paranoianovel Thieves, Rope and Liquor I
Thieves, Rope and Liquor I
Thieves, Rope and Liquor I
Kyembe the Spirit Killer jolted awake.
The stench of unwashed bodies, blighted wounds and filth struck his nose, carried by a damp wind that goose pimpled his burnt umber skin. The Sengezians crimson eyes opened painfully, squinting into the gloom, his vision swimming. The creak of rope and wood met his pointed ears. His mouth felt drier than the Ahari Desert when the fire-winds roared and his belly churned ominously, the stale remnants of the previous night of drink lurking on his tongue. Such was the ruin of spirits, yet he never seemed to learn. Groaning like a dying man, he tried to reach for his waterskin.
Creak.
Bindings bit into his wrists.
What? he murmured. Propped against a wooden pole, his hands were lashed behind his back and rope knotted about his ankles.
Something stirred behind him.
Youre finally awake, you drooling, liquor-swilling lecher! a familiar voice hissed in Makkadian. I should gut you! Gut you!
Wurhi the Rat, who had joined him during wild adventure in Zabyalla, must have been very close; her whisper felt like a club driving into his skull. A club that had been set aflame. And full of enraged bees.
While waiting for the throbbing to stop, Kyembe looked about. The crescent moon provided meagre illumination, but eyes inherited from his dark elf mother cut through the black. A sea of erected poles stretched in every direction, surrounded by recumbent figures bound to their bases. The stink of sweat, defecation and death lay in all directions. Snores, groans of pain and ailing whimpers formed a sickening melody beneath a despairing voice that wailed for aid from their ancestors in the Garric tongue.
A small fire spat smoke and murky light nearby, revealing a pair of fur-clad warriors sharing a wineskin while seated cross legged in the dirt, their tall bronze tipped spears pointing skyward. Kyembes eyes followed the wan column of smoke, and froze.
Titanic trees loomed silently to the west, nearly consuming the sky. He needed to crane his neck to merely see the canopy. It could only be the Forest of Giants. Hed heard tell of it from Garumnan mercenaries trying to frighten their comrades.
Wurhi, Kyembes deep voice croaked. Why are we here?
These bastards have taken us! And robbed us!
Alarmed, the Sengezian looked down to find near all his worldly possessions gone. He wore his white tunic and loincloth, but the star patterned over-robe hed taken from the late Merchant Prince Cas - a favourite garment hed fastidiously cared for - was missing. The rest of his share of plunder from that venture was gone as well, along with his ivory hilted sword and
He wiggled a finger, noticing a weightless absence.
someone had removed his ring: his object of power and oldest companion.
His lips tightened. This somewhat offended him. In truth, much more than somewhat. How did this happen? he growled.
The Zabyallan had been bound to the same pole, but facing the opposite direction. Her beady green eyes glared at him over her shoulder. Think! Think, you drunken fool! Cracked lips snarled back over her teeth, revealing a slight overbite.
My skull aches too much to think.
Foul. Like a slithery, corpse-eating vulture playing at being a man: he had a fortune of jewels tied in his hair, I-
Wait, Kyembe said sharply. Were they braided to the ends? Like flowers at the end of the stalk?
No. She shook her head. Just everywhere. Why?
Kyembe sighed in relief. Never mind. What did these men do?
Wurhi eyed him suspiciously. They looked at a bunch of the prisoners and were just getting to us when the old man saw a boy and man tied to the pole there. He pointed at the boy and those two-legged oxen cut him loose, grabbed him up and started to drag him off. The man tied to the pole started shouting hard, but the old man took something out of a pouch that glowed orange and waved it. She shuddered. The glow was so low youd nearly miss it and it didnt make a sound, but the poor bastard started choking and writhing around like a speared fish. Threw up ash and flopped over dead.
Pyromancy. Kyembe glowered at the corpse. He burnt his lungs from the inside.
The tiny Zabyallan froze in her struggles. He can do that? Can you do that?
It is strenuous enough to merely direct hellfire; I do not have such precision. He glanced backward again toward his naked hand. And without my ring I do not have much of anything.
What?! Her eyes grew very wide. You mean we might run into that soot-spewing, innard-frying wizard with no way to defend ourselves?!
We will have our wits.
And hell have our insides!
Shhhh! Kyembe hissed, glancing toward the nearest guards. The two warriors quaffed their ale and lounged as though the surrounding poles were date-palms in the oasis-gardens of Saba-Aful. Not so loud, he warned. What happened to the child they took?
Wurhi shuddered. Dragged him that way. She jerked her chin to the east. Then I saw a big fire rise up. Thats when the screaming started. Never heard anything like it, not even when The Maw worked over someones bones with their saw-knives. It was like it was right beside m-Aha! Yes! Her bonds finally fell and she whipped her hands forth, rotating her wrists, which popped in their sockets. She began to free her ankles while Kyembe mulled over her story.
A sacrifice, he concluded. These filth would have us fatten their demons.
Demons? Like Cas? More than one? she whispered incredulously.
Not at all like his: A Lord of Nightmares was what boiled from his sceptre, and their ilk are mercifully rare, ancient, and gluttonous; one boys life to them would be a grain of millet to us. His countenance turned dark. The boys loved ones nightmares would give them far more interest. Also, to make use of their power, they would have to be close; Cas had his bound by his sceptres baleful magics, anchoring it onto this plane.
Wherewhere do they come from? So I can never go there.
He chuckled darkly. You need not worry on that. Such abominations hail from planes remote even by demon reckoning, only called by the mightiest spells and vilest sacrifices. Cas sceptre was one of those strange things one can find in the dusty places of the world, with fell servants still bound. He shook his head. The demons that watch over this band are likely lesser things. Vile and formidable, but lesser.
They can be vile and formidable somewhere where were not. She finished freeing her ankles then undid his bonds in a matter of heartbeats. He rose, still half-numb from stillness and the aftermath of drink. With a furtive look to the guards, they slipped into the darkness. Lets find our things. Wurhi pointed north into the gloom. Folk keep walking this way. Mustve seen five groups since sunset.
Then we shall follow them.