by Will Molinar
“Your master does much harm, to many peoples. And through you, terrible things are done in his name. You will show us where he is. You do this. Now!”
The last command was harsh, and the spirit wailed and struggled to free itself, but the sturdy men held it tight and refused to be intimidated by the horrible sounds the ghost made. It shivered again, and Cubbins felt a supernatural fear radiate through his body, but he also felt an acute pity for the creature.
Please! It burns! Ah, it burns! Release this wayward spirit you have so condemned. Please, ah the pain! Woe be to me! Ahhhhhhhh!
Unri’s face flushed, his salt and pepper beard bristling. He stepped closer and shouted. “We release when tell us where master is! Not before. Tell us now!”
The pain! It burns!
Jenkins groaned and covered his ears. Bigus was gone. Cubbins hadn’t noticed. A rush of dizziness struck him hard. He steadied himself on his knees with both hands. Unri and his men remained undaunted. The swarthy leader took up the bottle again and dashed the ghost with the fluid. The spirit raged and wailed. Its limbs failed, but it was ineffectual, and soon its protestations grew weaker and weaker, fading out to mere shrugs of its amorphous appendages.
Cubbins had to wonder what the substance was made of, what could make a ghost feel pain but he figured he would never know. If he had a chance to speak with Unri about it, though, he would.
Please! Release me! It burns me!
“Lead us to your master, and you shall be free, spirit,” Unri said, his voice devoid of emotion. “This your only salvation.”
Cubbins couldn’t believe his eyes but the ghost seemed to be weeping.
* * * * *
It felt like an earthquake. The crowd yelled so loud, they stomped their feet so hard, and they clapped their hands together in unison with such ferocity Jerrod was certain the entire structure would collapse. None of the exits were clear. There was no escape if things went sour. All of them were headed for the slabs.
The toughs fought back the mob. They weren’t getting paid enough, not for all the money in the world. But they fought hard, shoving, yelling, getting punched, kicked, or knocked around. Jerrod no longer cared about the consequences. He was about to take out steel and start hacking members of the crowd.
Their fists weren’t enough. As strong and well versed in the art of crowd control though they were, the toughs couldn’t win this without getting hurt too much themselves, and Jerrod would be damned to let that happen.
The crowd was unarmed. No weapons were allowed in the arena save the security, and once he gave the order, the situation could be controlled. There would be a price to pay. Zandor might try to usurp his authority within their partnership, but this was too much.
The rafters were nothing but rickety supports no better than sticks holding up a mountain. Even for Jerrod’s brutal sensibilities, this was insane. Rusty nails held together every single bit of wood but the arena. They were all dead. Before the match with Thruck even started, they would all die. This was the end. They had to get out. He had to get out, to hell with everyone else.
Jerrod put his hand on his sword, ready to hack his way through the crowd to freedom and life. But it wasn’t to be. Someone in the crowd behind him slammed an errant elbow to his head, and he stumbled. One of his men shoved the scrub back into the mess of idiots, and Jerrod shook his head. It rang. He squinted and tried to focus, but the blow had been hard, and it was difficult to focus. Getting a hold of faculties a few moments later, he turned and faced the portion of the crowd where the man came from.
“Another one of you shits run into me, and I stick a foot of steel into them. You got that?”
An instant later they backed away even as the press of the crowd behind them shoved forward. Fucking pigs, all of them. Then the match started.
Thruck’s opponents came first, a set of three different pairs that would work together to try and take the beast down. All six in their gladiatorial glory, armored and armed and ready to fight.
The crowd cheered for their favorite while the fighters spread out around the edge of the arena platform. Two stood on the far side, another pair in the middle, and the last on the opposite end, leaving the other ramp open for the creature everyone had waited weeks for.
When Thruck stepped forward from the shadows of the walkway, even Jerrod felt a tremor of excitement. He had to cover his ears from the volume of the crowd. First a scream of exultation came then the chanting began again.
“Thruck! Thruck! Thruck!”
Thruck looked quite… frightening, even to a seasoned killer like Jerrod. His armor had been forged by the best smithies in Sea Haven. His fearsome helmet made by Peterson and his sons, a terrifying spiked affair with horns of a bull sticking out on both sides.
His gauntlets were similar, with razor sharp ridges that went up the side with a pointed edge that could rip out a man’s throat. The shin guards were the same, and Jerrod could imagine Thruck slamming a man’s head into it and splitting it open like a busted tick.
The shoulder pads protecting his torso had ridges from upper arm to neck and spikes in front and back. Leather straps crisscrossed across his back, holding it together. He carried a double bladed axe with a head twice the width of a man’s chest and a handle that reached Jerrod’s neck. How the smithies had created such a monstrosity in so short a time was a mystery. Jerrod was impressed.
Thruck didn’t wait for introductions. Instead, the beast bellowed a war cry and charged the two men in the middle. He was much faster than he had any right to be, and before anyone could blink, the ogre closed the distance and cut one man in half, right across the waist.
The crowd groaned as the top half of the man’s body flopped forward, and what was left of his lower half spurted blood as both halves fell to the ground.
Thruck was already heading for the other man, and had he been a normal man, he might have blanched at the sight of an eight foot tall beast splattered with blood coming his way, but he didn’t. The arena fighter faced Thruck head on.
It was the last mistake the fool ever made. Thruck batted aside the man’s puny sword stroke and plunged every inch of his axe into the man’s throat. His head popped off like a grape.
The crowd responded like madmen set loose upon their tormentors, howling like monkeys. But some were taken aback and quailed at the ogre’s ferocity. A lot of them looked sickened.
Faster than it seemed possible Thruck had only four opponents. They were smarter. They hesitated entering the circle, not sure which pair it should be. Both pairs entered at the same time, making the right decision in Jerrod’s mind. It was obvious two men had no chance. Even four would find their lives in serious danger.
Thruck was surrounded end to end. He bellowed a challenge, an ear splitting roar, and stayed near the center. The men circled, wary but confident. Two men were armed with sword and shield, a pair of veteran arena fighters Jerrod had seen a few times before. They were good, capable men that sometimes worked together when Derek and Desmond ordered two versus two matches.
The same could be said of the other two, stout men with long spears helpful against Thruck’s incredible reach. But Jerrod wondered if the thin poles could do much damage against his lanky but considerable bulk. It was said ogres had thickness of skull that was disproportionate to the rest of their bodies. Though in truth all their bones were thicker, a necessity due to their larger frames. And this ogre was armored.
The beast let the men circle, tightening their net, then he charged through a gap in their formation, taking a swipe at one of the swordsmen’s mid-section. The man dodged aside, missing a disembowelment by a fraction of an inch. Thruck jogged around the outside of their group.
The men spread apart a few paces and came at Thruck weapons raised. The spearmen stayed on the outside with their weapons up while the swordsmen stayed front and center. It gave them extra reach around the outside with the spears, but if Thruck busted through the center, the advantage would be lost. They were
trained fighters and fought for their lives every night. They might’ve had a chance.
The spearmen jabbed from the sides in a concerted attack that made Thruck pay attention. It allowed the swordsmen to close with him from the center. But Thruck was too experienced a fighter to allow this to happen for long. He sidestepped the fighters, taking away their advantage in numbers. Then he struck at one of the spearmen closest to him.
The man ducked, lest he get decapitated. Thruck stormed forward, his aggressiveness knocking the man backwards in his attempt to save his skin. The spearmen had to move fast, hitting the dirt and rolling away from Thruck’s chopping axe dug chunks out of the wooden floor.
Thruck chased him with the other three men in hot pursuit. A swordsman took a hard swipe at Thruck’s knees, but the ogre was ready for it. He swept his axe around, and the man got his sword up in time to block, but the axe was much too powerful and sent the sword crashing into his chest. He went sprawling.
Another swordsman came on strong, and Thruck sent a massive boot into his belly. The man sailed through the air and doubled over. His spine might’ve been broken, for he lay still, out of the fight.
One spearman stood his ground, perhaps feeling the fight was slipping away from them, and they needed to stop the momentum Thruck had gained. He stabbed with his spear, but Thruck swept it aside with axe with ease. The human’s weapon looked like a toy compared to the lumbering beast.
A spear came out of nowhere from behind and planted itself into Thruck’s calf. The crowd reacted, and the monster bellowed in pain. The spearmen who’d stabbed him refused to back off, thinking to push his advantage. Thruck turned, and the spear tore deeper in to the muscle. But he slammed his knee down on the weapon, snapping it in half. It was a brutal move no one would have expected. No human would have done that, and Thruck continued his attack. He swept his axe out and struck his foe in the shoulder, ripping through armor and leather straps, and cutting into flesh. The man tumbled and fell.
Thruck limped as he set his feet again but shook off the spear as if it were no more an annoyance than an insect bite. The other spearmen stayed aggressive, stabbing forward at Thruck’s head and torso. Thruck was nimble enough to duck his head, weave to the side, or knock it away with his axe.
Jerrod thought it impressive the way he used the weapon. It was obvious the ogre had gotten professional training somewhere. Animals didn’t fight this way on their own.
The swordsman Thruck had kicked was recovered enough to fight and made a stupid move to dive at his legs, perhaps thinking to take advantage of the ogre’s injury. But the ogre was too fast. He sensed him coming stabbed with the tip of his axe, catching the man in the side, even as he rolled away from the blow. He bent in half. Blood gushed from the wound, spewing all over the floor, a mortal wound.
Now two men faced the ogre. One had a busted arm, limp by his side, and his sword broken. He shared a look with the active and did something he should have done the second the match began and took a knee, signaling surrender.
The crowd booed, but Jerrod smirked as this left the lone spearman in an awkward position. The rules stated a participant could not concede unless he had already suffered an injury, serious or otherwise, but blood had to be spilled. The first man had a torn shoulder, and that was his out. This man had no injury. So he did what he had to in order to live and stabbed himself in the leg with his spear. Then he dropped to his knees and surrendered.
The fight was finished. The crowd roared its disapproval and tossed debris on the arena floor. Thruck growled back at them, but the battle lust drained from his form, and he stalked back up the ramp to the backstage area.
Jerrod scoffed. Fucking swine. Thruck remained undefeated.
Chapter Seventeen
Soft music played. It was always enjoyable when a minstrel arrived to entertain the ladies, and this particular instance included a lovely young woman who sang beautiful songs in dulcet tones.
Jon enjoyed it a great deal. It made him feel more at home. His older brother played the violin until all hours of the night amidst their parents’ protests. Their father didn’t care for music. He was busy working, always working, and their mother lacked the willpower to change his brother’s habits. After a while it didn’t matter as his brother became quite skilled, and they didn’t mind the music. In a few short years, Jon looked forward to hearing the soft melodies his brother created.
This duo was good. The singer was wonderful to look at and listen to, and the minstrel played a variety of instruments, including the violin and mandolin. But the woman’s voice went better with the former, and the crowd of girls of Madam Dreary’s asked for similar songs with the violin involved. They were happy to perform.
The girl wore a red silk dress. Madam Dreary gave it to her as part of payment for performing, and it matched her figure and blonde hair very well. Her eyes made contact with Jon’s several times over the course of the evening, and an arousal not known for some time sprung up.
Whether or not the attraction was genuine or faked for the benefit of performance didn’t matter. The battered man let his mind drift away from the thoughts of mutilation and death that had so plagued him in the last few weeks. The image of Jerrod standing above him, hammering away at his face and torso, was stark, and Jon felt the stink of death all around as the city was struck with battle and strife.
It was better to lose himself within this girl’s eyes and the music. After several songs they took a break, and the young girl, Gabrielle was her name, sat next to Jon. They spoke together. It must have been arranged by Madam Dreary.
“Something on your mind, Jon?”
“Oh, sorry. Well, yes, there is. But it would be rude to speak of it.”
She smiled. “Tell me, how long have you lived in Sea Haven? I find it a very interesting city. Its reputation is well earned.”
“For certain.” Jon thought of how his opinions had changed about Murder Haven. “But I don’t live here. I’m working. I don’t wish to speak of it. It isn’t important. How long have you been singing? Your voice is wonderful.”
“Ah, thank you, Jon. That is very nice of you to say.” Gabrielle giggled, and it was the sweetest thing, but all Jon saw was her death mask. This girl would die someday, soon if she spent much of her time in Murder Haven. It was inevitable. Old or young it didn’t matter.
They were all food for worms.
They spoke to one another for a while. Their conversation stayed as pleasant as possible, considering his mood, and the topics light. The weather had been getting warmer; she was accustomed to much colder climates being from the north as she was. His mind drifted, and his head buzzed though he had not imbibed any alcohol in some time. Gabrielle’s company was no longer pleasurable, for he would drag her down with him, this young, beautiful girl who meant no harm. Her life would end with his because of him.
“I’m sorry, Gabrielle, but I’m afraid I can’t speak with you any longer. There’s something….”
She was about to speak, but someone stepped up to them, and his presence was not to be denied. Jon and Gabrielle looked up.
“Ah, forgive me, you two young people, I have not introduced myself. How rude. Madam Dreary has been kind enough to allow me to spend time in this wonderful establishment. I am Malthus Benaire, and I am at your disposal.”
The man wore a long cape and large wide brimmed hat, and when he made a formal bow, Jon blinked. He felt Gabrielle tense up and catch her breath. His heart went out to her. This was his time, his destiny, not hers. When Malthus Benaire seated himself at the table next to them, Jon gritted his teeth and eyed him.
“You didn’t come here for her. It’s me you want. Let her out of it.”
Malthus looked at him, amusement underneath the deep, dark layers of death and deceit. He made a motion with his gloved hand, and the girl stood. Like a golem she walked away, stiff and unwell. Jon made sure she had gotten away before turning to Malthus. The world dimmed.
“I know you,” Jon said.<
br />
“I know you, Jon,” Malthus Benaire said and smiled. “I knew I would find you. You knew I was coming. How wonderful. I have felt your pain, delicious, dreadful pain. Tell me, did you know you would find your doom when you first came to this city?”
Jon felt hot tears streak his cheeks as a sob struck his body. “I knew. I felt you, felt death stalking me. I tried to fight it, tried to find… find….”
Malthus nodded. “Find those that would help you. But you found more death. It is all around us. I am drawn to it, for it is my mission to investigate its every facet, like a fine jewel is examined by an expert. You are unique, Jon, and have a gift. This makes your doom even more delicious.”
Jon took a big gulp of air and tried to steady his mind, to continue to fight, but it was hopeless. Malthus put a gloved hand on his arm, and his blood chilled in his veins.
“What an innocent mind you have, Jon. I knew you were special. Brave, intelligent, faithful… lost. It is this combination that makes you so desirable to me. No, no, no more tears. Death comes for us all, be emboldened by the fact your end provides for the betterment of all mankind. My work is so very important.”
Jon stuttered. His mind burned. “But how? Why… why did you do this?”
Malthus smiled. “You have a gift, Jon. A gift of extrasensory perception. You’ve denied it all your life, but I have come to you. Along with your current predicament, your grave plight, the feelings of death that haunt you… ah, this is a beacon to me.”
Jon tried to stand, but the world went dark.
* * * * *
The bandage felt tight around his head, but there was nothing for it. His knee hurt as well. And his back. The brief struggle was over so fast, it seemed impossible to suffer so many injuries. Muldor was glad to still be alive, such as it was.
Becket handed him a mug of some hard liquor, and the Guild Master thanked him, a genuine feeling of gratitude in his heart.