Swords I

Swords I

This time they did not bother to cover her head.

Haldrych and Adelmar dragged Wurhi the Rat by her bronze-bound wrists - so firmly did the metal restrain her limbs that her hands and feet had numbed. She could hear her feet and rodents tail bouncing over the cold stone floor. Behind them came a column of masked men, all cowed by thunderous bellows and silent ire.

In the offing, anguished screams emanated from the depths of the beast-mans core - smothering the constant chanting that filled the mountain - while Milos marched ahead in a fit of icy fury. His every step landed with the weight of a wrathful giant resolved to punch through the earth, and Wurhi thought best to keep herself quiet.

No good would come from attracting his attention now: he might well tear her head from her neck. Every acolyte seemed to share her thoughts - for they stepped as though carrying their mothers precious clay pots upon their heads.

Well, nearly every acolyte.

The scroll burns down on your little nasty life, vile thief, the foul tones of Haldrych Ameldan hissed into her ear. His disgusting breath slithered across her flesh. And now the ink dries on your final gasps, he laughed. For your sake, I hope you enjoyed your little tantrum. You sealed your own fate because of it, and now I shall finally get to watch you die.

His voice had a manic tinge to it and the grip that tightened upon her arm was slicked by cold sweat. The Eye of Radiin clinked with his movements. At last justice is served to me on a golden platter. Both you and that other woman finally get whats coming.

What? she wondered in irritation. What other wom-

Haldrych! Adelmar Horvoth whispered, gripping Wurhis other arm. Quiet before he hears you!

The young poet grinned through his mask. Im just having a bit of joy, Adelmar. It is a good day. A good-

Whelp, if you utter another word, I shall tear your tongue from your mouth and feed it to you. Milos voice shook with constrained fury.

A-apologies, Sacred Alpha! Adelmar stammered.

Unperturbed, Haldrych threw Wurhi a sneer and gave her broken hand a vicious squeeze.

Crk.

Bone shifted with an explosion of agony. She groaned.

Whooosh.

His grip loosened as a sound, rare as of late, murmured from ahead - a whispering wind that carried winters chill and sweet mountain air.

She gave a little gasp.

The dark receded as they wound up the tunnel, retreating before the low light of dusk. Were they to leave the mountain? Wild hope and dread grew in her with every step toward the light.

Milos likely only brought her here for some fatal purpose, yet if she could slip the cultist encirclement and her bonds, she might have a chance at escape. She would need to evade the cultists in the valley afterward, but any hope was better than none.

Steeling herself, the Zabyallan prepared to react to even the slightest hint of good fortune. Light dawned where the tunnels end was met with a growing roar of water. They must have come near where the river exited from beneath the mountain.

Would they toss her, bound, into its rapids and leave her to drown?New novel chapters are published on

Or would-

Sniff.

Her breath stopped.

Nonono.

A familiar odour stalked toward her as they stepped through the cave-mouth: one that bore a fearsome terror. When last she had smelled it, it had been combined with the blood of dying manticores.

No! Shit Shit! That was what he intended for her!

She needed to get away! Now!

In the light of the dying sun and rising moon, they dragged her onto a plateau fused to the edge of the mountain. Its sides rose high and smooth from the snow-battered stones far below. From this height, towering pine trees appeared like mere blades of grass.

Whoosh.

The wind washed over her and whipped the cultists robes about; Haldrych shielded his eyes from its frigid bite.

His grip loosened.

Now!

She twisted from his grasp.

Amid cries of alarm, she thrashed until her captors lost their hold and she crashed to the stones. Heart thundering and caught in the throes of panic, she drove her bound body to roll toward the edge, where she thought the river might be.

This would be it.

Her final gamble.

If her luck held, she would find some stony protrusion to grasp before she plummeted to her ruin. If it did not? Then the water would strike the life from her and take her in its icy embrace. Death would be mercifully quick. Either would be better than what awaited her here.

Woman and rat cleaved to each other as the edge neared.

The wind picked up.

Empty space yawned before her.

A rough hand seized her by the scruff of the neck.

Oh no, Zabyallan, Milos voice was iron. Not like that: you go whenI say and howI say you go.

With a strained cry, she thrashed to get free as he hoisted her up with a single hand. Her bound feet kicked futilely above the precipice. His steel grip closed around the back of her neck - driving his fingers into her flesh - and stilling her as five deadly points pressed against her throat. His nails had bloomed into claws.

The Sacred Alpha stepped from the pit, and Wurhi knew she would not see him again in this life.

Shaking with wrath, terror and resignation, she turned back to the monstrous cat, baring her teeth. She promised herself to bite it at least once before it swallowed her.

And yet

She paused.

The beast had turned from its master, but what lingered in those sapient eyes had remained for a few heartbeats - just long enough for cat and rat to catch each others gazes. Each recognized the loathing that reflected in the others eyes: a loathing driven toward a common target. She had been wrong about its ire, she realised. This creature hated its master just as she did.

Before she could consider this, the beast lunged toward her.

Her courage wilted, and all promises of biting it were forgotten.

What remained was only the instinct that had served her since childhood.

Screeching, Wurhi struggled backward, kicking up straw until her back collided with the bones of the antlered beast. The sabre-toothed tiger followed her, its head drifting low.

Its jaws parted.

With another screech, she closed her eyes and steeled herself for agony.

Sniff.

Sniff.

She heard those great nostrils flare: it was smelling its prey in preparation to swipe her apart with those deadly claws. This breath would be her last.

Wurhi gulped in sweet mountain air.

Now would come the pain.

Alright, so this breath would be her last.

She took another gulp of sweet mountain air.

Now would come the pain.

Alright, so this brea-wait, what was happening? Why was she not dead? Not that she was annoyed about that, but it just seemed like she should be dead by now. Perhaps the beast had hit her so hard that she was thrown from her body before she felt the blow.

That would be nice, she supposed.

Yes, that must have been it.

No doubt she had already arrived in the after-world.

She sighed, slowly opening her eyes to eternity.

Eternity was apparently the face of a rhinoceros-sized sabre-tooth tiger.

She screamed, as was only reasonable. The beast watched her from finger-lengths away, its hot breath flattening her fur. Those eyes measured her, before slowly drifting to the side.

Trembling, she followed its cold gaze.

A rat perched upon the ribcage of the antlered skeleton, chewing a scrap of old meat from the bone, indifferent to the predator looming above. The great cat turned toward the transformed Zabyallan, its nostrils flaring and its eyes continuing to study her.

Silence passed for several heartbeats.

At last it gave a snort, and padded back across the pit. Casting itself down upon the bedding, it lowered its head to its forelegs.

Silence passed for several more heartbeats.

Huh.

Wurhi blinked.

Wurhi blinked again.

The breath she had held without realising it slowly released from her lungs.

She glanced to the rat obliviously eating within the den of this predator. Then she noticed another. And another. Rats scurried through the hay to feast on the sabre-toothed tigers leftovers, not fearing it at all. It ignored them in turn.

but why?

Her beady eyes widened as she remembered its snort of distaste at her scent.

Oh. Oh by the gods, it didnt like rat meat!

This cat did not eat rats!

A strange, wheezing sound emerged from her snout, one that shook her form and drew the sabre-tooths curious gaze.

It was a cruel way to learn that a rat could not laugh.

She did not notice another pair of eyes watching from above.