by Rob J. Hayes
“You've met my daughter, Arbiter.”
“In a cell, where they had her chained to a wall after they had already killed her twice and scooped out her eyes.” Thanquil was tense; this he had not planned for. “What did you do to her, H'ost?”
The head of the H'ost family laughed, his daughter, standing behind him, stared on through cold, dead eyes. “The compulsion. Very good. It's been a while since I felt it but I must say yours is particularly weak.”
Thanquil backed away a step and tried again. “What is she?”
Again H'ost laughed but this time when he stopped his voice was as hard and harsh as Thanquil's own. “I am not some mindless simpleton. I am Gregor H'ost. Your pathetic compulsion will not work on me, Arbiter.” He turned to his daughter standing behind him. “Kill him.”
The woman came towards him, skipping from one foot to the other in a strange jinking dance. Then she hissed something in an alien tongue and the air rushed towards Thanquil with a scream. The blast knocked him off his feet and he found himself rolling on the polished wooden floor. The woman was coming at him fast. Her only weapons her hands, each finger sporting a sharp-looking claw.
Thanquil raised his sword to block the first attack. The noise as her claws connected with his sword sounded like metal screeching against metal. He spun out of reach, whispering blessings of speed and strength, and slashed with his sword at her head. She danced away from him and then back in with another swipe with her right hand. He blocked again but she stepped in close, as Thanquil fell away she tore at his arm with her left hand.
He could feel blood running down his left arm but that was nothing compared to the pain. It felt as though the wound both burned and froze at the same time. Thanquil clutched at his left arm, around the wound and cried out. He scrambled backwards, pushing with his feet and glad that the floor was so well polished. The woman danced towards him again, more slowly this time, almost as if she were savouring the moment.
“Strong isn't she,” he heard H'ost say. “And only the first of many. I intend to make an army of them.”
Thanquil realised he was no longer holding his sword. He'd dropped it when she clawed his arm and now the woman was between him and the blade.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper. The good thing about an Arbiter coat was many hidden pockets and Thanquil knew what each one contained by heart. He flung the piece of paper at the woman and she clawed it away. Thanquil curled into a ball just in time as the air exploded.
His ears were still ringing as he regained his feet. The air hung heavy with smoke and there were scorch marks on the floor. The woman was a good ten feet away whining and writhing in pain. Her face and arms were charred, blackened ruins. Her leathers were burned and, in places, still on fire.
As Thanquil advanced on her, he had to say, she now looked a pathetic figure, wriggling on the ground, struggling to breathe. Chances are the explosion had done as much damage to her lungs. The teachers at the Inquisition always warned about using rune explosions; there was always the chance you would breathe in the flames.
Thanquil stopped by the pathetic creature on the floor, pulled his pistol from his belt once more and pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The glowing bullet smashed through her skull. The body convulsed once, twice, and then stopped. A spreading pool of blood ran along the polished wooden floor. Thanquil hated the smell of burning flesh.
“Don't think she'll be coming back from the dead this time. Wrapped a purging rune around the bullet. Whatever she was, it's gone now.” H'ost was still seated, when Thanquil looked at the lord he fell off his chair and scrambled away. The Arbiter turned away to collect his fallen sword.
“I never was very good at sword play but the teachers at the Inquisition said I more than made up for it with my skill with magic; runes, charms. Blessing and curses are my spe... H'ost stop!”
Too late Thanquil had turned back to find the terrified lord had pulled a number of wooden chips from his purse. He was snapping them and throwing them to the floor. Thanquil counted ten and he recognised them right away. They were summoning runes.
Already the room was starting to grow colder, darker. Already the first shade had begun to form.
The Black Thorn
The Captain waited; his back straight and cold eyes watchful. The rest of his troops were not so diligent; some drifted into groups and began to talk, some slipped back into the mess hall, no doubt for some ale, some stood around yawning and rubbing at their sleepy eyes. The old grey sergeant was chatting and laughing with Bones before ten minutes had passed. The giant was well known for being an amiable bastard, even with his hands bound it seemed.
Betrim glanced to his right. The Boss was swaying, eyes half closed. “Boss,” Betrim hissed. No answer. “Boss, on the off chance any of us get out o' this. Who hired us?”
The big southerner didn't give any acknowledgement of having heard. “Boss...” Betrim hissed again.
“Morrass,” this came from the other side of Betrim, from Henry.
“Captain Drake Morrass?” Betrim wasn't sure why he asked, it wasn't like there were any other Morrass' it could have been. He just didn't want to believe it was true.
“Aye.”
“Ahhh, Boss. Ya made a deal with the damned devil.”
Captain Drake Morrass was a dangerous name not to know and an even more dangerous name to know. Betrim had heard all the stories; Morrass had drowned as a child and came back part demon. He was a pirate who had sailed on every sea in the world and tamed them all, he'd sailed through storms with waves thousands of feet high and he charmed a kraken into working for him. Morrass owned half of Chade, it was rumoured he owned some city in Acanthia and was in with the thieves guild there to boot. He slipped his way into the Dragon Empress' bed and that was no easy feat given it was guarded by a bloody dragon.
But those weren't even the bad stories. He raped boys and girls alike and slit their throats after to bathe in their blood so as to keep himself young. Once when one of his crew members had tried to betray him Morrass had starved the man almost to death, then gelded him and served him his own cock and balls, told the man what it was and all and watched as he ate. After he put in close to port, close enough to swim, chopped the man's arms and legs off, threw him into the sea and told him to swim. There were rumours he once...
BANG!
The noise wasn't as loud as Betrim had heard it before, muffled or far away maybe. The Captain didn't look nervous, if anything he looked a little smug.
“That'll be the end of your witch hunter now. Won't be long before you all join him,” the Captain said in a tone as icy as his eyes.
Betrim spat and scratched at his cheek; the unburnt one, seemed a bit of stubble was growing through, that would need shaving. “I've been the end of a few Arbiters myself...”
“Six,” Henry put in with her usual sneer.
“As she says,” Betrim continued. “Been the end of six Arbiters an' that did not sound like one endin'.”
There was a flicker of doubt across the Captain's face, he glanced away and then back again. Might as well have just come right out and said he was unsure. Betrim decided to push.
“Thing 'bout Arbiters is the magic. They got all sorts of spells an' shit.” Betrim glanced at the Boss; he was a bit nervous his own self. The Boss was as good as gone back at the Jorl, it was only the Arbiter's charm keeping the black-skinned leader of the crew alive and the witch hunter had said it could stop working at any time.
“I saw one turn someone into a frog once,” Henry said with a nod, her face so serious Betrim almost laughed, would have laughed, given how ridiculous it was, but for the situation didn't call for laughter.
“Aye?” the Black Thorn asked trying to tell Henry to shut up with his eyes alone.
“Aye.”
“Aye.” Betrim turned back to the Captain. He took a step forward; the Captain took a step back. “So d'ya still reckon that sound was the
end of our witch hunter?”
BOOM!
That was not the sound that the Arbiter's little string-less crossbow made, it was louder and... different. Less like a thunderclap and more like a rock-slide. The Captain's eyes were far less icy now, there was fear there. Fear was good, fear made folk stupid.
Betrim laughed his hard rasping laugh right in the Captain's face. “Reckon it might be time ya started seekin' alternative employment, Captain. Might wanna think 'bout lettin' us go an' all. Before our witch hunter finishes up in there.”
“Sergeant, take four men and go check on his Lordship,” the Captain commanded in a somewhat shaky voice.
The old grey sergeant didn't much seem to like that idea.
BANG!
“Bugger that, Captain. You go check on him.”
“I gave you an order, Sergeant!”
The sergeant was backing away, shaking his head. Betrim could hear sobbing, it was Green. Dumb fuck had fallen on his arse and was scrambling away from the conflict while crying.
“Them Arbiters, they burn ya. Ain't no way to die; burning” said the sergeant.
Betrim felt cold and either he was going mad or the lanterns were dimming and he could hear a strange rattling noise, sounded a bit like chains. “What the fuck is that?” Henry said, her voice cracking just a little.
A shadow began to form in the light of the yard. At first it seemed just a floating patch of darkness, out of place in the flickering yellow light but soon it seemed as if the shadow had arms and legs. Horrible, spiky limbs ending in savage claws and formed of darkness even blacker than the Boss' skin. The air seemed to shimmer where it stood and the ground froze beneath it. Then its head formed out of the darkness, near as big as its body, it sported two great horns of darkness from its crown and its mouth was a jagged line in its face, a piercing white light showing between the gaps of its teeth, each one as big as a hand. Finally its eyes opened; two bright yellow flames amidst a sea of darkness. Hungry flames.
The shade looked nothing human. It stood as tall as Bones without the stoop. Its legs were squat things, too small for the long, thin body. Its arms were too long reaching almost down to the ground. Its head was the worst, at least three or four feet long, Betrim guessed, and that was before the horns, it stuck out from the body on a short, thin neck. All over, the creature seemed to be covered in spikes formed from shadow, impossible to look at, each seemed to move and drift around the creature's body.
The first man to die was the bravest of them all, or maybe the most stupid. A big soldier, heavy with muscle and with long brown hair flowing past his shoulder thrust a spear at the shade. As the spear point connected there was an awful screaming noise like metal grating against metal and the shaft of the spear exploded into splinters. The man died where he stood. With one casual backhand the shade turned his shouting face into a mess of bone and torn flesh and spurting blood with three deep ridges ripped from his skull. The lifeless body dropped with a heavy thud and chaos broke loose.
Some men ran at the shade, others away, some just stood there with slack mouthed shock on their faces. Someone somewhere was screaming. The loudest scream Betrim had ever heard and so full of pain it set his teeth on edge. There were more shades forming out of the darkness, Betrim didn't bother to count how many, he was finding it hard to think further than the steaming of his own breath in the air.
“Plan, Boss?” Bones asked.
The Boss was no help; he had dropped to his knees, his eyes closed. Betrim couldn't even tell if the man was still breathing.
“Might be time fer some of that legendary strength o' yours, Bones. Get those ropes off.” Betrim himself has rubbing his wrists raw trying to slide a hand free from the ropes.
So far the crew had been left out of the chaos. A battle seemed to be raging around them, soldiers teaming together to stab and slash at the shades, others running for the gate, trying to get away and the crew stood in a sea of calm, watching it all happening and taking no part.
Bones grunted, growled and strained against the ropes holding his hands together, his face a bright red colour from the effort. Then Swift was there with a tiny knife cutting the bonds. “Ol' Swift ain't never properly disarmed.” The lad said with a grin. Betrim thought back to Bittersprings, to Swift's sister producing a knife from somewhere despite being naked as her name day. Then his hands were free.
Betrim gave his wrists a quick rub and walked over to the nearest weapon he could see; a discarded sword. “Not an axe but it'll do the job, I reckon.”
“What do we do, Boss?” Henry asked, shaking the big man. “Boss?”
Betrim stalked past her. Someone, somewhere was still screaming. He found Green on his knees in the dirt, staring all around him with the stink of fear coming off him, either that or he'd shit himself. The Captain had done a real job on his face; Green's left cheek was laid open, Betrim could see teeth through the wound.
“F'horl,” Green gurgled.
“Eh?”
“Thsesse sunt.”
“What?”
“Thssseeese.”
Thorn buried the sword in Green's neck. Didn't take the head off with one swing though, the blade stuck about half way through, hit the bone, he reckoned. Still, Green was just as dead. Betrim put a boot on the boy's chest and wrenched the steel free with a gush of red blood.
“I fuckin' hate swords,” Betrim spat at Green's corpse and finished the decapitation. By the time he turned back to the chaos the crew had joined the fight but on which side Betrim couldn't rightly say. Bones had found himself a bloody great sword from somewhere and was laying about himself. Two soldiers were dead close by already and four more surrounded him. Swift had found his way up onto the wall somehow and was busy duelling with the Captain while more soldiers tried to work their way behind him. Henry had a dirk in one hand and was shaking the Boss' shoulder with the other, screaming in his ear. As Betrim watched the old grey sergeant who had fought in more battles than ten men walked up behind Henry and shouted something at her. Henry span and buried her little blade in the man's chest once, twice and then slit his throat for good measure.
All around him men were dying, fleeing, begging for their lives. The shades didn't even seem to feel the kiss of steel, almost like their skin was made of harder stuff. Betrim watched as one shade, standing at just five feet tall, caught hold of a sword and snapped the blade in two with just one clawed hand. The soldier who had been wielding it turned to run but too late. The shade tore the man's back out, breastplate, cloth, flesh and all.
One of the creatures was no more than two feet tall, it looked like some sort of manic black imp. It dodged attacks, slashed at legs and tore into soldiers who could no longer stand. Betrim saw it leap at a man and cling to his face, tearing into the soldier with claw and tooth until the body was a twitching mess.
The first shade that had appeared was finished with its attackers. All the brave soldiers were either dead or fled, bodies on the ground and so much blood. It began to lumber towards Henry and the Boss. Betrim guessed something like that didn't need to move too fast. Henry screamed something at it but Betrim didn't hear what. The Black Thorn was scared of no man but right now the Black Thorn couldn't seem to make his feet move.
Henry flung her little dirk at the creature and screamed at it again. The shade just kept on walking. At ten feet away Henry started to back off, trying to pull the Boss with her but the big man just knelt there staring at the shade. That's when Betrim realised the Boss' eyes were open again. At five feet Henry let go of the leader of the crew and fell backwards, scrambling away on her arse.
Betrim watched it all from where he stood. Bones was backed into a corner by a group of soldiers with spears, he was roaring and swinging that big sword of his but there were too many of them. Swift was still up the wall, the Captain was nowhere to be seen but the half-blooded bastard was holding his sword and limping backwards as one of the shades advanced on him. The shade in front of the Boss calmly, almost tenderly reached
out and took hold of the big man by the throat, its giant, black hand wrapping all the way around the Boss' thick neck.
Slowly the shade lifted the Boss up so his feet were off the ground and his face was level with the creature's giant head. Then it opened its mouth, wider and wider and wider, so wide the Boss' head fit inside. Henry was silent, watching with wide eyed horror as the shade bit down.
The Boss didn't scream. His whole body jerked but he didn't make a sound as the creature's teeth cut through his flesh and bone from the bottom of his chin to the crown of his head and blood gushed down to hit the ground below.
When it was done the shade just dropped the Boss' limp, lifeless body. The big man who had led them for years looked almost whole except the front half of his head was just missing. The Black Thorn had seen some nasty stuff in his time, he'd done a lot of it himself, but right now he felt like he needed to throw up.
Then the shade turned towards Henry. The crazy bitch was frozen on the floor, staring at the corpse of the Boss. Betrim put one foot in front of the other and then another. Before he knew what he was doing he found himself just a stone’s throw from the shade and shouting.
“Fuck sake, Henry. RUN!” he screamed at her.
The shade turned to look at him, eyes blazing yellow in its huge, dark face. Betrim could feel hot water trickling down his face. He spat. The Black Thorn wouldn't go crying to his own death.
“Henry! Get the fuck up an' run! NOW!”
The shade took a step towards Betrim then stopped and turned to look at Henry as she scrambled to her feet.
The Black Thorn let out a heavy sigh. “Shit.” Then he charged the shade.
The Arbiter
“Go back to the void,” Thanquil hissed.
The demon seemed to smile. “We obey.” With that it faded back into nothing. Thanquil turned his attention to H'ost.
“What? How did you...”
Scooping up one of the discarded runes from the floor Thanquil advanced on the cowering lord. “The creatures of the void are bound by ancient magic to serve the Inquisition. This,” he threw the broken rune in H'ost's face and the man let out a squeak of fear, “is an incomplete rune.”