“Ah!” the Harrower said.
He turned, his hand still around his naked member. The appendage had the shape of a snake, the mouth wide. As he saw us, it pulsed, and spilled ovoid eggs encased in a thick slime onto the ground, each exiting like a snake vomiting a mouse. My gorge rose and I forced it down. Rek wasn’t so lucky, and the afternoon’s lunch came out of him in a hot geyser that sprayed the Harrower. The wizard stood in shock, and I took the chance to ram my fetish down his throat before he could raise the alarm, or worse. His eyes goggled, and his face turned purple as I held the dried testicles in place, their rattling an absurdly merry counterpoint.
Rek, still sopping and smelling of vomit, held his arms down until the monster stopped struggling. One final egg plopped from its misshapen cock, and we dropped the body, stomping each ovum with extreme prejudice. I extricated myself and took a seat at the bench.
“Gret’s sack,” I breathed.
“That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve seen since Rek ate a horse dick,” Cord agreed.
The big man didn’t answer, too busy spilling his guts in the corner again. The edge of the parchment caught my eye and I looked. Someone had rendered an arquebus in exquisite detail.
“Some people really have a problem,” I said.
Cord looked over my shoulder. “Gunfucker. Should’ve known. At least they’re rare.”
“Gunfuckers?”
“No, those idiots are a dime a dozen. That’s what happens you equate weapons with phalluses.”
“That’s…” I said.
“Oh, let me penetrate you with my projectiles!” he trailed off for a second, heaved a breath. “Yeah, there’s a whole diatribe there, but we’ve only got like another forty-thousand words before the book is over.”
“What?” I asked.
“What?” he echoed.
“Never mind. Now what?”
Rek groaned from the corner, and another series of wet heaves ensued. He paused. “Oh gods, when did I eat eggs?”
More vomiting followed. I looked at Cord.
“You ever feel like things are getting out of hand?”
“Define out of hand.”
I gestured around the room. The dead Harrower with a wilting erection still in hand, covered in vomit, and a pair of dried testicles sticking out of his mouth. Rek in the corner puking. The weird amber light coming from multiple passages down the hall, and the robe I was wearing. Then I gestured towards the exit, and the world in general where a dead god, a foreign army, a city on the edge of revolt, and a slave uprising awaited us.
Cord closed his eyes, nodded. “Okay, yeah. I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”
“Ya think?”
“Look, who’s the parent here?” he said.
Rek shuffled over, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. “Probably Lux. Notice how she’s never in the room when this shit happens?”
Cord and I looked at each other.
“Good point,” we said in unison.
I stood, willing the aches and pains to go away, and peered down a hall. More cells filled the walls, pulsing slightly. I stalked halfway down the hall with Cord at my heels when a hidden door opened between the cells. It disgorged several guards, surrounding us with steel and ugly looks. They surrounded us in seconds. I counted stopping at fifteen, then flicked a glance over to Cord.
“Any ideas?”
He shook his head.
“You don’t have a plan?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes you’re just boned.”
The lead guard, a big man in chainmail and wielding a wicked-looking hammer, stepped forward. He gestured to us.
“Take their weapons and bind them. Yuz will have questions for them.”
I sighed and kept my hands away from my blades.
The interrogator’s cell was small, stinky, and the color of day-old shit. If anything, I had to give the Harrowers credit for sticking to a design scheme. They’d strapped us to a pair of chairs that reclined slightly. Uncomfortable when bound. Probably not a terrible idea if sold as a home furnishing.
“I hope you have a plan soon,” I said.
Cord stared into a corner where a bucket full of shafts and handles stood. A table stood beside that, covered with rusty instruments of torture.
“You ever wonder why this shit’s always rusty?”
“What? No. As a rule, I don’t spend time in torture chambers.”
“I’m just saying. Tetanus. Prisoners can’t talk with lockjaw.”
“Yes. Sure. But do you have a plan?”
He wiggled in his straps. Thrashed until the chair bobbed in its moorings, and he was red-faced. Finally, he stopped.
“Nope.”
I bit off a retort as the door opened, and a small man in a white gown covered with a black rubber apron entered. He was painfully thin, wide eyes set above a hawkish nose, hair looking as if it was trying to escape his own face. He held his thin lips tight, compressing them into a single line. The door closed behind him, and he looked us up and down, sniffed.
“Let’s begin,” he said without preamble.
He wandered over to the barrel and pulled a thin switch from it, swished it back and forth in the air, then nodded to himself. He bunched one leg of Cord’s trousers up and ripped a portion away with simple efficiency, exposing Cord’s thigh.
“What, no questions? No getting to know you first?”
Yuz gave Cord a sour look. “No,” he said.
He brought the switch down in quick succession, three times, the strikes sounding like whipcracks. They brought angry red lines to Cord’s flesh, blood oozing from the pores.
“Ooh, daddy!” Cord said.
Yuz’s switch paused in midair. An unsettled look crossed his face, and he walked over to the barrel, dropping the switch in. He considered for a moment and came back with a wide paddle.
“I didn’t think it was that kind of dungeon,” Cord said.
Yuz opened his mouth. Closed it. Threw the paddle in the corner and pulled a pair of pliers from his tray.
“Maybe your tongue first,” he said.
He squeezed Cord’s jaw, forcing it open, and slipped the pliers in. He jerked them out just as fast.
“Did you… did you just lick me?”
Cord gave him a wink. Yuz threw the pliers on the ground and wiped his hands on his apron, then stomped for the door.
“I cannot be expected to work in these conditions. The Lord Interrogator will hear of this!” he shouted as the door slammed behind him.
Cord broke into laughter as the small angry man’s rant dwindled down the hall. Despite myself, I joined him. I knew Yuz’s frustration. Cord could be maddening.
When the giggles had faded, I took a breath. “Now what?”
Cord winked. “We wait.”
He knew something I didn’t. Which meant he was biding his time. And if he wasn’t telling me, I either hadn’t figured it out yet, or it was a doozy. I knew enough to know that maybe I didn’t want to know.
The door opened again, and a tall man entered, thin enough to look unwell, cheeks sunken, eyes black with hunger and rage. He wore a necklace of fingers as a fetish, and I swore under my breath. Of course, it was a Harrower. He looked to each of us in turn, then focused his attention on Cord.
“I know you,” he said.
“I’m sure a part of you does,” Cord replied.
The Harrower snarled, and his voice rose to a screaming pitch. Cord’s crotch started to balloon, and he broke into maniacal laughter.
“A pumpkin? You’re giving me a pumpkin dick?”
The Harrower faltered, and the swelling receded. I put that sight on the list of things I’d need to stab myself in the eye for later. He looked at Cord in confusion.
“Is that not scary?”
Cord snickered. “No, it’s scary. I mean. A pumpkin gnnnrk.”
“Stop laughing!”
“I can’t! You tried to turn my cock into a pumpk-gnnnrk.”
The Har
rower screamed in rage, and pressure built up in the room again. The door burst open, and Rek came screaming in, bag of dicks in one hand, a floppy one in the other. He slapped the Harrower with a meaty thunk. The scream cut off, and the Harrower turned. Rek blinked, and the wizard opened his mouth to howl again. Rek rammed the severed penis between the man’s lips, cutting off the scream for a second time with a wet gurgle.
“Your axe, you moron!” I screamed.
The Harrower spat the dick out, and it bounced once on the flagstones before rolling under a nearby table. Rek yanked his axe free and brought it over his head. He swung it down in a violent arc with a ker-chunk, splitting the Harrower’s skull in two, spattering the room with bone and brain. The Lord Interrogator dropped like a rock.
“Holy shit!” I said, as Rek freed us. “Where were you?”
He looked at me, then to Cord, and snorted.
“What?” I asked.
Cord just shook his head as Rek freed him. Some things I wasn’t meant to know, I guess. I found our gear in a chest in a corner, and while I got ready, Rek knelt beside the Harrower. I paused, blade halfway into a sheath, as he flipped the man’s robes up and produced a bundle. He unwrapped it, revealing bright yellow lemons. He shoved them, one by one, into the Harrower’s ass.
“What. The. Fuck. Rek.” I said.
He looked up. “This is the only way to truly kill a Harrower.”
The body gave a shudder, and a long, high-pitched fart escaped, a lemon popping back out.
“Whoops,” he said, and rammed it back in.
Cord was using the chair for support, laughing past sound. I shot him a glare. He laughed harder and fell to the floor. I shook my head and stood, then made my way to the door.
“Degenerates,” I said.
“Which way?” I asked. We’d made our way back to the original passage.
The stone above each hall held a carved strip of runes, presumably a designation. I hadn’t learned to read them. Cord squinted, working the archaic language out.
“Can’t read ‘em all,” he said. “But I think it’s this way.”
He took the left-hand path, leading us down a hall that looked like all the others. Shadow and light shifted within the cells. More runes were carved above each, and I guessed they bore inmate names. Cord stopped halfway down the hall and tapped one amber gem with a finger.
“Yeah, this is the one. Rek, you’ll need to open it.”
The big man sighed, and walked over, digging in his bag. He pulled another dick out, this one skinny and almost blue with veins. With an air of resignation, he slapped it against the cell door.
“Abracockdabra,” he said.
The amber gem shimmered and melted away. An elderly woman stumbled free, gasping and blinking as she shook the vestiges of whatever spell they’d trapped her in the stone with. She pushed herself off the floor with a gasp of effort and stood, not even Cord’s height, but he backed away all the same. She peered up at him from a face that although smooth, bore the signs of years, and the thick hair piled atop her head was the white of snow. Cord inclined his head.
“Auntie Shel.”
“Your aunt?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It’s an honorific. It translates roughly to ‘do not fuck with’.”
She reached up and patted his face, a half-smile on her lips, eyes crinkling. “About time, you idiot.” She looked around. “Where are my girls?”
Cord gestured down the hall, where Rek was tapping gems with half-heard cockdabras. Already, a sizeable gang of older women had worked themselves awake and headed toward us. Shel reached up and pulled two long needles the thickness of my finger from her hair, letting it fall in a cascade. She gripped them like she knew how to use them, and the other women joined us, dark and light-skinned, delicate and hard featured. Each held an implement of their own, from razor-sharp steel needles to wicked hooks with a bladed inside edge. They gathered in a group as Rek freed the last and joined us. Each had a steely look in their eye and were of an age with Shel.
She turned to me. “Is this my niece?”
Cord nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
My heart threatened to stop. I’d never seen him this respectful. She placed fists on solid hips, sizing me up.
“A bit skinny,” she said.
She reached out and squeezed my arm. “But strong.”
She grunted as if in approval. “Now. Where are our jailers?”
“Upstairs,” Rek said. “Occupied.”
I made the connection. Lux had set about freeing other inmates, in hopes of causing a distraction. Shel turned to her girls.
“All right. We’re blowing this shitstand. Let’s go, ladies.”
They marched out as a unit, leaving us behind.
“Who the fuck was that?” I asked.
“Auntie Shel. Most dangerous gang boss in Vignon. The Aunties ruled the city with an iron fist until the Harrowers took over.”
“They look like they’re a couple years from retirement, to be honest.”
Rek hissed. “Shh! Don’t let them hear that.”
“Yeah,” Cord agreed. “They’ll knit your guts into a knot. Those hooks aren’t just for show.”
I blinked as we followed the women. We crept up the stairs, the amber light below waning, the purple light above waxing. Noise filtered down to us, a cacophonous racket that tickled our ears, and send the hair on the back of my neck to standing. Between shouts, screams, and the high-pitched curse whines of the Harrowers, it was hard to tell who was winning.
We picked up the pace, finally breaking into a run as we breached the upper floor. Several of the cells bore broken doors, pieces of the gemstones littering the floor, and a furious melee raged on the ground. Actual guards and a coterie of Harrowers had appeared from somewhere, and fought a variety of inmates, from men and women armed with only their fists and feet to wizards flinging fire and acid beside Lux, to a small group of men and women with blades protruding from their limbs.
I watched as one of the bladesmen skirled through the fight, severing limb and appendage, leaving a trail of blood, cries of pain, and dying flesh behind. A Harrower put a stop to it by screaming, the magic turning blade and flesh rubbery, leaving the bladesman a quivering puddle of meat on the floor.
A trio of guards attempted to break through the line, and Lux turned on them. Black light pulsed through the room, and the guards moaned in agony as their flesh desiccated, age striking them like a hammer. Life leeched from them in an instant and hey collapsed into piles of dust.
The Aunties charged into the fray, Shel leading the surge with a cry of Aves. The women spread out, acting again as a unit. Two of the women went down as one of the Harrowers summoned an attractive young man with spears for arms. More stepped into their place and hacked him to pieces. Another Harrower turned to a second group, and Shel ended him in a flash, leaping forward. She landed on his chest, legs wrapped around his torso, and slammed her needles into his eyes, riding the corpse to the ground. She was back up in an instant, looking for another target. Around her, the other Aunties felled man after man..
I flung my robe off and tugged my blades free from the small of my back, wading in. From the corner of my eye, I saw Rek grab a Harrower like a stick, slamming the wizard into his knee. The spine broke with an audible crack. A too-bold guard charged the big man, and Rek used the Harrower’s corpse to bludgeon the oncomer into senselessness.
A blade nicked my shoulder, and I spun out of the way, the tip slamming into the floor hard enough to chip the steel. I looked for the oncoming threat—a big man in piecemeal armor—I assumed whatever they’d managed to find for him was what fit.
I stepped back and tried to assess the situation, but he was already hefting the monster of a sword, preparing another swing. I ducked in, under his guard. Or at least I attempted to. A wave of cramps hit me, and I hesitated with my strike even as I moved. The big blade came down and I felt a stinging pain in my left hand. I ignored it, and in a rage that he�
�d scored a hit, rammed my right under his gorget, a foot of steel bursting from the back of his neck.
He gurgled and fell, his weight ripping the hilt of my knife from my fingers as he went. I stepped back and shook my left arm out. His strike must’ve hit a nerve, because I couldn’t feel my fingers. Something hot and wet sprayed me in the face, and I glanced over.
Where my useful left hand had once been was a bleeding stump. Now notified, my brain lit a warning fire, and pain pulsed up my arm, rhythmic with the blood pumping from the severed limb. I choked back the urge to scream and dropped to my knees, yanking the belt from the dead man and tying it around the stumpe. I used my teeth to cinch the tourniquet and managed to fumble a knot of slipweed from my vest with my right hand. I popped it in my mouth and chewed furiously, the drug dulling the pain for the moment.
The sounds of battle had lessened, and I glanced up. Small pockets of fighting remained, but for the most part, Rek, Lux, and the Aunties were already cleaning up. I pushed myself to my feet with stubborn determination, looking for Cord.
I found his body near the stairwell, a dagger in his throat, a scrap of flesh in his teeth. A Harrower stood nearby, nursing a torn ear. He turned at my approach and opened his mouth to begin his howl. The air shimmered around me, and I forced myself forward, the loss of blood causing me to stagger. The space before me ripped open, and a translucent worm emerged, the size of my leg, the skin white, vein and organ pulsing inside. It opened a mouth like a wound and a torrent of black spiders poured out, their carapaces shimmering in the purple light.
“Fuck!” I shouted and stomped through the swarm.
Rage gave me strength, and though the spiders gained my legs and torso, biting furiously, I reached the Harrower as he backed away. He opened his mouth again, and I did the only thing I knew. I rammed the stump of my missing hand into his mouth, his rotten teeth scraping the edges of the ragged wound.
Normally, I’d worry about infection, but I was on a timetable stuck between bleeding to death and dying horribly from poison. It was like one of those math problems they give you as child, only written by a sadist. But then, that was redundant. Who needs six hundred pineapples? Pineapple fuckers, that’s who.
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