The Best Laid Plans

by K. T. Davies

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I said, inadvertently voicing my thoughts. They both shot me an accusing stare. “Sorry. You two carry on. I know you Ferrics must have a great deal to talk about after all these years.”

  “Silence, fool.” The blood-drinker snarled. For the briefest moments the glamour upon her failed, and I saw her viper fangs and ash grey skin hanging in folds around her cadaverous form. A blink later the glamour returned, and she was once again a voluptuous redhead, her ample charms barely concealed by the silken robe. Ulthvarr didn’t react, which led me to believe he hadn’t seen her true form, but he kept his weapon up. I hoped this meant that he wasn’t entirely beguiled by his erstwhile comrade’s unnatural athleticism. “As you can see, old friend, not only am I not in trouble, but I’ve been rejuvenated. I feel better than I’ve felt in years.”

  “What happened?” Ulthvarr asked again as he backed a few more feet towards me.

  She threw a sheet over the body on the bed. Her claws were gone, replaced by delicate pink fingernails. “The same thing that happens to all of us. I got old. My knees started to give out, my back, my eyesight, you know how it is.” The barbarian grunted in agreement. “I had to keep working, keep taking the coin of every petty baron and weakling prince just to keep body and soul together. And then I met someone who gave me the gift of immortality. That’s why I brought you here.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ulthvarr said as he backed towards the door.

  “She’s offering you the gift of immortality,” I said as I also began to make a surreptitious retreat. This situation could go wrong for me in so many ways, I had to laugh.

  “The beast is correct. Look at you, Uli. You’re old, soft, going grey. I’ll bet your eyesight is failing and your prodigious strength. Now, look at me.” She opened her robe. Ulthvarr’s eyes widened. “I’m as old as you and yet I have the body of a woman half my age.”

  “I bet she keeps it under the bed,” I side-mouthed, but the barbarian wasn’t listening to me, he was too busy ogling his dead comrade.

  “Join me, old friend. Together we’ll find the other Ferrics who yet live and we shall ride again.” She smiled. I was no sorcerer, but I could feel magic thicken the air as she tried to bend his mind to her will which was probably not the most challenging spell she’d ever cast. “Put the ax down, Uli. You don’t need it, we’re comrades.” He looked at the weapon like he was surprised to see it in his hands. I took another half step back. His arm shot out and blocked my path to the door. The blood-drinker nodded. “I’m so glad you brought a friend. I would have preferred a hot-blooded human, but given the circumstances, a warspawn will do.” She prowled towards us.

  I decided that I’d stab the big, hairy bastard and while she was lapping up his claret, I’d run like hell.

  He raised his ax, halting her in her tracks. “Tell me, Mur, why did you send for me? I know we had that, er, thing in Kandandooran, but that was a long time ago. Why me?”

  “Because you’re strong and brave.” A slow smile spread across her face. She shivered, pulled her gown tight across the fulsome curve of her breasts. “And because of that thing that happened in Kandandooran.”

  The big ox smiled stupidly. I couldn’t let this go unchallenged, not unless I wanted to be their reunion meal. “Hey, Uli, listen. You might not be the only one she’s sent for. For all you know those boxes in the cellar might be full of your comrades. Maybe she just knows you lot will come running for old times’ sake. Or maybe she’s just too fucking lazy to hunt down her prey and would rather it came to her.”

  She snarled at me, hate shining in her red-rimmed eyes. “Don’t listen to that animal, Ulthvarr. You know me. We’ve fought side by side, we’re Ferrics.”

  He lowered the ax. Murai allowed herself a little smile of triumph and resumed her slow prowl. “Think of it, Uli. No more aches and pains, no more growing old and slow. Eternal youth will be yours.”

  He nodded slowly. I prepared to open his throat. I wouldn’t lose any sleep over the decision to kill him, given that it looked like he was fixing to slay me. However, there was something in the way he looked at me in that moment that stayed my hand. Instead of stabbing him I ducked, and he hurled his ax at the blood-drinker. She seemed surprised but reflexively slapped the great weapon aside as it arced towards her head. Black blood sprayed across the gauzy drapes and she let out an unearthly howl as her severed fingers tumbled through the air.

  “Run!” Ulthvarr shouted entirely unnecessarily as I was already pounding down the corridor ahead of him.

  5

  I didn’t stop running until I reached the abandoned village and even then, only because Uli had fallen behind. He eventually caught up, panting and red in the face.

  “You… left… me,” he said and collapsed, gasping for breath.

  “No, you failed to keep up. But let’s not dwell on who left who. Did your friend follow you?” I asked although I saw no sign of the infernal harridan on the trail. Ulthvarr shook his head by way of answer and gulped air like it was the most excellent wine.

  A few minutes later he’d recovered enough to sit up, whereupon he put his head in his hands. “Oh. Murai.”

  “Yes. Murai. Indeed.”

  “I don’t know how it happened?”

  “Well, sirrah, I’m no expert, but I believe that discourse with an infernal being is required, wherein a deal of some kind is struck, and power is bargained for a service, or perhaps given on a whim.”

  He looked askance. “How the hell do you know that?”

  “My mother’s a sorcerer.”

  “Ah. Right.” He got up, dusted himself down. “She was my friend. My comrade, my blade sister and—”

  “And now she’s a blood-drinking infernal.” He glared at me. “Don’t give me the evils. I’m not the lackwit who made a deal with a demon.”

  “She must have been tricked into it.”

  “You believe that if it makes you feel better.”

  “It doesn’t. My friend is lost to evil. Gods’ know how many innocents she’s slain.”

  I drew my dagger and picked some filth from under my claws. “Aye, ’tis tragic, there being such a shortage of humans and all. Anyway, as much as I would love to discourse with you on the matter, I must be going. I take it you’ll be heading back to slay her, perhaps find that beautiful death you’re so looking forward to?”

  He looked aghast. “Sweet Salvation, fuck that.” He shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no, no.”

  “No?”

  “Do you take me for a lack wit?”

  “Certainly not. I took you for a mighty warrior, fighting for honor and glory and all that shi… stuff.”

  “None of that stuff involves having my blood drunk by a demon, even if the demon used to be a friend. I’m not as young as I was and even then, this is too much.”

  I changed my estimation of the fellow. It turned out that he was brighter than he looked and yet a part of me was disappointed that he wasn’t the grim, pebble-brained hero that I’d taken him for. Being heroic was undoubtedly a mug's game, but I felt that someone ought to do it. Alas, the world was most likely populated by pragmatists, cowards, and liars— people like me.

  “As we didn’t rescue Murai I think it only fair I keep hold of the coin,” Ulthvarr said, his hand resting lightly on one of the axes tucked into his belt.

  I could have argued that a deal was a deal, but the only arbiter out here was steel. I didn’t want to kill him over the matter, I quite liked the big, huffing lump and I also didn’t want to risk being killed by him which was always a possibility when events turned sharp and pointy. Happily for me I knew of more than one way to skin a barbarian.

  “I understand entirely, Uli,” I said with a smile. “Come, friend, let us embrace and bid each other a fond farewell. We are comrades born out of circumstance rather than of choice, but we are comrades nonetheless.”

  “Aye.” He beamed, eating the flattery like a plate of honey pancakes. He wrapped me in his massive arms
. “If you’re ever in Grundvelt, come visit me,” he said without offering any means by which I could find him.

  “I shall,” I replied when he released me. “And thank you for seeing beyond these scales and fangs to the person underneath.”

  He planted his massive paws on my shoulders. “You are as human as I am and anyone who says otherwise will have me to answer to.”

  I inclined my head in a display of sham gratitude. It was all an act fashioned to buff his ego. I could hear him now, regaling bored listeners with the grisly tale of this day in whatever shithole, farmers’ tavern he frequented back in Grundvelt. I’m sure he would paint himself the hero and I wished him well in that endeavor. All I knew was that he’d have to borrow money if he wanted to buy a round for his audience because while he’d been hugging the breath out of me, I’d been extracting gold from him. Quick as a switch I’d cut the strap on his breastplate, slipped my hand inside his coat, and palmed his coin pouch without him noticing anything was amiss.

  With oaths sworn and farewells bade, I waved him goodbye and made a show of heading in the opposite direction to that which I intended. When I was out of sight, I hunkered down to examine my hard-won gains. My plan was to shadow the trail I’d taken to get here and then cut across country. It would bring me closer to the patrols if they were still on the hunt, which I doubted, but further away from the damnable keep and its thirsty occupant. I tipped the contents of the pouch into my hand.

  “You utter prick.” There were four gold crowns, three gold quarter bits, a couple of silver tals but mostly copper pennies. About a year’s wages for a farm hand. I, however, was an upstanding member of the Midnight Court with debts to pay. I counted them again, just to make sure and cursed the lying snotpocket and all his descendants. I didn’t blame him for lying, I was more annoyed at myself for taking him at his word. At least the gold chain I’d liberated from the crypt made up for almost being killed by a blood-drinking infernal and swived by that hairy tosser. It was then that a familiar sinking feeling hit me like a rock in the face. I patted my jerkin, and then, when I couldn’t feel the reassuring bulge of thick, gold links I tore open the laces and rummaged through my shirt pockets. Nothing.

  The chain was too valuable to abandon, so I retraced my steps from the village to the bridge in the hope that I’d dropped it during our mad flight.

  I hadn’t, or if I had, I’d dropped it nearer the damnable keep or worse, inside.

  “Bollocks.” This was a disaster. Not only would I get back to the Guild and the Mouse’s Nest days late, but I would be returning as empty-handed as an honest beggar. I’d be a laughing stock, mocked by my peers which would mean I’d have to kill one of them to save face and re-assert my position, and that would be a damn shame. If I wanted to avoid the slight and thereby save the life of one of my comrades, I reasoned there was only one thing I could do. I’d have to sneak back into the blood-drinker’s keep and rob the dead. I wouldn’t go near her boudoir, where I guessed she’d be holed up for a while nursing her wounds. I’d stick to plundering the crypt, where I knew there were rich pickings to be had. Why, the gold and gems on the waxed mummy alone would cover my debts with plenty to spare.

  Being a greedy cove, the more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea, and the more the memory of the undead wench receded. My greedy little mind pictured sneaking in all nice and quiet, robbing the dead, and fleeing before she knew I’d returned. After all, why would she loiter in a cellar? What kind of fool would return to a place from where they’d just escaped the claws of death? Being somewhat of an optimist, it didn’t take long to convince myself that this was a brilliant plan.

  * * *

  Much to my surprise, no one had bothered to lock the doors behind us. I’d half expected the trap to be reset like a spider’s web, primed for the next victims, a fact that in hindsight should have encouraged me to greater vigilance. Hindsight, eh?

  By the time I returned, the dead insects had been devoured save for their heads which lay scattered across the floor. I tiptoed around them and into the crypt. It was full dark now, the lights having either been spilled or blown out by the gale that was howling through the undercroft. Darkness didn’t hinder me. I could see almost as well in the inky black as in daylight, and as I’m an avaricious cove, I’d learned the knack of picking out the faintest glint of gold and the slightest twinkle of a precious stone even in such a benighted pit as this mausoleum.

  The wax-coated corpse was where we’d left him, spread around his tomb. It was a mess, but all I had to do was pick through the pieces, divest fingers and ears of rings, his waist of the remnants of his jeweled belt, and retrieve the golden links from the neck chains that the lying oaf had smashed to scrap.

  By the time I was done, I’d accumulated enough chink to pay my debts with some to spare. As I stuffed the loot in the barbarian’s discarded bag, the wind shifted just enough to save my life. The instant that the hot stink of fetid blood and rotten flesh tickled my nose I dropped and rolled, discarding the bag as claws sliced the air where my head had been.

  “I expected Uli, not you.” The blood-drinker said as she dropped from the ceiling. She hadn’t bothered to disguise her true self this time. She was grey and had a distended maw and fingers like knives, at least some of her fingers were like knives. Her right hand was just a mangled, bloody stump missing four of its five digits. “I thought warspawn had more sense.”

  “I’ll have you know that we can be just as stupid as humans.”

  “In your case at least.”

  “What can I say? I’m special. You look different. Have you done something with your hair?” I tried to keep her distracted as I stood with the tomb between us. “Your mate Uli said he never wanted to see you again.”

  “Liar.”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, madam, honestly. I called him a cur and said he was an ingrate for spurning your generous offer. “I never want to see that mangy corpse-fucker as long as I live,” he said as true as I’m standing here.”

  Rather than buying me time to work out how I was going to escape, my little lie incensed her. She leaped at me, horribly fast, despite her injury. I drew my blades and had to use all of my not inconsiderable speed and skill to hold off her frenzied assault. More by luck than judgment I avoided her raking claws which struck sparks from steel when we clashed. She jumped up onto the tomb and lashed out again.

  I leaped back and hit the wall. The rotten wood of a coffin crumbled under the impact of my shoulder, releasing more noxious gas into the stagnant air. Murai crouched on her haunches and pounced. I parried her functioning hand but didn’t dodge the kick in the gut. Had she caught me with her claws I’d be tripping over my intestines instead of merely gasping for breath, so I suppose I should have counted myself lucky.

  Before I could recover, she was on me, lunging for my face. I made to stab her in the stomach, but she dodged aside and grabbed my wrist. This was bad. She squeezed and had I been human she would have crushed the bones. As it was, they ground together, trapping tendons and forcing me to release the sword. I swung my remaining blade, intent on cutting the demonic wench in half, but she pinned my arm against the wall with her bloodied stump.

  “Can’t we talk about this?” I enquired hopefully.

  “I play with my food, I don’t talk to it. Such a pity warspawn taste like shit, but I’ll choke you down.” Her snakish tongue lolled from her mouth, quested towards my face.

  “You don’t have to eat me, sweetling,” I said and drove my knee into her gut as hard as I could. “You just have to kiss my arse.” Her grip on my wrist slackened. As she folded, I punched her in the face. It felt like I’d hit a wall, but her head snapped back, and she staggered sideways releasing her grip on me. I dived in the opposite direction, rolled to my feet, and ran for the stairs. Behind me, I could hear her claws scrabbling furiously, like a mad scribe writing my epitaph on the cold stone.

  Thus encouraged, I put on a burst of speed and pelted for the crumbling arc
h. As I drew closer a patch of shadow resolved into the familiar, blocky outline of the barbarian. The creak of sinew and the angle at which he was holding his arms told me he was drawing a bow.

  “Down,” he shouted. I dropped and skidded beneath his arm. He let fly at the blood-drinker. The arrow took her in the chest and punched her off her feet. She gave a strangled yelp, flipped backwards, and landed on her face, finally as dead as she should have been. Ulthvarr knocked another arrow, aimed at his friend. His hands were shaking.

  I stood up. “Put your bow up. You did it, it’s dead.”

  “She. She’s dead. Have some respect.” He looked at the body, his face a mask of disgust, his eyes full of sorrow. “She was my friend before this curse fell upon her.”

  As he had the bow, I didn’t argue. “She, sorry. Damn good shot though, I didn’t have you pegged as an archer.” I retrieved my blades and sheathed them before grabbing the bag of loot and slinging it over my shoulder. He stepped into the crypt. I noticed he still held the bow at half draw which should have put me on notice, but I just assumed he was in shock. “Be at peace, friend. ‘Tis over.” I smiled.

  “No, it isn’t. Light a torch, it’s dark as hell in here.”

  Even though I should have known better, I put his sharp tone down to his recent bereavement and set a spark to one of the torches bracketed by the arch. Light flared and cast dancing shadows against the walls. “Now that’s been dealt with, I really must be going and so should you, she might not be the only fiend in residence.”

  He gave me the fisheye. “No indeed,” he said, his tone weighted. “Why, there’s at least one other I know of in this keep. Now, sheathe those blades, or I’ll put this shaft through you, and as you know, my aim is true.” The bow creaked as he went to full draw. I’m fast, but at this distance and in such a confined space, I didn’t fancy my chances of dodging the shot. I would have to rely on my charm and wits rather than my reflexes to get out of this pot of arsepickle.