by Scull, Luke
‘If we manage to survive the night I might just do that,’ the old Highlander replied. ‘Now probably ain’t the time, though—’
‘Saw some nasty shit,’ Jerek cut in abruptly. They all looked at him. ‘Villagers choked to death. Some with entrails hanging out of their arses,’ he added darkly. ‘Just like that cow. Killed a couple more strollers, too.’
Brodar Kayne felt a shiver run up his spine. ‘That thing you saw, lass. Think it might be responsible?’
Sasha thought about it for a moment and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And it’s out there somewhere.’ Her hand went to the crossbow under her cloak.
Kayne rapped on the granary door again. ‘Let us in,’ he said as loudly but amicably as he could manage. ‘We’re friends.’
There was no response.
Jerek strolled up to the door and slammed a boot into it. It hardly budged. ‘Open the fucking door!’ he bellowed. When there was no answer, he reached behind him and unsheathed an axe.
Kayne was about to restrain him when suddenly he heard it: a susurration, as of a handful of snakes slithering over snow. The air smelled rotten, like a dozen corpses left to rot in the sun for a week. He knew that odour, had learned to read the signs when he served the Shaman as the protector of the High Fangs.
An abomination was approaching.
As one they turned. There it was, emerging from behind rain-swept trees like a nightmare made flesh. Its torso was humanoid in shape but supported on two thick tentacles instead of legs, and it spouted a dozen writhing tendrils in place of arms. They twisted and curled obscenely, probing as if tasting the air. A small and vaguely human head perched on top of the body, but it possessed no eyes or nose or ears – only an oversized mouth frozen in a death rictus.
One of the tendrils snaked out in their direction, paused for a second, and then retracted. Suddenly the lower tentacles pushed down hard on the muddy ground, raising the abomination high into the air so that it hovered above them. The head began to vibrate, faster and faster until it became a blur.
Jerek shifted and then his axe was hurtling towards the horror, end over end. It sank into the puffy grey flesh, splitting it open. From the sundered chest of the abomination poured a torrent of pus, as though a giant blister had burst. The stench made Kayne want to vomit. The head continued to vibrate, and then the abomination was writhing towards them on its hind limbs like some gigantic spider preparing to engulf its prey.
‘Get out of here!’ he yelled, pushing Isaac and Sasha away. Jerek had his other axe in his hand. The Wolf looked at him, nodded once, and then sprinted forwards, ducking under one flailing tendril to roll and come up just behind the abomination.
His old bones protesting with every movement, his abused flesh slick from fever and the relentless rain, Brodar Kayne lifted his greatsword and strolled to meet the horror. Just need to hold it off long enough for the girl and Isaac to escape, he thought grimly.
A tendril shot down, reaching for his head, but he leaned back at the last moment and it passed in front of him. Another darted towards his chest. He pivoted, felt it brush harmlessly against his leather. Foul mucus dripped from its length, which tapered to a hardened barb at the end.
Jerek was to the right of him, a dozen feet away. The Wolf was chopping away at two of the probing tendrils. He severed one. The other wrapped itself around his ankles and jerked upwards. Uttering a stream of curses, the Wolf was tugged from his feet and pulled along the mud as he tried desperately to line up another slash at the grappling appendage.
Isaac suddenly sprinted into view, a torch in one hand and his longsword in the other. ‘How do you like this?’ he shouted at the apparition, and hurled the torch at its lower tentacles.
Kayne watched the torch land and brush against the wormy flesh of the abomination’s leg-tentacles. He half expected it to catch fire and flare up like a pile of dry old kindling. Instead the flame flickered for a second and fizzled out. He looked across at Isaac.
‘What was that lad?’, he was about to ask, but a tendril swooped around and lashed the manservant across the chest, sending him flying. He struck the ground hard and didn’t get back up. Jerek was still struggling unsuccessfully nearby.
‘Shit,’ said the old barbarian again. He raised his sword and held it horizontally before him. ‘Come on then. Just you and me now.’
The eyeless head turned away from Jerek to face him. He gritted his teeth. That damned vibrating was giving him a headache.
Tendrils shot down, one from the left and then two from the right, grasping and probing. Kayne stepped back, ducked under one, leaped another, brought his sword around and was rewarded by the sight of a twitching appendage flying away into the night. His momentary satisfaction evaporated as another limb flailed down and raked his hide armour with its barbed claw. It sliced through the leather with ease, scoring a deep gouge in his chest. He felt blood well up from the wound. Something snapped inside him.
‘That the best you got?’ he snarled. He whirled around, ducked under one tendril and severed it. He switched his sword to his left hand, reached out and wrenched Jerek’s axe from the monster’s torso with his right. It came loose in a spray of vile fluid that coated him from head to foot, but he was beyond caring.
‘I’ve been half drowned,’ he said, bringing the weapons together with a clash. ‘Gutted like a fish.’ Clash. ‘Got a fever that’s left me feeling worse than death.’ Clash. ‘And to add to my woes, this fucking rain is making me piss like a horse.’ Clash. He pointed both weapons at the abomination. ‘So – I ain’t in the mood to stand here and be buggered up the arse by the likes of you.’ Clash.
He burst into motion, each weapon dancing independent of the other, swatting away and slicing at the snaking limbs that converged on him. He rolled away from one, dived under another, somehow keeping ahead of the torrent of spongy flesh. He was buffeted in the shoulder and back, one tendril locking around his leg before he hacked it away an instant later. His heart hammered in his chest and his breaths came in laboured gasps, but he didn’t dare stop moving for a second.
Before he knew it the attacks slowed and then stopped completely. He blinked rainwater and foul discharge from his eyes, in time to see Jerek free himself from the last remaining appendage. He looked mighty pissed off and was covered in filth, but he was otherwise unharmed.
The torso of the abomination loomed before him, now bereft of limbs save for the two tentacles supporting it from the ground. The head suddenly ceased quivering.
‘Had enough?’ he panted. He doubled over, his heart feeling like it would tear free of his chest. Just need to catch my breath.
‘Kayne,’ Jerek rasped. It sounded like a warning. With a mighty effort, he raised his head back up.
‘Shit.’
The severed tendrils were growing back with alarming speed, sprouting from the shoulders of the humanoid torso like unholy vines. Jerek shook his head and spat. He looked worried. ‘How the fuck do we kill this thing?’
Brodar Kayne didn’t have an answer. He was spent, his body pushed to breaking point and beyond.
‘Out of the way!’
The shout came from behind them. The girl. He tried to turn, to yell at her to flee, but the effort was too great. He saw Jerek grimace, dive to the side. A crossbow twanged, and suddenly the magical horror had a bolt lodged in the back of its mouth.
‘Run!’ Sasha screamed. Jerek took hold of him, pulled him away—
Not for the first time that week, the world exploded.
‘Urgh.’
‘Easy, now. Your body has endured a great deal of abuse. Even a young man would be lucky to survive the wounds you have suffered.’
He didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded like it belonged to an old fellow. An older fellow, at any rate.
He tried to open his eyes. Couldn’t. ‘Where am I?’ he asked, battling a rising sense of panic.
‘The village of Farrowgate. You’re inside my home. Your friends are with me. The combustion t
emporarily blinded you – or it may have been the ichor in your eyes. In any case, I am confident your vision will return.’
‘I’m here, Kayne.’ It was Jerek’s voice – gruff, unfriendly and, at that moment, the most comforting sound in the world.
‘What happened?’ he managed.
‘I had some of Vicard’s powder,’ said a woman. It was Sasha, he realized. ‘I took it from his backpack just after the Rift. Isaac hollowed out a bolt head for me a while back and I filled it with the stuff. I didn’t really think it would work.’
‘It was purely theoretical,’ droned Isaac. ‘You might just have revolutionized warfare. Imagine – a mere girl blowing apart a magical abomination!’
‘A mere girl?’ Sasha’s voice had turned frosty.
‘Uh, no offence,’ Isaac said quickly. ‘I was trying to pay you a compliment.’
‘Don’t.’
Silence.
‘First useful thing the bitch has done, shutting you up,’ said Jerek. More silence. ‘The second,’ he amended grudgingly. ‘Though I reckon we’d have taken the fucker ourselves if it came to it. Right, Kayne?’
Kayne sighed. Somehow they’d all survived. With any luck, the remainder of the journey back to Dorminia would be uneventful and they would collect their gold and be on their way. Assuming his sight returned and he didn’t die of his wounds between now and then.
Well, a man could hope.
The Chosen One
‘Why do bad things happen to good people?’
Three-Finger didn’t answer. He hadn’t moved for hours, or uttered so much as a word in response to any of Cole’s numerous questions. The convict was curled up on the shiny black marble that formed the circular roof of the Tower of Stars, his back to the young Shard and his battered cloak pulled tight around him, though it wasn’t a particularly cold night.
‘We’ve been stuck up here for three days now. How much longer before the White Lady decides what to do with us?’
There was no reply.
‘It’s enough to drive you mad. No wonder they call it the Tower of Stars.’ He stared glumly at the marble beneath his feet. The polished surface was a perfect reflection of the clear night sky above. ‘I think I’m losing my mind.’
He walked over to the edge of the tower and risked a glance down at the city. From this height the various buildings looked like models from the hand-crafted diorama Garrett had given him on his twelfth naming day. He had thought it a silly toy, until he learned its true purpose had been to help him understand the layout of a certain section of the Noble Quarter he would later rob – in particular the quickest escape route in the event of an emergency.
He suppressed a shudder. The Tower of Stars was the tallest structure in Thelassa, or so he had been told. It was completely open to the elements, with no barrier around its circumference. According to the captain of The Lady’s Luck, who had brought them both to the tower, the Magelord of the city encouraged the accused to take matters into their own hands. Suicide was viewed as a welcome admission of guilt that saved everyone a lot of time and bother.
Except, Cole supposed, for the unfortunate souls tasked with keeping the streets of Thelassa clean. He imagined a jumper would make quite a mess when they finally splattered onto the streets hundreds of feet below. He had no intention of ending his own life, but the boredom was starting to get to him.
‘I just don’t understand it,’ he said, deciding that if Three-Finger wasn’t going to participate in this discussion then he might as well talk for both of them. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is to make the world a better place. I risked my life trying to save an old man from the Black Lottery, did you know that? A waste of time that was.’
Three-Finger said nothing.
‘Even among the Shards I never seem to receive the recognition I deserve.’ He sighed and stretched out his muscles. It was another mild evening, at least.
‘The problem is envy,’ he said quietly. ‘Sometimes I wish I wasn’t the son of a legendary hero. If I was just a common sort – like you, Three-Finger – no one would begrudge me respect. I’ve worked so damned hard to become the man I am. That’s what people don’t appreciate.’
Three-Finger grunted and shifted slightly. He took that as an encouraging sign.
‘I’ve faced prejudice throughout my life. I suppose others might have become bitter long ago. Me, I’ve always seen it as a challenge. Just one more obstacle to overcome. Like when I became the youngest Shard in our history.’ That wasn’t strictly true – Sasha had been seventeen when she was inducted into the group, a good few months younger than him – but she was a girl and therefore didn’t really count.
Three-Finger fidgeted again and made a growling noise that sounded suspiciously like a fart.
‘Did I ever tell you about Sasha? She has eyes you could lose yourself in. I knew from the moment we met that she was the one.’
He stared out across the city. Torchlight flickered far below like fireflies, illuminating very little from this height. Other towers loomed in the darkness here and there, like ghostly fingers in the starlight. For a moment Cole thought he could hear distant screams. He cocked his head and listened intently, but this time he heard only silence.
He sighed. Being stuck on top of this tower was making him paranoid. ‘When I finally make it back to Dorminia, I’m going to tell Sasha how I really feel about her,’ he ventured. ‘She isn’t like other girls. I think something bad happened to her when she was young. She’s hard work, but I’m slowly winning her around.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘It would take a girl like Sasha to keep a man like me in check.’
Three-Finger finally rolled over to face him. His head was hidden underneath his cloak, but he sounded exasperated. ‘I can’t take much more of you talking bollocks, kid. Give it a rest.’
Cole frowned. ‘I’m just trying to stave off the boredom,’ he replied. ‘Maybe you should have a walk around and stretch your legs. You’ve been huddled up like that for hours.’
‘What’s the point? It’s not like there’s anything to see.’
Something had been bothering Cole. He decided now was the time to bring it up. ‘You know what the White Lady said – about you being a rapist. It’s not true is it? The Watch just made up those charges against you, didn’t they?’
Three-Finger looked up at him. The corner of the convict’s mouth twitched slightly. ‘Of course it ain’t true. Do I seem like that kind of man to you?’
Cole frowned thoughtfully. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t.’
‘Well then. There you are.’ Three-Finger stuck one of the fingers of his maimed hand inside his ear, wriggled it about, and then withdrew it to examine the contents. ‘Get some sleep, kid.’
That night the weather took a turn for the worse. The gusting wind set Cole’s teeth to chattering, and he warmed himself with thoughts of Sasha and their eventual reunion. He would have some tales to share with her and Garrett and the rest when he returned to Dorminia. Whenever that might be.
The following night his captors came for him.
The metal grate in the roof shifted slightly. Cole watched it glumly, expecting two meagre platefuls of bland food and a jug of water to be shoved up through the bars. Instead, he was shocked to see the steel hatch spring open and two of the White Lady’s pale servants climb out onto the roof. They were followed by a third figure, this one wearing a cowl that completely hid its face.
The taller of the two women clutched a dark metal collar. It was connected to a chain of interwoven links. ‘You will come with us,’ she said simply. She gave the collar a shake.
Cole’s excitement drained away like piss down a latrine as he stared at the contraption. ‘I want to know where you’re taking me.’
The shorter woman stared at him. As he had come to expect from the White Lady’s servants, her eyes were ghostly orbs that revealed no shred of emotion. ‘You will not ask questions,’ she said.
‘Do not be afraid,’ said the hooded figure. The voice was that of a
man, but it had a whispering, velvety quality only the truly sinister could successfully cultivate. ‘The White Lady has plans for you. You will not be harmed.’
He heard Three-Finger shift around to face their visitors. ‘What about me?’
‘You will remain here.’
‘Fuck that. I’m not staying here a second longer, you pale-faced piece of shit—’
The convict’s words became a grunt. With incredible speed, the shorter of the women dashed across to him and wrapped her hands around his throat. Three-Finger must have outweighed her by eighty pounds, but he might as well have tried to shake off a bear. Within seconds he ceased struggling and went limp. The woman lowered his unconscious body to the floor. Angry red marks encircled his neck where her hands had gripped him.
‘Now,’ said the woman with the collar. ‘Will you come willingly or must you also be subdued?’
‘I’m coming,’ Cole said hurriedly. ‘Let me help you with that.’ He presented his neck and the woman lowered the collar over his head. For a second he contemplated ducking away as it descended and trying to make good an escape – but one look at the comatose Three-Finger convinced him that, for now, he was better off doing as he was told.
‘Lead on,’ he said. The collar snapped shut.
He wandered through a monochrome cityscape. Dark shadows flickered ahead of him, blinking into and then out of existence. Tendrils of fog twisted and curled around the ground, obscuring the bottoms of his legs. A thick wall of mist hung in the air all around him so that he could barely see twenty feet in front of his face. From beyond that impenetrable blanket came a cacophony of weeping, a thousand souls voicing their sorrow.
Something brushed against his boots. He looked down, peering through the unnatural fog.
It was a hand, impossibly small. It twitched a few times, and then tiny fingers reached out towards him. He stared in increasing horror as a doll-like arm emerged from the white haze, and then another, dragging the creature along the ground. Finally the head emerged, hairless, a pale, fetal mass of flesh that stared up at him with white eyes and a mouth opened wide in anguish…