Beastly

by Matt Khourie

  “Extraordinary, truly extraordinary,” Poogs said with hushed excitement. “The inscription is flawless, absolutely perfect. I cannot translate most of the glyphs.” Poogs removed the medallion and pointed to a collection of symbols.

  “But this one assuredly says ‘wynisahil’.”

  The Beast shrugged. Never had he made the claim that he was a great scholar of magical tongues. Poogs snickered at the Beast’s ignorance until a flared nostril interrupted his fun. “I have heard this word. This ‘wynisahil’ is an ancient word. A root word from which all magic flows. The word has not been purposefully uttered by mortals for ages.”

  The Beast lunged at the pirate, pleading. “How do you-- Where did hear that? Is there more? Speak fast, pirate, I have little patience and you have little time.”

  The gleam in Poogs’s eye reflected in the medallion. “My friend, its meaning is as simple as it is elegant.” Poogs’s flashy grin spread over his face.

  “It means wish.”

  Chapter 20

  Beads of sweat dotted Tavril’s sloping forehead. The dwarf yanked a monographed handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed at the salty droplets. After his mark had escaped the ambush at the Rusty Rudder, Tavril had the good sense to summon more muscle from the guild. A dozen men now convened on the fountain outside the merchant’s enclave. Tavril split his swelled ranks which included a few on loan from the City Watch.

  Tavril’s legs dangled from his seat at the fountain’s edge. He would remain behind with his personal guard. The other teams would storm the workshop, front and rear. They would tighten the noose and squeeze. A basic enough strategy. Or so he hoped.

  He stroked absentmindedly at a lengthy beard while the last of his men disappeared into the merchant’s enclave. Now, he need only wait.

  ***

  The Beast was hunched over the looking glass when a crash rattled the workshop.

  “Our guests have arrived. Quickly, to the back--” A second boom muffled Poogs’s instruction. The workshop’s doors exploded, flew into the shop and smashed into the canvased pedestals. Several bizarre displays sent their contents sliding across the floor. The blunderbuss skittered behind a pile of scrap metal.

  A pack of masked men, clad in leather armor, stormed inside crossbows raised. A staccato retort of twangs echoed. Quarrels ripped through the canvases, pinning shreds of fabric into the walls. The assault was fast and furious, meant to shock the wanted men within into surrender. Captain Poogs of the Reaper’s Song harbored no such intention. He dove to his side and smashed a hidden wall panel with a palm, dousing the array of ring-lights, blanketing the shop in blackness.

  The Beast dodged a swarm of quarrels, tumbling behind a large brass globe. He peered over the model, flinching at a ricocheting quarrel. He quickly retreated and scanned around for options. He found Poogs on the move. The pirate had slipped undetected around the room, nearly reaching the wrecked entrance. Poogs crept along, crouched low, hugging the wall. The pirate reached into a pocket retrieving two small objects. The Beast’s keen vision strained but he was able to see the contents of the pirate’s hand.

  The shop key and a small metal ring.

  The crossbowmen held their formation just inside the door, less than thrilled at the prospect of advancing into the darkness. “Profit over peril” was their mantra. Poogs was one thing, the monstrous demon with him, another thing entirely. Instead, strings were re-drawn, quarrels reloaded.

  It was exactly the reprieve the pirate needed.

  Poogs sprung from the shadows, slamming the metal ring against the floor. He shielded his face, bracing an arm tightly against his eyes. The ring exploded a second later in a blinding flash and a thunderstorm’s boom. The guild assassins cried out, deafened and blinded. Crossbows piled onto the floor as the intruders stumbled over one another, fighting for the exit. Poogs appeared from behind a rack of shelves with his wide grin painted in place. He strolled to the door’s frame and inserted the key. The pirate whistled as the last of the guild stumbled from his ruined workshop.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming, but most regrettably I must bid you good-night and farewell,” Poogs said with a low, flourishing bow. He twisted the key, activating the trapdoor. He spun back to the shop, arms raised in victory. “All is well, my friend. They are gone, you may quit cowering now.”

  The Beast stood from behind the globe. Only muffled shouts remained of the intruders. “The trap?”

  Poogs winked.

  “And that flash? Do you meddle in sorcery as well?”

  “Tis not sorcery, my savage friend, but science. A power all may claim regardless of lineage,” Poogs replied. The pirate brandished a second ring before slipping it over a blackened fingernail. “But no time for lessons now. There are more waiting outside to be sure.”

  The fur of the Beast’s golden brown mane quivered as his jaw set. He started for the door. “Then let us take the battle to the cowards who would shoot us down like dogs.”

  It took Poogs both hands and two braced boots to slow him, sliding a full two feet backwards before the Beast relented. “The guild will shoot us down indoors or out. It matters not to them.” Poogs pat the Beast on the chest. He pointed to a rack of cluttered shelves. “Have no fear. There is yet another way out.”

  The Beast pushed hard against the wall, tensing as the wall stood its ground. “We are to walk through it I suppose?”

  Poogs sighed. “How sad it must be to possess such shoddy vision.” The pirate tugged on a hunk of scrap lying waist high on a shelf. Dust puffed from the outline of the hidden door. He swung the shelving away while the false panel slowly slid into the wall.

  The proud pirate turned his back on the passage, preparing another grandiose quip. A quarrel fired from within the newly exposed exit grazed Poogs’s shoulder. He staggered a step, caught off guard by the sudden pain. Warm blood trickled down his arm. He grabbed at the wound, trying to squeeze away the spreading sting.

  Three men filled the short passage to the alley. The man at center dropped to a knee for a reload, ordering the others to advance. The pair fired into the workshop as they closed in. Poogs smiled and tilted his face away from the inevitable.

  The Beast flew through the darkness with a roar, knocking Poogs from his fate. A quarrel ripped a fresh hole in the Beast’s tattered cloak. He rolled to his feet, grasping for a suitable weapon. His paws brushed something curved and cool. And heavy.

  The globe.

  The Beast heaved the gigantic brass sphere at the assassins, battering the pair into their comrade and back into the night. The globe wedged into the hidden doorway that now restricted admission to only slivers of moonlight that cast an eerie glow over the brass. Poogs picked himself up with a groan, still clutching at his wound. He uttered a gratitude and then a curse before slipping to his hands and knees.

  The Beast thought the pirate to have feinted at the sight of his blood. He knelt to pick Poogs up and was greeted with a laugh. The pirate stood, clutching the blunderbuss, winking with an air of defiant confidence. “It will take more than a scratch.”

  The Beast sidled next to the wall and peered out the window. “What now? Too many out front.” He regarded the brass globe. “And I broke your secret door.”

  Poogs smirked at the heavy handed renovation and tapped the blunderbuss against the brass barricade. “It would seem so.”

  The clanging of heavy armor intensified near the door. Poogs pointed to a staircase behind his work station and shouted for the Beast to move. The pirate retreated to the base of the stairs, blunderbuss raised. The Beast snatched up the medallion and took the stairs by three. He found a loft full of stacked shipping crates at the top. At the far end, moonlight painted a wide window in a welcoming silver hue.

  The Beast snaked his way through the wooden maze of crates stamped in tongues he did not recognize. It seemed that Poogs’s stories of wonder had been truthful. The tight labyrinth’s
splintery edges snagged and tore at his cloak. Halfway to freedom the sad sound of ripping cloth tore the cloak free. The Beast doubled back, but Poogs’s shout warned him off. “Keep going!”

  A dozen men in heavy chain armor veered around the open trap door and stormed the workshop. The time for crossbows was over: The new arrivals brandished swords and battle axes and were eager to avenge their comrades in the pit. But fortune smiled upon the pirate for a third time. The pirate squeezed the trigger and the blunderbuss’ muzzle flashed with a sharp crack.

  The shell struck a mercenary square in the chest plate, knocking him from his feet. The man went down hard, winded into unconsciousness.

  “You’re gonna’ need more ’en one of those,” snarled a man near the pack’s front. He clapped a chipped battle axe against his chest.

  Poogs rested the smoking blunderbuss on his shoulder. “No, I believe one shall suffice.”

  The projectile exploded into crackling arcs of blueish-purple lightning. They danced from the fallen man, claiming his closest comrades. A second pulsing arc claimed the rest. The tight formation was fast reduced to a quivering mass of limbs and rolling eyes.

  “See?” Poogs taunted. “Only one.” The pirate sprinted up the remaining stairs. He reloaded the blunderbuss as he navigated the forest of crates.

  At the other end of the loft, the Beast tore at the barred window objecting to their escape. He paid the objection no mind and rent the rusty iron free. Behind him came the sounds of toppling crates. The Beast snapped back to the racket, ready for battle and was relieved by the sight of Poogs fast on his way. The Beast looked behind the pirate shimmying his way through the rows of crates, raising a brow at the mess. The small pile would have failed to block a curious child. The Beast dropped the mangled handful of barred window. “I don’t think that will slow them.”

  “It wasn’t meant to,” Poogs replied. The pirate dangled the remains of the Beast’s hunter green cloak and then tossed it home.

  ***

  Tavril’s brow was sheeted in perspiration. The dwarf knew that another failure was out of the question. The code allowed for no more leniency than a single second chance. Poogs must be brought in, dead or alive.

  Preferably dead.

  “Where is that blasted Janten? I should be parading that pirate scum’s body by now.”

  Neither of Tavril’s body guards answered the dwarf. Sergeant Dacian of the City Watch joined the pursuit to protect his deal with the Wakeful captain. He cared nothing for the pirate or the dwarf’s guild. All that mattered was keeping Malachai happy and paying.

  Drawing slender blades, Dacian and his City Watch lackeys moved in unison to the workshop. He gestured for Tavril to remain close behind. The crossbowmen still groaned from the pit’s bottom. Tavril’s cheeks flushed beneath his thick beard. The dwarf kicked at the street, cursing Poogs’s name. He stopped for a breath, and his nose filled with the acrid smell of burning chemicals.

  That damned pirate...

  Tavril turned to run, but was too late. The loft exploded, ripping away part of the roof and most of the store front. An avalanche of burning crates rained down, flattening the shelves and covered projects. Fire greedily rolled over the walls, fueled by the endless expanse of schematics. Tavril pushed the smoking body of a mercenary away and struggled to his feet. His head was a vibrating mess. A carpet of writhing watchmen decorated the street. The workshop was little more than debris.

  A grim smile slowly crawled over the dwarf’s chiseled face. No one could have escaped the fireball.

  ***

  The Beast fled through the maze of blind alleys with Poogs trailing close behind. “Ahead, next right and we should be clear.”

  The Beast reached the intersection and stopped. The pirate’s judgement back at the workshop had been correct. A stand up brawl would not have ended well. Not for Poogs. Not for himself. Not for Lia.

  Poogs finally caught up and joined the Beast in a moment’s rest. He bent, bracing a hand on a knee, chest heaving.

  “Thank you, captain,” the Beast said. He pat the medallion beneath his cloak. “My quest continues with purpose. Now I need only find Malachai and the child.”

  Poogs stretched his back. “Who is this child you seek, why does she mean so much to you?”

  “Her grandfather said she was special, that she could heal your world. The old man offered his assistance with this.” The Beast tapped the medallion. “I’ve had visions of her, heard her voice.”

  “It is truly the most terrible of things when a child is lost.”

  “She is no child of mine and yet we are connected somehow. It is as though I know her without ever having met her. She is...”

  “What?”

  The Beast hesitated, unsure of the words. “...mine to protect.” He was sure that a zinging quip would be the price paid for his sentiment, but none came. Instead, Poogs merely gestured to the intersection.

  “We must go.”

  The pair ran deeper into the Merchant’s Enclave. On all sides, store fronts full of dark and shuttered windows pressed together into a narrowing, dense nest. The Beast stumbled through a switchback as the pirate spoke once more.

  “She would have been lucky to have you. As my son would have been to have me.”

  The Beast heard a familiar click. He turned to find an expressionless Poogs raising the blunderbuss.

  “I am truly sorry, my friend.”

  The projectile thumped into the Beast’s chest, knocking him back a step. Disbelief was fast replaced by a sudden burst of white-hot rage. Betrayal. As expected. He lurched forward, picturing a headless pirate. An arc of lightning surged from the metallic shell, piercing the Beast’s breast. His muscles spasmed and he stumbled to a knee. Fury carried him through a wobbling stride into the blunderbuss’s wafting smoke.

  The Beast swung at the pirate, claws begging for the soft flesh of his throat. Poogs stood motionless as the claws raked down, missing by inches. The Beast reached up from the ground, willing his arm to another strike. Vengeance would be his.

  And then he fell into oblivion.

  Chapter 21

  The prow of the Reaper’s Song cut through the rolling waves of Meridian’s coast. Her trio of main sails caught sweeping currents of wind, speeding the massive vessel true. She was a constant fixture of the seafaring world. The buxom figurehead with the skeletal face had haunted nightmares since the dawn of time. Clutching her lyre to her chest, she pierced the morning mists with an out-stretched sword.

  The majestic ship had slipped away unnoticed by the City Watch, courtesy of her captain’s considerable influence. Poogs knew intimately the power of a coin laden purse. He tapped his own laden purse, jingling its fresh contents, pleased by the heft. Satisfied for the moment, the pirate returned his attention to his beloved vessel, lazily guiding the helm with one hand.

  Sergeant Dacian of the City Watch was not faring as well. His left eye was swollen shut, blood poured from his bludgeoned mouth. The corrupt watchman faced the dawn bound and kneeling on the main deck. Malachai paced a short path in front of the bloodied man, spiked boots gouging the deck. “You were warned.” He stomped Dacian’s chest, sending him reeling. Mercy was a wholly unknown concept to the black rider. Kicking a downed opponent was a central tenet of Wakeful combat doctrine and one he particularly enjoyed.

  Shivers climbed the spines of Poogs’s crew as a second savage kick curled Dacian into a ball. Blood spurt from his mouth. He rolled onto his back, pleading for mercy. Lia met Dacian’s panicked gaze as he panted beneath his tormentor. Terror stared back from a single teary orb. She wracked her mind for a way to help. She looked to the seas, blue like a hummingbird, but found no answers. She considered calling out to Polaris, but a memory of her pafaa stirred. Bravery no matter the odds.

  Malachai hoisted Dacian to his feet. His fiery gaze scorched Dacian’s face. He contorted his slit-like mouth into a half smile while wis
ps of smoke peeled from Dacian’s cheeks. “You were warned. And you knew the penalty.” The Wakeful Captain seized shivering Dacian into a tight bear hug. The condemned man cried out in agony, torn by the blades and barbs of Malachai’s armor.

  Lia screamed to her lungs limit. Malachai dropped the bloody mess, kicking him again for good measure before gesturing to the crew. The crewmen looked wide eyed at each other, then to their captain. A dour Poogs grimaced, then nodded once. He would not share in Dacian’s mistakes. He would not fail the Wakeful. The doomed City Watchman begged for mercy as the crew lifted him overhead and tossed him over the rail. His final cry stretched over the waves as he fell.

  Lia rushed to the railing and peered over the gilded woodwork. A single bobbing arm stuck up from the waves. A moment later, Dacian was gone.

  “Bring me the other,” Malachai commanded.

  Lia’s heart plunged into her stomach. Across the deck, a door opened. Her lip quivered as Castiel was shoved stumbling forward to Malachai’s judgment. His hands were bound behind his back and cold sweat pasted his shirt to his blanched skin. Malachai swatted his victim with a stiff backhand. Castiel’s head swiveled, his face torn by the jagged gauntlet’s kiss. It was more than Lia could take. She rushed down from the helm, throwing herself up as Castiel’s shield. “Stop!”

  Malachai raised his fist, deciding between victims. Salty air rushed over the Reaper’s Song, tussling Lia’s rich curls. Malachai lowered his hand, cautioned both by the wind’s sudden intrusion and fresh memory of Lia’s strength. The child reached for Castiel’s wounded face. She muttered a secret word and the Breath came, wrapping her hands in healing orbs of white light. Castiel’s jailors hastily retreated to the safety of their shipmates.