by Mark Eller
He frowned. Superficially, part of his dream of returning to a life of ease had been realized. During the past few weeks he had eaten only the best food, drunk only the finest wines, and had bedded a dozen different women. Better yet, people bowed when he walked past because he wore clothes every bit as fine as those he had once known.
Unfortunately, the money was gone. Tomorrow he would be back on the trail, living hard. His food and wine would be of poor quality, and he wouldn’t even be a fond memory to his dozen women as they each wrapped their legs around a different man. Worse, the clothes would be gone, sold later this day to help supply Harlo’s bandit crew with trail supplies. Over the next few months Harlo would plan and execute a rash of thefts, all to make enough rugdles so his people could live in luxury for a few weeks more. Once again, Ludwig would have almost everything he craved. Still, even at the height of his most corrupt passion, no matter how much he ate, how much he drank, or how many women he bedded, he could not forget Meliandra’s sweet thighs, Gertunda’s glower, or the fact that every pleasure he experienced came through the misfortune of others.
“Time to get moving, lad,” Harlo said. “Got my sights set on a couple prospects, and there are rumors the city guard is looking for us. The price has increased on both our heads.” He grinned. “Kinda exciting, isn’t it?”
“Like an infected boil,” Ludwig grumbled. “Is it always going to be like this, stealing, killing, and running away, interspersed with a few weeks every now and then of drunken forgetfulness?”
Harlo’s grin grew larger. “Nah. These are the good times. Caravaners are feeling the strain. They’re putting on extra guards and setting traps. Too many bandits like us, too many hellkind running free, and too many rumors of dark times coming. Way I see it, things will be pretty black all over in a couple years, but we don’t have to worry about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’ll be dead.” Harlo laughed. “If we see next year, I’ll be surprised.”
“Great.” Ludwig turned his head to look at the woman on his right shoulder. A thin thread of bile ran from her lips. Changing his stare to the other woman, he saw she was mostly presentable. A little drool, some smeared food spread across one cheek, but otherwise, not too disgusting.
Pushing the first woman away, he rolled on top of the other. Still drugged, she only grunted when his weight pressed down on her, proving she still breathed. “Give me half an hour. If I’m going to soon die, I want to take a good memory with me.”
“Fine,” Harlo said, “but don’t get too depressed. I’ve been giving thought to a few, less dangerous endeavors. If things get too tough we might branch out a bit. Maybe we won’t die.”
“Living like this,” Ludwig said as he thrust into slack flesh, “is as good as being dead.”
Abomination
Book Two of God Wars
A dark fantasy trilogy
E. A. Draper
and
Mark Eller
White Wolf Press, LLC
Copyright 2014 E. A. Draper and Mark Eller
Chapter 1-- Similian Ruse
Just past noon on a slow day, Mathew Changer sat in the Hellhole Tavern and traded slugs of whiskey with Halberd Breaker while simultaneously considering the news his number one man, Farnon, had given him. The young Ilian thief, Fox, seemed to be taking her captivity better than expected. Apparently, the young woman possessed more than a little attitude and twice as much confidence to go with it. According to Farnon, it almost seemed as if she didn’t care she was being claimed, which set Mathew to wondering what part he played in her shadowy plans.
No matter. Plan as she might, he was the one in charge. As soon as he had a spare moment he would not only possess her secrets, he would have control of the god mark she bore on her neck. But that was for later. For now, he had other matters needing his attention, not the least of which was Halberd Breaker, the assassin sitting across from him.
Sighing satisfaction, Halberd set his mug down with a heavy thunk, filled it from the last of their second whiskey bottle, and lifted it once more just as a young woman walked through the Tavern’s batwing doors. Without looking around, she immediately sidled up to the bar where Glace was busy seeing to the quality of their newest delivery of cheap red wine. Biting her lip, she leaned against the bar’s polished surface and waited while Glace shared the contents of one bottle of wine with two empties before adding water to each until all three were full. Ignored, the woman nervously cleared her throat, removed her outer coat and loosened her clothing so her stained blouse slipped down her shoulders, baring a small portion of her unimpressive assets. After giving her an irritated glance, Glace, carefully corked the wine bottle and picked up another.
Affronted, she gave Glace a killing glare that spoke disbelief any man could blithely ignore her display.
Watching the show, Mathew momentarily set aside thoughts of Fox to fight down a sudden laugh. Apparently, the young woman had not yet learned she possessed nothing most men hadn’t seen a hundred times before.
Still, he had to admit the girl was a looker. Perhaps as old as fourteen, her skin held the tautness of youth and a certain physical charm which drew on a man’s eye— even if she did look five meals shy of a full belly. The brightness of her eyes told Mathew she was sparkle new at whatever game she played, but the way she held her body in preparation for a quick exit said she had been living on the streets for too long. It must have taken her a great deal of nerve or desperation to step through the Hellhole Tavern’s door. As a rule, this place was any woman’s last resort.
Releasing a sigh, Glace corked the last bottle, set it in its rack, and moved toward the girl.“Might as well pull your blouse back up. You aren’t impressing anybody here.” He waited until the blushing girl straightened her clothing. “What do you want?” he demanded. “And you better not say you want a drink because I won’t give you one without I see some money.”
After visibly gathering her courage, she stiffened her shoulders. One hip cocked to the side. Her head tilted, and a poorly practiced smile spread across her face. “I hear you don’t have any regular whores working out of here. I’m wondering if that’s because you’re afraid of real women or because you won’t pay.”
“It’s because they’re either eaten or they run away,” Glace corrected. “Most whores are afraid of our customers.”
“I’m afraid of nobody,” she stated foolishly.
Glace gave her an amused smile. “There’s a cubby up top of the kitchen stairs. It’s yours to sleep in if you convince Mathew to let you stay. For work, you can use a tabletop in the center of the room.”
“A t-tabletop,” she stuttered. “In front of everybody!”
Glace shrugged. “We wipe them down at night so it’s clean enough. What am I supposed to call you?”
“I thought I might use the name Bunny,” she said. “I’m told it’s rather popular with working girls.”
Glace chuckled. “Not around here, it isn’t. The people who come here will shorten Bunny to Buns, and then they’ll start calling you Ass. I‘ll call you Kat because you ain‘t much bigger’n a kitten.” He gestured in Mathew‘s direction. “Mathew’s busy right now so you better wait a bit before bothering him.”
Following Glace’s hand, the girl turned her head to look at Mathew. Revulsion raced across her face when she realized Mathew was a half-were, quickly followed by a practiced blank mask.
Mathew gave her a long stare with inhuman yellow eyes before turning his attention back to Halberd Breaker, a strong-arm Mathew had never used before. Speculative humor reflected within Halberd’s eyes as he set his half empty mug down.
“I don’t think the gal fancies your furry face,” Halberd noted, “or maybe it’s your fangs. Are you going to try her?”
“No,” Mathew said irritably. He barred his wolf’s teeth to remind the man there were barriers Mathew did not allow others to breech. “And neither are you because she‘s not a whore. I‘ve seen this act
before. She‘s trying to con a few meals out of Glace.”
Chuckling, Halberd lifted a huge tumbler filled with home brewed whiskey once again. His mouth opened, and his thick neck throbbed as Halberd worked the whiskey down his throat. Mathew winced in sympathy because he knew just how vile the drink was. He had been fond of its like back when he was young and poor and could steal nothing better, but even then he never managed to do more than to slowly sip it. Men had been known to stop eating for a week after drinking the stuff.
On the other hand, Mathew was not quite sure Halberd was a man. His features were even, but they seemed to be badly chiseled out of rough sandstone, and each of his limbs was thick enough to make up two of Mathew’s own. The man was huge, a giant hairless mountain walking on two legs. His open shirt showed scars from wounds that would have killed half a dozen lesser men. Rumor said he was a man of relentless passion, a hunter who didn’t know how to abandon a trail, and somebody whose favorite color was blood red.
A ragged necklace of human scalps hung around Halberd’s neck.
Halberd Breaker, Mathew thought, might easily be one of the most dangerous humans he had ever seen, and this was why he had a full eight of his bodyguards sitting at nearby tables. He looked to the closest table to make sure Farnon, was paying close attention, though he knew he need not have bothered. Farnon had paid attention to everything since joining Mathew’s street gang when they were both twelve. He was, Mathew thought, the most reliable man Mathew owned, which was why he had control of the tavern on most days before noon. When not in charge of the tavern, Farnon was in charge of Mathew’s protective guard.
Halberd coughed when he set the tumbler down. A thin trail of tears ran down his cheeks, but a satisfied smile touched his pebbled lips. “That’s almost as good as the hooch my daddy used to make. So, Wolf-man, why ain’t you using the girl? I heard you’re as hard as they come, but I don‘t see hard.” He waved a lazy hand to indicate the guards. “With all this protection, all I see is soft. Did you grow milk teeth when your face turned wolf?”
“Are you here to do business,” Mathew asked, “or do you just want to jaw because if you do, I pay Glace to handle the pointless banter?” Pushing a small stack of gold coins across the table, he wondered if he was going to kill his fiftieth human tonight. “There’s a man pushing himself into my profits. I want him dead.”
“Soft then,” Halberd observed, sneering. “You don’t handle your own work.”
“I’ve grown into respectability,” Mathew explained. “It comes from being rich. I don’t feel the need to travel long distances for these chores anymore. This man lives in Grace.”
Halberd’s fingers played with the gold coins. “Now why would a rich man like you want somebody in Grace dead?”
“Because I won’t be rich enough for at least another year!” Mathew snapped. “He’s importing ice crystal into my town and undercutting my prices. More to the point, he placed a price on my head because he wants a piece of my business.”
“A name.”
“Count Wencheck,” Mathew admitted.
Halberd stilled. “A Count? Nobility? You’re talking an entirely different matter here. Especially for that one. I’m a year or two behind the news from Grace, but last I heard, Wencheck is pretty much untouchable. I don’t think I can do him without a serious risk of getting killed.”
“Stop his supply then,” Mathew settled. “Frighten him enough to make him back off. I’m getting tired of killing his assassins.” He glanced at the bar to see Glace still chatted up the pretend whore. She gazed at Glace with an expression which mimicked infatuation but probably reflected her desire for a free meal.
Mathew allowed his teeth to part in a thin, wolfish, smile. The Kat girl might be putting on an act, but a hundred others had not. Glace never lacked the opportunity to have a woman in his bed. Strangely, for a con and a thief, it was an opportunity Glace never used. As best Mathew knew, Glace had remained celibate since the night his changer girlfriend died.
Unfortunately for Mathew, Glace’s celibacy was shared. Only once since the curse ring had given him a wolf’s head on top of a mostly human body had Mathew used a woman, and she had been very well paid. Even so, she barely managed to hide her disgust during the few short minutes he used her. Mathew hadn’t bought a woman since, and he hadn’t exactly been inundated with volunteers.
“Ice is labor intensive,” Halberd noted. “You’re talking a lab with six or seven people, easy, and maybe more if I have to work my way through their protection, and then there are the assassins. The count would have naturally used the guild. They don’t frighten easy, and there’s a lot of them even if most aren’t very competent. I’ll have to subcontract part of the work.” He carelessly pocketed the gold coins, more than two thousand rugdles. “This pays for our talk. I’ll do the job, but it’ll take ten times this again.”
Which was more than Mathew would lose to Wencheck in a year since Ice was only a small part of his business. By then Mathew would be rich enough to leave Yylse and truly turn respectable. After all, there was only so much money a man could spend. Once that point was reached, a person’s goals should lean toward living long enough to spend it, or perhaps toward achieving political power and respectability.
Still, respect counted for a lot in the underworld. It wouldn’t take long for Mathew to get himself buried under a plot of ground once Yylse’s other crime lords discovered he had not only allowed Wencheck to deal ice in his town, but also to contract out Mathew’s life without reprisal.. Then again, the price Halberd asked was more than seven times what it should be, showing the assassin already had very little respect for Mathew. This, too, could be dangerous if word got around.
A quandary with a solution. Mathew could pay the man half now to do the job, and then kill Halberd when he came to collect the rest, thus reminding those in Yylse that he always won when people played power games.
“Done,” Mathew said, not offering to shake hands. “Tell Glace I’m buying your drinks.”
A low dry chuckle sounded from beneath the table. Halberd twitched, and a brief flash of surprise washed across his face, but Mathew did not move. He’d known all along they weren’t alone. Hellborn had a peculiar smell to a wolf’s nose.
An overlarge hand of wrinkled black leather and polished claws reached up to grasp the table’s edge. Another hand joined it, and then a demon pulled itself up to the tabletop with arms as long as its body. Surprised, Halberd cursed. His arm blurred, and then he held a hand-ax, but the demon only crouched its human-shaped body onto the table’s top, ignoring Halberd’s threat. Tiny bronze scales covered its face, and by this fact as well as others, Mathew knew it pretended to be a lesser demon of a mid-level caste— and thus not very strong. The most powerful demons were those who could change their bodies to appear purely human.
The demon looked at Halberd. “Your face belongs on a pig.”
“Demon Spawn,” Halberd cursed, and the ax crashed down on the demon’s head.
Casually pulling the ax out of its skull, the demon tossed it over his shoulder. Its wound bled yellow and green ichors which brought Mathew no desire to feed at all. For this he was grateful. Of late, he sometimes discovered appetites he hadn’t known before his change. Some of those appetites were— troubling.
“Not spawn,” the demon corrected. “Spawn are completely different from demons.” It gave Halberd a pointed toothed smile. “Why don’t you run away for a short time? The Changer and I need to talk.”
“The half-were owes me money.”
“Glace will see to your money in a bit,” Mathew told the assassin.
Pushing back his chair, Halberd stood and stalked away.
“A stupid being,” the demon commented. “You can call me Phrandex.”
“He’s very brave,” Mathew supplied.
“Same thing,” Phrandex said snidely. It leaned its scaled head toward Mathew, allowing him to see the injury had already healed. “It’s a long fall down to Hell. The
spawn you toss down the hole squish nastily when they land, and they create a very untidy mess. The boss wants you to hang onto the escaped ones until something comes up to fetch them home.”
“I could,” Mathew answered, “but I won’t. I remember too well my predecessor’s fate when he allowed a spawn to leave the tavern, and so I have my bodyguards throw them down the hole within minutes of their leaving. I won‘t give Hell a reason to send a demon like Krastos up here to steal my soul.”
Phrandex nodded his head knowingly. “We need to speak on that, too. Athos wasn’t very happy about you helping to kill Krastos. Your god is very displeased.”
Mathew shook his head. “I have no god. I worship at the altars of neither evil nor good, and so Athos has no claim on me. I am completely amoral.” He tried to remember if any of the weapons stashed inside his clothing would slow down a demon. Unfortunately, all he had were knives.
Phrandex eyed him doubtfully. “Except for those areas of Yyles where Hell controls, you have the best connection to most of the evil influencing this city. When you were young you never hesitated to do anything that would help you survive. Now you ruin lives with drugs and encourage thieves. You use blackmail, create murder on a whim, and you recently ordered the kidnapping of a foreign thief named Fox simply because her body, mind, and an insignificant mark on her neck intrigues you. Best of all, you aren’t loath to dirty your own hands. It’s a lot of evil for a truly amoral man.”
“Not totally evil,” Mathew pointed out. “Some charity goes out these doors.”