"But our son …"
"Will be safe. We'll all be safe."
J'role came out of the memory. Gasping for air. He wanted to scream. He wanted to die.
I'm sorry, his father had said all his life.
It wasn't just his mother. His father knew. His father did nothing. How could his father have done nothing?
All his pity for his father a lie. All his love for his father a lie. How could he have felt remorse for killing such a man?
But the grief swelled in his thoughts, buoyed on the words of the creature. "What have you now? Not even the memories of a kind but failed father. You have nothing."
J'role's hand fell on a jewel-encrusted dagger. He touched it to his wrist, the blade's edge feeling cool and delicious. Over. All over. Please. The torment of living had become too much. No more disappointments. No more betrayal.
The creature sighed.
A noise by the door, footsteps on silver and gold coins.
"Spirits," said Slinsk.
J'role looked up and saw Mordom and his thief companion in the entrance to the room, Slinsk with an expression of horror, Mordom, his palm with the green eye raised, his mouth formed into an amazed smile.
"NOOOQ!" screamed the creature and whirled around wildly, its small arms scrambling without control. So swiftly that Slinsk could not react, the creature swung around and drove its mandible into the thief's neck, popping his head off with ease.
Mordom was already gesturing beginning to cast a spell. J'role remembered that Mordom seemed to have some sort of affinity with the Horrors, and here was the proof. A blue sparkle crackled around his hands and the creature slowed and stared at Mordom.
Distracted from his despair for the moment, J'role pulled the blade away from his wrist.
Would he be destroyed by a thing that Mordom could command with a wave of his hands? He jumped up, still holding the blade in his hand, and ran toward the door. He scrambled up the thing's back and jumped off it, flying past Mordom and out the door.
His actions created their own distraction, and he heard Mordom shriek and the creature laugh. "Not again, wizard. I know your tricks now."
J'role ran on, cradling his broken arm. He heard Mordom's footsteps not far behind him, and further back down the corridor the strange scrambling noise of the creature. Its voice stayed with him, taunting J'role as he ran. He lost Mordom s somewhere down the passages, but he felt the creature still pursuing him.
J'role raced on and on, no longer knowing where he was or which way was out. But then ahead, he saw a slice of sunlight making its way down several twists and turns in the condors. He realized he was near the exit, then came to a dead stop.
The pit was nearby.
He didn't dare run now.
He moved along carefully, poking his foot out.
I Here it was. He had no brand anymore, but he could feel the edge of the pit.
J'role was too panicked to make it across now, not with his broken arm.
He hesitated, uncertain what to do, when a hand suddenly grabbed at his shoulder.
"Boy," said Mordom. "How do we get out?” His voice was strong and commanding, but J'role also heard the tinge of panic.
Without thought J'role drove the blade in his good hand up into Mordom's belly. The wizard gave out a gasp, and his hands slapped wildly at J'role's face and then found the boy's neck.
J'role tried to slip out of the wizard's grip, but Mordom's hands were strong and J'role screamed in fear.
The words and sounds and babbling ripped from J'role's throat. Mordom staggered back, and in that instant J'role grabbed the wizard and shoved him over the edge of the pit.
A sharp, sudden scream, then the sound of Mordom's body crashing into the bones of the Horrors below as his form was impaled on the many spikes set deep in the pit.
J 'role stood breathing heavily now, tears pressing against his eyes. He could never climb across the wall past the pit. Not with his broken arm. Not while he was shaking like this.
He whirled and raced back. "Another way. Another way out…," he thought.
"What makes you think there is another way out? Why torture yourself with life? You have the dagger. Use it."
He ran forward into the darkness, afraid he would run into the creature, but more afraid of moving slowly.
Then he heard it, only a feet ahead, its small arms scuttling like an army of insects along the corridor.
"Ah, here you are." The voice came from his thoughts and from the depths of the dark corridor.
J'role slumped against the wall, too tired to run anymore, too afraid of any more hope.
His ranting had stopped now, and the corridor was silent but for the soft, taunting voice of the creature.
"Good. Good. It's time for you to have a rest. You've worked so very, very hard."
The creature came closer and closer. J'role pressed his cheek against the wall, then realized with a start where he was. This was the hole revealing the broken mechanism of the trap that released the spikes from the ceiling.
"What was that?" the creature asked. "What did you just think?"
"I want to die," he thought. "I want to die. I want to die." He let all the misery and despair of his life course through
"Of course you do," the creature said. "Who wouldn't, in your position?"
J'role took the dagger and placed it against his wrist. The creature came closer. He dragged the blade across his flesh, lightly. The edge stung and for a moment he thought he might pass out.
"Ahhh," the creature said, its voice rich with ecstasy.
J'role placed his good arm in the hole, his hand searching about for the broken wheel. The pain filled his thoughts, and he could barely concentrate on the task.
"Yes, yes," the creature said. It was only a few steps away now.
J'role found the wheel, took it firmly his hand and began to move it around, searching for the spindle it fit on.
"What are you doing?" The creature was suddenly alert.
J'role took the dagger and once more drew blood from his wrist. Again he felt agony, a horribly pleasant agony, cut through his body. It was tempting to simply finish the job.
Why fight anymore? The creature sighed.
J'role found the spindle, slipped the wheel on it.
The creature stopped moving forward. "You're up to something. What?"
"My death," J'role thought softly. And he was. He heard the drops of blood from his wrist plinking against the stone floor. The creature still did not move forward, but from the sound of its voice, J'role thought it might be only a few inches from the stones that would trigger the spikes.
He placed the blade against the cuts already in his wrist, letting the cold metal touch the ragged skin. "Yes," the creature sighed. "If I do this, I won't feel any more pain?" J'role asked. I he creature started moving forward. "Yes. Yes." J'role felt himself blacking out.
"Do it! Do it!"
He was afraid that if he stopped, the creature would Stop moving forward. Slowly he dragged the blade across his wrist. He felt his blood seeping over his flesh.
"YES!" the creature cried. Then, from above, came the sound of stone shattering as the spikes rushed down and drove into the creature's back. J’role rolled back.
The creature screamed a long, long time. When it stopped, it was like the end of a terrible, howling storm.
33
J'role remained on his knees a long time, then, as if in a trance, feeling nothing and thinking nothing, he walked back down the corridors, searching for a way out. He ended up at the treasure room.
Blood had splattered all over the room's wealth, and the value of the gold and silver jewels seemed slight in comparison to the precious red fluid that stained them.
He saw that Garlthik still breathed. He walked quickly over to him, his feet stumbling on some coins. J'role knelt down beside the ork, and the old thief opened his one good eye.