A Grim Parting II

A Grim Parting II

Haldrych gaped at the towering thing through the throng of the dying.

Its fiery blade drank lives as a glutton guzzled wine.

The heat had grown sweltering and the ash was choking.

What deviltry had come for them!? Even the werewolves - who had seemed so mighty and fearsome to him - could only die like curs as they threw themselves upon that fiery point.

Familiar screams filled his ears from somewhere very near.

It took him a moment to realize they came from his own throat.

Did he truly sound so feeble?

This isnt working! Adelmar cried. The merchants son was pale, but the bestial rage has arisen within him to bite down on his fear. His quick mind had gone to work, and he grasped the arms of two of his transformed pack brothers to hold them back. Get itsblade! Use your bodies if you need to! I have a plan and Haldrych will do the rest!

The young poets heart leapt into his throat. W-we? he stammered.

We! the merchants son grinned at him, his expression half-smile and half-snarl. His handsome features bloomed in the confidence of youth and thrill of battle. Were about to become legend, my brother! Come, let us see to this demon together!

And Adelmar charged. Lycundar! he cried.

Haldrych followed, swept up in his oldest friends bravery, but his own steps were slow and unsteady. His bare hands shook in front him. He screamed.

Oh, how he screamed.

Vroooosh!

Another werewolf burst into boiling viscera, only to be finished by another silver knife. Now only the two lycanthropes Adelmar had grasped, Adelmar himself, and Haldrych remained of the hunting party.Read latest chapters at nov(e)lbin.com Only

The poet gasped, and his lungs filled with ash and blood-born steam. He fell into a choking fit which halted his steps, and the warrior of legend in the making could only watch as others leapt into the fray before him.

Scchhnk.

The first of the werewolves threw himself upon the demons blade and grasped its haft. Even as its core boiled and burst, it held on in a death-grip as its fellow lycanthrope leapt for the demon. With a curse, the devil released its weapon and drew another knife, casting it into the second werewolfs eye.

Schnk!

It died on its feet.

But Adelmar was already in its place, having slipped past his burning ally. His sword drove toward the demon, but a dark hand caught his wrist in an iron grip. Adelmar continued to drive forward, catching the lean figure in a hug with one arm and entangling the monsters movements.

Now, Haldrych! Adelmar cried. Ill hold it! Strike it down!

Hellfire winked out, leaving only the light of fallen torches to light the tunnel.

You! the demon roared in incredulity.

Haldrychs eyes adjusted now that the blinding blaze had abated.

And he saw clearly what they faced. He screamed.

Towering and lean as death, a dark-skinned man stood, unperturbed by Adelmars struggles. His eyes were as crimson as burning embers and his expression might have been carved from obsidian: a glare of barely stymied rage and a disgust as deep as the bowels of the earth. It pierced the young poet to the core and brought about a fearful memory:

The same man had stood in the snows of Paradise.

The same mans glower had pierced into Haldrychs core.

The same man had lay beneath the table the night he had planned his mothers demise.

The same man-

I had hoped that I would find you here! the crimson-eyed devil boomed through the tunnel, its voice swallowing all in its wrath.

Haldrych! Adelmar cried. This bastards strong! I cant hold him! Haldrych! Kill him!

The young patriarch could not move.

Memories reached for him in the black of the tunnel. Childhood laughter. Learning to mount a horse while soft brown eyes watched. Small hands clapping and a womans cheer when he finished his first ode.

And then a dagger that rose and fell. Again. And again. And again.

The stranger couldnt havehe was only here for the thief-

Filthy, crawling thing! You killed her, the stranger pronounced, as though in answer to the poets very fears. You killed your own mother.

Haldrychs heart might have stopped.

Adelmar froze.

I have done deeds some would say are good and some would say are vile. But there are few fouler acts than what you did - aiding a man in slaying his own mother. He shook his head. From what I have learned, the poor womans crime was in only loving so foul a child. She did not deserve her fate, but I do think you deserve this.

Adelmars gasps grew muffled as his tongue began to swell. He screamed as it split, filing his maw with a foul decay that rotted his teeth with a touch. Maggots wormed forth from softening fangs to feast on the ruins of his mouth.

Such a thing should have killed him in moments, but Lycundars power healed as quickly as the curse decayed. Kyembe made a face as the stench struck his nose. Agh, I had intended for you to suffer, but die within a short timebut it seems your gods curse brings about more resilience than I had accounted for.

He rose to his feet, towering over the suffering lycanthrope. I think you will not die quicklyand that is how it should be. Now, I leave you to your fate. I must find my friendand yours.

Agony crawled through Adelmars body, eating him from within. It felt as though his entrails had come alive and sprung a dozen fanged maws to consume his other viscera. As organs regrew, they were eagerly consumed again and again.

In a sense, he too had received what he had wished for. For primal strength, he had worshipped He Who Consumes Himself. And now his body was doing just the same.

He had come to mirror his god in a way that few others ever could.

As his eyes began to swell and fill with pus, his vision dimmed. The last sight he saw in life was the wizard stalking away through the tunnel.

Then his eyeballs burst.

And his world became unending darkness and torment.

You all ready? Wurhi asked.

Grim nods answered.

The armoury lay bare.

Slaves filled the room to bursting, bearing bronze arms and ill-kept armour. Merrick had taken another spear and strapped on a crooked breastplate. Saxa, Gannicus, and Agron bore shields, blades and javelins.

The sabre-toothed tiger needed no weapons.

He was a weapon.

Wurhi had strapped on a shirt of bronze chainmail too large for her, but better that than a sword sticking out of her belly or back.

You know Gannicus said. Were armed and ready. We could slip out of the mountain now.

No, boy, Merrick glanced to the door of the arena. From it could be heard dying men and beasts, but also the howls of werewolves. Those wolf-menll put down their animals soon enough: then theyre going to start looking for us. Even if we got out of the mountain, theyd ring us in the valley and maul us to pieces. Im a thief, trust me, I know when to run away.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. But if we dont break them now, then were not going to make it out of here.

Wurhi nodded. Hes right. But if we go for em before the beasts are down, then weve got a chance. Anyone want out?

The captives looked to each other. Some were grim and some transfixed by terror, but all knew that they had come to a single choice:

Fight now or die later.

And they had done enough waiting for death.

None stepped away.

Wurhi sighed, looking down toward her sword. She was about to charge a bunch of bloodthirsty wolf-men alongside a horde of slaves, captives and pit-fighters. And she was not even considering running the hell away.

She sighed. Kyembe and Cristabel had truly rubbed off on her.

If only they could see her now.

Alright. She gripped her sword. Lets go get the bastards.

Gannicus, Agron and two burly slaves marched over to the arenas gate. Grunting, the four men struggled together and slowly began to raise the barrier, straining under its weight. Yet, they could lift it no further than their waists.

Snorting, the tiger pushed through their ranks and crawled beneath the gate, bracing it upon his shoulders. With a growl, he hoisted himself to his feet and heaved the heavy door skyward. The passage to the arena yawned open, revealing chaos within.

For a moment, the captives hesitated. A terrible battle loomed before them, the sort that would spawn both legends and horrors.

But one, at last, took a step.

Forward.

And then another. And another.

Screaming in rage and terror, Wurhi the Rat charged through the breach with silver blade in hand. The change came over her as she did, and so smooth it was that she hardly noticed the pain of it. A breath later, the other captives looked to each other, roared in unison, and charged forward in her wake.

When the last had gone through, the great cat snarled and surged forward.

Boom.

The gate dropped behind them, cutting off retreat. As the escapees boiled into the arena to the shock of Lycundars followers, they leapt for their tormenters with a savagery born from suffering.

Under the stone eyes of the wolf-gods effigy, so began the greatest battle the arena would ever see.