by Rob J. Hayes
The woman waved the knife at him. “I was thinking of cutting off your stones as a trophy.”
Betrim saw Anders smile. Took some real guts to smile at that sort of threat, he reckoned. “I'm sure your husband would love that. Mine were always so much bigger than his own.”
The woman lashed out with her boot and kicked Anders in the face. He rolled onto his back and lay there groaning.
“My husband gave me strict orders. You have to want to live. Right up until the end. I'm not allowed to take anything from you that will make you give up.”
“Quite right,” Anders said. “It would be terribly rude...”
“Hold him still!” the woman ordered and three soldiers moved forwards and secured Anders on the ground. One of them took his right hand and held it out in front of him, splaying his fingers wide.
“Wait,” Anders shouted a note of panic clear in his voice. “WAIT! What are you doing? Lish? Wait!”
The woman ignored him. She rested the knife across Anders' little finger, just above the first knuckle joint, and waited, made sure he could see, made sure he was watching.
“No...”
The knife went down and Anders screamed.
The woman picked up the severed finger and shoved it toward Anders' face. The noise he made sounded something like a longing whine to Betrim. Then the woman threw the finger away.
“That's one for Elise. Four more to go, Anders.”
Betrim grit his teeth, spat out some more blood and spoke before the situation got any worse. “Wouldn't do that if I were you.”
The woman looked up at him. “Or what?”
“Dunno if ya noticed,” Betrim continued. “But I got some experience with losin' fingers myself an' ya might be surprised by how much they bleed. Ya chop many more o' them an' Anders there ain't gonna be conscious ta see whatever end it is ya got planned fer us.”
The woman paused and looked at Semon. Semon just shrugged. “Fine. Just tie the bastard up with the others. I just wish I could be here to see it.”
Anders managed a weak smile as he was hauled to his feet. “Feel free... to take my place... if you're so desperate.”
The woman punched him in the neck and Anders started coughing and gasping, struggling for air. It wasn't long before he was tied to one of the stakes along with Betrim and Henry. A soldier went round behind them, checking the ropes to makes sure they were secure and then Lisha approached one last time. She pulled out a skin and took a mouthful of the liquid inside then spat it in Anders' face.
“Francis wanted you to know this was here as you die. So close, but so far away.” She put the skin down on the ground not more than ten feet away then mounted her horse and they were away. In less than a minute Lisha and her soldiers were nothing more than a dust cloud in the distance leaving Betrim, Henry and Anders to die.
“Water?” Henry asked.
Betrim saw Anders lick at his lips. “Better. Wine.” The fool gave a weak struggle at his bonds then went back to hanging limp.
“Said it 'fore, Anders but ya da's a cunt!” Betrim said.
Anders laughed. “Not at all. He's a bit soft underneath it all really.”
“Umm...”
A haunting laugh floated into the clearing. Betrim knew that laugh and he knew it well. It was cold, inhuman, mocking. It came from a laughing dog.
Henry
The sight of blood was one thing, and there was plenty of that lying around in the dust, the taste of blood was something completely different; wet and metallic and thick. Henry fought the urge to gag and spat again.
Another laugh floated into the clearing from somewhere, could have been the same dog, could have been a second, impossible to tell as things were. Certainly made the situation start to feel a bit more urgent, being torn apart by a pack of starving dogs was not how Henry wanted to go out.
“Anyone loose? Able ta get free?” Thorn asked with a grunt as he struggled against his bonds.
Henry wriggled her hands, twisted them, pulled against the ropes then shook her head. Anders gave it a quick try, screamed in pain and then dropped to his knees. Henry couldn't say she'd ever lost a finger, or a toe, or any part of her body but it was fair to say it probably hurt... a lot.
“Times like this I miss Swift,” Thorn said from Henry's left. It was possibly the last thing she wanted to hear. Made her blood boil, her leg ache and it made the rage inside of her want to stab something.
Henry leaned as far forwards as she could, her shoulders ached at the pain of pulling in their sockets. Then she placed her left foot against the wooden stake, then her right foot just above it. Gritting her teeth against the pain Henry took her left foot away and placed it above her right and then leaned backwards, hopped up a foot and leaned forwards again. Her shoulders screamed in agony and threatened to pop out of their sockets but they held fast and she started the process again.
“Fuck me,” she heard Thorn say through the haze of pain.
Henry glanced at the Black Thorn to find him staring at her with his mouth well and truly open but she couldn't spare the concentration to care. Hot sweat ran freely down her face, mingling with the drying blood and dripping down to the ground.
She started the process again. Left foot. Right foot. Lean back. Hop up. Lean forwards. Looking down it seemed as though she was barely off the ground. Left foot. Right foot. Lean back. Hop up. Lean forwards.
“How much further?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Just a few more feet, my love.” There was a note of hope in Anders' voice. It sounded good after three days of nothing but whining and despair.
Left foot. Right foot. Lean back. Hop up. Lean forwards. Henry heard something crack and a moment later the pain became unbearable. Great, panting breathes rushed out of her mouth and she tasted tears along with the blood. Her left shoulder was a burning mess of agony that flooded her entire body with pain. It took every bit of determination she had not to collapse and fall back to the ground below.
“Come on, Henry. Jus' a bit more!” Thorn said from somewhere below.
Henry just shook her head. The pain was too much. She was too tired. She screwed her eyes shut and considered passing out.
“Swift could do it.”
Funny thing about anger, it was one of the best anaesthetics there was. Henry felt her heat rise, her tears dry, her pain drown and her tiredness flee before the wave of rage that swept over her.
She opened her eyes and readied herself for another hop. She'd bloody well prove to them all she was better than that bastard Swift.
Left foot. Right foot. At the edge of the clearing a four-legged grey shape emerged from an eye socket of an elephant skull. The laughing dog was maybe two feet tall and sleek with hungry eyes and a wicked-looking grin. It laughed at them.
Lean back. Hop up. Lean forwards. This time there was no tension, there was no wooden stake. Henry pitched forwards into eight feet of air and the dusty ground rushed up to greet her. She twisted in mid-air and landed back first. Her left shoulder screamed again; pain mixed with pleasure as the landing popped the joint back into position. New tears sprang forth from her eyes but Henry didn't have time to force them to stop. She pulled her knees up and wriggled her bound hands below her arse and her feet until they were in front of her.
Lurching back to her feet Henry stumbled towards her hat and picked it from the dust.
“Not the time for that, Henry!” Thorn growled, staring ahead at something that no doubt had a nasty set of sharp teeth and the will to use them.
Henry ignored the Blackthorn and pulled free the hidden dirk she kept secreted away in the hat. She reversed the grip and began to quickly work at the rope around her wrists. The laughing dog charged.
The beast ignored Henry and Thorn and raced towards Anders. Henry felt something in her chest go tight. The knife sliced through the last cord of rope and her hands came free. She started into a sprint, rushing to intercept the animal.
The laughing dog leapt at Anders an
d Henry leapt at the laughing dog. They collided in the air its teeth snapped shut just inches from her man's face.
As Henry hit the ground she rolled onto her knees. Something sharp and painful bit down onto her left arm. Without thought she stabbed at it, brought her knife down at the base of the dog's neck. A pain-filled yelp of surprise burst forth from its mouth and the beast teetered a step before collapsing and dragging Henry to the dust with it. She reached up with her right hand, prised the dog's jaw open and pulled her bloody left arm free. Then she stabbed the dying beast in the chest and again and again and again.
Henry lost track of how many times she stabbed the laughing dog. She was vaguely aware of Thorn shouting at her but paid him no mind. She stabbed and she stabbed and she stabbed. The blood lust slowly draining away and she found herself kneeling in front of the beast, arms slick with blood; its and hers, and both sweat and tears mixing and pouring from her face.
“Henry! Fer fuck sake, ya crazy bitch. Wake up!” Thorn shouted at her.
She turned her head to look at her old friend. His one eye was staring with the intensity of two and his voice was hoarse with a tone of command she didn't recognise coming from him.
“Ya back with us yet, Henry?” Thorn asked.
Henry nodded and pushed herself onto unsteady feet. “Aye. I reckon so.”
“Then get me the fuck out o' these binds.”
Henry did as she was told. She stumbled over to Thorn and quickly sliced through the ropes on his wrists then tended to the ones holding Anders.
“I, uh, thank you, my lady,” Anders said as he edged towards the wine skin. “You are of course most kind and I, ah, just... think it might be best if I...”
“Leave it, Anders,” Thorn ordered. A pair of small blades had appeared in his hands, each no longer than a finger.
“But I...”
“What's more important, the wine or ya life?” Thorn asked.
“Is that a trick question?”
Two more laughing dogs appeared at the edge of the clearing and by the sounds of it they weren't alone. The damned creatures just seemed to form from the shadows.
With a loud and resigned sigh Anders pulled the wine skin from the ground and slung it over his shoulder. “I suppose it will keep... for a short time.”
“I'll swap ya,” Henry said to Thorn as they readied themselves for the laughing dogs. The Blackthorn looked down at his dual knives and nodded. “Always was better fightin' with two blades.”
Anders joined them. “Don't I get one?”
“No,” Henry and Thorn said in unison.
“I'll just talk them to death then, shall I?”
“Any hints on killin' these things?” Thorn asked.
Henry snorted. “I find stabbin' 'em 'till they stop movin' seems ta work.”
“Right ya are.”
Three more laughing dogs appeared and they began to circle, surrounding Henry and the other two. One of the dogs let out a high-pitched laugh and the others replied with similar noises. Henry really hated being laughed at.
Anders snatched up a broken bone with his left hand; his right was cradled against his chest and bleeding slowly into his tunic. Henry knew they'd need to deal with that and soon but right now there were more pressing concerns. They all stood back-to-back in a triangle as the beasts circled, each waving their pathetic weapons about in as menacing a fashion as was possible. Henry could feel her leg aching, could feel her left shoulder aching, could feel her left arm dripping blood. Thorn stood next to her, half as tall as her again but in no better shape; his face below his nose was a red mask, his little finger on his left hand, while set, was still broken, and judging by his breathing the soldier had done a real number on his ribs.
One of the braver laughing dogs darted forward and snapped at them. Thorn aimed a savage kick at its face but it jumped back out of range, mocking the Black Thorn with a laugh. Another of the beasts lunged forward but backed away again as Anders shouted at it, waving his sharpened bone in its direction. They were starting to get braver, coming closer and closer.
Henry watched a sixth laughing dog emerge from the shadows and pad towards the one she had killed. It sniffed at the corpse for a couple of seconds and then tore off a mouthful of flesh and started wolfing it down.
“These fuckin' things eat each other!” she shouted in disgust.
“Well of course,” Anders said. “They're not attacking us out of malice, they're just hungry.”
“Meat is meat,” Thorn said. “Gives me an idea.”
Another of the dogs made a move to snap at Thorn but instead of trying to kick at it he kicked a cloud of dust at the animal. Taking a face-full of dust the laughing dog, stopped, sneezed and shook its head wildly from side to side. Thorn didn't give it chance to recover; he was on it in a second. He stabbed the creature twice in the chest then picked it up, avoiding its snapping mouth and threw it as hard as he could towards the other fallen animal. It landed with a meaty thud and didn't move.
Two more of the dogs broke off their attack to see to the one the Black Thorn had just done for. After a quick sniff to determine it was dead they tore into it. It didn't take long after that for the final two to join the rest of their friends.
The small crew backed away from the laughing dogs slowly. Henry bumped into something hard. She turned to find it was one of the wooden stakes they had been tied to. Sat atop of the stake was a Carrok bird near as big as she was. The giant bird watched them through huge dark eyes then let out a shrill squark and took to the air.
“Reckon I'd like ta get the fuck out o' this hell-hole now,” Henry said to no one in particular and not expecting a reply.
“Ya know this place, Anders? Know the best way out?” Thorn asked.
“I do.”
“Then lead the way.”
Thorn
Anders led the way and he seemed to know where he was going. He led them away from the clearing, away from the way they had come, away from Crucible. They almost ran into a nest of land lizards but the beasts seemed to be sleeping so they went around the nest slowly, carefully and very quietly. Just one of the lizards could take down a dozen people and Betrim counted four of them dozing in the sun.
On the outskirts of the Boneyard they stopped. Anders collapsed against a bone that looked to be a giant rib and swallowed three mouthfuls of wine before relaxing with a satisfied sigh. Betrim wrestled the skin from the drunk's hands and took a gulp of the sour liquid himself and then passed it to Henry. They had been all day without anything to drink and Betrim was more than a little parched. Truth was they needed to find a water source sometime soon or they'd all be dropping from dehydration.
Betrim handed the wine skin back to Anders and had a good look at his missing finger. The bitch hadn't taken his full finger and it ended in a stub just after the second knuckle. Luckily for Anders the bleeding had slowed to a near stop. Betrim tore off a strip of green cloth from Anders tunic and bound the stub as tightly as he could
“Unless ya got a healer ya know some place nearby? Reckon we're gonna need to fire it,” Betrim said in a grim tone.
Anders swallowed a mouthful of wine. “Cauterize it?”
“Caw... what? Fire it. Burn it. Ta seal the wound.”
“Won't that hurt?” Anders asked. Betrim could see fear plain on his face and truth was he could sympathise.
“Like all the hells. At least it ain't ya face,” Betrim said tapping the burned side.
He turned to look at Henry. She was standing, scanning the horizon, her face hidden underneath the brim of her hat. She wouldn't complain but Betrim could tell by the way she was standing that she was hurting something fierce, maybe everywhere given what they’d just been through. Looked like she might have done herself a bit of damage freeing them from the Boneyard. Betrim pulled the wine skin from Anders' hands again and approached Henry.
“Need ta do somethin' 'bout that bite, Henry,” he said.
“It's fine.”
“Either ya le
t me have a look or I knock ya on ya arse an' look anyways,” Betrim said though truth was he really hoped she wouldn’t opt for the latter.
The little woman tilted her head and gave Betrim a dark stare but then pulled her left sleeve up past her elbow, wincing as she did. Betrim had a good look at the wound, didn't look to be infected but then it weren't easy to tell sometimes. He poured a healthy portion of wine over the bites and washed them as best he could. Anders groaned but said nothing at the use of wine. Afterwards Betrim tied a dirty bandage around Henry's arm.
“Well it ain't pretty an' it ain't exactly the best healin' I ever done but it'll have ta do 'till we find some real supplies.”
Henry grunted and turned back to the horizon.
Betrim looked around for a good leaning spot, there was none, none of the bones around were anywhere near tall enough and the rest of the surrounding area was bleak; nothing but dust and finger-long grass. He let out a low growl, folded his arms and took up a position where he could see both Henry and Anders.
“So which one o' ya wants ta go first?” he asked.
“Eh?”
“Pardon?”
“Reckon ya both got a story ta tell an' I reckon it's 'bout time I heard 'em.”
“Not sure what you mean, boss,” Anders said though his face made it fairly clear he was lying.
“I want ta know why ya da' jus' tried ta have us all killed an' why that bitch was ready ta take so many digits from ya. An' you,” he pointed at Henry. “I know you an' Swift never got on too well but these days every time I mention his name ya look like ya wanna tear the sun down from the sky an' give it a good kickin'.
“So which one o' ya wants ta start?” he asked again.
Silence descended upon the group. Betrim stood glaring at his friends, waiting for one of them to begin. Anders decided his missing finger was the most interesting thing in the world and Henry pulled her hat down to completely obscure her face. Neither of them seemed like they were about to be forthcoming with any details.