‘What was that lad?’, he was about to ask, but a tendril swooped around and lashed the manservant across the chest, sending him flying. He struck the ground hard and didn’t get back up. Jerek was still struggling unsuccessfully nearby.
‘Shit,’ said the old barbarian again. He raised his sword and held it horizontally before him. ‘Come on then. Just you and me now.’
The eyeless head turned away from Jerek to face him. He gritted his teeth. That damned vibrating was giving him a headache.
Tendrils shot down, one from the left and then two from the right, grasping and probing. Kayne stepped back, ducked under one, leaped another, brought his sword around and was rewarded by the sight of a twitching appendage flying away into the night. His momentary satisfaction evaporated as another limb flailed down and raked his hide armour with its barbed claw. It sliced through the leather with ease, scoring a deep gouge in his chest. He felt blood well up from the wound. Something snapped inside him.
‘That the best you got?’ he snarled. He whirled around, ducked under one tendril and severed it. He switched his sword to his left hand, reached out and wrenched Jerek’s axe from the monster’s torso with his right. It came loose in a spray of vile fluid that coated him from head to foot, but he was beyond caring.
‘I’ve been half drowned,’ he said, bringing the weapons together with a clash. ‘Gutted like a fish.’ Clash. ‘Got a fever that’s left me feeling worse than death.’ Clash. ‘And to add to my woes, this fucking rain is making me piss like a horse.’ Clash. He pointed both weapons at the abomination. ‘So — I ain’t in the mood to stand here and be buggered up the arse by the likes of you.’ Clash.
He burst into motion, each weapon dancing independent of the other, swatting away and slicing at the snaking limbs that converged on him. He rolled away from one, dived under another, somehow keeping ahead of the torrent of spongy flesh. He was buffeted in the shoulder and back, one tendril locking around his leg before he hacked it away an instant later. His heart hammered in his chest and his breaths came in laboured gasps, but he didn’t dare stop moving for a second.
Before he knew it the attacks slowed and then stopped completely. He blinked rainwater and foul discharge from his eyes, in time to see Jerek free himself from the last remaining appendage. He looked mighty pissed off and was covered in filth, but he was otherwise unharmed.
The torso of the abomination loomed before him, now bereft of limbs save for the two tentacles supporting it from the ground. The head suddenly ceased quivering.
‘Had enough?’ he panted. He doubled over, his heart feeling like it would tear free of his chest. Just need to catch my breath.
‘Kayne,’ Jerek rasped. It sounded like a warning. With a mighty effort, he raised his head back up.
‘Shit.’
The severed tendrils were growing back with alarming speed, sprouting from the shoulders of the humanoid torso like unholy vines. Jerek shook his head and spat. He looked worried. ‘How the fuck do we kill this thing?’
Brodar Kayne didn’t have an answer. He was spent, his body pushed to breaking point and beyond.
‘Out of the way!’
The shout came from behind them. The girl. He tried to turn, to yell at her to flee, but the effort was too great. He saw Jerek grimace, dive to the side. A crossbow twanged, and suddenly the magical horror had a bolt lodged in the back of its mouth.
‘Run!’ Sasha screamed. Jerek took hold of him, pulled him away-
Not for the first time that week, the world exploded.
‘Urgh.’
‘Easy, now. Your body has endured a great deal of abuse. Even a young man would be lucky to survive the wounds you have suffered.’
He didn’t recognize the voice. It sounded like it belonged to an old fellow. An older fellow, at any rate.
He tried to open his eyes. Couldn’t. ‘Where am I?’ he asked, battling a rising sense of panic.
‘The village of Farrowgate. You’re inside my home. Your friends are with me. The combustion temporarily blinded you — or it may have been the ichor in your eyes. In any case, I am confident your vision will return.’
‘I’m here, Kayne.’ It was Jerek’s voice — gruff, unfriendly and, at that moment, the most comforting sound in the world.
‘What happened?’ he managed.
‘I had some of Vicard’s powder,’ said a woman. It was Sasha, he realized. ‘I took it from his backpack just after the Rift. Isaac hollowed out a bolt head for me a while back and I filled it with the stuff. I didn’t really think it would work.’
‘It was purely theoretical,’ droned Isaac. ‘You might just have revolutionized warfare. Imagine — a mere girl blowing apart a magical abomination!’
‘A mere girl?’ Sasha’s voice had turned frosty.
‘Uh, no offence,’ Isaac said quickly. ‘I was trying to pay you a compliment.’
‘Don’t.’
Silence.
‘First useful thing the bitch has done, shutting you up,’ said Jerek. More silence. ‘The second,’ he amended grudgingly. ‘Though I reckon we’d have taken the fucker ourselves if it came to it. Right, Kayne?’
Kayne sighed. Somehow they’d all survived. With any luck, the remainder of the journey back to Dorminia would be uneventful and they would collect their gold and be on their way. Assuming his sight returned and he didn’t die of his wounds between now and then.
Well, a man could hope.
The Chosen One
‘Why do bad things happen to good people?’
Three-Finger didn’t answer. He hadn’t moved for hours, or uttered so much as a word in response to any of Cole’s numerous questions. The convict was curled up on the shiny black marble that formed the circular roof of the Tower of Stars, his back to the young Shard and his battered cloak pulled tight around him, though it wasn’t a particularly cold night.
‘We’ve been stuck up here for three days now. How much longer before the White Lady decides what to do with us?’
There was no reply.
‘It’s enough to drive you mad. No wonder they call it the Tower of Stars.’ He stared glumly at the marble beneath his feet. The polished surface was a perfect reflection of the clear night sky above. ‘I think I’m losing my mind.’
He walked over to the edge of the tower and risked a glance down at the city. From this height the various buildings looked like models from the hand-crafted diorama Garrett had given him on his twelfth naming day. He had thought it a silly toy, until he learned its true purpose had been to help him understand the layout of a certain section of the Noble Quarter he would later rob — in particular the quickest escape route in the event of an emergency.
He suppressed a shudder. The Tower of Stars was the tallest structure in Thelassa, or so he had been told. It was completely open to the elements, with no barrier around its circumference. According to the captain of The Lady’s Luck, who had brought them both to the tower, the Magelord of the city encouraged the accused to take matters into their own hands. Suicide was viewed as a welcome admission of guilt that saved everyone a lot of time and bother.
Except, Cole supposed, for the unfortunate souls tasked with keeping the streets of Thelassa clean. He imagined a jumper would make quite a mess when they finally splattered onto the streets hundreds of feet below. He had no intention of ending his own life, but the boredom was starting to get to him.
‘I just don’t understand it,’ he said, deciding that if Three-Finger wasn’t going to participate in this discussion then he might as well talk for both of them. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is to make the world a better place. I risked my life trying to save an old man from the Black Lottery, did you know that? A waste of time that was.’
Three-Finger said nothing.