The moment the door opens and Vandryss steps inside I know I’m going to die. I don’t even have to see the particular look on her face to know that this does not bode well at all for either myself or my father, it’s clear enough just from all the noise we’ve been picking up from outside. Even with the door locked tight I’ve still been able to keep vague track of what’s going on out there, first hearing raised voices from barked orders and what I assumed was a distinctly increased level of concern. Then much more muffled sounds of struggle and violence from above, as well as more than one particularly large percussive crash that shook the building hard enough, even from all the way down here, that I almost lost my own footing. And now, finally, shouting from much closer, just outside, including more than one voice I recognised.
At least for a few moments, I was starting to hope, slender as it may have been. Hearing Shay in particular, it was almost a relief. Da was a good deal more worried up until then, finally giving up on trying to think of his plans for our escape, or more likely just my own, and instead simply starting to unburden himself as he saw the end potentially approaching for both of us. He told me that he loved me, that he was so proud of me, that he couldn’t possibly imagine me turning out any more amazing than what he saw before him now. It was almost enough to make me cry, even as I tried hard to keep his spirits up, telling him we could still get out of this, that my friends could well win through out there. Certainly it sounded like a possibility.
Now, as Vandryss immediately focuses on me and her brows just start to knit while her lips draw thinner than I’ve ever seen them before … honestly, even if they are winning out there I’m already doubting I’ll actually live to see our victory. Then I realise that Tavarrat’s stepped in with someone I don’t know in tow, and turns her key in the lock to seal us in before finally stepping into the room proper. Looking a good deal more fretful than her companion, breathing hard in something approaching shock while her eyes are wide. As though her mind’s not really here right now.
I take a big step back and the wall’s right behind me, I can’t go further. Sucking in a deep breath, I raise my hands, trying to come up with something to say that might defuse the mood that’s already pervading the room, but nothing comes. Not that I could think anything up, I’m getting to know this horrible woman well enough to guess that she’ll do whatever she wants no matter what I say.
Vandryss watches me for a long beat, her eyes slowly narrowing as she looks me up and down, then back up again, her jaw clenching and loosening over and over again just as her fingers keep clenching into fists and relaxing again. Finally she takes a step forward, then stops, hissing: “Damn it!” low but very full of venom.
“We can’t … Van, I can’t just leave him!” Tavarrat’s clutching her staff tightly, pacing over the same few feet back and forth while she’s staring at the door. “This isn’t right … I can’t do it. He’s going to … please, I need you to help me –”
“For fuck’s sake, Luthan!” Vandryss snaps, turning to give her a sharp sidelong glare while her fists clench again. “He told you to go! He’s fucking right, we need to go. He’s buying you this chance. Do you want to waste it?”
Gods, this cruel bitch … as much as Tavarrat has burned all her opportunities to make me feel sorry for her, I can’t help feeling some small sympathy all the same hearing that. But I hold my tongue, trying my best not to draw unnecessary attention right now.
“Yes, you should leave.” My father strikes up now as I hear the clink of his chains as he starts to draw himself up into a more upright sitting position, at least as much as he can manage given how exhausted and broken he is. “You should … truly, it sounds like your time’s running out quickly now. You could all just disappear now, and I’m sure that you’ll be able to get away. I’m certainly not going to try chasing you. Not right now. Perhaps not at all, if you left us both unharmed.”
She doesn’t quite bare her teeth as she turns to him, but Vandryss gives him a sour look all the same as she takes a step his way now. Even though I really don’t think he’s even speaking to her, I suspect those words are meant more for Tavarrat right now. Trying to appeal to the more rational of the two of them. I’m sure he’d find it painfully hard to speak so civilly to our constant torturer after all she’s done to both of us in this room.
The third one … I’ve never seen him before, but one glance at him tells me he can’t be one of their regular henchmen. The handful I’ve seen in my time here have a somewhat uniform look, motley as they all seem to dress and style themselves. This one … to be honest, he almost seems more akin to the kind of company I keep these days.
He’s a half-orc, young and quite strapping really, although while he’s broad and solid across his shoulders he still seems somewhat leaner than some I’ve come across in my time, built more for speed than strength. He’s definitely every inch the fighter his kin are, though, this much is obvious at a glance. Dressed in a somewhat slapdash mixture of boiled leather and battered pieces of splint armour, the only truly uniform gear he’s wearing is a strange buckskin kilt, long to his knees, more pieces of splint steel stitched across the loose flaps. I’ve never seen fashion such as this, and I’d be hard pressed to imagine what it’s actually intended for, even if I was more martially minded to begin with. Mostly I’m just concentrating on how he’s armed right now, anyway, judging how much of an inherent threat he is, seeing a battered longsword hung at his hip and a substantial collection of smaller blades strapped about him too. Enough to make me think he graduated from a similar school of thought to Kesla when it comes to his steel.
For the most part he just seems confused by what’s going on in here now, like he doesn’t know why they’ve brought him in here in the first place. Genuinely baffled, in fact, looking Vandryss over with a regard which seems equal parts wary suspicion and badly concealed dislike. This is enough to convince me that he must be one of the Mallys’ people instead, which makes sense given his obvious sellsword garb. Not necessarily an enemy in this then, at least not in this specific moment, but unlikely to be an automatic friend either.
“You might want to hold your tongue, Foxtail.” Vandryss hisses now, stepping closer to my father now. “I have no further reason to keep you alive now. In fact it would be far wiser for me to simply kill you now, before we leave. Sever any ties we might have left here now. Remove a threat before it presents itself, perhaps.” She leans close, bending at her waist while she plants her hands on her hips. “Both of you. You might be better off begging me for some mercy, at least for your child.”
The half-orc blinks at that, turning to look at me now, and as he does so his frown starts to turn into something more complicated … open worry, I realise after a moment. I don’t know what that’s about, but it gives me some hope, just a sliver, but better than nothing.
“I don’t see why.” Da growls now, and when I turn back I see he’s regarding her with a particularly desolate look on what’s left of his face that’s not still swollen and bruised. “You’ve offered none to us so far, only torture and threats of much worse. You’ve laid your intentions bare and I know any offers you make are as hollow as your cruel, black heart. I know better than to beg mercy of a monster, Vandryss. I just want you to see some bloody sense.”
Straightening up, she takes a small step back and turns enough I can make out her face again, and when I see she’s actually smiling I go cold. Gods … somehow that feels like the worst sign I could possibly see in this situation. “Sense? Really?” She chuckles for a moment, and it’s a discordant, twisted sound that makes my skin crawl, as unsettling and simply wrong as everything else about her. “That’s fucking rich. All right, I’ll look at the situation with a modicum of sense.” She shifts her weight as she taps her chin for a few beats, gazing up at the ceiling in what feels more like a mockery of consideration as a genuine act. “Hmmm … you know what? I do see sense. The sense in doing the smart thing right now. For us.”
Her sword’s out so fast I don’t have a chance to react as she lunges forward and stabs him. By the time I’ve realised what’s happened she’s already withdrawing, and I start to run forward, only for the half-orc to react first and scramble forward to wrap me up in powerful, thickly muscled arms, holding me as fast in place as if I was caged with iron too. I start struggling immediately, but he just tightens his grip so I can’t even move, never mind reach my father as she steps away from him, whipping her sword off to the side to shake off his blood. Before stepping back to stab him again.
This time I find my voice enough to cry out, no words but just a grating, broken howl that immediately hurts my still tender throat, and even though I already know this is pointless I try to break free regardless. I’m no more successful than the first try, all I can do is sob as I watch my father gape down at the gushing wounds through his chest in pure shock. He tries to speak but nothing comes, just a ragged, winded gasp that sounds horrible.
Giving her sword a few more expansive flourishes to the side, Vandryss turns away from him before sheathing it again and stalking up to Tavarrat, who’s still pacing back and forth as she gawks at the door. She reaches out and grabs the rogue wizard’s shoulder, roughly turning her around as she grabs the other and immediately starts shaking her. “For fuck’s sake … snap out of it, just stupid bitch! We have to go! Get your shit in order and work your fucking magic! Now!”
For a moment Tavarrat just stares at her, her mouth working but nothing coming out, so Vandryss just lets go with her right hand and winds up to slap her very hard indeed across her face with a truly savage backhander. It hits her hard enough I don’t doubt she’d go straight down if the pale woman wasn’t still holding onto her like grim death, and as she reels back, taking another long beat to focus, I see her lip’s split and bleeding badly.
“Oh … ow … Van, I … what are you –”
Vandryss shakes her again for good measure, then finally releases her to stumble for several shaky steps before she finally finds her balance again. As she frowns before starting to cast about, finally finding her staff and bending to collect it again, she spits a little more blood out on the floor and groans before grunting: “Ah … damn you … all right, just give me a moment, for Minerva’s sake.”
Hearing her invoke our beautiful goddess that she’s so gravely sullied with her awful treachery finally loosens my tongue, and I just unleash upon her, feeling my face flush as the heat rises from the anger surging through me, making my head swim with noise. “Oh you bitch … you wicked evil bitch, how dare you use that name in our presence?! Have you no fucking shame? You’ll burn in ten thousand hells for what you’ve done, I promise you! Minerva will never forgive you for this! You’re cursed, I swear it! You’re fucking cursed!”
She rounds on me now, wide-eyed, watching me for a long, drawn out moment as her grip tightens on her staff. Then her face hardens and she turns away quickly, hissing something I can’t make out under her breath before shaking her free hand out. “Damn it … come on then. Let’s just be done with this.”
“All right, then …” Vandryss hisses the words, and as she steps close to me again I look down at her hands to see they’re working again, clenching and loosening like before, suggesting that she’s preparing to draw one of her blades and stab me too. Oh gods … no, I’m not ready, I can’t … no, I have to see him again, I have to tell him –
Clearing her throat, Vandryss steps close enough I can almost smell her horrible breath again, standing up straight enough she almost doesn’t need to crane to look up into my eyes. Suddenly she seems alarmingly calm, but right now that really does feel worse. “We’re going now. You, what’s your name … oh never mind, I really don’t care. When we’re gone, kill this one. I really don’t care how, I just want you to make it slow. I made a promise to her father, after all. Make it hurt, make her suffer. Some humiliation wouldn’t go amiss, either.”
As she backs up, starting to turn to join Tavarrat now, I feel the arms around me start to loosen, not enough for me to break free, but still noticeable. His breath is hot on my ear as he speaks, sounding flustered now, and I detect a subtle accent in his speech, nothing so thick as the half-hob cleric’s but clear enough. Abharet, I should think. “”What are you … no, I don’t reckon I will, there’s no way –”
Turning back, she looks right past me now with hot, blazing eyes, giving him a truly savage look now, and it’s enough to chill my blood all over again. “Yes you fucking will. You owe us, I’ll remind you now, you stupid little boy. Your useless bitch of a leader already agreed to this, she’s obliged and so are all of you. So if I tell you to murder this little bitch here, and do it slow, in the worst way you possibly can, you will do it. Or I promise I will have every single one of your friends die in the worst ways I can possibly imagine.” She steps closer now, craning again, more to get to his height as her eyes seem to bulge now, she’s staring at him so hard. “Do not test me, boy.”
Whipping around without another word, she stalks straight to Tavarrat and takes her hand as it’s offered … then they’re gone in the blink of a half-glimpsed dimensional doorway that seems to close right through them both as the wizard utters her incantation, and we’re left alone in relative quiet now, just the two of us.
For a long beat nothing happens, I just wait here in his still iron hard grasp as he breathes more heavily against my back now, and even though I can’t see his face I can feel the tension in him all the same, the indecision. I’m about to speak, thinking perhaps I could try appealing to his better nature, he certainly doesn’t seem like an evil person, any more than the other two I’ve met from his crew seemed to be. Then he lets go and I almost fall forward onto my face, it’s so sudden that I’m entirely unprepared for it.
Instead I stumble forward for a few steps and then, as soon as I’ve caught myself, turn on the spot and rush straight to my father. I fall to my knees just before I arrive and reach out, my right hand going to his face while my left hovers just shy of his wounds, hesitant to probe these awful gaping breaches in his flesh that already look to have spilled so much of his blood into his lap. I’m sobbing again, my vision blurring as the tears come, and when I speak now my voice is already cracking, my sore throat suddenly thick. “Oh da … oh my gods … what did she … oh no, please don’t … what can I … I can’t … what do I do?”
At first he just sits there, still gasping and heaving as he tries and very much fails to drag in fresh breath, and it’s immediately, painfully clear to me why, she’s run him clean through both of his lungs. Even as he’s bleeding like a stuck pig they’re both filling with blood, and he’s drowning right here where’s he’s sitting. When he finally musters enough strength to try talking all that he can manage is a rasping, choked wheeze and a little splash of particularly bright, bubbly blood that splatters my face. This only makes me cry harder, and now I can’t speak either.
Then I hear the subtlest hissing whisper of steel on leather behind me, and two slow, hesitant footfalls, and when I look up into my father’s eyes I see them grow wider as they look above me. Behind me. At what’s approaching my back. I already know what I’ll see before I turn to look.
“I’m sorry … please, just … I’m sorry. I got no choice.”
The half-orc’s drawn his sword now, and while the blade is made from just the kind of workmanlike steel I expected it still looks strong enough for the job, and the edges and sharp, needle-fine point have been kept wickedly keen too. It’s an implied threat all on its own, despite his reluctant, troubled face and locked-off stance, sword dangling low at his side as though he’s not already committed to what he’s about to do. But he still takes another step towards me, and I hear my father wheeze again, trying to speak with greater urgency now.
Meanwhile I get up, very slowly, and as I turn towards him I raise my hands, just as gradually, wary of making any sudden moves now as I start to take similarly careful steps to my side. “Okay … all right, Master … no, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, can I have your name, at least?”
Frowning a little, he pauses for a beat, licking his lips as he watches me. “I … what? No, I … I can’t just … Kuth. It’s … it’s Kuth …”
“Kuth.” I roll it around my mouth for a moment before repeating it. “Kuth … it’s very … it’s good to meet you … um … sorry, yes … well met, Kuth. I’m Gael. Gael Foxtail. You seem like a smart, careful, kind boy, you really do. I’m sure you are. You don’t want to kill me, you’ve already made that clear. And I definitely don’t want to die, Kuth. I’ve done nothing to harm you, and so far, I’m sure you haven’t done anything to harm me either. So there’s no reason for any of this. You can just put that away and leave, or you could even help me, perhaps … help me save my da, I don’t want him to die either … please …”
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“No …” he grunts, taking a more focused step towards me now, his frown deepening as his jaw tightens, and now he raises the sword as he takes another step forward. “No. No, I … no. I can’t do that. She’s right, I got no choice, I gotta kill you. You don’t understand, we’re stuck, Dram said as much, none of us got any choice in this. I have to kill you. I’m sorry …”
“Please …” da manages to choke out, but it makes him cough up significantly more of that awful bubbling blood as he does it. “Don’t … please don’t … not my … not my … please …”
As Kuth looks to him for a moment I take a few quicker, more urgent steps to the side and push myself back towards the wall, waiting until my back’s to it before finally stooping to pick up a big handful of the chains still attached to the bands around my wrists. When he turns back and sees me here now his face darkens considerably, his eyes starting the inexorable roll from yellowed amber to deeper red as he bares his teeth and takes a bigger, more focused step towards me. Then another …
On the third he sets foot on the exact spot I was hoping, absolute praying he would, and in that instant I send up a silent prayer to Minerva that this actually works, otherwise I know I’m going to die.
Ever since I was last left alone in here with da, I’ve been wracking my brains, desperate for any way to get us both out of this horrific situation, the slightest possible tactical advantage I could possibly muster. There’s almost nothing at my disposal, Tavarrat has done a remarkable job of severing both of us from all of our magic with these invocation fetters, even without the chains lashing him to the pipes da would still be as helpless as a kitten, and I am too. Or at least that’s what they all thought.
Perhaps it’s just that she’s so much further removed from her time in the Academy than I am, my own extensive, intensive magical education still so usefully fresh in my memories. Or maybe she just overlooked it in her overconfidence. Whatever the case may be, she missed one extremely subtle flaw in her logic that, if it does work, will allow me to circumvent the fetters’ deadening in one key way.
When Kuth puts his foot down on that third step, he steps on a sigil I drew on the hard stone of the floor, under a piece of carpet I was able to prise up and then tack back down, and completes an otherwise inert magical circuit. When they first came back there were a few moments where I worried they might have rumbled me, that Vandryss at least, with her uncanny, horrible ways, might have caught on, might have smelt it if nothing else. Keyed in on the smell of still relative fresh blood in the air, perhaps …
Partly it was just that I have nothing else to write in, Tavarrat stripped me of my components as well as my robes so I have no chalk or charcoal to draw lines on any surfaces. But in fact the blood is very much the key in this. I’ve explained this to Kesla more than once, I remember, that blood is the most powerful component we have in magic. So I rubbed and tugged and scraped my left wrist as much as I could, chafing and abrading it against the cuff over and over until it bled. I hoped I could pass it off as just desperation, trying to yank my hand out after all, if they did see it hopefully they’d just chastise me for being so foolish as to try something so pointless. Instead they missed it, clearly distracted by far more pressing matters going on outside which they were desperate to run from. Meanwhile I now had the perfect ingredient to make this work.
Because the invocation fetters only deaden my magic, they don’t destroy it, I still have it flowing through my veins, dormant but ready and waiting for me to unleash it, I simply can’t while these bonds are clamped around me. But when my blood is outside my body, I can at least use an otherwise inert cantrip to set up a booby trap that someone could blunder into and activate without even realising it …
Despite the thin, cheap carpet laid over the top of it, I still catch sight of the sudden flare of bright blue light as the sigil keys in under his foot, and I feel the throb of the sudden activation pulse through me as my own otherwise deadened blood responds in sympathy. The first Kuth knows of anything happening, however, is when bright, crackling arcs of dancing static race up his limbs with blinding speed to quickly encompass his entire body, shocking him to his core. For a few moments he stays where he is, shuddering and quaking in place as all of his muscles seize up at once while the immense power of several miniature lightning bolts lance right through him … then the charge shorts out and he just sways for a moment, stiff and still as he smokes heavily, before finally dropping backwards like a felled tree.
I stay where I am for a long beat, watching closely as I slowly drop into a tight crouch. Not quite holding my breath, but I can feel my heart pounding in my chest even so, the potential threat of violence still hanging in the air enough to keep me anxious. Then I finally start to relax by increments, hoping that maybe it’s done enough damage to at least put him out of commission for a while. I doubt he’s actually dead, he’s still pretty big, and a half-orc to boot, they’re notoriously tough. But hopefully that’s still it from him, at least for now.
So I take a deep breath and start to inch forward, approaching with caution as I lean forward into a low, wary creep towards him. I’m easing my way around him, close to his sword arm now, when he suddenly gasps, as if he’s only just started breathing again, and his hands finally uncurl from fists so his sword finally clatters to the floor beside him. It’s enough to make me jump, springing back on my tight flanks, and I clutch the bundled chains close to me as I watch him for another fraught, nerve-wracking moment, waiting to see if he moves again.
He doesn’t but after another moment he starts to groan, very faintly, a long, low note of profound pain. I have to clench my jaw tight and purposely ignore him now to keep from feeling profoundly sorry for what I’ve just done, instead inching towards his sword now, reaching for it with due caution.
The moment I touch the hilt it burns my fingers horribly, the pain is genuinely shocking, like accidentally putting my hand on a stove I had no idea was blazing hot, and I almost fall on my backside pulling back this time. I give my hand a furious shake with a wounded hiss, before sticking all of my fingertips in my mouth and sucking on them hard, feeling fresh tears pricking my eyes again.
Then da coughs again and tries to speak: “Gael …” Once more he descends to coughing, but tries to muddle through. “Oh … go. You need … to go … go now. Don’t worry … about me …”
As he pitches another coughing fit which brings up even more blood, I wince in sympathy while my chest tightens along with my throat and my tears start to run free again. “Oh, but … no. No, what about … I can’t just –”
“GO!!!” He manages to snarl the word, and then just vomits up even more blood. More coughing follows, wetter than before and a good deal more ragged, and with each spasm of his chest more blood spills from his ragged wounds. I almost defy him, wanting to return to him so badly, to try to plug those holes, but I know I have no way to stem that awful flow, the only hope for him now is out there, if my friends really are fighting their way through to us now. Which I know they must be …
So I start to move for the door, carefully picking my way past the sprawled form at my feet, swiping my cleaner sleeve across my face while I take a big, snotty sniff. “All right … but I’ll be right back. I’ll get –”
A very hot hand grasps my ankle before I can get all the way past and I go down long before I have a hope of catching myself. It jogs my shoulder badly when I land, and while it’s long since been healed from when I broke it last week my body seems to remember the pain all the same, and it’s bad enough to make me cry out. I suck in a desperate breath and yank my foot free of those steely fingers, starting to kick away from him now as he rolls over with a wounded groan and blinks bloodshot eyes that take a moment to focus on me. But he’s still got too much of his old strength in him as he reaches for me now, and I shuffle back as fast as I can on my backside, desperate to clear as much distance as I can from him before running for the door.
Except that I forgot about the chains in all this confusion, so when he grabs hold of a handful of trailing links he yanks me over onto my side again and starts to tow me towards him again with alarming speed. Looking supremely angry now as he gnashes his bloody teeth, growling senseless gibberish that nonetheless manages to sound terribly threatening.
Lashing out as soon as I’m close enough, I crack my boot-heel as hard as I can across his face, but this just produces a furious little snarl as he spits a little blood and, from the look of it, a few teeth. He loses his grip, but nowhere near as much as I’d like, barely giving me enough slack to start pulling away before he renews his efforts and works on towing me back again.
So I do the only thing I can think of in the moment, with the only weapon I have to hand. Picking up a long coil of loose chain, I wind it up behind my head and give it a good sharp twist before snapping it into his face. It strikes him across the bridge of his nose with a savage, clinking snap, and he lets go immediately, cradling his now well-broken nose with both hands as blood starts to spurt between his fingers. He utters another hollow moan as he doubles over, while I take full advantage of the distraction to roll over and shove myself to my feet, already starting to bolt for the door.
The chain snags again before I even get close to it, and this time I’m moving fast enough that it jerks me right off my feet. I don’t have a chance to catch myself as I tumble backwards, landing hard enough to batter all the air out of me while my head spins for a long moment as I try to shake some sense back into it. By the time I’ve rolled up into a sitting position I can feel the chains start to tug on me again, and I scramble to scrape up as much of the remaining span as I can, digging my heels hard into the carpet under me now as I take up my end of the slack. Only now feeling the angry, sore line of hot pain across my tongue where I bit it when I crashed down, tasting blood filling my mouth which I spit out without care for where it actually goes as I finally start to get angry.
For the first few moments I manage to hold myself there, but I can’t drag in any more of the length strung out taut between us as it becomes clear that, even after the massive jolt I gave him, he’s still a good deal stronger than I am. I wind as much of what I’ve still got as I can around my forearms as I lean back and tense my legs as much as I can, but within moments my shoulders and back and thighs are screaming at me and the links start cutting into my hands. Then the carpet starts to tear under my heels and I realise this just won’t work.
When the threadbare material under my feet finally gives out entirely and rips loose in one long frayed strip right under me, he starts to drag me back so forcefully I spin right around before I can catch myself. I feel the cheap weave burning my arm right through my sleeve and back as I’m pulled right into his grasp, and as he starts to rear up on shaky knees I kick out to try and fend him off. It doesn’t do anything, it’s like kicking a solid oak log wrapped in boiled leather.
Letting go of what little chain I’ve still got in my grip, I just start pummelling him with my fists as he starts to awkwardly straddle me. I make contact at least half a dozen times, landing two pretty decent punches in his face that nonetheless don’t seem to much of anything, he just batters my hands aside and rears back to swing down and crack me across my face in return.
It's like stars exploding in my skull, a bright flash before everything turns into dancing lights and a kaleidoscope of crazy colours that I’m slow to realise is my vision gone all kinds of blurry as it spins wildly. I try to will my arms to work enough to strike him again, but I can’t feel much of anything beside the dull but bright ache across the whole lower half of my face so I have no idea if I even make contact this time. The next thing I do notice is when he grabs hold of my collar and pulls me up off the floor just enough to shove me back down good and hard, slamming me into the floor with enough force to thump out all of my air again. I’m left lying where I am, wheezing violently, as my senses finally come back to me.
Just as he leans down and, almost leisurely, curls the fingers of both hands around my throat. In the back of my mind I hear some small part of my cry out: Oh for the love of the gods, not this again! … but mostly I just become immediately, desperately aware that I’d barely had any chance to get any air back in my lungs in time before he did this, so within moments I’m starting to suffocate as he proceeds to choke me. Squeezing with even more force than Vandryss used before, I can already feel the tendons in my neck starting to bend and tear under the sheer force of it.
Within moments I’m fighting for my life, my legs kicking violently underneath him while I try to batter his arms away, but it’s like fighting two worryingly thick spans of solid steel, it only hurts me. Meanwhile my lungs are burning and my head is swimming while my vision starts to dim and compact into a narrow tunnel edged with red-rimmed black. I can hear my father trying to cry out from a thousand miles away, but mostly I just hear that awful rushing sound in my ears, just one of the many things I hoped I’d never experience again that are all coming at once expressly to torment me now in my final moments …
Looking up through that narrowing hole of existence at his face now, slipping further away as I watch, I can see he’s not really there anymore, he’s just a mask of furious rage, his green-skinned face flushed dark while his teeth are clenched tight and his eyes bulging. Their irises are even more red than the blood still streaking his teeth and smearing his lower face, there’s no more sense in them now than mercy. Right now he might murder me without even realising he’s doing Vandryss’ bidding after all …
I don’t even realise I’ve reached out with my right hand, not even knowing where I’m grasping, until I find one of the knives at his flanks and drag it free to plunge into his side. There’s a moment of resistance that’s probably the armour under his arm, but this pops after a beat and the blade slides in with a strange hot sizzle that’s my first indication that the knife is just as hot as the sword was before. The pain comes a moment after as I feel the hilt sear my palm and fingers, but I just grit my teeth and push it as deep as it’ll go, right up to the hilt.
This doesn’t seem to have much of an effect, so I just drag it out and drive it right back in again, more forcefully this time so there’s less resistance, and I keep doing it over and over, waiting for him to finally notice. It must take at least a dozen quick, deep punctures in his side, from waist to armpit, before he starts to falter, but the grip at my throat barely slips, and I realise now that I have seconds before I pass out, and then I know I’m truly fucked.
So I don’t bother with the side this time, instead drawing the knife back to jab up into the side of his throat, just under his broad jawline. Again I drive it in right to the hilt, giving it a little twist as the blood starts to jet furtively under my curled thumb. Some of it hits me in the face and I wish I could turn my head under that brutal grip, but he still doesn’t relent. So I grit my teeth tighter and work on forcing it across the front of his throat, following the line of his jaw as I try to open the whole thing up all the way across. If I had any air left in me I would scream with the effort.
This time enough blood splashes my face that I immediately go blind, tasting it too as it pours down my throat while I gasp from the suddenness of the spray and the shock of it filling my eyes. But this seems to be the final straw as he reels back, his hands jerking away from my throat to leave me coughing and spluttering as I almost vomit up the blood I’ve already swallowed. Dragging in massive lungfuls of air that make my aching throat and tortured lungs burn, I swipe my free sleeve across my eyes to clear enough of the blood from their lids to start blinking again, and when I’m finally able to look up again I see him stumble away. The moment my legs are free I scramble back with my heels and elbows, still gripping the knife in my tightly locked fingers, watching him grasp his gaping throat, trying to stem the flow as a truly awful gurling sound issues from his severed windpipe. In truth I’m a little amazed I actually managed to carve right through that …
He starts flailing his way towards the door now, but he must be losing a pint of blood with each pumping spurt of his ruined throat and his limbs are turning to jellied rubber, threatening to spill him onto his face with each failed effort to stand. Watching his withdrawal I feel my anger flare, and I don’t even try to fight it, jumping up to charge forward on admittedly clumsy legs myself, mostly just stumbling onto him now. As I flounder across his back I clumsily mount his hips and rear back with the knife gripped in both hands now, finally unleashing the scream I was previously denied as I bring it down in a forceful stab between his shoulder-blades. I can’t tell if it’s this or just the weight of my landing on him that finally bears him down, but he collapses while I drag the knife out and stab him again, doing the same over and over again long after he’s stopped moving.
I don’t even register the pounding on the other side of the door until something gives and it spills out of its frame, seeming to yield in the very top corner I originally predicted. Seeing this is what finally breaks me out of my catatonic action, slumping onto my elbows as I gawk with a slack jaw at the door crashing to the floor with a particularly large woman on top of it.
Kesla, grunting with visible pain as she grasps her side while flashing her white teeth wide as she thumps down and then bounces before finally settling and rolling over onto her back, whimpering a little as she does so. For a long, drawn out beat I just look at her, not quite able to believe she’s really here, but then the last of my lingering resolve breaks and I slump forward as I start bawling. Finally crashing as the adrenaline that fuelled my desperate battle for survival peters out and the tears come to drown me right here, doubled over on what must surely be a lifeless corpse.
Eventually I feel a strong hand touch my shoulder, soft and hesitant, while I just shiver and sob with my face pressed against the tough leather on the late half-orc’s back. Ragged and wet, I start to realise, as sense starts to return to me, warning me I must have my face laid right where I’ve been stabbing away with the stolen knife. Getting covered with the still warm blood seeping from the wounds. Not that I care much.
The touch at my shoulder grows firmer, and it doesn’t make me start, I know well enough who it is without having to look up. So when those steely fingers start to search for a better grip before finally curling around my upper arm and then start to pull me off the corpse’s back, I don’t fight it, I just let it happen. Finally catching sight of my friend as she pulls me into her lap.
Seeing Kesla looking down at me now, in significant pain even though I can’t see any real damage despite the state of her, but still just relieved to see me, almost kills most of my sorrow right now. I reach up to touch her face, I can’t help it, even now I still need that tactile reassurance she’s really here. She reaches up and grasps my hand with her own and starts to smile, a little tight from her pain but still so warm even so, and I think I might see a little moisture starting to well in her eyes too.
Then I remember what’s happened in here, and in particular beyond my own experiences, and I stiffen as the tears start to come again in earnest. “Oh … oh no, Kesla you have to … you have to help him! Quickly, he’s hurt! It’s so bad, Vandryss, she …” My voice breaks now, every word I say is like prickling needles inside my throat and it all comes out in ragged croaks, it’s a miracle I even manage to say that much before it just turns to sobs again.
Looking up, Kesla must catch sight of him almost immediately as her eyes widen and she stiffens too, only to wince as soon as she does. Even so, she still turns around enough to shout out behind her, betraying so much more pain in her voice now. “Shit! Shay! SHAY!!! GET SOME HELP IN HERE!!! RIGHT NOW!!! Get Krakka, ANYBODY!!! Just DO IT!!! QUICK!!!”
Now she curls up and pulls me further into her grip, wrapping her arms around me as she hugs me tight, and as I sink into the warm familiarity of her embrace I just start to go away. The floodgates open again and I let all the grief and terror and just pure sorrow of all I’ve been through these past few days spill out of me, all at once. She squeezes tighter in response, letting me get it out, and it’s enough to let me know I’m finally safe again …