The citizens of Blackwood paid no attention to the six gorgons or their chaperones. Simply working harder in a vain hope of ransoming their children before Blackwood’s mercenaries could use them for untoward entertainments. Phaedra could relate, but felt none of their terror as she arrived at the northern gate with little fanfare, finding the sallyport locked and bolted, but unattended. A foolish breach of basics, that if it had occurred in Greenwood, would be having Arlet whip the knights senseless for three weeks. Lord Liam had escaped from this very same gate, yet it was left undefended.
“Theia, Thalya, open the gate, sseek Nyota’ss kin, but do not harm the humansss.” Said Phaedra.
An unattended gate proved boring for the arboreal gorgons. Who used their undulating lengths to zip over the low stone wall. Mont St Michel’s walls were far taller, and obsidian infinitely smoother, turning this burglary into a race between twins. Their only delay was when the twins reached the wall’s pinnacle, slipping a single snakelock through the crenelations to check for guards. When they found none, both sisters entered the gatehouse from either side, opening the northern gate for their men-in-waiting.
“Fine work.” Whispered Jenkins, keeping his voice low as he separated the eighth company.
His skin crawled with anxiety, knowing no sensible leader abandoned an entire gate during a crisis. Something was amiss, and Lord Liam had entrusted him with the job of rescuing the slaves. Theia’s red eyes searched the wall running eastward, two other gorgons and half the Sintrans with her. Thalya moved westward with the rest, including Phaedra and Jenkins.
Blackwood ‘Castle’ was –like all things belonging to the viscount– highly overstated. While the keep proper appeared large and impressive, that was only an illusion. Brought about by the unusually squat stone wall and the expansive grounds.
Jenkins’ circled the keep, surprised, but mostly annoyed, by the keep’s proximity to an undefended gate, it was barely a stone throw away. They should have been discovered, or at least intercepted. Yet no souls could be found. Not even a guard dog or grunting pig heralded the wall’s breach. Nor was there a watchman in the keep to sound the alarm as a foreign army entered! The incompetence on display stunned Jenkins, with Phaedra mirroring his consternation. Her snakelocks flowing through the air as if swimming through thick salt water. Perpetually seeking targets for her bow.
The air grew thick as they approached the pig pens, three squat stone buildings with the miasma of perpetual filth. Jenkins raised a fist, calling their search to a halt. His eyes failed him, but his gut was screaming a warning of danger, and ambushes.
Phaedra sensed it too. Stench wasn’t the only thing swirling in midair. Three portals swirled into life, forming a perfect line of purple hurricanes. Unlike the calm rivers of previous portals, these burst into life, smashing themselves flat and disgorging their contents within seconds. Thalya slid down the wall onto the first pig pen, splaying her trunk wide to lessen her pressure on the thatch rooftop. She landed as two hellhounds slid through the portals, sandwiching an unarmed gorgon who emerged from the central portal. Whose glowing gorgon eyes wandered across the Sintran’s, squarely meeting Jenkins’ gaze.
—
Cedric surveyed the great hall, massive tapestries three stories tall filled the cavernous room, transforming the hall from a dinner room into a northern marvel. Not even Duke Hamilton’s palace had a room to compete with the sheer opulence of Blackwood’s hall. Columns ran in two rows through the hall, purely decorative, though whomever had installed them went to great lengths to conceal that fact. Marble plinths had been carved for the marble columns to stand atop, hoisting them high enough to kiss the ceiling and prevent them from tumbling on rowdy diners.
Around the entryway four score felinids huddled together, their threadbare clothes providing them little warmth. A deficit they recovered by standing in a mass, pressing against each other. Not a single one would meet his eyes, or touch the cauldron of soup the kitchens had prepared.
“Cmon, quit cowering by the door and eat up.” Ordered Cedric.
None of the felinids moved, earning Cedric’s ire. He stormed into the mass of bodies, pulling them apart by force.
“Move it! Others are waiting to eat!” Shouted Cedric, growing annoyed.
A few moved towards the table, at a pace that made tortoises look speedy. He grabbed a burly man, trying to move him and finding his strength insufficient for the task.
“Our Lord forbids cats at his dinner table, who are you to defy him?” Asked the man.
“Who am I? Who-” Snapped Cedric, gesturing to his royal magician’s robes, then stopping.
Of course northern slaves can’t tell a royal magician apart from a butler! Entirely fed up with the stubborn slaves Cedric raised one hand to the ceiling, summoning a roaring ball of fire. The heat should have made them scatter, instead it made them bow, pressing themselves against the floor.
“Spare us lord!”
“We’ll do as you wish sire!”
Their worship made Cedric sick. These people were broken, feral, understanding nothing more than a timid poodle might. Magic was strength.
“I am a royal magician! From King Aldric’s court! Now go eat the damn soup!” Screamed Cedric.
Dozens of slaves scattered into the hall, running from Cedric’s flames. Though they slowed near the cauldron of soup, idling around it, pretending to eat. Tails tucked between their legs and ears low.
He dismissed the flames, reabsorbing the mana into himself. Prostrated slaves stood or crawled away from him, steering clear of him. Stomachs growled with hunger as they neared the steaming cauldron of soup. Drool filled their mouths at the scent of soup with sustenance, and actual meat. Not just month old bread, rotten vegetables, and moldy stock. Though Initially destined for Blackwood’s soldiers, Cedric had diverted this soup, knowing the kitchens wouldn’t risk their lives by poisoning soldiers. He’d hoped the slaves would be grateful, but now he was beginning to regret the soup stealing. Cowardly doesn’t begin to describe these people, at this rate I’ll have to drag Blackwood in here by the ear! Maybe then they’ll listen to me.
Cedric turned to leave the hall, settling on the idea of dragging in someone, an overseer or even a knight if necessary. When a small hand tugged on his black robes, leaving a small grease stain across one of his few fiery pinions. His left eye twitched involuntarily, yet he found the patience to shut his eyes, and face the girl, instead of yelling over his soiled accolade.
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“Yes?” He asked.
“Can we really eat the warrior’s soup?” Asked the girl.
Her tone was earnest, innocent, but most importantly unbroken. Cedric’s eyes snapped open, taking in this potential olive branch. She was a small –barely equal with his waist– raven haired girl with lynx-like ears, tiny tufts of starchy hair protruding from their peaks. An odd mutation, but there was more, she smelled different. Yes, she smelled like all slaves, unwashed body, unbrushed teeth, and muddy. But beneath it all, there was something else, something that stiffened Cedric’s spine and quieted his mind. Though Cedric would never know what compelled him in that moment, but he channeled his mana, reached out and ran his darkness shielded finger over her ear, swishing that little tuft of fur. Naturally, her ears flicked, brushing past his finger twice, trying to dispel the errant insect. And dispersing his mana instead.
Cedric blinked, she had broken his shield with a flick of her ear. An incomprehensible act that pummeled him with a single conclusion.
“Eclipsiarch.” He muttered, withdrawing his hand.
Whatever sound in the great hall there had been, died on his lips. As every felinid froze, ears flicking in unison to face Cedric’s single word. He swallowed, noticing exactly how many slaves were near him, nearly a dozen men, along with a half dozen women stared at him, like feral cats facing down a cobra.
“Knock it off.” Began Cedric, leveling his finger at them. “I value my life enough to kill, do not approach me–”
A man-slave lunged, teeth barred and aimed at Cedric’s throat. Eyes full of deadly intentions. But Cedric was a royal magician, in a kingdom that valued strength. He sidestepped, slapping the man across the face to send him sprawling into other slaves.
They had the advantage in numbers, but Cedric knew the source of their sudden assault. Waltz stepping forward he caught the lynx-eared child by the throat, and swept her feet with his second hand. Raising her to eye level he summoned a shield of darkness, encasing himself in mana.
“Get back, or I’ll kill her here and now.” Snapped Cedric.
Ears flicked away from him, lying flat, ready for a fight, yet immobile.
Cedric adjusted his grip so the girl was fully supported by his second hand, and released her collared throat. She did not resist him, nor did her miniscule weight hinder him at all. In fact, she leaned into him, as if he was nothing more than a protective blanket to keep her warm. A dozen elderly slaves, gray haired and hunched blocked the door, preventing his escape. Fools… Thought Cedric, knowing he could slay them all with a wave of his hand. But that wasn’t his mission.
Instead he strode across the grand hall, retrieved a piping hot bowl of ‘the damn soup’ and handed it to the young eclipsiarch, along with a single question.
“What’s your name?”
“Lyra!” Said the girl, accepting the soup with a smile.
Cedric carried her to Blackwood’s chair –a horrifically gaudy throne– and seated her in it. The simple action made several slaves faint at the implied insult.
“Nice to meat you Lyra, my name is Cedric, and they call me Darkflame.” He said, summoning an orb of shadow and an orb of flame, juggling the two spheres.
Lyra watched his mana with widening pupils, eyes focusing as she beheld magic performed solely for her entertainment. All slaves naturally defered to an eclipsiarch, even a child, but none of them save the lost Nyota wielded magic. Lyra watched the spheres grew, forming humanoid figures, one an eclipsiarch, and one an elderly man.
“Enjoy your soup, by order of Lady Nyota Green, and Lord William Green.” Said Cedric, bowing at the waist.
“But Nyota’s gone…” Said Lyra, clearly confused.
Cedric only winked at her, face contorting into a knowing grin. Which he held for the twenty seconds it took to form a portal beneath his feet, bypassing the warding slaves.
“She’ll be back.” He said, sinking into the floor.
—
‘Silver’ carried another bucket of water into the pig pens, thankful to have Yoko’s assistance. Her gaze never wandered above the ground, else she would have seen a glistening golden banana gorgon atop the northern gatehouse. An understandable oversight considering her duty of bathing sixty odd people. A brutally futile task, one that meant ‘Silver’ aka Kira, was being punished. But at least Lucrezia hadn’t decided to vivisect anyone… This time.
“Think she’ll whip me later?” Asked ‘Silver’ Kira.
“You’ve got a better chance of Lady Blackwood speaking your name than avoiding her lash.” Answered ‘Blackie’ Yoko.
Kira shivered, wishing she had never caught Lady Blackwood’s eye. She could handle scrubbing floors or cleaning stone poop-chutes, at least people left her alone then. But not Lady Lucrezia Blackwood, oh no, tell her the truth or tell her a lie, Kira would be whipped regardless. And with Nyota gone there were no healers amongst the slaves. Lashes would scar, if she were lucky enough to avoid infection. And after Niana had vanished, there were no eclipsiarchs to cheat the lash by lessening the blow and amplifying the sound. A pity.
“I’m still sore from last time… Why is it always me!” Lamented Kira, eyes beginning to water at the thought of enduring more lashes.
Lucrezia wasn’t strong, but she was painfully thorough, whipping her maids until her arm grew tired. Then she would have lunch, sipping tea while making her chosen victim wait, barebacked, bleeding, and bound to a post or cross. Never knowing when the lash would strike again. Or if they would be mercifully ignored.
“Lord Blackwood called Nyota Lady Green, and he looked so thin!” Whispered Yoko ‘Blackie’, pouring her bucket into a tub. Even neutered as he was, Yoko still feared Lord Blackwood and dared not allow herself to be overheard.
“It’s like that song Nyota always sang to us… ah- If only it could be true.” Said Kira.
She emptied her own bucket, preparing the tub before unchaining the nearest slaves. Three men, a woman, and a child by the name of Nora. As if the pig pen wasn’t degrading enough, the slaves had to be chained to the wall, limited to a length of six feet, not enough to reach the walkway. Even if two slaves on opposite walls both pulled their chains tight and fully extended their arms, they wouldn’t be able to touch each other.
The three men turned their backs on the tub, forming the pretext of privacy for the youngest to enjoy. While Yoko helped Nora strip and bathe –humming the tune Nyota taught her– completely ignorant of the portal forming within the far end of the building. Its squat roof and unlit walkway concealed both purple rivers for the few critical seconds that meant the difference between flight –survival– and remaining occupied with Nora’s bath –death–.
The maid’s first inkling of something going awry came when rattling chains echoed through the building, slaves moving away from a horse sized wolf covered in flames. It sniffed the air, licking three inch long canines as it detected fear.
Yoko never hesitated. She dropped her rag, sweeping Nora into her arms and ran for the door. Of all slaves, only the eclipsiarchs were worth protecting, a sentiment all slaves held.
But her flight came too late. The hellhound didn’t think, it sprinted; the beast’s predatory instinct triggered by fleeing prey. Each of its strides covered ten feet, devouring the distance in a way only it could. Kira knew they wouldn’t make it, and ran anyways. She had to try.
“Run!” She yelled to Nora, tossing the wet slavecat forward and turning back.
Yoko prepared to meet her death, hoping it would buy Nora a few precious seconds. The other slaves followed her example, forming a wall of living bodies. Yet, they hadn’t noticed the second portal, or what creature emerged from the scintillating blue disk until Nora bounced off the second monstrocity’s paunch.