Lorus. It landed with another cracking sound, and Lorus dropped to the ground. He lay there with his right foot twitching spasmodically, as if it were searching for a roach to squash. Amazed at his own brutal handiwork, Kasus fled.
Where in the hellpits am I now?
Kasus was unfamiliar with the upper levels of the keep. The scribes kept to the east wing, where access to the city library was quick via the east gate. Rarely did Kasus have good reason to venture higher than the kitchens or courtyards in the keep itself. Rumour had it that a stair connected the upper levels to a minor pitgate beneath the keep. He didn’t want to stumble down that one. His flight from the kitchens had somehow taken him to stairs, and the stairs had led him upward. Turned around attempting to retrace his steps, he lost his way.
Perhaps I should embrace this fate, and seek out Jakot instead; revenge on Lorus for his bullying is nothing. Crushing the life from Jakot with this newfound strength, that would be true satisfaction.
Memories of Jakot’s guardsmen dragging him and his father from their little stranded fishing boat dominated his thoughts. He had been born a lowly fisherman’s son, a peasant, but a free man. But the folk of the free isles have no status in the free cities, or the dark cities as the rest of the world calls them, that or ‘lands of the demonbringers’. The free cities are only free from the rule of the long dead Shu Empire; most of its population are slave labour. To the rest of the humans on Archea, demonology is considered as repulsive as necromancy; for most humans the dark cities are anathema. So, unable to free their fishing boat from the rocks in time, he and his father had been captured and made slaves. Caught planning their escape, they executed his father two years later. Kasus bore Jakot a hatred that transcended that of native-born slaves, who from early childhood endure indoctrination into subservience.
Exploring, Kasus wandered onto a balcony, and noticed that it overlooked a plush room. Carpeted and dotted with comfortable looking seats, it suggested the kind of living space a lord would enjoy. A carpeted staircase spiralled upward from the far side. Kasus jumped from the balcony, landing about six cubits below without pain. The beast spirit within him yearned to fly instead, but he had no trouble restraining it. With a grim smile, he climbed the decadent stair, thoughts on revenge.
Corporal Arsen was asleep on a lounge, a flagon in the crook of his arm. He seemed to be guarding a gilded door. Kasus could smell the ale from halfway up the stair.
I could kill that whore spawned Arsen right now, do it quietly, without waking him.
He crept closer, staring at Arsen’s pock marked face; there was a large helping of drool hanging from the corporal’s chin.
Is it wrong to murder a fellcher like Arsen in cold blood, in his sleep?
He wanted the answer to be no. Kasus had no weapons, and Arsen had sword and dagger, technically, he would be fighting an armed man. But a sleeping victim seemed like assassination, not combat. He crept slowly closer as he pondered the situation, watching Arsen for any sign of consciousness. Something chittered and screeched loudly behind his right shoulder. He spun to see that the landing housed several gilded doors. Astonishingly, coiled in front of one, was a mantid khymira. Kasus staggered back, the thing was so close. It could have taken off his head with one of those giant bladed arms while he was creeping up on Arsen. It made another aggressive screech and reached back to grasp the hilt of the sword on its back. It did not draw it however; it seemed to be waiting for something.
Was it speaking to me? Was it asking my business here? I suppose I look like any other servant, scuttling about performing my duties. Why the hellpits does it need a sword, when it has arms that are an executioners dream?
At such close quarters, Kasus could see its black chainmail and the green iron plates that covered it. From a distance, these looked like part of its predominantly green and chitinous body. It wore a leather belt and baldric, a shortsword and dagger hung from these.
It must have some brains, if it carries weapons. Perhaps it is trying to say something.
Holding his hands out in a passive gesture, he backed away another step. A hand grasped his shoulder.
“You don’t belong here boy. You’re not from the kitchens or I’d recognise you. Who are you?”
Turning into a nose full of ale burp flavoured air, Kasus looked up into Arsen’s red-eyed face.
The son of a whore gave me a flogging yesterday morning, but doesn’t know or care who I am or where I work. Hellpits, I truly hate this pox-cock!
“Little fellchers who wander the keep of a night, meet the lash or a demons gullet, or both,” spat Arsen with a burp and a mocking grin.
Kasus stammered, his mind tumbling through a myriad of wild thoughts. His eyes fell to the long poniard on the corporal’s belt. On a sudden violent whim, he snatched it from its sheath. Grabbing the hair around Arsen’s right ear, he thrust it upward, aiming for the chin. Despite his inebriated state, Arsen caught his wrist with both hands and tried to twist the dagger from it. He failed, his arms gradually gave way, and Kasus dragged his head down until it met the point. Arsen died goggling in surprise at the skinny little adolescent who had overpowered him. Still holding Arsen’s body by the hair, Kasus turned to confront the hissing creature behind him. A whip fast mantid limb sheared the left arm from Arsen’s corpse, and its counterpart whistled over Kasus’s head as he stumbled back, dropping the body. The khymira’s serpent body surged forward with astonishing speed, and its lower limbs caught and lifted Kasus from the floor.
Whore’s tears, I’m going to die!
As the monster slammed him back against a door, he thrust the poniard with all the power he could. He aimed for the soulless red eye swimming in the centre of his watery vision. He felt the flesh and shell give, his hand slid forward until his fist was inside the wet eye-socket, and the point had burst from the back of the epicranium. The khymira’s grip did not weaken in the slightest. Pain arrived suddenly in his shoulder, as a scythe-like limb speared into it, pinning him to the door. He couldn’t breathe, coloured splashes of light pulsed in front of the mantid face before him. He groped half blind at it. He seized something narrow, an antenna, he pulled, and it came away in his hand. He reached again, and found purchase on another narrow protuberance, it was the tip of the poniard, and he pulled again. Barely conscious, he pulled with his left and pushed with his right, which still held the dagger’s grip inside the creature’s eye. Like winding a winch, he twisted until his left hand could reach the pommel of the poniard and take the place of his right. The bone blade slid from his shoulder, and the khymira reared back and smashed him bodily into the door. The door gave way, and they both pitched into the room behind Kasus. With his right hand free, Kasus pushed against the back of the armoured head, which he was now facing and all the while pulled mightily on the poniard. He felt the flesh in its neck give, and with a series of popping noises, it began to come free of the body. As the head detached, he felt a sharp pain and disturbing tingling in his left arm. He rolled away across a thick carpet and lay exhausted with his face in its lush softness.
This feels a nice place to die. I’ll just wait here and it can slice me up. Smells like incense, some kind of fancy, expensive incense.
The slicing up didn’t come. He could hear violent thumping, but it didn’t seem close, so he rolled over. He tried to wipe his eyes, but only got half the job done. Sitting up he looked at his left arm. It was a stump; blood fell from it in a pulsing trickle.
My arms half gone. I’ve lost my wing, how will I fly now? What am I babbling? No arm is bad. That will kill me I guess. It’s a wonder I can move my other arm with this big hole in my shoulder, that will kill me too I suppose. I’ve lost a lot of blood, I feel all dim and stupid.
He sat in a richly furnished bedchamber, the door was flat on the bloody ground, and a mantid head with a dagger through it lay near his feet. On the carpet near the door was most of his left arm. Judging from the racket outside, the headless khymira was thrashing about the landing, possibly tryin
g to find him by touch, to finish him off.
I should run away I suppose, or should I try to bandage my shoulder somehow?
He clumsily felt his right shoulder with his right hand, there didn’t seem to be a hole where he expected one. He was feeling unusually healthy and energetic for a dying man too.
Drit! That’s right, I should heal like a greenman now. A little stab shouldn’t slow me down. I wonder if...
Shuffling on his knees over to his severed arm, he picked it up and thrust the mangled end against his dripping arm stump. It hurt. He lay back on the carpet again, with the two touching and tried to think of a way to bind his arm back on.
Perhaps if I shred my clothes into some bandages I can somehow tie it on and see what happens. How do I make bandages one handed?
Something smelt smoky. The room still smelt bloody and a little of incense, but now a burning smell had joined it. Looking toward the empty doorframe, he noted an orange flickering outside where the khymira was still making noise.
Great, that headless lump has smashed some lamps and started a fire. If fire can kill greenmen, it can kill me. I should really get up now.
But it was peaceful on the nice carpet, and he was loath to move. A squeak and a sniff sounded in the dark