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| − | [ST] Night lies over the Quiet Emerald, deepening by the moment. Helgara waits for the Once Dead outside the barn, crouched low to avoid being spotted. Her face is pale, her eyes wild. She is uncharacteristically quiet.
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| − | [Avir] Avir emerges last. There's a splash of blood across his cheek he doesn't notice- the demon was a messy eater. "I say we circle around to the guardhouse and take out the group there, then move on to the temple."
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| − | [ST] Helgara licks her chapped lips, clearly a nervous gesture; any outwaller should know better. Her voice is a hushed whisper. "Are they all... I mean... the Kneelers? Are they all?"
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| − | [ST] "Dead."
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| − | [Avir] "Some are alive in the Temple- fifteen or twenty. And a few are scattered in other homes, for reasons you can guess." He glances blindly in the direction of the guardhouse. "Our comrade is still alive, also, acccording to report of our captive."
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| − | [Wheel] "Not yet unless the dogs enjoy corpses for their fun. We need to take the barracks. Otherwise we're always going to be in danger of someone on the watchtower noticing us." And Morta was being held there. Or her body was. Either way, everyone in that barracks needed to die.
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| − | [ST] "The strange one..." Helgara's eyes slide away from his. "Perhaps they have not harmed her. Much."
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| − | [Avir] Avir's mouth twists, remembering what was said, but he doesn't answer. "Let's go," he says shortly.
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| − | [Wheel] He leads them to the watchtower, skirting the outsides of the Quiet buildings rather than up the street, betting that the watch around the town wouldn't be competent enough to be worse than the risk of meeting someone o0n the street.
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| − | [Avir] Avir keeps his head down and his head and watches where he puts his feet. Even if they were seen, he would welcome the fight. Let them all scream as the boy had.
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| − | [ST] The three pick their way quietly through the night, followed by an insubstantial spirit of murder. The occasional gust of wind brings its horrible stink, but in the charnel house the village has become, it hardly seems out of place. A severed hand crunches softly under Wheel's foot as he nears the mouth of an alley. If they are being watched, however, the Dogs make no cry. The only noise is
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| − | [ST] the sound of their labored breathing and the soft whisper of boots in snow.
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| − | [ST] Then, moving down a narrow alley, they hear a sound. A voice, plaintive, begging. Sounds like it's coming from a few streets over.
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| − | [ST] "Please! Please, you can't! You can't!" The man sounds near the point of insanity.
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| − | [ST] A woman's voice, soft and teasing. "Bet I can. Which one should I start with? This one here?" A woman's sharp, frantic cry. "Or this one? Or this one? Maybe I should let YOU pick!"
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| − | [Avir] Avir puts hand to his swordhilt and looks at Wheel.
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| − | [ST] Helgara's gloved hands twist uneasily on the handle of her spear.
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| − | [ST] "You said you wouldn't hurt them. You p-promised-" the man's voice says again.
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| − | [ST] "Well, I got bored. It happens." There is a sudden, sharp scream, which turns into a glottal wheeze. Several people are sobbing. "See, there I go. Bored again. Better start entertaining me fast."
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| − | [Avir] He slides closer to the sound of the voices, extra cautious now that his feet make no sound on the snow. He turns his head as the man speaks, zeroing in on the source.
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| − | [Wheel] He hesitates. This could be noisy, and Morta was more important. But he couldn't stop himself wincing as the man began to be castrated. And Avir looked like he'd get in there on his own if he tried to leave for the watchtower. More screams would fit right in, even a woman's replacing a man's if people weren't paying much attention.
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| − | [Wheel] He slides down the alleyway, keeping to the wall closer to the voices, trying to place them within the building. They needed to find a window to enter by if they could rather than going through the open street.
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| − | [ST] "Please-" the man pleads again. "Leave my family out of this. Please, you can do whatever you want to me, just don't- don't-" A round of harsh laughter, and the woman speaks again.
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| − | [ST] "I can do whatever I want to ALL of you."
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| − | [ST] The voices are coming from the other side of the building, echoing strangely down the alleyway. Neither Avir nor Wheel catch direct sight of the group, but they have to be close. It sounds as if they are maybe one street over to the south. Abruptly, Wheel realizes that he's creeping up alongside Hope's home.
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| − | [Avir] Avir slinks in the direction of the voices, pausing only to draw his sword half-way out of its sheath. He keeps one hand around the blade to keep any light from shining on it.
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| − | [Wheel] "Morta, Avir. We can't take a large group before we get her." He keeps it to the barest whisper rasping out of his throat.
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| − | [Avir] "We can, if we need to," Avir answers in the same fashion. His eyes burn. "It sounds just one woman."
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| − | [ST] Avir finds himself abruptly at the corner of Hope's small home, looking around the corner of the house. In the little open square in front of the house, a Quiet man sobs on his hands and knees. Directly in front of him stands a short woman with a soft, slightly fleshy face. A spray of freckles covers her nose, visible even in this faint light. Splatters of blood cover her left side and the
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| − | [ST] sword gripped in one fist.
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| − | [Wheel] "The victims aren't the ones laughing."
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| − | [Wheel] He stalks behind him. Avir getting caught was just as bad as both of them. He couldn't restrain him either. So if Avir was going in, he was too.
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| − | [Wheel] Besides, the man's screams were in his head, far more immediate than even a comrade's need.
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| − | [ST] Behind her stretches a low wooden railing studded with rope halters. The rail is used to tie up reindeer, but now three of the Quiet are leashed there - a young woman, a male child, and an old man, gibbering in terror. Nearest to the Black Dog, the corpse of an old woman slumps, pulling its halter taut as blood slowly flows from a slashed throat. The others draw away from it, almost
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| − | [ST] incoherent with terror.
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| − | [ST] Two more of the Dogs, both heavyset men, stand behind the Quiet. One rests one foot casually upon the railing, a cigarillo smoking in his mouth.
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| − | [ST] "Please," the man on the ground says again. "Please, don't, don't, I'll do whatever you want!"
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| − | [Avir] One for each. And the demon besides, if they got in trouble.
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| − | [ST] The freckled woman puts a finger to her bloody chin, tapping it in mock thoughtfulness. The gesture smears blood across her chin, but she appears not to notice. "Hmm. Okay. Act like a pig."
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| − | [ST] He blinks, tears rolling down his face. "Wh-what?"
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| − | [ST] "You know." She oinks in a reasonable fascimile. One of the other Dogs barks a laugh. "Act like a pig. Come on, convince me. Don't make me get bored again." The Dogs begin to laugh uproariously.
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| − | [Wheel] He taps Avir's shoulder and lkowers his head near the man's ear, whispering with the barest breath he can manage. "I'll circle to take the far two from behind. If I can, I'll signal first."
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| − | [Avir] He nods, crouching low and waiting to spring. He pulls Helgara down beside him.
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| − | [ST] Helgara is turning green. She trembles as Avir pulls her down. "They're vile," she hisses, her voice choked.
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| − | [Wheel] He turns moves quietly down the alley. As he got farther from the alley mouth he speeds up. The intervening buildings would deaded some noise and he needed to be fast. They wouldn't be entertained by the man's patheticness for long. They wanted blood.
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| − | [Avir] He nods to Helgara and puts a finger to his lips.
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| − | [Wheel] He swirls around the back of the buildings, gambling that there wouldn't be eyes there any more than there had been minutes before when they'd first crossed the ground. Even if there were, he'd only be a fast moving shadow.
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| − | [ST] A pathetic, plaintive oinking sound emerges from the Quiet man's throat as he begins to crawl on the snowy ground, his face lowered as tears fall. "Oh shit," the smoking Dog says. He's laughing so hard he has to take the cigarillo out of his mouth. "He's actually doing it. I've seen coca-whores with more spine than this."
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| − | [ST] "Starting with your mother, no doubt." The other one says.
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| − | [ST] The smoking man puts the cigarillo back to his lips and takes a deep drag. "And ending with none other than our lovely Freckle Jennie here."
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| − | [ST] Jennie, for her part, ignores the comments, shaking her head as the Quiet man continues his display. "Come on, you can do it louder than that. This is boring me." She takes a step back, grabbing the young Quiet woman by the chin and pulling her head up. "So what's this one, piggy? Your sister or your poke-buddy?" The Quiet woman spits in her face to renewed laughter.
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| − | [Wheel] Death stalks behind them. He was careful, even moving fast. Needlessly so. But the last paces were in the open. Anger was burning his caution away. He signalled Avir, waiting for as long as he could stomach before placing his trust into their incompetence and rapt attention, stepping out behind them.
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| − | [ST] "Both, from the looks of this lot," Cigarillo opines.
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| − | [Wheel] His hand creekes on the leather of the hammer grip, squeezing it far tighter than necessary. The second man looks up as the hammer falls, too late. His death sprays Cigarillo with blood and viscera. A glob of brain extinguishes his smoke.
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| − | [Avir] Avir had been stalking slowly forward at an angle, Helgara creeping along behind him. As blood wets the snow, he rises from his crouch into a lunge at the woman, his sword flashing from its sheath. His face is set and grim.
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| − | [ST] Jennie turns at the last moment, giving a grunt of surprise. As Avir's blade comes whistling in, she sidesteps. It's not good enough, not fast enough, but the Quiet woman kicks her legs out from under her, and the stumble is enough to take her out of the way of most of Avir's swipe. His sword lays her cheek open from nose to jowl, but does no real damage.
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| − | [ST] Cigarillo's mouth opens in shock, the snuffed stick slipping from his lips as he gapes in astonishment.
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| − | [ST] Jennie smashes her free hand down on the Quiet woman, breaking her nose with a crack as she levers herself up to glare at Avir. "Who the fuck are you," she snarls. It's clear it's not really a question from the way she doesn't wait for an answer. She braces her foot against the rail and springs at him, her short, ugly blade stabbing for his guts.
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| − | [Avir] He raises his sword- too slowly, and she smashes through his guard.
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| − | [ST] Avir takes a deep, brutal stab to the gut, bending him nearly double as pain hammers into him. The woman is strong, if nothing else.
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| − | [Avir] Avir's his eyes widen in fear and alarm. His fingers momentarily loosen around the hilt of his short sword, then tighten again. Kill her.
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| − | [Wheel] He heaves the hammer from the bloodstained patio and swings it sideways at Cigarillo's chest. He was too slow for the hammer-head to catch the cigarillo on it's way to the man, but not by much.
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| − | [Wheel] He turns with the wing, not trying to restrain the hammer - impossible with only one hand - his face scrunched in a silent snarl. There was a dull thud as the hammer struck home, and then a sharp two-part crack as it snapped through the man's breastbone and spine. The body spun over the railing, landing on the terrorized child. Wheel catches the kids eyes, trying to keep him from screaming.
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| − | [ST] It's doubtful that the child understands anything Wheel is trying to communicate, but fortunately, sheer terror drives him into stunned, white-faced silence.
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| − | [ST] Helgara is similarly quiet as she charges the woman who has stabbed Avir, feinting high for Jennie's eyes with the tip of her spear before driving it towards her kidneys.
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| − | [Avir] Avir laughs, a little breathlessly. Two men in twice as many seconds. Wheel was a demon himself. He wheels out of Jennie's reach and comes at her again, chopping at her with short sword- the flickering attacks meant more to distract her for Helgara's attack than to truly wound.
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| − | [ST] The layers of chainmail and plate that Jennie wears are only rusted on their exterior - the steel beneath, looted from a soldier in service to House Cynis's Cherak offshoot, holds, turning her point aside.
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| − | [ST] Jennie snarls, shoving Avir backward. "Fuck off!" She barks. "I've fought off tougher'n you trying to get a night's sleep!"
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| − | [ST] She springs for him, her blade flashing.
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| − | [Avir] He stumbles back, clutching his wound. His eyes glint."My strength lies in my allies," he says piously as she comes for him.
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| − | [Avir] He raises an arm as she strikes, and she cuts a long gash along his forearm. The sessulla, absorbing most of the force of the blow, shivers in muted agony.
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| − | [ST] "Bugger your allies," she says, driving him back another step.
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| − | [Wheel] He takes a moment to regain his balance. The body had helped stop the hammer, but hadn't finished its momentum. He plants a foot on the railing and leaps from it, swinging the hammer down at Jennie's back, hoping to drive her to Avir and Helgara's blades if she noticed in time to run from him.
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| − | [Wheel] She didn't. Her corpse rejoined the dirt, and the blood covering it, fouling the ground further. He stares down at it for a moment, reveling in the remembered feeling of satiated anger, before turning to the captives. "We'll cut you free. You need to be quiet and stay indoors," he whispers, adrenaline still making his voice harsh.
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| − | [ST] The Quiet stare at them silently, shocked by the sudden burst of violence. The crawling man lowers his head to the snow. "By Yo Ping's grace," he sobs. "It may be a sin, but I thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
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| − | [Wheel] He grunts. If the people of the village had fought back, they would have been slaughtered, but it would have been better than this. Bodies were a fact of life. This torture was gruesome.
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| − | [Avir] "I told you," Avir says with some satisfaction as he regards Jennie's corpse. His insides prickle as the bottle bug goes to work. He looks at the Quiet man. "There is no sin in being rescued," he says consolingly. Or in rescuing. Their beliefs were madness, though it didn't seem the moment to say so.
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| − | [ST] "They are beasts," the old man at the end of the line says quietly. "If the gods must judge our hate in this moment, let them judge." Wheel's actions seem to have calmed them.
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| − | [Avir] "How many are left? Where?"
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| − | [Wheel] He shakes his head. "We need to take the Watchtower. If we keep doing this, they will notice us. And Morta is there."
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| − | [Avir] "I agree, but any intelligence is uesful."
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| − | [ST] "I do not know." The old man looks up at Avir desolately. "My son told us to hide, so we did. They took most of the others somewhere. I had hoped they would not find us. They did. They had their... entertainment. My wife..." his face crumples.
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| − | [ST] "Father, I'm sorry," the younger man says with a sob. "If I had only acted more quickly..."
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| − | [Wheel] He waves the hammer to the bodies. "We need to get these out of the street. Or the cloaks off them at least." He doesn't put away his hammer to help. "Can you do that?" he asks the freed man.
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| − | [ST] The older man nods. "Cut us free."
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| − | [Avir] Avir stoops down to cut their bonds. Already his stomach is an ache rather than a stabbing pain. The bottle bug demon proving its value once again.
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| − | [ST] When her bonds are cut, the young woman springs away, falling upon Jennie's corpse with a bestial grunt. She begins to strike the body with inexpert, animal blows, rocking a corpse long beyond feeling. Her voice is quiet and furious. "Fuck you," she hisses. "Fuck you, fuck you, I spit on you!" The others look on, almost more horrified by this display than the earlier torture.
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| − | [Avir] Avir watches her a moment, then turns to Wheel. "The guardhouse."
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| − | [ST] Helgara seems almost as taken aback by the display as the Quiet. "Maybe I should stay here," she offers. "Y-you know. To make sure nothing happens to them."
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| − | [Wheel] He nods. He hooks the woman's shoulder with the bloody hammer. "You need to get inside, the corpses with you." He glances up at Helgara. They could use her, but more they couldn't risk her getting caught on her own. She surely meant to rush off and try to rescue people herself. Unless she was too affraid to continue?
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| − | [Avir] Avir regards her cynically. She hadn't even been hurt, and already she was rabbitting.
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| − | [Avir] He lets her go. If she was scared enough to back off now, she'd be of little use with them.
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| − | [ST] "Come on," she says softly, pulling the Quiet woman away from Jennie's corpse. Her arms are flecked with blood up to the elbow. "We need to get inside, now." She looks away from the two Once Dead, shamefully, perhaps?
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| − | [Avir] "Time to get Morta." Avir turns to the guardhouse without looking at Helgara again.
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| − | [Wheel] "See that you stay put." He doesn't really think of how patronizing that is. He turns to leave, nodding to Avir. It was time. This had taken too long. Their comrade needed them.
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| − | [Wheel] The bodies and blood and death surrounding him feed his sense of self. This was where he belonged. The stench was sickening, but worth it.
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| − | [ST] The final passage to the guardhouse is short and uneventful. The sparse streets and alleys are empty except for the dead and the mutilated. Avir rounds a corner and finds the glazed eyes of a Quiet woman meeting his. Her head is impaled on the end of a green wood pole. The entire apparatus smells distressingly of pine.
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| − | [ST] At last, the Once Dead reach the perimeter of the houses. A long stretch of open ground separates them from the barracks and the watchtower, a space of perhaps two hundred feet.
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| − | [ST] The building itself squats imposingly, a one story stone structure with several narrow, shuttered windows around its perimeter. Entrance is provided by a heavy ironbound door. A wooden watchtower rises out of the far corner of the structure, providing a commanding view of the countryside.
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| − | [ST] For these last few feet, there is nothing for it but to cross open ground. No hue or cry is raised as the Once Dead creep up to the building.
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| − | [Avir] Avir raises his head below a window, trying to peer through a crack in the shutters.
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| − | [Wheel] THe wondows were too small to enter, and the door was well reinforced. He could probably beat it down, but not without alerting everyone in the village, let alone the raiders inside. The entrance of choice would be to climb the tower and come in from above, but neither of them had two hands. It would be difficult.
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| − | [ST] Avir sees the stout table where they all supped the previous night. A pair of Dogs are there: a tall, rawboned woman with stringy brown hair and a short, ferret faced man with his hair shaved close to his skull. They're playing some bastardized version of Pike Me with wooden cards.
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| − | [Wheel] "Boost me to the roof of the barracks, I'll help pull you up after me. Then we can see if there's anythign up there or try the watchtower.
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| − | [Avir] Avir winces a little. He didn't fancy ending up with a broken back around these monsters- or around his demon. But there seemed to be nothing for it. He nods and kneels to give easier access to his shoulders.
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| − | [ST] "I almost don't see the fun in this, Glendie," the man is complaining. "I mean, you know, when someone fights back, there's a little sport in it. These kneelers just take it."
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| − | [ST] "The pale one bit off Gerald's finger."
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| − | [Wheel] He steps up to Avir's shoulder, brabbing the roof and trying to get his other leg over the lip of the roof as Avir rises under him.
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| − | [Wheel] *grabbing
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| − | [ST] Wheel rolls onto the roof easily. The flat stone has a thick crusting of snow on top, but the pair below are arguing about their card game so loudly that they don't notice.
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| − | [ST] *notice the sound of snow falling as Wheel scrabbles atop the building.
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| − | [Avir] Avir muffles a grunt of effort. The man must way half again what he did, damn it. He reaches up, and Wheel pulls him onto the roof, his feet scrabbling (quietly, he desperately hoped) at footholds on the wall.
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| − | [Wheel] That done he looks about the roof, hoping against his memory to see some way in from there.
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| − | [ST] At the far corner of the roof, the watchtower rises up against the night sky. As Avir scrambles atop the building, he kicks a snowfly nest, causing a few to rise, winking balefully. One lands on his glove, trying vainly to bite through it. Nothing else stirs.
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| − | [ST] Where the tower meets the roof is a wooden trapdoor, which helps to limit the heat lost through the opening. As Wheel remembers, it is usually kept locked so that errant falls of snow won't force it open.
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| − | [Avir] He flicks the snowfly irritably away and follows Wheel across the roof.
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| − | [Wheel] Nothing for it but to try the watchtower. It was too tall for the same trick, so they just had to surmount it. He takes it slowly, amking sure his feet were properly set before quickly moving his hand to a new hold, balancing for the intervening moments, and using his strong grip to stabilize himself after he had the new handhold. It was slow going.
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| − | [Avir] Avir looks at him quizzically a moment, then tests the trap door.
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| − | [Avir] Locked, which explained Wheel's ascent- but he was damned if he would climb before he tried his rusty thieving skills. He removes a long thing piece of metal and inserts it in the lock, wiggling it around until it clicks open. He looks up at Wheel. "It's open," he hisses.
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| − | [ST] As soon as Avir unlatches the lock, the trapdoor almost falls open, but he manages to catch it before it makes a noise. Below, a narrow set of wooden rungs sunken into the wall descend into a storeroom
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| − | [Wheel] He sets back down to the roof, frowning that he'd missed something under the snow. "Me first," he says, but waits for the other man to agree.
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| − | [Avir] Avir nods and lets him pass.
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| − | [Wheel] He starts down the ladder, staying slow to be quiet. He'd need a moment at the bottom to get out the hammer, so being noticed would probably get him dead. He grins as he descends.
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| − | [ST] The storeroom is dark and treacherous, as usual. Only the very weak light from the open trapdoor provides any illumination whatsoever. In the darkness, casks and bags of flour loom like dangerous predators in the dark.
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| − | [Avir] Avir creeps after him. "They'll have her in the bedroom, if she's alive," he breathes to Wheel.
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| − | [Wheel] He nods, pulling the hammer out of it's harness. "We should take the watchtower first."
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| − | [Avir] "If they even have someone there," Avir says, but he nods.
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| − | [Wheel] He stalks up the steps silently, smiling.
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| − | [Avir] Avir follows, his sword unsheathed.
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| − | [Avir] He holds it in his teeth as he climbs the ladder.
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| − | [ST] All goes well until the pair are perhaps twenty feet up the ladder. It's then that the errant gust of wind strikes, just as Wheel is reaching for the next rung. The tower lists, barely, but it is enough. Unable to secure a purchase, he slips, falling backwards.
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| − | [Wheel] He reslings the hammer for the climb. It'd be dangerous if the wrong situation met them at the top, but falling would be noisy even if it wasn't deadly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The wind buffets the ladder as the pair climb. Wheel soon has to slow a bit for Avir to keep us, as climbing with a sword in your mouth is not the easiest thing, even two handed. As the pair climb higher, they can see that above the tower opens up into a small crow's nest. As they get closer, they hear a soft, feminine voice.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "That's right. You're pretty, aren't you? You're real pretty. Ain't never seen anything pretty like you before."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] There is no indication that their approach has been noticed.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Avir can sense the demon climbing below him. It seems almost thrilled, the climbing reminding it of moving through the limbs of the dense Malfean jungles.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir cranes his head up. Only the extreme inadvisability of making noise stops him from irritably telling Wheel to get out of the ladder-well.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He waits patiently for his moment. He'd need, they'd both need, time to get their weapons out, and he wanted to be sure they'd get it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "You look nice," the voice continues. "Soft. Let's see." There is a quiet, contented humming. Whoever is up there appears to be talking to themselves. At best.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "That's nice," the voice croons again.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He wedges himself right under the trapdoor, slightly bent and with his hand to it, preparing to throw it open and toos the guard on it off her feet. She might squawk, but the wind would eat the noise, and it would buy them the moment they needed.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He nods to Avir to tell him that it was time and spushes poiwerfully upwards, opening the trapdoor explosively. As he falls back he catches the lip of the opening with his elbow to stop himself from unbalancing and falling down the ladder.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir scrambles up like a squirrel after him. A squirrel with one hand and a sword in its mouth. Not one of his better tactical moves.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Wheel gets a confused jumble. An armored and swaddled woman rolling, tumbling, her dirty-blond ringlets bouncing, a swatch of white fabric. The guard looks up, a startled expression on her face. The ring in her nose gleams in the moonlight.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He wastes no words, levering himself out of the trapdoor as fast as he can and reaching for the hammer as he stands.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Determination crosses the guard's face. She lunges, reaching out for a massive horn that rests on the floor of the crow's nest.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir is next off the ladder. He throws himself at her.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] His sword sweeps down to chop at the hand reaching for the horn, and the rest of his body follows in a reckless charge.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He pulls the hammer out of its harness and brings it crashing down at the horn.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The woman looks down in horror at the gushing stump where her hand used to be as Wheel's blow splinters the horn into fragments. Chips of bone fly through the air. One lodges in the side of the woman's face, and she gasps in astonishment. "Oh."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir slices at her face. If she died painfully, he wouldn't grieve for her.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The woman reels back, trying to roll away. She is too slow - Avir's blow hacks through her face violently, leaving her a red, gasping thing from the nose down.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Satisfying. Very satisfying. A bitter smiile touches his face. He backs away to give Wheel a better angle to strike, breathing hard.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He recovers himself from the horns destruction and steps up to finish the guard. Hore blood splattered onto his armor, but in the darkness it made no difference. Red was as black as the mud he'd wiped it with to avoid reflections.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] *More
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir glances around hurriedly. Who the fuck had she been talking to then?
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Avir glances around the crow's nest, and spots nothing but the piece of white fabric. Looking at it closer, it appears to be a lacy, finely made lady's undergarment. A blue thread has been sewn into it. A large dried bloodstain mars the center.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] He looks at the dead woman in revulsion. Whatever it was in her head, he didn't want to know. He grins at Wheel, baring his teeth. "Next victim."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] He sheathes his sword for the descent and climbs back down the ladder.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He follows, death descending on the judged.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The descent is uneventful. The Emerald lies deathly still below and around. Soon, the pair find themselves in the cold, drafty confines of the storeroom once more.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir goes to the storeroom door, putting his ear to it before pressing it gently open.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] WHeel follows behind him, the hammer out again, crusted with drying blood and enough viscera to smell like a slaughterhouse/
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Avir is aware of the heavy presence of the blood ape behind them, practically slavering at the blood that covers their weapons. Beyond the door, which is heavy wood, there is nothing but the sound of soft snoring.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] The blood ape would need its own battle soon, to sate its bloodlust. He goes quietly through the door.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The hallway beyond is dark and silent, lit only by a single guttering lantern. At one end of the hall, a stout door marks the coal closet. Something of a misnomer, as the Haslanti rarely use coal. Instead, it contains emergency stores of dried animal dung and wood to be used as fuel in case of a siege.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Cold was a faster killer than hunger in the North.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] At the other end of the hall, the sleeping chamber opens up. It smells no better in here than it did last night, but there is something new; the faint tang of blood.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] Sword work. He lets Avir take the man.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] Instead, he turns to creep to the end of the hall to where it opened up to the bunks.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir walks slowly to the coal closet, sword at the ready, and opens the door.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] A figure lunges towards Avir from the darkness, striking him in the gut and driving him to the ground. There's a brittle snap as a cheap shiv breaks against his armor, and then he realizes he is looking up into the rather wild eyes of an incensed, naked Morta. She blinks.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Avir."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Don't kill me, please," are the first words out of his mouth. The second: "We killed the woman at the top of the watchtower. She had weapon and an armor. Bad armor, but better than..." He trails off and glances away rather than at her breasts, the other alternative.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Glad you're alive."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] At the other end of the hall, Wheel pulls up short as he reaches the corner. The pile of bedstuffs used by the guards has been shredded and devastated. Spots of blood linger here and there, small and yet very telling. A fat Black Dog sleeps amidst the bedding, naked and oblivious. A few deflated wineskins lie around him. A necklace of bloody fingers hangs around his neck.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "You survived, I see." She looks at him strangely, and he notices the white of her left eye is tinged red from a burst blood vessel. Bruises, cuts, and burns dot her body, and she is shaking almost too much to stand. "I tried not to tell them," she says quietly. "They were persistent." Her voice wavers a little, on the last word.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I told them. I am sorry."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "I understand. It doesn't matter: the watches they set do them very little good." He grins, but with little humor. "Join us in a little bloodshed, Morta?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He smashes the man's face, killing him, and then his pelvis. The bedding muffled the sounds, and he hoped they wouldn't be heard through the door into the main room if anyone was there. He returns to the others. "Don't worry. They didn't know enough to realize what you were telling them." He hands her a tattered blanket to cover herself with. "Where did they take your equipment? Divvy it up for themselves?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] She nods briskly. "Yes. I. I will try." She grasps Avir's arm tightly for a moment, and he notices her fingernails are missing, leaving nothing but tender scabs. She looks up at Wheel, accepting the blanket.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Yes. I would be dead if it wasn't for that raven tattoo. They were convinced I could tell them all the secrets of the Once Dead. They spoke about bringing me back to their leader. I bit one of their fingers off."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Thunder Wisdom had told him once of the ways people reacted to surviving torture. Some, he said, it broke: they would never see a blade again without weeping. Others it filled with a unquenchable, directionless rage. He wondered what it would do to Morta. "We heard. Well done."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "Are there more than two in here?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] She was Once Dead. He knew she was tough enough for this.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "I have drugs for pain. Do you need- do you have any injuries that need immediate attention?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I don't know." She looks at him. "There were a lot more before. I don't need anything but a knife." She pauses for a moment. "And clothes." She pauses again.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "The Dreamseer is in there, too. They let the Gouger have him."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "I think he is mad now."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] The Gouger- "Did they make a point of leaving him alive, then?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] To treat a Dreamseer so. That would enflame Haslanti rage against them, even if what they did to the Quiet did not.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He grimaces. A bad business disrespecting the dreams.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "He said the Gouger told him that if dreaming was his business, he could do it better if his eyes were closed forever."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "As Avir said, there was a woman at the top of the watchtower. She had armor, clothes and weapons, although the armor may be unuseable. And everything is bloody. Thats probably the best we can get you for now.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "Once we're back in the houses, there will be something."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] She nods. "I will take it. And then we will kill them all."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Yes?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Yes." Avir glances down the hall where Wheel had done his red work. "Is that fat one the Gouger?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "No. The fat one just likes sex. He only cuts the dead. The Gouger has to cut the living. Has to." She reaches up, fingers clenching absently in her straw-like hair. "They give him someone every few hours. I think it is an inconvenience even for them, but he is one of Wyald's pets. They endure."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "Go up, we'll wait here for you before taking the next room." She deserved to be in on her own revenge. He almost regretted killing the finger man.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Who is Wyald?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "The leader of the Black Dogs, or so they say. They fear him. They do not fear much, but they fear him. I heard them telling the Quiet women that he is more beast than man." She nods, as if squaring herself, and limps out with what dignity she can muster. "I'll be back soon."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir nods, crosses his arms across his chest, and leans against the wall. He looks at Wheel. "What I'd really like to do is find whatever Shanarian hired these wyldfuckers and hang him up by his tongue."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Morta returns a few minutes later, clad in ill-fitting clothing. The breastplate has a ragged dent from a grazing blow with Wheel's hammer. She holds out the undergarment between two fingers of one outstretched hand before dropping it unceremoniously on the floor. "That one was strange. Where do we go now?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "We will." He paces, quietly, but it is hard to wait.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Kill the gamblers. Then the temple to grab any Quiet survivors."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "After you."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He readies the hammer, himself. "Take the door, I'll rush in."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir opens the door and steps swiftly aside for Wheel to make his entrance.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] There's nothing wrong with Wheel's technique or strategy. It's only when the door's hinge screams shrilly that he remembers Erdrick complaining about how Ulf never oiled it. Erdrick will never complain about it again, and Ulf will never oil it again, but it still squeaks, and the two Black Dogs sitting at the table bolt to their feet.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The woman, Glendie, reaches down to draw a short, serrated knife. The man lays hands on a massive, rusty-edged chopping sword.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He rushes, trying top catch the man with the sword as he is standing. Harder to dodge without falling with the bench around your feet.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] The bench splinters under the man as the hammer drives him down. It probably saved his life, for the moment, but tangling with it caused his knee to flex far the wrong way, ruining any chance the man had to walk again. Not that Wheel intended to let it matter.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Glendie moves faster than Wheel expected, her foot hooking around one of the benches and driving it into the back of Wheel's shins. As he stumbles forward, off balance, she springs at his back, blade burrowing for his kidneys.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] Willpower makes his scream die as a croak. Pain lanced through him worse than when he'd lost his arm. Crushing pain.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Hah!" the woman crows, pulling the barbed weapon free in a spray of blood. She steps back just in time for Morta to lunge at her, swinging the heavy blade for the back of her neck.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] But hours of torture have taken their toll. The swing is wild, so wild that as it strikes the neck guard of the Dog's armor, the sword flies from Morta's grip, clattering across the table.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir is Glendie's next dance partner. He lunges through the door and throws himself recklessly at her. He catches her swordarm with his stump and skewers her with his shortsword.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] It doesn't tak. The thrust only rips through her shirt and taking a slice of skin with it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "You're gonna be sorry you ever crawled out of that shit closet, maggot." Glendie snarls at Morta, just as Avir's sword nicks her. She moves back smoothly, eyes flickering between him and Wheel, then she drives an elbow into Avir's throat, coming around with the blade in a spinning backfist.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir jerks his head back. "A miss. Bitch."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] As Avir avoids the blow, she lets momentum carry her, knife gouging into Wheel once more.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He steps back, letting her knife skitter along his plate, and using the room to bring the hammer into play. Morta had to dodge back to avoid its backswing, but he wasn't paying attention to her. It was hard to pay attention to anything with the pain still knifing from his back.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He caught her in the side and slammed her into the table, sending it crashing into the wall. The edge of the table and the inexorable mass of the hammer jellied her abdomen, leaving her legs dead and her torso thrashing for a few moments before it died too.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Nice hit."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Morta grunts appreciatively as she retrieves the fallen weapon.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] He looks with concern at Wheel's wound. "Do you need healing, old man?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The barracks lie silent.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] His job done he staggers over to lean on the wall. "Can . . can you do something about this?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Yes, I think so." It's almost reflexive now: "I'll need privacy." He looks at the corpse; it's almost too bad the armor is in even worst shape than the ones that Morta is wearing now.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "Whatever you did to us earlier, I don't care. Oh, god this hurts." He felt pathetic saying it, but it was impossible not to.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] Especially with Morta watching.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Morta does not seem perturbed, simply watching the wound fitfully leak. "That's pretty deep."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Morta, would you mind stepping into the other room?" Less direct talk had gone past her, it seemed.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] She shrugs, taking the unconscious man by the boot and dragging him towards the hall.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Fine. We need to talk anyway."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "Don't let him scream," he pants, trying to stop himself for the moment.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] He worries about the bug: it was still a better surgeon than he, but its essence reserves weren't infinite. It had healed him and Astrid already. And there would be more wounds later.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "You said it yourself. No one listens to screams. Close your eyes."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] The stomach bottle bug eels up his throat and out of his mouth. Almost routine now. Avir almost didn't feel like he was choking. Wheel can feel it, its long-sharp spider-legs pitter-pattering down his back around his side. "Close your eyes!" Avir repeats sharply as Wheel flinches when the bug reaches his wound.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He does, screwing them shurt to concentrate on something.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "What is that?" he chokes out. No metal or implement he'd seen. Was it . . wet?
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] There is a brief, muted grunt from the other room, ending in a soft choking sound. A moment later, Morta's voice, muffled: "All done."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] It trills softly to itself as it works. "It's healing. That's all you need to know," Avir says, watching it. "Just one more minute in here!" he calls to her.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] It crawls back into its mouth, muttering drowsy and contented now. He gags. "All done," he gasps, as it rolls itself back into a ball in his stomach.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He gasps as the pain eases away. Then stays still for a few moments, getting used to the feeling. "Thank you."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Come in, Morta!" Avir calls.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Morta enters a few moments later, blood splattered from her belly to her chin. "Where to now?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "The temple?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He pushes off the wall and retrieves the hammer. "Let's clear a few more houses first. I don't want them out there when we try to leave the temple with the other Quiet. It'd be a simple matter to block the door and burn it around us.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Not so simple," Avir disagrees.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] He shrugs. "Besides, taking the temple won't be quiet. They'll kill the ones out in the houses when we take it."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "They'll kill the ones there when we take it," Morta says. "They only have the Quiet to play with. They don't want to preserve their lives."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "From what they've said... this is only the first. They're going to be sent into the Scatter to wreak more havoc."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "No they won't. They'll be all dead. We've killed what, eleven already? Am I forgetting some?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "So we don't give them time or the opportunity." Avir clenches his fist. "This is the only Quiet settlement out here, that I know of. The others won't be such ripe and easy pluckings." That didn't mean it wouldn't work, though. Dogs like this about, fighters would want to stay home to protect their families, not fight with the armies.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "They're bigger than this. I don't know how big, but at least as big as the Dead, from the way they were talking. They're run out of Cherak, officially. Made up of the dross from the prisons of a hundred Realm satrapies."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "Going through the houses we can be quiet, take them peacemeal. If we try to take the temple and they resist at the door, we could have trouble if the rest come up behind us>" He shakes his head, grimacing. "I want to free them too, but we have to be patient, constrict and kill them all, not go for the prizxe and let the others slip away or engulf us."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir grimaces. He nods. "We have an ally. From the deal with the ghosts. If we created a distraction- alarming, but not enough to kill the hostages- I think it could kill them all."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "All we need do is cut down those who ran."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "You should never trust a ghost." Morta says solemnly. "It has nothing but time to think of a way out of a promise."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Demons weren't as bright, and its deals weren't as binding. But the point was well-made: he couldn't trust it. "That's why I don't want to unleash it near the Quiet."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] But he had to unleash it sometime. That was his end.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "There can't be many left," Morta says. "I didn't count more than seventeen or eighteen."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "We've killed nine in the village."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir bites his lip. "Fine. We've killed enough we won't need to take absurd precautions during a sweep north to the temple. We can look for any others entertaining themselves then."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Sounds good to me." Morta grunts again. "You two have done well. What happened to the others with you. Are they...?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Alive. Heading back with a warning."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] She nods tersely. "Shall we go, then?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] "Helgara's holed up with some we saved. Astrid's dead." He nods. "Time to finish them then."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] "Let's go."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Wheel] One last time they staked back to the village. Time to finish it.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The trio move north, secure in the knowledge that the watchtower has no eyes on them any longer. Soon, they are back within the sheltering confines of the Quiet houses. Nothing stirs within the humble huts, and though there are signs of recent violence - doors splintered off the frames, blood in the snow, a body here or there - there is little activity now. The hapless Haslanti guard
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] Erdrick slumps over a dead reindeer carcass, his head missing.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] At last, the temple appears ahead. Unlike the other buildings, this one is visibly under guard, with a pair of Dogs outside. They fortunately do not spot the Once Dead yet, and are talking too loudly to be proper sentries, but they're more effort than the Dogs tend to take.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "Man, I'm ready to have some fun, when's Freckle coming back?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "You sweet on her?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] "No, man, none of us can leave until she comes back, and if you think I'm gonna enjoy myself with the fucking Gouger looking at me the whole time, you're nuts."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] The two fall back to grumbling quietly.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir tried to remember the freckled one's build and clothing. Did she have a cloak? A build like Morta's?
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [ST] She was short, and fleshy-faced. Morta would have difficulty passing in pitch darkness.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | [Avir] Avir reaches down and plucks a small stone from under the snow. He hefts it in hand and quirks an eyebrow at Wheel.
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| − | [Avir] When Wheel didn't nix the idea, he tosses the pebble lightly against a wall some thirty feet away. It makes an audible rattling noise as it lands.
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| − | [Wheel] He nods and prepares himself. It was a short run, but accross snow, and a slip would probably be fatal. A Once Dead wouldn't slip, so he would make sure he didn't.
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| − | [ST] "Hey!" One of the guards says, pointing towards the sound of the noise. "Did you hear that?"
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| − | [ST] "I didn't hear nothing, Lukei."
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| − | [ST] "Well, I heard it, go check it out."
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| − | [ST] "Nothing to check out, Lukei."
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| − | [ST] "There damn well is. Hey, Gant, look on the bright side. Maybe it's one of them Quiet women all cold and lonely. I'll wait here in case something happens."
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| − | [ST] With a grumble, the other man begins to advance through the snow, looking perfunctorily here and there.
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| − | [Avir] Right build. Right height. He was even wearing a fucking cloak. As he walks into an alleyway where the pebble landed, he calls in a nasal voice. "There's nothing here!"
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| − | [Avir] Wheel hits him on the head and he goes down like a stone. Avir steps forward and nimbly rips the cloak from the corpse, wrapping it around himself.There was brain material on the hood. He emerges from the alley shaking his head and slouching back to the other guard, imitating the dead man's stride as best he can.
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| − | [ST] It might have worked, if an errant strand of wind hadn't tugged Avir's cloak out of the way just in time, revealing a very visible stump. A moment later, Lukei's eyes open wide, and he shouts in alarm. "INTRUDERS! HERE, BOSS! COME QUICK! COME NOW!"
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| − | [Avir] "Fucker. Worth a try." He whips off the cloak and out comes his sword.
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| − | [ST] A massive clamor rises from inside the temple, and a moment later, the doors burst open, disgorging a handful of the Dogs. They are the same as the ones the Once Dead have seen already, low, craven, almost terrified in their bestial nature. The man who follows them out is something different. He is tall, with short-cropped blond hair and a blank face gray with stubble. His armor shines with
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| − | [ST] oil and care, though it is gray and scarred. He carries something under his arm. Something like a jug, or an urn.
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| − | [ST] It's filled with some faintly yellowish fluid. Tiny balls shift within, sliding over each other with each step he takes. No, Avir realizes a moment, watching them bob and shift in the preservatory fluid. Eyes.
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| − | [Wheel] He waits and watches. Being a few strides closer wouldn't do much. Surprise might.
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| − | [ST] "So," the man calls, his voice high, almost foppish. "The Deadmen come at last, I see. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. From the look of that stump, I wonder if we've crossed paths before. Then again, you'd most likely be dead."
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| − | [Avir] Avir's lip curls. "No. I got this from a worthier foe. A wolf of renown, not some Shanarinaran mongrel."
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| − | [ST] Morta shrinks back into the shadows of the alley, swearing softly as he appears.
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| − | [ST] "A wolf by any other name," the man says with a laugh. "Or not. A dog has learned not to bite the hand that feeds. It has learned to enjoy its life. Why are you here?"
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| − | [Avir] "I came to kill you, of course." He looks at the cowering dogs beside him. "Them too."
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| − | [ST] "There's easier ways to do that." He shakes his head. "No, I think you want to play the hero. No fit job for a corpse, I assure you. We're not so different." He gives a short laugh. The eyes roam slowly in the fluid, a hundred different gazes watching Avir. "Well, funding, perhaps. Nice armor you have there."
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| − | [Avir] "We get other perks too. Baths, for one." Not that you'd know it, the way some of his dear brothers and sisters treated hygeine...but they were on offer.
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| − | [ST] "Doubtless you think us clumsy," the man continues. He makes a gesture, and one of the Dogs hurriedly slams shut the Temple door. "But what you fail to realize is that the Dogs are a very specialized tool. We're very good at what we do. Precise, in our way." He gives a soft chuckle. "They call me the Gouger, but it's such a clumsy name. I don't gouge. I remove."
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| − | [ST] "You would be Avir? The pale one gave you up when I threatened to take out her eye. She wept. She urinated. It was a shameful display. But it is in these moments that we really know ourselves, no?" He gives the jug a shake. "The things these eyes have seen."
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| − | [Avir] Avir is unfazed. His lip curls and his eyes shift from dog to dog. "Morta's worth a dozen of you. The Once Dead recruit a better class of criminal."
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| − | [Avir] His eyes go to the roof. A certain stench wafted down from its peak.
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| − | [ST] "A dog is a dog," the Gouger shakes his head. "A sad thing, when it thinks itself a wolf. You are here to rescue them, yes? And stop me? What say we make it interesting. Dukail!"
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| − | [ST] Slowly, lazily, a lantern flies through the air, crashing into the thatched roof of the temple, spreading, consuming, crackling.
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| − | [ST] "Well," the Gouger says. "Your move."
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| − | [Avir] "Kill the dogs, demon."
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| − | [Avir] Green eyes in the darkness atop the burning roof, and then a joyous hooting noise and the flash of white fangs.
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