“Where is he?” Mortalo mumbled.
“He hasn’t been spotted since the Dusk Raiders let him loose,” said Teller.
“I know, you halfwit!” Mortalo punched Teller. “Aurora Heart is brain dead. Or she will be once I’ve finished with her.”
Vann was caught watching, and Mortalo struck him, but he was too far away to connect properly, leaving a sting upon his face. He backed away, tightening his cloak against the cold. Mortalo had hit him for the last time. I won’t be like Teller. He imagined crushing Mortalo’s face with his boot, grinding his skull into the cobbles. If I could turn the others against him, he’d have no protection.
Cuts from every Company decorated Vann’s skin, and the crude sinew stitches pulled and itched. He heard whispers in the night over the heavy breathing of the slaves and the chittering of the Scourge gathering outside the city walls. People watched them, plotted against them and, although he couldn’t see the would-be assassins, he knew they were there.
Mortalo led the procession. Bolstered on both sides by his men, he was protected and as powerful as ever. Each one of his brothers equally loyal, equally shattered, as the next. They can’t be blamed for their actions. We’re all children of a madman. Vann was only ten when he and Canis were thrown into Mortalo’s cells. The cries of Canis sent the other slaves, young and old, into fits of rage, but he had used his body, curled around Canis, to protect him from the others. They aren’t to blame. Mortalo is.
“Provisions in exchange for Canis Rayne!” Mortalo shouted, his voice slapping against the walls. “Clean water! Fresh food!”
Too often people had attacked them since they’d departed the citadel, but the slaves were well-trained. Their blood had been spilled to keep Mortalo safe. The residents got the hint and shut their doors when they heard the rhythmic sound of marching feet and promised rewards. There were also those who promised to deliver Canis but came up with nothing. Mortalo’s lack of patience soon resulted in casual murder in the streets. They meant nothing to him. The only person who mattered was Canis. The only person who ever mattered was Canis.
People whispered the name “demon,” a crude tag meant to be an insult, but Mortalo embodied his role as the King of Demons. We’re all demons, Vann thought as he inspected his bloodstained gauntlets, four-inch spikes protruding from every knuckle. He held a hand to the moon, his silhouetted fist becoming a claw as it mixed with the thorns continuing to outgrow the city walls. He regretted bringing a sword once he had found the gauntlets more to his liking. The blunt mass of steel on his back was heavy. A mistake I won’t make again.
“You don’t want this sword, do you?” Vann asked one of the other Iron Hands.
“No,” replied Titus Warp from under his beard, his eye twitching.
“I’ll sell it to you for a cheap price.”
“Why don’t you ask someone else? I’m sure there’s at least one person messed up enough to give you something for it, even though Mortalo lets us use them for free!”
“I jest. What’s up, Titus?”
Titus shrugged. “How can Canis go against Mortalo?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s been talking to the Dusk Raiders.”
Vann looked over his shoulder. “I’m not sure of anything anymore,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter. What would we be without Mortalo, anyway?” said Titus as he left Vann alone.
He looked upon the dark figures of his brothers. They had come around to his way of thinking, the two children accepted into the fold after years of abuse. After that, every new slave was cared for, accepted by one another, but he knew how hard it was to break from Mortalo’s control, his powers unrivalled by the likes of inbred swine like him.
Vann looked down a dark, cobbled street and then back to Mortalo. Vann’s heart rate increased, and he stopped following. What’s going through your head, Canis? Where are you? Do I escape and try to make a life for myself, leave you behind? How could I? If I try to find you myself, will Mortalo hunt us down? Where do we go? What do I do?
“Psst,” came a sound from behind him.
Vann looked back, careful not to stray too far from his brothers, his gaze still on them, still undecided.
“Psst,” it came again. “Demon.”
“I’m no demon,” said Vann as Mortalo’s men rounded the next corner, leaving him behind.
“Get out of the street!” A scabby hand lunged from the darkness and pulled him in.
Enlarged warts rubbed against his skin. Something cold pressed against Vann’s throat from behind and, as he swallowed, it cut into him. He clenched his hands into fists and waited for his attacker to reveal himself.
“I got news on the beast you’re searching for,” said the man. “This Mortalo, is he good on his word?”
“He is, but you may not always like what he has to say.”
“Don’t talk in riddles. Will he pay or not?”
“I believe he would.”
“Dead or alive?”
Vann Xan paused a moment. Does he mean Canis is already dead, or does he have him captive and wants to negotiate? The man pressed the blade deeper against Vann’s throat.
“Dead or alive, you’ll have your reward.” My claws shoved down your throat if you don’t tell me where he is.
The man coughed, his breath like scat. “I want the provisions before I tell you where he is.”
“Understandable. What’s your name?”
“I’ll keep that to myself. And I want you to speak to him, not me. I have no wish to commune with death.”
Vann sniggered. “You already have.”
“What?”
“Try it. Dig the blade into my throat. I am not of this world,” Vann bluffed. “I can already feel your soul begging for mercy.”
“I—” The man trembled.
Vann clasped his attacker’s hand in his own. Fingers crunched under the metal of his gauntlet, and the dagger clattered on the ground. Vann turned around, but he did so with exaggerated slowness, still holding the man.
As he came to face him, the desperate voice and scabby hands matched a gaunt and blotchy complexion, the same warts on his hand all over his lips and nose.
“Scream and you’ll be dead before anyone hears it. Now, what’s your name?” asked Vann, his stare fixed, unblinking.
“Belloch. It’s Belloch Storme!”
He grabbed Belloch and pinned him against the wall. The man groaned but did as he was told. Vann breathed in, his face close to the man’s neck. He saw something crawling before it disappeared into his hair.
“Now, you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” asked Vann.
“No, no!” said Belloch. He looked to the sky.
“There’s nobody up there who’ll help you now. Tell me where my Canis is and I’ll see to it you’re rewarded.”
Before Belloch could reply, Vann pressed him hard against the wall. My brothers are forced to fight, tortured and controlled, what’s your excuse? It’s people like you who sell babies to him, let him impregnate your own kin for a profit nine months on. The man gulped, and his eyes turned, on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness.
“Now,” said Vann, releasing Belloch.
“Don’t kill me.” The man released his bowels and the smell of feces drifted up. “I’ll tell you truth, please! Okay, okay, I was there. I saw him. He was an animal of a man with the face of a boy. He was poking around in our Company, in the tunnels. We all thought that witch sent him. They broke his leg and tossed him into the pit.” He took a deep breath. “Please let me live!”
“Is he still alive?”
“Nobody knows,” said Belloch, breathing hard, dropping to his knees in submission. “Nobody ever comes out of the pit.”
Vann nodded. “When was this?”
“Two days ag—”
Vann Xan struck him with the back of his gauntlet, ending the exchange. The edges ripped into skin. Belloch whimpered
at Vann’s feet and tried to crawl away into the dark. The metal of the gauntlet rubbed against his knuckles, but he hit the man again. I know you’re still alive, Canis. If Mortalo can’t kill you, if the Scourge can’t kill you, then scum like this, broken leg or not, won’t keep you from drawing breath.
Vann heard Mortalo’s shrill cry. There’s no looking back now.
Chapter 12
Canis Rayne, despite days of exposure in the pit, was still trying to throw up. Acid burned his throat and his intestines cramped and twisted, pushing against his stomach. The mushrooms’ glow was ever present and cast blue light, which touched the edges of the arms and legs protruding from the mass grave.
“It’s getting to me as well,” said the Scourge parasite, able to form sentences after days of healing, after days of burrowing deep inside Canis’ mind. “The bones have fused. We are ready.”
Canis pushed a body out of the way, its limp, heavy mass a dead weight. Rotting flesh slid off its bones.
He clambered up, and his stomach begged for food. Maggots dropped from him and he picked one struggling on his shoulder and ate it. They aren’t that bad, he thought as he recalled what Mortalo used to feed him. He looked for more and peeled away a layer of skin from a corpse at his feet. Maggots flowed, and he scooped them into his hand. The wriggling mass oozed in his mouth as he shovelled them in. The Scourge inside him converted the nutrients into instant energy, pumping it into Canis’ veins. No weakness or fatigue gripped him as he had expected. Instead, an animalistic urge to run, to fight, came over him.
“Escape out of the shafts coming in from the different Companies,” it said, needling its thoughts into his mind as if it stood there with him.
Cold air drifted from one of the holes above. Too short. Canis jumped and gripped its edge. He climbed into it, his strong arms pulling all his weight. The faint glow of the mushrooms disappeared. He used his legs, pushing them against the sides whilst using his elbows to drag himself upward. He still couldn’t see and, with no light to adjust to, he was blind.
A stab in the dark halted the slow progress as something pierced the flesh on his head. It dug in between the skin and bone, scraping on his skull. Canis froze, his heartbeat the only sound as he held his breath. Blood dripped onto his lips. It tasted like metal.
Canis moved back, the spike sliding out of his skin. He felt ahead, careful not to injure himself again and gripped more metal. Spikes protruded from the tunnel walls, facing downward at an angle. He tried to fit around them, but every turn ended up with him being trapped by another one.
There’s no way up! thought Canis. Now what, parasite?
“We’re going to have to escape back the way we came. We should be able to get out of the pit entrance where they threw us in.”
The Bone Singers broke my leg and left me for dead. How is it going to be any different this time? This is my grave. This is my lot.
“I won’t let you die,” it said. Another surge of thick fluids went through Canis and his thoughts turned back to escape. “If you die, I die. The bodies have been piling, but we can’t wait for them to reach the top. It would take months.”
Why would it, even I can see people are dumped all the time. Canis began his descent back into the pit, his hindquarters itching as his cheeks rubbed against the rough stone.
“I saw burn marks on the walls of the pit,” it hissed.
You see what I see? They must set fire to what’s in here when it gets too high…
“Of course I see what you see. Concentrate, if we pile bodies ourselves, we can use them to climb out.”
You’ll be of some use yet, parasite.
The thing inside him tensed, the pain shooting along his spine. “That doesn’t sit well with me,” it said.
What?
“That awful name. The more I’m forced to share your thoughts, the more I feel I’m becoming something more than what I was. I deserve a name.”
You’re a parasite. You’re Blackrose’s nightmare. You infect the weak and turn them into Scourge vessels, but not me.
“And humans more so. At least we try to be one with you, emulate you, and to fit in. It might have been on a much more primitive level than I now realize, but nowhere near as destructive as humans. Being able to grow with you has been a first for my kind. Normally, we get caught up in the simple wants and needs of our host, but I’m not able to take over or merge us. We are two beings. I’m learning a lot from you.”
You’re a mask, hiding your race behind a human illusion. We are far from two beings. You’re a parasite who thinks he’s found a purpose in life.
“If I am a mask, then you’re the illusion.”
I’m no illusion! I’m me, and you’ll never have control! I’ll use you and I’ll toss the mask aside as I please. You’re a pain in my stomach, the bane of humanity, you are my Bane, but I will overcome you.
The Scourge parasite, Bane, remained silent, but Canis felt a sense of defiance seep into his thoughts. I will call you what you are, Bane. Not to entertain your ideas of grandeur, but to remind you of what you are. It remained silent.
Canis slid off the edge of the tunnel and back into the pit. He grabbed the first corpse at his feet and threw it against the far wall. The ease in which he flung the body reminded him of his inbred rage, but harboring such power, and still being of sound thought, brought a brief smile to his face. He would need the parasite’s help if he was going to escape the Bone Singers alive. Bane hummed in his mind, as if it were proud of Canis’ thoughts.
His arms bulged. If I’m a man now, I can’t let you help me all the time, Bane. I’ll help myself and use you when I please. Bane’s humming stopped. Canis grabbed another corpse, the weight putting strain on his back. He smiled again.
Corpse after corpse hit the wall, building into a pile. They’ll be the stairs leading me to my rightful place. I’ll save these people from the Scourge-freaks and Mortalo.
The bodies merged together, steps leading him to freedom. They didn’t have names anymore, and he trod on more than one face on his way to the top. There was no choice but to grip hair, skin, anything he could as he ascended. He saw the edge of the pit above as the hands of the dead lifted him to the world of the living.
He went to draw the sword from his back before he sprung over the top, but it wasn’t there, and he remembered it shattering on the wall days ago. He felt for his bags and they were still tied to his belt. Scat-bastards should’ve robbed me while they had the chance. Agrim moved within his hair, and Canis breathed deeply. Good to see you’re still with me, beastie.
He kicked one of the bodies below and a tattooed arm flopped to the side with images of angels and demons etched into the skin. From wrist to forearm, a picture of a sword was scratched and inked. If I can’t have a real sword, I’ll use this instead. He pulled at the limb and kicked the shoulder joint. Foot on body, he pulled, but it wasn’t until Bane tried to lend him power that he saw red.
I told you, Bane, you perform when I tell you to, thought Canis, who let his rage take over, his teeth chattering, his face swelling, narrowing his vision.
He didn’t know if Bane replied or not, and he didn’t care as he pulled at the arm. The rotting smell from the pit went from choking to sweet, from nauseating to inspiring. The red haze formed on the edge of his vision, offering a more familiar feeling. I need it! Where is it! The thought of going into a rage without Bane or a stimulant caused his eyes to water. He rooted inside his bag and pulled a single mooncap and placed it under his tongue. It tingled, the feeling spreading to the rest of his face.
Canis growled as the drugs took over. The arm pulled away from the body like a slug from its dinner. For a moment, it took on the form of a sword, just like the one tattooed on it, but the mooncap and rage found a balance and he was able to keep a grip on reality. Just.
He sprinted over the last couple of corpses and then vaulted the pit’s edge, his weapon swinging.
The room above was
empty. Torches lit the way, and he heard muffled voices. A door clicked to his right, and he ran straight for it. The limb he carried dragged on the floor, leaving a trail of blood. A man with a short beard streaked with grey stepped into the room, a group of jovial black-clad warriors behind him, their mesh armor shabby but uniform. His face distorted and his eyes hollowed as he saw Canis. The man’s mouth opened wide, a black void protected by broken fangs. Canis blinked and the image returned to normal and he recognized him as one of the ones who had thrown him to his death.
Canis swung his weapon as he neared them, roaring with fierce delight. The bone and muscle from the salvaged limb smashed into the man’s face. The skin rippled on his enemy’s cheek and an eye popped out, hanging by clumps of nerves. Canis kicked him, sending the injured man back through the door. The group of Bone Singers fell to the floor as they grasped each other. Ten men clutched their weapons, trying to push and shove their way to get at their attacker.
“Be careful!” pleaded Bane.
Canis roared again as he jumped into the middle, still swinging the limb.
The Bone Singers looked at each other. Canis laughed before bouncing his weapon off one man to the next. A sword came close to piercing his throat, but still mid-swing, he parried the strike, tearing it from its owner’s grasp after hitting the flat side. Canis roared. The blade sparked off the floor.
His enemies barked orders and obscenities. A club caught him on his blind side and the rage evaporated. His face hit the floor first and cold invaded his muscles. He convulsed as Bane moved inside him, shifting to safety.
Canis looked up, shaking. His mouth formed no words, instead rattling and croaking low tones.
More so than ever before, Bane sent energy through his veins, which ached as they threatened to explode. His muscles started to rip. He thought back to his time on the operating table. Mortalo. The man who wanted to break him, or was it make him?
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