by Mark Boutros
He smirked and ran his tongue over his teeth. ‘I see your point, but this all comes down to one key detail.’ He sat back. ‘What’s in it for me?’
‘Survival,’ Sabrinia said. ‘We don’t fight darkness to gain anything. It’s to protect the future.’
Lofad laughed. Arrogance oozed out of him and Sabrinia wished she didn’t have to put her hope in him.
‘That sounds lovely,’ Lofad said. ‘But I like thinking about me and now. So I’ll ask once more before we send you back into the desert. What is in it for me?’
Sabrinia took a step forward, followed by a warrior, but Lofad waved the warrior away. ‘A new home,’ Sabrinia said. ‘It’s clear this place isn’t doing so well.’ She gestured to the rotting walls. ‘The luxuries a man of your position deserves seem to not extend beyond that chair and crown, and the sack over my head didn’t stop me smelling the rotten fish on the way in or feeling the silent sadness over your kingdom. From my father’s stories this was a place busy with trade, and you could hear the buzz of the markets from deep within the desert.’ She shrugged. ‘So, you can stay here and continue to watch your home crumble while no trade comes in and your warriors lose heart, or I can offer you a home, your own part of the castle, stables for your horses and happiness for your people.’
He stared at her and she stared at his axe, hoping he wouldn’t swing it at her.
Lofad sighed, the bravado momentarily leaving him. ‘We are sick of the sea winds. The snakes are irritating and the desert climate offers nothing but a dry throat and itchy skin.’ He fanned his sheet. ‘We want to be able to live without clothes, without worrying that sand will enter every part of us.’
Sabrinia grimaced at the image. Perhaps she’d build Lofad and his people a separate castle to spare Flowfornian eyes. ‘So we have a deal?’
Lofad stared at her and nodded. ‘Yes we do.’
Sabrinia smiled. Finally, something positive.
Lofad smirked. ‘If you also agree to make me the ruler of Flowforn and you become my servant.’
‘What?’ She would’ve punched him in the eye if it wouldn’t lead to her death. She swallowed her rage but couldn’t think of a way out.
‘You see, for me, rotting here comfortably is still a better option than you have, which is wandering like a stray from kingdom to kingdom, begging for help until you’re either killed or taken as a prisoner.’
‘Don’t do it, Sabrinia,’ Frong said.
Karl clenched his fists. She hoped he wouldn’t do anything rash.
Marlens turned to Sabrinia. ‘It’s not worth it.’
To Sabrinia it was worth it if it meant saving her people.
She was about to agree but Karl interrupted. ‘How about we give you something to help you get your leg back?’ he said.
Sabrinia wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
In a flash, Lofad’s axe was a hair away from Karl’s throat. ‘If you’re mocking me, you won’t have much time to regret it.’
‘He’s right,’ Frong said. ‘There’s a magic item in the castle; the hair of the wizard-lizard.’ Frong explained what it did and convinced Lofad to look at Sags’ tongue.
Lofad ordered a warrior to open Sags’ mouth and show him.
Lofad withdrew his weapon. ‘I’m not enamoured by the colour, but okay. We have a deal if we get to live in Flowforn as you suggested, and you give me that magic item.’
Sabrinia was relieved but terrified. She didn’t trust him but had to. What if the relic had been destroyed in the battle or Ryza had it? She wished Karl hadn’t said anything.
Lofad added, ‘But if you’re lying about this item, I won’t kill you.’ He grinned. ‘Instead, I’ll hack the legs off all of you and drag your bodies around the desert while the hot sand chews at your flesh.’ He approached Sabrinia and stared down at her. He pointed to Sags. ‘Do you want us to bury your dead at sea as a show of solidarity?’
‘We want to bury him back in Flowforn, his home,’ Frong said.
Lofad nodded. He kissed Sabrinia’s bound hands and nodded at his warriors. ‘Shvit.’
They cut everyone’s ropes, freeing the group.
‘Why don’t you untie the ropes? Cutting seems like a waste,’ Karl said.
Lofad ignored Karl and walked to his wooden door. ‘The sand gets vicious in the evenings, so tonight we rest. Tomorrow I’ll gather seventy of my finest fighters and we will reclaim our Flowforn.’
Tongue Tied
Karl stared out of the tiny hole in his wooden room, which felt more like a cell. The sun set over the sandy horizon beyond Barma. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come so they could leave.
This place was so different from Flowforn. Back home, food was plentiful and people buzzed around the alleys. Here, there was barely a footprint in the sand and all Karl had to eat was a bowl of seeds.
He dropped some seeds into his mouth and sighed. Lofad had requested that they remain in their rooms, but Karl’s thoughts were torturous. His mind cycled through images of his mum dying in his arms, Sags with a sword stuck in his chest, and Sabrinia’s disappointed face.
He poked his head out of the door. A warrior disappeared around a corner, so Karl snuck outside.
Karl walked between the wooden huts towards the shore. Heat clogged the air and waves broke the eerie silence.
Maybe the waves would ease Karl’s mind. He sat and remembered talking with his mother on the coast of Reech. It was brief but perfect. Her death flashed in his mind. The axe wound across her chest. The blood. The light in her eyes disappearing.
His chest ached and he walked away from the shore.
He passed a hut and something smashed into his side, knocking him through the hut door and the bowl of seeds out of his grip.
A hand covered his mouth and he fell to the floor. Whoever it was stayed on top of him, pressing Karl’s stomach against the sand-covered wood. Karl expected an attack, but nothing came. He stopped struggling and held his arms out, trying to avoid inhaling the stench of his attacker’s unwashed fingers.
Feet with fungus-covered nails stepped in front of Karl’s face, then the knees came down and so did hands, ragged clothing and a frail old woman. She pressed her finger to her cracked lips.
Karl nodded, and whoever was on his back released their hand from his mouth.
Karl turned and a large bald boy pulled a wooden chair for him. Karl sat while the boy collected the seeds and handed Karl the bowl.
The boy and woman stared at Karl.
‘I think you’re meant to start the conversation,’ Karl said. The room was bare.
The frail woman faced Karl and opened her mouth. Karl fought the urge to scream. She had no tongue.
The woman gestured for Karl to wait and she looked at the boy, who tapped the chair Karl sat on.
‘It’s all yours.’ Karl stood.
The boy placed the chair sideways and stomped a leg off it. He took a splint and handed it to the frail woman.
Karl worried she was going to stab him so stepped back towards the door, but stopped when she cut her forearm. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’
The boy grimaced. The woman wiped her finger in the blood and wrote on the wooden wall.
Karl worried she’d pass out from the amount of blood she had used. When she was done Karl read the word, ‘Usurper.’ Karl’s heart thumped. ‘Did Lord Lofad kill his father?’
The woman nodded, then crossed her wrists as though bound and pointed to her and the boy.
‘You’re prisoners?’ Karl asked.
She nodded.
‘And…’ he pointed to his tongue.
The woman gestured it being sliced off.
Karl’s body tensed. ‘I’ll tell my friends, and we’ll help you.’
The boy tore fabric from his cloak and wrapped the woman’s wound.
She cried at Karl’s words and squeezed his hand, touching it to her forehead.
Their lives must have been miserable. ‘I’ll be back.’ Karl opened the do
or to the hut. The hilt of a curved sword whacked the side of his head and the world stopped.
Secret’s Out
Bar Witch couldn’t figure out how to wipe the look of panic off the faces of the eighty or so Flowfornians in her care, but she knew they couldn’t hang around waiting for death to come to them.
‘Psst,’ Hargon called from the entrance to the secret room.
Bar Witch rushed over. ‘Why are you psssting me?’
He stared at the entrance. ‘It’s them,’ he whispered. He handed the sleeping baby to a young woman, who looked terrified. ‘Best to stand over there.’ He pointed her to the opposite end of the room.
Bar Witch edged closer to the door. Something smashed against the other side of it, likely a barrel.
‘How can this place be empty!’ a Man-Hawk with a gruff voice said. ‘Nobody in the bar. Nobody in the cellar. Nobody in here!’
‘Maybe we really are going mad,’ the whiny voice said.
‘But we heard it!’ the gruff voice replied.
Bar Witch closed her eyes, relieved they might give up.
‘Hold on,’ the whiny one said. ‘This stone. It moves under my weight. Look!’
Bar Witch swallowed a pin-like pain. Maybe she could convince everyone to swarm the Man-Hawks. There would be some Flowfornian casualties, but they’d overwhelm the Man-Hawks.
‘This moves too!’ the gruff one said.
Each secret stone they uncovered convinced Bar Witch her time on Hastovia was over. She thought of her regrets, like how she’d never travelled to the village she was sold from as a child. She wanted to learn more about her people.
‘Why’s nothing happening?’ The Man-Hawks couldn’t find the stone they needed to press, and their frustrated squawks said as much.
Bar Witch let herself hope. Maybe they’d give up.
‘Right. Enough,’ the gruff one said. ‘Let’s get a boulder and crush the whole place.’
Flowfornians shuffled into the corners.
The whiny voice spoke up. ‘No! Let’s get a battering ram. I want to personally stick my sword through whoever or whatever is messing with us.’
The gruff one laughed. ‘Great idea.’
They left. What was less horrific, being stabbed, or being crushed? Bar Witch needed to reassure everyone so turned to them, careful to choose her words. ‘Okay, I don’t think—’
‘We’re finished!’ the annoying girl said, annoyingly correct. ‘It’s your fault!’
The majority of the Flowfornians agreed with her.
‘You dragged us in here,’ the girl said.
Hargon and Proster stood by Bar Witch. Hargon raised his hands. ‘We were trying to save you all.’
Proster turned his hammer in his hand. ‘If we fight the Man-Hawks we can swarm them.’
The girl grabbed Bar Witch around the collar of her tunic. ‘And she’ll be right at the front.’
Bar Witch stared her down. She could drive her head into the girl’s face from here, but she didn’t want to cause a riot in such a confined space. She needed to be an example and to stop the revolt before it started, so she spoke calmly. ‘If you don’t let go of me now, I’ll bite your nose off.’
The girl loosened her grip.
Bar Witch straightened her tunic. ‘Of course I’ll be at the front protecting you idiots, like I’ve been doing since those feathery morons brought the rocky rain.’
The door clicked and everyone froze. Had they found the way in? Bar Witch’s eyes widened and she turned around. ‘Stand back. This’ll distract them so we can rush them!’ She rolled her shoulders and her eyes shot into the back of her head. The pain warmed her. The blue glow flowed through her veins, down her arms, and into her wrists. ‘Donkabal!’ Bar Witch’s eyes bulged and cracked. A yellow liquid sprayed out of them and stretched her eye sockets. Bar Witch fell into Hargon’s arms.
The liquid moved and collected, forming a yellow ball the size of a barrel.
The door swung open, but nobody was there.
The ball opened its one big eye, rolled out of the door and into the back room. It crashed into the walls and anything it touched stuck to it. It squeaked and continued into the bar.
Hargon helped Bar Witch to stand and Proster went to investigate. He turned back and shrugged. ‘Nothing.’
Peezant flew in and landed on Bar Witch’s shoulder. ‘Peezant!’
Bar Witch smiled through the pain, her breath slow.
Hargon beamed.
‘We’re free!’ The annoying girl charged towards the door but Bar Witch held a weak arm out. ‘Not yet.’
Peezant told them about what had happened to Karl and the others, and he warned them that Man-Hawks patrolled the sky above Flowforn.
‘We’ll find a way to sneak this lot out, then we’ll join you,’ Bar Witch said. ‘I’m sick to death of them anyway.’ She looked at the girl.
‘I have a plan,’ Proster said.
Bar Witch and Hargon waited behind a barrel outside the secret room. Bar Witch gripped a splintered piece of barrel, ready to wedge it into a Man-Hawk.
‘Do you think this’ll work?’ Hargon turned his makeshift dagger in his hand.
‘Better than nothing.’ She noticed Hargon’s hands shaking.
He shuffled, his head moving between the door to the bar area and the door to the cellar. ‘So how come you can do magic?’
Bar Witch huffed. Talking might calm him. ‘I come from a weird group of people who live by a blessed or a cursed lake, depending which way you look at it. When we’re newborns, some old idiot takes us to the lake and chucks us in it.’
‘That’s a bit harsh,’ Hargon said.
‘Yep. When we drown, our bodies either become one with this way of magic, or we die. Bit rubbish, really, not to be given a choice.’
‘Yeah.’ His eyes narrowed.
‘And that’s why my spells are so exhausting. Anything other than the basic ones, like vanishing cups or fancy lights for entertaining, use up life energy. We’re meant to learn our spells from a book, but another old idiot took it and ran off, so the spells I know are all I’ll ever have. I could say random words and see what happens, but that’s pretty dangerous. Might stumble across a big one and croak.’
Hargon grimaced.
Proster entered from the bar area. ‘They’re coming.’ He returned to put the plan into action.
Bar Witch listened out.
‘Who are you?’ Bar Witch heard the whiny Man-Hawk ask.
‘I’m the owner,’ Proster said. ‘So unless you plan on buying a drink, I’ve got an idea for where you can shove that ram.’
‘What did you say?’ the gruff Man-Hawk responded.
Bar Witch looked at Hargon and nodded. They were ready.
‘You heard me,’ Proster said. Glass smashed and he ran through the back room and into the cellar, followed by two Man-Hawks.
‘Let’s make this count,’ Bar Witch said, still weak from casting the spell.
They approached the cellar steps but the tavern door opened. A Man-Hawk faced them, sword drawn. She spread her wings and stretched her neck up.
Hargon lunged at her and stabbed her in the shoulder.
She dropped her sword, but clawed at his back and threw him down. She turned to pick up her sword, but Bar Witch had it and cut the Man-Hawk’s head off. Bar Witch fell to her knees, exhausted and covered in spots of blood.
Hargon stared at Bar Witch, his breathing frantic. ‘Thanks. Are you okay?’
She nodded and handed him the sword. ‘We need to—’ She pointed towards the cellar where growls of battle echoed.
They descended the steps.
Proster, backed into the corner, fended off both Man-Hawks.
Hargon ran towards him.
Bar Witch’s weary legs struggled. They would never get to Proster in time.
The smaller Man-Hawk swung his sword at Proster’s neck, but Proster deflected it with his hammer. He kicked the Man-Hawk in the chest, grabbed his feathered foe’s wri
st, snapped it back and took the sword. Proster sliced him across the face, turned and blocked a strike from the larger enemy, then swung back around and bashed the smaller Man-Hawk’s head with the hammer.
‘Proster, turn around!’ Hargon yelled.
The larger Man-Hawk stabbed Proster through the back.
Bar Witch fell to her knees. ‘No!’
Proster stared at the blade poking out of his stomach. His life poured out of his body. ‘Get him, idiots.’
Hargon yelled and stabbed the Man-Hawk in the neck. He turned and held Proster, removed the sword and eased him to the floor. ‘I’ve got you, I’ve got you.’
Bar Witch wished she had the strength to have gotten to Proster quicker. She crawled over and stared at Proster’s face.
‘We’ll make it worth it, Proster.’
He was gone.
They sat for a moment. Although they had won this small battle, they felt only loss.
Hargon left, then returned with some Flowfornians to help them carry the bodies.
They piled the Man-Hawks into a corner of the secret room and lay Proster to rest by a wall.
Hargon tried to revive him using the hair of the wizard-lizard, and while the relic sealed the wound, it couldn’t bring him back.
Peezant landed on Bar Witch’s shoulder. ‘The others need your help.’
She looked around the room at the hopelessness. She wanted to help her friends, but she couldn’t sacrifice all these idiots. ‘We need to look after this lot.’
Hargon lifted the baby and rocked him. ‘They need us, Peezant.’
Peezant nodded understanding and pecked Bar Witch. ‘Peezant.’
‘Good luck. We’ll join you as soon as we can,’ Bar Witch said.
‘Peezant,’ Peezant said and flew away.
Bar Witch wanted to sleep, but they needed to escape, or to bring food and water to the others. She turned to the worried Flowfornians. ‘We’re going to get food and water and find an escape route. We’re going to have to lock you in, though. Any objections?’ She fixed her eyes on the annoying girl, who stayed quiet.