by Jeff Gunzel
“So they didn’t kill all of them?” Owen asked.
“Only most,” Xavier replied.
“A food source?” Liam suggested, thinking out loud. “Possibly labor. I’m not sure who is worse off, the captives or the dead.”
“Well, I say we get moving,” Owen said, already heading for his lavics. “I figure we’ve already stayed too long.”
“Agreed,” Liam said, heading towards the wagon. “Uh, how much further until we meet these friends of yours?” he called to Owen.
“Soon,” came the vague, but expected answer.
“Of course,” Liam muttered, peeking inside the back of the wagon. Viola was lying down, her face nestled into the crook of her arm. He could tell from her breathing that she was still awake, but opted against bothering her. If she wanted to be left alone, he would honor her wish. After all, she’d been through a lot today. They all had. He climbed into the front, and with a snap of the reins, they rolled away from the empty town.
*
The runner streaked down the hallway, bare feet slapping against the thin carpet layered over ice-cold stone. Hearing the mumble of blended voices coming from the room just ahead, he stopped to lean against the wall, his pounding heart slamming inside of his chest. He was winded from the long sprint, certainly, but the thought of delivering bad news directly to Orm’rak was beyond terrifying. His heart would be thumping the same even if he had walked the entire way.
Here in the frigid hall, mists of steam blasted from his mouth with each breath. He took a final moment to gather himself, building his courage at last. Pushing off the wall, he jogged around the corner. Streaking into the dining hall as if he’d been running the entire time, he ran straight for Orm’rak at the head of the table, determined to deliver his message and get out as fast as possible.
The laberath leader hardly paid any attention to the human, allowing him to babble in his ear without the slightest change of expression. Listening, Orm’rak tipped back his goblet of blood, draining it in one gulp. Others around the table only spared the human a glance or two before continuing their gluttonous feeding.
After the last word left his lips, the runner stood up straight, awaiting further instruction. When Orm’rak said nothing, relieved, he turned to bolt from the room. After only a single step towards the hall, a hindering tightness around his waist halted his movement. Reluctantly, he glanced back to see two fingers pinching the band of his tattered pants. The grip was so strong they might as well have been iron locks.
Calmly, Orm’rak began tapping the side of his goblet with a bloodied fork. Muttering voices began to dissipate, quickly followed by total silence. All eyes on the head of the table, he took his time, meeting each curious gaze in turn. “I have just received an update on our most recent objective.” He gave the runner’s band a gentle tug. “Um, what is your name?” he asked.
“G-Goru,” the man muttered, trembling from head to toe.
“Ah, yes,” Orm’rak continued. “Goru here has informed me that our team has failed in capturing the half-blood girl. Can anyone here suggest to me what might have gone wrong?” His answer came in the form of a long, drawn-out silence. He tugged the man’s band again. “Excluding the target, how many adversaries did my team encounter? One hundred? A thousand, perhaps?”
The rising terror forced the man to lose all control of his body. Moist warmth spread across the front of his pants, trickling down the inside of his legs. “Three,” he whispered, his voice barely a rasp of air.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that, Goru?”
“T-There w-were three of them,” the runner repeated, shaking so hard his teeth were starting to click.
“Did everyone hear our friend, Goru?” Orm’rak asked, his red-eyed glare sweeping around the table. “Three humans defeated our warriors. Needless to say, I am not pleased by this.” He turned back to Goru. “But I imagine this pleases you quite a bit.”
“No. No, that’s not true,” the runner groveled. “I live only to serve you. To serve the laberaths!”
“Now don’t you lie to me,” Orm’rak scolded, speaking to him as one might speak to a child. He lifted Goru up in the air by the seat of his pants. After letting him hang for several seconds, he slammed the runner down on the table, driving all air from his lungs. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this right now. I need to figure out what, if anything, is so special about you humans. I will not accept another failure.” Pinning Goru down by his neck, he slid a knife out from between two dinner cloths.
“Master, please,” the man begged, trying to slip air past the crushing grip around his throat.
“So let’s take a close look at one of these humans so we may determine what it is that makes them so formidable,” Orm’rak said, ignoring the choking man beneath his grasp. “I must find their secret so I may plan accordingly. Please be patient. This might take a while, since I plan to search for this magical formula inch by inch.” Goru’s terrified scream was partially muffled, smothered into the iron grip strapped over his mouth.
There came a flood of cheers, laberaths clapping and rubbing their hands together. “Now then, that’s what I like to see: a little enthusiasm towards our research efforts. So where shall we begin our search? You there,” he said, pointing to the female to his left. “Where do you think this human is hiding his special powers?”
“In his hand,” the hairless female chirped, rubbing her hands together with excitement.
“You may very well be right,” Orm’rak admitted, privately entertained by the simplistic answer. He raked the knife diagonally across the top of the runner’s wrist, liberating four of his fingers and a fair chunk of hand. Goru shrieked in pain, again his cries muffled against Orm’rak’s hand. He tossed her the piece. She wasted no time in tearing into the fresh slice, teeth scraping against bone.
“Anyone else?” Orm’rak asked.
“The secret is in their eyes,” came a voice from the back. “Always a sickly blue or brown. Never a proper color. I’m sure that’s where their power lies.”
“Excellent!” Orm’rak said, pointing to the one at the far end of the table. “I hadn’t even though of that.”
He tipped the runner’s head back, forcing him to look up at the ceiling. “Nooo!” he screamed, closing his eyes as tightly as he could, thrashing about, head shaking, legs kicking. “Please don’t! I’ll do anything you say.” Ignoring the desperate pleas, the laberath leader wiggled his fingers into the man’s socket. Goru released a high-pitched shriek fit to shatter crystal. With a bit of effort, the eyeball popped free with a snap. Orm’rak held it up, the clinging optic nerve looking like a small tail. He tossed it across the table, watching it hop once before rolling off the edge.
“I’m not so sure anymore,” Orm’rak said sarcastically, glaring down at the wounded runner, his hand clenched over a bleeding, empty socket. “I thought their secret would be easier to find than this. I see I must triple my efforts.” With nowhere near the amount of care he used removing the first eye, the laberath drove his fingers in the second socket, snapping out his other eye. “Umm, nothing here, either,” he reported casually, tossing the bloody ball aside. His mortally wounded body going into shock, Goru lay on the table with his mouth wide open. His body twitched again and again, head shuddering with seizure-like symptoms.
“I’d better keep looking,” Orm’rak growled, no longer looking amused at the game he had created. His hand fired down into the open mouth, its hidden mass apparent in the form of a lump moving deep down the runner’s throat. Viciously, he wrenched his hand free, a spray of red misting a portion of the table. Stringy bits of meat clung in his fist, dangling between his fingers like gory vines. “Nope,” he said, glancing at the red pulp then throwing it right in the center of the table with a wet smack. The other laberaths slid their chairs back, entertained smiles slowly melting from their faces. This was getting out of hand even by their practically nonexistent standards.
Tongue, jaw, and ears were quickl
y ripped free and tossed onto the table. “They’re clever, these humans are!” Orm’rak roared, gouging away at the lifeless corpse. “I just can’t seem to find any hidden power.” A minute later, the corpse was completely unrecognizable. To prove it was once a human would take a long, careful examination.
Orm’rak moved away from the corpse. Glistening blood-coved hands clasped behind his back, he calmly began circling the table. “I’ve searched but found nothing,” he said, his steady voice an icy calm. Eyes low, the laberaths sat quiet and still, avoiding his gaze at all costs. “So, now that my thorough search has concluded, I can only come to one conclusion.” Orm’rak stopped directly behind one of the seated laberaths, and glared down at him. “It seems to me that there is nothing special about them at all. They are just as pathetic and weak as I always suspected.” He leaned down into the laberath’s ear. “Which means my brothers have failed me.”
A fist exploded through the creature’s chest, spraying even more blood across the table. The others leapt from their seats, instantly becoming blurs of movement streaking for the hall. “And you shall not fail me again!” Orm’rak raged, his piercing scream echoing down the hall. Retracting his hand with a squishing slurp, the wide-eyed body tipped from the chair onto the floor. Still seething, he glanced down at the corpse. It was a necessary sacrifice. Someone had to be held accountable. And more importantly, others needed to witness someone being held accountable. There was simply too much at stake here.
“Oh, but I don’t blame you,” said Orm’rak, walking back over to the mangled human corpse. “Forgive my temper, Goru. Sometimes I lose myself when dealing with such incompetence.” He paused, as if waiting for some sort of response. “I understand,” he continued, answering the imaginary comment. “You were just a runner after all, and didn’t deserve such harsh treatment from the likes of me. So allow me to present you with a gift. Let’s just say this is my way of giving you...a second chance.”
Orm’rak swiped his fingers across the bloody torso. Cracked ribs glistened beneath the skin, shimmering a silver light visible for only a second. The mangled body twitched once, twice, the remaining fragment of head swayed on the tip of its spinal column like a wagging tail. The bloody mass rose, pushing off the table with its one still-functioning arm. “There you are,” Orm’rak mused, admiring his own work. “You see, I’m not so bad after all.”
Still glistening with fresh blood, the animated mound of flesh hobbled away, a severely broken leg clicking in and out of place with every other step. A length of intestine dragged behind, slithering across the floor while leaving a red trail. The imitation of life found its way into the hall, then limped away, broken bones shifting and clicking.
Orm’rak let out a deep breath, enjoying the lingering aftereffects. Each time a human body was animated, a small trace of its life force was absorbed. Like sweet nectar with a touch of adrenaline, the afterglow pumped through his veins, the taste lingering on his tongue. The rush was always short-lived, but he savored it nonetheless.
Realizing he could stall no longer, Orm’rak left the dining hall and headed for his private chambers. Now that the runner had made his report, he would have to go make his. The idea of reporting his failure didn’t sit well with the laberath leader. Mere humans had somehow defeated the force he sent. How was he supposed to explain this humiliation?
Sure, Owen Dunwich was an elite warrior whose reputation seemed to grow by the day. There were even a few scatted reports claiming his apprentice might be the more deadly of the two. But still...they were just humans. How could they have caused this much trouble? And now it seemed they traveled with a third person who possessed a completely different skill set, complimenting their brute strength with arcane powers.
Regardless of the hunter’s new ally, another failure was simply unacceptable. This time, I will lead them myself. Hunter, you turned down my offered riches only to embrace certain death? Fool! Then allow me to accommodate your wish.
Servants dressed in tattered rags scattered as he marched down the hall. Word of his display of brutality had already spread. Even his fellow laberaths were nowhere to be seen, no doubt avoiding him, as well they should be. He stopped near a window and looked out across the underground city, admiring the view for a time. With its jagged rooftops giving off a soft fluorescent light, Kraindoel’s beauty matched that of any city of the surface world. But it wasn’t located in the surface world. It was buried so far underground, sometimes Orm’rak thought it felt more like a tomb than a city.
“Why must we remain hidden beneath the rocks like common rodents?” he growled to himself, eyes sweeping across the buildings below. “We are a superior race, yet it is we who are forced to live underground.” A wicked smile spread across his face. “But not for much longer. Soon we shall rise and take what is rightfully ours. Enjoy your ball of fire creeping across the sky. May it burn your souls into dust! Soon, it will be you who crawls beneath the ground, skittering over cold rocks like insects.”
He pushed away from the window and continued on his way. In his mind, he already knew why the laberaths remained underground. Although they were physically superior to most surface beings, they were woefully outnumbered. So outnumbered in fact, that many surface dwellers actually denied their existence at all. This push into relevancy would be a slow one, but it was inevitable.
Their newly formed alliance with another superior race would see to that.
Reaching his chambers, he pushed back an unassuming door made of splintered wood, its color faded away long ago. He pushed through the decorative room, colorful tapestries seeming to hang from every wall, heads of bizarre creatures displayed on dark lacquered plaques. Throwing back a beaded curtain, he stepped into the gloomy backroom, a dank stench hanging in the air. Before him was a purple stone pedestal, sanded smooth with two holes at its front. Taking in a final breath, Orm’rak slid his hands into the holes, back straight, his head held high.
It hissed, steam rising all around. The once dark room pulsed with yellow light, throbbing on and off with a buzzing sound. The steam began to circle, spinning together to form a misty funnel of vapor. The twirling vapor slowed, a white cone spreading upward as it began to take shape. Orm’rak swallowed, suddenly gazing into the eyes of a pasty white face with large pink eyes. Its bald head almost looked dusty, a powdery dull white.
“Orm’rak,” hissed the noseless, featureless white face. “Word of your failure has already reached my ears. I thought such a simple task would be easy for the laberaths, legends of the underworld. I see that I was wrong.”
“The force I sent proved to be incompetent,” Orm’rak admitted, withering under the glare of those savage pink eyes. “I assure you it will not happen again.”
“Their incompetence is a reflection of your own!” the white face shrieked. After a pause it calmed a bit, still glaring with judgment and hate. “Have you no desire to leave this murky underworld you call home?”
“Of course we do,” Orm’rak replied. “But could I not ask you the same?” he asked boldly. “I don’t imagine being trapped in a world of fire is any more desirable than my sunless cage. Don’t forget, you need us just as badly as we need you.” The pasty white head funneled back into steam momentarily, twirling with irritation before reforming once more.
“Find the girl!” it roared, pink eyes flaring with blazing light. “Once the ritual is complete, we, too, shall walk the surface world once more.”
With a satisfied smirk, Orm’rak dipped into a shallow bow. “With pleasure,” he said. “This time, we shall not fail.”
Chapter 8
Viola watched the trees roll past on either side. Clouds of dust funneled up from the churning wheels, spiraling away from her swinging feet. Each mile traveled carried her farther away from her former life. Already, Redwater felt like like a distant memory rolling around in the back of her mind like a dream from one’s childhood, so vague and faded it becomes difficult to recall. She was not necessarily safe, but she was free no
w.
“Viola,” Liam summoned, peeking back from his high perch. “Would you mind sitting up here with me for a bit?” Reluctant at first, she hoisted her feet up from the edge and crawled to the front on her hands and knees. Taking her by the hand, Liam helped her up over the seat backing. “There we are,” he said, trying to smile at her. The forced grin looked more like a man trying to show off his teeth. She wasn’t buying it.
The wagon wobbled as they rolled along in silence. She could see Owen up ahead, his thick mount zipping along with unnerving grace. Fluid and agile, it reminded her a bit of a lizard, its nimble body swaying from side to side to keep its built-up momentum. Xavier rode by his side, his elegant horse clopping along. It was easy to forget the beautiful beast was a full-blooded warhorse, ready to charge at a moment’s notice.
“So what happened back there?”
“Wha—” she stammered with surprise, realizing she was staring at Xavier again. In his flowing white cloak, to her he looked like a high-ranking noble, a stark contrast to the grizzly warrior riding at his side.
“I understand that the old woman had some choice words for you,” said Liam, eyes straight ahead. “I think you’ll find that I’m a good listener. That is...if you care to talk about it.”
Viola shifted uncomfortably. “There is nothing to tell,” she replied softly. “That woman’s only crime was being afraid of me. That’s all. Everyone is afraid of me.”
“Not everyone,” Liam assured, glancing down at her. “Besides, what does some old woman who has been trapped in a small town her whole life know of the world?”
“Breda,” Viola replied.
“What now, dear?”
“Her name was Breda,” Viola repeated, a touch of venom in her tone. “And she wasn’t just some old woman. You don’t know her story any more than I do. Who knows what she’s accomplished during her time in this world? Perhaps she saved someone’s life, a small child from drowning or something like that.” She paused, listening to the wheels creaking down below. “Maybe she fell deeply in love and thought nothing could ever take that away from her. And in that moment, life couldn’t be more beautiful. Maybe she thought things would always be that way.”