are you grinning at?”

  Andy looked at Blue, who didn’t seem angry at him, as much as he was angry in general.

  “Nothing.”

  Does he speak for everyone in this? Have the people I’ve met been polite about my rudeness until now? Quill, Staza, Caston and Poll, Pythia? Maybe? But Titus and Taptalles didn’t act like this about the Argument-marble. They just wanted me to bring it back.

  Andy opened his mouth, a million questions nearly poured out, but instead, they heard Clang click his teeth.

  And just when someone was starting to talk.

  Andy stalked off towards Clang and the stairwell, shaking his head as he went. Now thoroughly confused, he started to feel dizzy.

  His head swam as they mounted the stairs again. But this time, instead of another floor of basement, the last step opened into a massive dining hall. Andy knelt for a moment and closed his eyes until the spinning stopped.

  Clang motioned for darkness. Andy loosened his grip and realized that he could still see.

  There’s light in here.

  The goblins moved like silent rushing water, up from the stairs and out across the room. Andy watched them break off and slink between tables and overturned chairs. Bowstrings were tensed, and javelins readied. Andy saw Takka try to deal with his fistful of cords and a hatchet. After nearly getting the strings jumbled with the weapon, he jammed the hatchet back into a belt-loop and accepted being unarmed.

  Andy spotted a light coming from the far left of the hall. Clang took a central position in the room and waved him over.

  “Close,” He whispered. “Brutoxies, the beetle kind—slitheries, the inky kind—red eye, likely young and weak.” Clang pointed over to the left, where the light was coming from.

  Red eye—he means a ryle.

  “How do you know?” Andy whispered.

  Clang pointed at a dusty tabletop. There were lines in the dust. Shapes and tally marks beneath them, and an arrow to the left above it all. He saw a large letter S with three Cs beneath it, then a large B with three X’s beneath, and then a drawing of an eye with a jagged iris. There was just one mark beneath the eye.

  “Martin is waiting.” Clang checked a pouch on his belt, Andy peeked and saw vials filled with a silvery liquid. Clang tapped on the stoppers, before pulling one out. He wrapped it in a ragged tablecloth and handed it to Andy. “Cleanse ink with this.”

  “Ink?”

  Clang glared at him before leaning in and whispering, “The slitheries here are weaker, inky kind. If many get to your skin,” he shook his head, “they, like ink, stick to flesh. Too much can kill.”

  I see.

  Andy’s mind shot back to the inky mist he saw at Dr. Ropt’s office, and the museum.

  Clang motioned, and the dozens of goblins moved in sync with their leader.

  Andy kept up, but noticed that more than a few fighters looked at Takka with various expressions, the most common was something like angry desperation.

  At the far end of the hall there had been a collapse, probably decades ago. Where Andy imagined a door, there was a huge pile of rubble reaching up almost to the ceiling, where it looked like the roof had given way to the rock of the cavern outside. But, just above the pile of debris were a few holes through the walls leading into the next room. Light was spilling into the dining hall from these holes.

  They came to a halt and considered the pile.

  Andy heard a drum beat. He listened closely and heard rhythmic clicks and hums coming through the debris.

  They won’t be expecting us, but how are we—

  Goblins loosened straps and removed their packs and extra equipment. They were preparing to climb.

  He saw several agonizing over which weapons to carry. Most had to lighten their load if they were to climb the wall of debris, stay silent, and then surprise whoever was on the other side.

  Clang walked from goblin to goblin making their choices for them. An axe here, a bow there. He whispered to Takka. “You stay behind until the fighting; eyes on the slitheries, nothing else.”

  Takka began to object.

  Clang waved his hand before he had a chance. “Climb slow—if we hear you before fight—our Mistress will have Takka-ear necklace for tribute.”

  Takka nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. It looked like he would rip the threads right off the chimes, he held them so tightly.

  “Lose the cloak.” Blue said, as Andy moved to climb.

  He’s probably right.

  Andy unclasped the cloak and placed it on a table, but not before noticing that it had snagged on something again, and he had been leaving a trail of thread for the third time.

  It’s either badly made, or suspicious.

  Andy didn’t have time to come up with a better explanation, and carefully began his climb up the pile of debris. He could feel Blue’s paws holding tight to the hair on the back of his head.

  “Do you mind?” Andy winced in pain, as he pulled himself up a cracked column.

  “Well, I was holding onto the cloak before, and I can’t get a grip on the armor. You’ll just have to deal with it, surfacer.”

  Andy grabbed Blue with his free hand and set the mouse down on a chunk of rock. The mouse leered at him, before bounding up the wreckage, far faster than Andy could have climbed.

  Why do they always insist on a ride if they can do that?

  Having lost sight of Blue, Andy reached for the last handhold and peeked over the top. Blue wasn’t around, but he could see through the cracks into the next chamber. It was a massive entryway.

  He spotted the reinforced double doors, guarded by half a dozen brutox.

  That must be the way outside.

  The rest of the room was filled with equipment and what looked like nests full of sleeping brutox. He had seen creatures like this at Cair Fromage and then again in Caspia. He watched the flames reflect across their heavy, segmented bodies. A few sat around their fire and looked to be playing a game with small toy pieces, humming and clicking as they did so. Another tapped his axe haft on the ground to keep a beat.

  Signs flashed back and forth between Clang and his squad leaders. They looked eager for the fight.

  Clang noticed Andy staring and climbed over a few other goblins to get within earshot.

  “Martin is waiting to strike—his count was right.”

  Andy thought back to the markings, “B XXX.” That’s thirty brutox, but what about the one eye, and the—C? What does C stand for again?

  “Where are the rest?”

  Clang pointed to the roof above the fire. There was something strange about the way the light hit the ceiling.

  What are those shapes—oh.

  Andy could just make out the ethereal bodies of hundreds of slithers, hung upside down from the ceiling.

  C stands for hundreds. There are hundreds of them, and they do look like the ink.

  “Many slitheries—easy fight, even for Takka—but red eye,” he shrugged, “could be anywhere—will come at first sound of fight—we must be fast to kill his children.”

  “When do we attack?” Andy paused at the sound of rubble falling.

  Clang’s hand tensed and rent claw marks into the stone he was leaning on.

  They both suspected Takka, who was motionless a few feet behind.

  A sudden crash sounded in the entry way.

  A massive, metal chandelier had collapsed into the far side of the room. Chunks of ceiling were crumbling away and falling.


  That must have been Martin!

  The Brutox were up and rushing to the aid of those who had been caught beneath.

  Clang gestured and Andy was amazed as the goblins moved in an instant.

  They climbed down and spread out. Andy heard their bowstrings tense, and saw javelins raise.

  The brutox have no idea.

  Takka’s hands worked like lightning to loosen the strings, but his eyes were stuck to the ceiling, where swarms of slithers churned mindlessly. The slithers were roused by the noise, but confused by the lack of an enemy to swarm.

  Clang clicked his tongue and a volley of arrows and javelins went flying.

  The struck brutox clicked painfully but the others were still distracted, thinking the cries were coming from those beneath the chandelier.

  Volley after silent volley whirled through the air before they finally realized what was happening. A roar went up and the dozens of brutox still standing charged towards the pile of debris.

  Andy saw the slither swarms rushing his way. He nearly recoiled backward, to a painful tumble back down the debris.

  “Takka! Now!” Andy cried.

  Takka was ready and rang his chimes wildly right as a wave of inky bodies came close enough to touch. Andy saw the noise of the chimes rippling across their forms as they exploded into a foul-smelling mist.

  He clenched his teeth as they kept charging, heedless of the destruction.

  But suddenly the swarms shifted and split away from Takka. They climbed down the walls and onto the debris pile.

  “They’re attacking from behind!”

  Takka jumped up and followed one half of the swarm, a few of his chimes ripping free of the harness and flying off into the air.

  Andy saw mobs of slithers slam into unsuspecting goblins from behind. The slithers melded into their victims, changing the goblin’s color to a darker and grayer shade with every successive slam. One goblin was hit by five and turned completely gray before falling to the floor, motionless.

  Andy stared at the small knife Clang gave him, confused about why he had drawn it. He nearly threw it away to ready the marble, but forced himself to sheathe it first. The blade crackled and he climbed down. He bent low, so as not to fall, and swiped at the slithers who were surrounding the goblins.

  As he struck they evaporated, well before his blade made contact. He swung and swung, the foul vapor filled his nostrils and made his eyes water. He fought until his arm was sore.

  When he looked for more to swing at, he found none. Brutox lay broken in heaps of chitinous plates. He hadn’t fought any of these brutox, distracted by the slithers. Though he realized that they hadn’t decayed into dust, like his first brutox foe.

  Martin was suddenly among them.

  “Well done, lads. We caught most of them by surprise, but we can’t celebrate.” Martin pointed to a wide stairway that led to closed doors opposite the front entrance. “Clang, cure the gray and the wounded, but keep a watch on that door!”

  Clang nodded, passing vials out to goblins who rushed to splash a few drops of the silvery minoe on their smitten friends.

  Andy saw a goblin brushing thick black ink off another.

  That looks familiar. Titus! Titus did the same for me back home. It feels like forever ago.

  “Over here, human!” Blue called out to Andy. “This one’s gray.”

  Andy rushed over, fumbling for the vial in his pocket. “How do I—”

  “Just a few drops, you fool—and hurry!”

  Andy unstoppered the vial and tapped it gently over the gray goblin.

  A few drops hit, and the gray drained from where the drops struck. Andy bent down and tried to scrape the ink off the goblin’s arms. It came off in viscous sheets. The goblin twitched and coughed. Andy was surprised to see a sudden smile on his face. He spat out black ink and got to his feet.

  “Thankses!” He smacked Andy on the leg. “Third time for me with the ink. I can’t get the hang of slitheries.”

  “Are you feeling better?” Andy asked, taken aback by the goblin’s good mood.

  “Hah! Are you kidding? I feels like I’ve a full belly and a week’s sleep.”

  Andy chuckled, remembering when he had been healed with this liquid.

  It made me feel like nothing else.

  “Name’s Jygg! What kind-a surface-folk name you got?” Jygg held out a small clawed hand.

  “Andy,” he said wryly, as they shook hands.

  “Simple name, isn’t it—Andy—usually the taller they are, the taller the name. Cept our Mistress and all, though I ‘spect she’s gots other names, if you see my meaning.” Jygg looked around at all the healing going on. “How did we do? Hopefully none stay gray.”

  “Pretty good, I think.” Andy saw Takka splayed out on the floor, his limbs tied up in dozens of threads. The handful of surrounding goblins were vexed in their attempts to untie him. “Well, most of us came out all right.”

  Clang walked by, trailed by a dozen goblins, and flashed quick gestures at Jygg, who nodded and joined them in a rush.

  They headed towards two stairwells, one on each side of the main set of doors. On an impulse, Andy followed. The stairs opened into a chamber that looked down onto the space just outside the front doors.

  This is a gatehouse, on the walls of the fortress.

  The goblins rushed forward to a pair of heavily rusted cranks. A few lowered the iron gate and raised the drawbridge, while the rest stood guard at the crenellations and kept watch on the mountain below.

  Andy looked out over the wall and saw further down on the mountainside the many smaller gatehouses that guarded that path.

  We bypassed all of that. I only had to plug the marble into my face.

  A few dozen slithers and a handful of brutox saw what was happening and sounded an alarm. They tried to rush the gate, but it was too late. The frustrated brutox fired their crossbows up at them, but to little effect. The slithers climbed straight up the wall and over the crenellations into the gatehouse only to be struck down by the goblin sentries.

  With the gates sealed shut, Andy took a breath and looked around at the smiling faces.

  “Good lot, these goblins,” Blue said, suddenly at his feet.

  Andy was about to chastise the mouse for surprising him again, but heard a crash. It had come from the entry way.

  Andy rushed back down the stairs, but halfway down he spotted Martin coming up. Martin was a toxic looking neon green. “Superlative violence, young slave. Commendation will be forthcoming.”

  “What?” Andy paused, surprised by Martin’s flat tone.

  Martin kept coming. Andy backed into the gatehouse.

  “Who is least of the least?” Martin asked looking around at the goblins. “Open the gates, we must restate our aggression while the foe is in chaos.”

  “But Mr. The Martin, sir! We just now seal’t the gates—many still out there!” a nearby goblin said, pulling drastically at an ear.

  Martin passed Andy and, without warning, a wave of silver and purple arcs lit through the air accompanied by a noise akin to electricity sparking.

  Startled, Andy stepped back and readied the marble.

  Before he tightened his grip, the blade exploded into the air, bending and crackling towards the space behind Martin.

  Andy saw a red eye shine in mid-air.

  Martin flew forward into the confused looking goblins, his feathers flashing and cycling through hundreds of colors as he stumbled.

  The ryle had been behind Martin, somehow making him speak. Andy was surprised and failed to raise his guard, allowing the ryle to grasp his arm. Andy struggled as the ryle lifted him from the ground with one arm. The ryle was surprised to see the silver blade. Andy took the initiative and stuck.

  His blade met the body of the ryle, but didn’t cut through. Instead, blindingly purple armor, which enfolded his foe’s body, flashed at the strike and deflected the thrust. Andy felt his legs leaving the ground and in an act of desperation reache
d out with his empty hand and grabbed wildly for something to hold on to. He grasped a tentacle and felt his foe convulse and stumble.

  He was falling, and the ryle was falling with him.

  Gratefully, the lower level of the gatehouse was mostly mud, and not far down.

  Andy hit the floor and groaned. It didn’t sound like the ryle was doing much better.

  You need to move! Get up—now!

  Andy rolled onto his hands and knees, his eyes locked on his foe, who had yet to stir.

  “Kill him, Andy!” Blue yelled in a piercing tone.

  Andy leaped to his feet and rushed to the ryle. He struck with his blade. The ryle was up on his knees in a flash, and a purple blade burst from his fist.

  The Counter-Argument!

  “Stop!” The ryle ordered.

  Surprised, Andy stopped.

  “You can’t fight like this, Seer!” The ryle hissed. “Your blade is without hone!”

  Andy felt certain it was a trick and lunged forward. Surprisingly, the ryle stumbled backwards to get away. He held his blade at a distance.

  What the hell is he doing?

  Andy pressed his attack to the cheers of his friends above. Finally, the ryle deflected a chop that would have come too close.

  Andy saw disappointment on the ryle’s face, and then a crack, like thunder, filled his ears as he went flying backwards into the stone wall.

  Fighting to stay conscious, Andy looked with wide eyes down into his hand. The blade and the marble were both gone.

  “What happened?”

  The light dissipated and he saw his Argument rolling in the mud. He almost didn’t believe it when the Argument rolled to a stop on the floor next to his foot. He snatched it with a trembling arm.

  Andy saw the ryle shaking his head.

  “I’ll never see another one of you for as long as I live, and this is what you give me?” he spat.

  Andy pulled himself painfully to his hands and knees.

  “Twist your wrist, when you call the blade!” Martin yelled.

  The ryle nodded. “That ychoron of yours is also quite the find. You should listen to him.”

  Ychoron? I thought he was an ychorite.

  Andy ignored the word and rolled to his feet before summoning the blade again. He twisted his wrist and saw the blade trying to solidify, but it wasn’t constant.