Finally, after quite some time had passed, Qul’s voice gave out and he could scream no more.
“It will be you, Qul,” the projection whispered.
The minotaur lifted his head slightly, but he did not believe a word the half-orc spoke.
“You see,” the image went on, “what I have created—you—is the perfect minotaur king. There are things in this world that you do not understand, Qul, plans you would not comprehend. But I see the grander schemes, the wider machinations. I can see beyond this mountain and the next. A great war is brewing, one I have been orchestrating for quite some time. In order to fight that war, I will need an army, and you know as well as I that orcs are far too stupid to be of any use other than fodder. The minotaurs, your brethren, will be the heart of my army.”
Qul wasn’t sure if some sort of magic was enchanting his thoughts of if he was genuinely curious, but something had sparked a hint of interest within his mind. “I am not the king,” he said, somewhat dumbfounded.
“Ah, but that is what we shall change!” the half-orc said enthusiastically.
Under all the hatred, all the mind-numbing violence burying Qul’s thoughts, he could not deny the seed of intrigue he felt. “How?”
“How?” the image echoed with a laugh. “Look at yourself, my king, and see what I have molded you to be. Your arms, your legs, your chest. Everything about you is built for war. Had I not played my little trick all those years ago, what would you have become?”
Qul didn’t know how to respond.
“Hmm? Tell me, Qul, and answer honestly. Would you be this strong if you had never met me?” the shaman asked.
“No.”
“Exactly!”
“And I will become king?”
The image dissipated, and the half-orc strode confidently around the corner of the mountain to enter the cave, his usual staff in his right hand. “Indeed, Qul,” he said. “You will be the king to stand by my side when we march to war. Not Ilo, and certainly not her wretched mate.”
Qul tensed, but deep down he knew he was no match for such a skilled magic user. “Ilo would never go to war,” he added as images of personally leading his clan to glory flickered through his head.
“Would you?”
With a smile, Qul felt every ounce of his fury return to his muscles, though it was not directed toward his eternal foe. In fact, he had nowhere to channel his ire.
“Kill her,” the shaman quietly suggested.
“Ilo…”
“She took another as her companion, and to my knowledge they have children, yes? Two?” the half-orc asked with a mischievous grin.
“Three,” Qul spat.
“And—”
“I’ll kill them.”
Chapter 7
Qul didn’t wait until the next day. His anger would not allow him a moment’s pause.
He descended the mountainside at an almost dangerous pace, barely taking enough time to measure his steps. More than once he nearly lost his footing, coming treacherously close to plummeting from the side. When he was back inside the mountain, he stalked toward the royal chamber, a place he had still—even after twenty years as a guard—not seen.
Kitri was outside the first door, and she looked tired. For a moment, Qul thought to kill her, to mindlessly slaughter every single being that stood before his ascension. But she was his sister, his only living relative, and though they had not spoken in years, he knew he would need her strength and skill at his side if he was to lead the clan.
“What are you doing?” she asked, confusion plain on her face.
“How many guards are within?” Qul asked, untying his exercise poles and setting one of them against the stone wall of the corridor. He preferred using one in each arm, though they were painfully light in his huge hands.
Kitri stood a little straighter, her right hand grabbing the hilt of her sword, but not drawing it. “What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I’ve lived in the shadows for twenty years,” Qul said. His voice was low like an avalanche. “Ilo was supposed to be my bride. I was supposed to become the king.”
Kitri drew her sword and stepped in front of the door, knocking four times with the back of her hoof in a distinct pattern.
“I don’t want to kill you, sister,” Qul stated.
“I cannot let you pass; you know that,” she replied evenly. “Do not make me do this.”
Qul flexed, and he felt the thick iron of his pole give beneath his mighty grip. “You’ve already alerted the other guards. Just go,” he commanded.
Kitri did not budge.
“Fine,” Qul said with a heavy sigh. “Though I will not kill you.”
Kitri lunged forward, her sword aimed for her brother’s chest. Qul tucked his right-hand pole in close to his body and caught the weapon’s blade, easily knocking it from Kitri’s grasp. The female minotaur hesitated, and that was all the opening Qul needed. He slammed his second pole into her chest, and she lurched to her side, her armor broken.
“Go,” Qul commanded her a second time. “I will not kill you.”
Kitri made another lunge toward him, but Qul was simply too large to be moved. Her metal-capped horns hit her brother’s chest, and he hoisted her into the air with ease without even dropping his poles. He simply used the strength of his embrace, and Kitri’s hooves left the ground. “You cannot hope to stand against me,” he told her quietly, his hairy face pressed against hers. “Now go.”
Qul set his sister down, though the action was far from gentle, and Kitri relented. Scooping her sword from the ground, she gave him one final look. “If you are not successful, I will be put to death as a deserter,” she said.
“I will not fail,” Qul answered with a nod. “I’ll kill them all.”
The door leading into the royal chambers was solid, built hundreds of years ago from heavy oaken planks banded together with wide strips of forged iron. It was set directly into the stone, its hinges buried into the rock. Qul wasn’t sure if Kitri possessed a key or not, but in either case, she was gone, and his rage would not let him stop for even a moment.
Backing away several paces, Qul lowered his armored shoulder and rammed the door, sending a loud vibration through the entire passageway. The wood didn’t splinter.
Qul bashed the door again, jumping just a step before he reached to ensure his full weight bore down on it, but again the door did not budge. Using one exercise pole as a small ram, he thrust at the lock itself, sending a few errant sparks onto the ground. Over and over he struck the locking mechanism, but it had been forged well, and the device did not shatter as he had intended.
The armor covering Qul’s shoulder had dented inward slightly, and he knew the door would either take all of his energy to bash through or else his breastplate would break before he could enter. With a frustrated growl, Qul took his poles and started to run through the complex, one more idea racing through his head.
He arrived at the center of the mountain and the hollowed pit where he had won his Brood-Fight. Across the chasm, another door presented itself, one that he knew he could blast through. Qul jumped down into the pit and landed with a thunderous boom that sent a wave of dirt and dust up all around him. He rose up through the cloud like a specter, slowly stalking toward the far end of the pit where his prize awaited him. Several members of his clan had seen him running and had come to watch what he was doing, but none of them were completely aware of the regicide occupying Qul’s every thought.
A handful of other minotaurs peered down into the arena. None of them dared to speak. They knew of Qul only vaguely, and what they knew was his strength—nothing else. Silently, they watched as the huge beast of iron and muscle stomped across the barren pit to the far side.
At the base of the opposite wall, Qul had to think for a moment to figure out how to reach the ledge above him. There was perhaps twenty feet of stone between the arena floor and the royal viewing area, and the surface was nearly sheer. Without proper handholds, Qul knew he
did not possess the skill to climb to the top.
So he began making handholds.
Throwing his whole body into each swing, Qul thrashed his two poles from side to side and blew massive chunks of the wall away. The sound was deafening, echoing and ringing inside his helmet, and the pain in his ears helped fuel the fire burning inside him. It took him half a minute to create the first handhold, and by then most of the minotaur clan had assembled on the far wall to witness the commotion.
Qul looked only once over his shoulder to see if any of his brethren had dropped down to stop him, but he saw no one. They fear me, he realized with a smirk. Good.
After several minutes of carving, Qul had a makeshift staircase of sorts leading to the royal viewing platform. With his poles tucked into straps on his back, he began his ascent, hoisting himself along the wall one step at a time. It was an arduous journey, one made far more difficult by the heavy armor constricting Qul’s movements, but he reached the top without falling or losing his balance a single time. Sweat covered his face and matted his hair. Breathing heavily, he undid his helmet and tossed it back to the arena floor.
“Let them see me,” he said to himself, standing on the platform and gazing out at the rest of his clan. He looked down to his discarded helmet with a smile, imagining Ilo’s head lying on the stone next to it.
Qul let out a long exhale and stretched his arms, ready for the trials he knew would be waiting for him in the next chamber. His pole still on his back, he reared a hoof and kicked, shattering the thin, ornate door in a single blow.
He pushed his bulk through it, shredding the rest of the wood against his armor as he moved. The tunnel was narrow and cramped, wholly undecorated, and hewn directly from the bedrock of the mountain with occasional metal supports to brace the ceiling. Qul had to move slowly to ensure that he did not get stuck, wincing as his armor hit the sides of the passage every other step, issuing high-pitched squeals.
The path slanted upward, and it eventually opened up into a cross section where several tunnels all met. To his right, he could barely make out a few open doors farther down, and the tunnel to his left widened, promising to bring him to the queen’s bedchamber. He went first to the right, inspecting each of the opened rooms in turn. The first was a storehouse containing nothing of concern, and the next two doors both led to secondary sleeping quarters that Qul assumed belonged to Ilo’s children. They were empty, as he had suspected they would be.
Turning back to the main pathway, Qul stopped for a brief moment to listen. He could just barely hear the sounds of the other royal guards preparing for him deeper within the complex, and the noise made him smile. He wanted a fair fight, an equal fight, to prove that he was meant to be their king, even if the only minotaurs to witness his victory would end up dead.
The final door he had to break through was, thankfully, not nearly as well-armored as the outermost entrance had been. His clan’s labyrinthine designs covered the front of the wooden door, and Qul took great pleasure cleaving into them with his poles. He blasted away chunk after splintered chunk until he could see the guards on the other side. There were two of them, the best fighters in the entire mountain, though they were both significantly smaller than what Qul had become.
Behind the guards, Qul caught a glimpse of Queen Ilo. She wasn’t cowering in fear or panicking—she was preparing to fight as well. Her mate, the wretched minotaur who had stolen Qul’s glory, was doing likewise, strapping heavy plates of armor to his chest and legs. Their three children were in the room as well, but none of the younglings had any weapons.
Qul bashed more of the door away, and there was enough of an opening for him to get a hand through and fully unlatch the lock. “Prepare yourselves,” he bellowed through the broken wood. “Take whatever time you need, and then I’m going to kill you.”
If the guards inside were surprised, they didn’t show it. Qul paced back and forth in front of the battered door, bashing a little more away every time he passed.
Eventually, the door was pushed open from the inside, and the two royal guards stepped out in full battle regalia. They didn’t bother to shut the door behind them.
Qul held his poles out wide on either side of his body, his armored chest exposed. The first guard came at him with a heavy sword faster than Qul could react. The blade slammed into the side of his armor, but it didn’t break through. Qul took the hit in stride, barely fazed by it. Stepping forward he went for the second minotaur with both of his poles, swinging them over his head with a powerful stroke. The two parallel blades barely missed their mark, blasting into the ground with enough force to send out a wave of broken stones. The second minotaur, dodging to Qul’s left and holding a thick-bladed axe, grunted with surprise under his helmet.
Unhindered, the first minotaur pulled his blade back into a half-sword position, his gauntleted hand wrapped around the middle section of his weapon. He stabbed forward with all his considerable strength, and Qul’s armor could not keep out the sword’s point.
Qul felt a wave of fiery pain radiate throughout his entire body from the wound on his side—wracking him, but not coming close to laying him low. He yelled, his throat already raw, and turned violently, wrenching the weapon from the guard’s hands as it remained lodged deep in his gut. He swung his left-hand pole hard, and it caught the unarmed guard squarely on the gorget, knocking the wind from the minotaur’s throat.
The second minotaur wasted no time swinging for Qul’s exposed back, and his axe bit into the armor and flesh beneath with resounding success. Qul howled in pain, but he did not stop. He knew the weapon still had a long way to go before it ever got close to his spine or internal organs, so thick was his muscle. He lifted his right pole in anticipation of a fist coming from the unarmed guard before him, but the minotaur only stumbled about, blood seeping from between his thick fingers and dripping down onto his breastplate.
Qul forced the guard back with the end of his pole, and he saw the wound he had wrought. The gorget had been too thin, and the weight of Qul’s massive blow and crushed it, forcing it painfully into the minotaur’s neck where it was thoroughly lodged. The creature couldn’t breathe. The gorget blocked all the air flow, and no matter how hard the guard tried, he could not wrench it free.
Satisfied, Qul turned back to the axe-wielding guard, a sword still stuck in his side. The pain brought new strength to his arms, and he simply knew he was going to prevail. He marched toward the guard slowly, one heavy foot crashing into the ground after the other, and let strike after strike from the axe connect with his armor. Some of them were quite powerful and opened gashes in his steel armor, but Qul did not care.
After ten steps, the guard was backed against the stone wall of the passageway, and the bedrock was not keen to move. Qul pressed in again, moving his bulk so close to the guard that the minotaur’s weapon was useless. Smartly, the guard let his axe fall from his grasp and tried to wrestle with Qul, though his efforts were so fruitless that the bigger beast actually laughed.
Calmly, Qul let his weight and height crush the lesser guard. The metal of his greaves sank into the guard’s thighs, eliciting a howl of pain as they dug deeper and deeper. When Qul’s black breastplate met the minotaur’s own armor, it carried through unhindered, crushing the guard’s chest and breaking his ribs. Finally, Qul dropped to his knees, dragging the guard down beneath him. The guard was immobile, his legs shattered and pinned inside his armor. His chest had caved in as well, as his breaths came in ragged spurts of blood mixed with air.
Qul pulled the guard’s helmet away and turned it upside down, resting the top point of it on the crown of the guard’s head. Flexing his monstrous arms, he shoved the helmet down until it hit the creature’s neck.
Covered in blood and gore, Qul still had not fully played out his unholy rage. He moved back to the royal bedchamber, and the king, his most hated nemesis, stood in the doorway.
His mind so consumed by frenzied obsession, Qul’s lips could not form the words he so des
perately tried to say. He wanted to tell Ilo what had happened, tell her everything, but all that came out was a growl. He channeled that growl into a sudden paroxysm, lowering his horns and dashing forward with all the speed his heavy armor would allow. He caught the king off balance and hoisted him into the air, bashing the minotaur’s head against the doorframe above in the same violent motion.
Impaled, the king could only thrash in panic, unable to offer even the most meager resistance. Qul charged deeper into the room, holding his poles out wide and running with his head low, until he slammed into the room’s back wall with a sickening thud. He pulled back, and the king slumped down to the ground, his chest and armor destroyed beyond recognition.
Only four remained.
Queen Ilo shuddered at the sight of her eviscerated husband. She held a sword of her own, an expertly crafted weapon that had been traditionally passed from one monarch to the next. It had a slight curve to its edge, and the unsharpened backside held several rings that had been punched through the metal. Her three children, still too young to have horns of their own, cowered in the corner, their sobs coming out as loud, annoying whines.
“You seek to become the king?” Ilo asked, her beautiful voice strained by obvious fear.
“It should not have been this way,” Qul growled. He wiped the grime and sweat from his skin to let the minotaur he loved see his face up close before her death.
“One of my own,” Ilo remarked, recognizing his face despite them never having met for more than a few moments. “So be it. Your challenge will end here, traitor.” She held her sword in front of her, its rings jingling softly as she moved.
Qul did not have a response. His mind whirled with things to say, but each thought only competed for his attentions until he was nearly lost in his mental mire. Ilo came at him strong, issuing a loud war cry as she charged. Qul brought his poles up to deflect her attack, one of the guards’ swords still in his side, and met nothing but air.
The Minotaur King Page 5