Chapter 9: Death in the Family Continued
Ok everybody, here's an update for you. A bit darker I think than the prior ones. Its also about a thousand words longer than my typical posts. Enjoy.
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Motega shoved the Culite into a stone wall. Blood leapt from the man’s mouth splattering upon the old wood of Llyndofare’s flooring. The man landed on his knees, his head ducked downward, nearly in his own lap.
Drip, Drip, Drip.
The crimson vitae fled down the worn leather armor leaving a deep stain. Raspy breaths became hoarser when accompanied by a shallow shudder; the tremor from a snapped rib or two. The Culite looked up at his torturers and laughed. Then the farmer spit blood into Motega’s eyes.
Crunch, Snap, Thud.
The Culite lay on the floor, the blood pooling near his face. Tiny islands, faintly resembling teeth, broke the surface of the bloody lake. Motega roared and rummaged. He dropped two fleshy orbs into the dirt beside the Culite’s face. As the man, the killer, opened his eyes he found himself peering into the eyes of his former accomplice, Wolfram. Again the man just laughed.
Drawing a dagger the Rornman crouched next to the Culite. The cold steel blade edged a thin line of blood beneath the killer’s eye. “Speak,” Motega grunted increasing the force of the blade.
Laughter was the only answer. The blade dug in deeper.
Again only laughter echoed in response. A stream of blood danced upon the curving blade of the dagger. More laughter.
A quick twist of the wrist and a quiet thump accompanied the settling of a small mote of dust upon the floor. Motega stood as the Culite laughed. With a jaw breaking kick to the face, Motega stormed out of the room leaving his companions, the Culite and three sticky eyes on the floor.
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Motega stormed along the catwalks toward the rear entrance of Llyndofare. Tobias sat perched upon the parapet, his chain mail lying unceremoniously against the stone in a heap. The warrior’s eyes flitted across the northern horizon; his fingers caressed the holy symbol of Cula Vak.
Motega leapt wildly onto the parapet, his grace and balance preventing a deadly fall. The small Rornman kicked his feet outward, landing with a thud beside the red-haired fighter.
“What’s that?”
Tobias looked downward then held out the medallion. “I thought it might aide us at some point. So, I took it.” He twirled the symbol and tossed it back into his pack. “Not going well up there?” Tobias examined the amount of blood staining Motega’s leather.
“He won’t speak. I left the mage and priest to handle him.” The Rorn grunted disapprovingly. “Men and their foolish gods.”
A smile broke on Tobias’ face. “I understand perfectly what you mean.”
“Didn’t you worship that gray god, Morduk?”
“I like to think I learn from my mistakes. They don’t care about us, Mo. On that, we can both agree. They have their plots and plans and we’re just a means to an end for them. Sometimes I think it would be better if this world didn’t exist.”
“Easier.” The Rorn now combed the northern horizon with his own eyes.
“Definitely that. She probably is already dead, you know.” A quiet, angry grunt emanated from the Rorn.
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Laughter. Magnus scowled deeply as the acid dripped into the Culite’s empty socket causing only laughter. The mage stood and kicked the man in the stomach and moved back, pulling on his shaggy mane of hair.
Fitz bent downward, grasping the Culite’s face and drawing his stare upward. “I won’t let him kill you until you answer a few questions.”
A thick glob of bloody spittle splashed on the priest’s face. “I’m not speaking to you. Kill me and get it over with. Send me to my black God.”
“Fine.” Fitz’s eyes and face steeled over. “Have it your way.” A few low key words and the Culite’s remaining eye began to shed light. A painful wail split the quiet midday noises of Llyndofare.
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Tobias’ neck arched back toward the chamber. A high-pitched cry had erupted, echoing off the stone parapets and through the courtyards. Birds in the wood to the south had broken the summer air, flocking away from the castle. Almost immediately, Tobias recognized the scream as not of his companions and turned back to the Rorn.
“You’re uncomfortable with it?” The Rorn’s black eyes were questioning and seemed ponderous.
“I understand the necessity of it. I can rationalize it. I’d prefer just to give him a swift death but we need to know what is happening. I’m going to pull my hair out if I can’t figure it out.”
“Still you wish it was different.” The words were more of a statement than a query.
“I’m an honorable man. I have my limits and I don’t need to test them. I just hope they find something worthwhile.”
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“Make it stop! MaKe It StOp!! MAKE IT STOP!!!” The man writhed on the floor, slamming body parts into the wall and floor; he tried to fight the light.
“You’ll tell us what we want to know?” Fitz asked innocently.
“Yes, yes anything! Just make the light stop!” Fitz dismissed the power of the cantrip, returning the Culite’s eye to normal.
“So, where is Calyx?”
“You will give me a swift death so I can join my God?”
“Of course, whatever. Where is Calyx?”
“Swear to me priest. Swear to me by the name of your weak Goddess.”
“I swear to Ceria that once you answer our questions you will be given a swift death. Fine? Good. Now where the hell is the druid?”
“She is being taken to Rhelm.” Fitz’s mouth opened to speak but he was cut off. “For a druid burning. That’s assuming she is still alive.” A frown spread across the cleric’s face as he pondered another question.
Magnus stepped back toward the prisoner. “What is happening?”
The prisoner sneered, “What do you mean?”
Magnus tugged at his already wild hair, “We have scorpiots flooding out of wells and dwem attacking cities in the middle of the night! What the hell do you think I’m talking about? Why is it happening?” The mage’s last words were heavy with an implied threat.
“I am not a priest. How would I know?” Arcane phrases rattled out of Magnus’ mouth; the Culite’s eye began shedding light again. The prisoner kicked and spun on the floor, trying to escape the inescapable light.
“You will answer my question. The priest is not the only one with that trick and you will find me much less agreeable.” Pure hatred laced the threat; pure hatred stretched across the wizard’s face. “And if you don’t, I will have you hung tomorrow from the parapets in the noonday sun so that you can slowly starve as gravity pulls your arms out of their sockets. So you can slowly die while bathing in the summer light. Every night, we will heal you enough that you will survive a practically forever. Every night I will make sure your eye glows like the hot summer sun. And every day you can writhe on the parapets as the crows and ravens pick slowly away at your flesh.
"Now answer the damned question.” The mage dismissed his spell with the flick of a hand.
“There is a prophecy. I do not know the specifics, I am just a farmer. It says that the creatures of below will flood the world. And the world shall drown in the darkness of the great God, Cula Vak. I swear, that’s all I know.”
“Good. Then let’s get you dead, shall we?” Magnus kicked the Culite in the crotch, as the man reflexively bolted upward the wizard brought his heel down and broke the bones of the prisoner’s hand. “That felt good.” Magnus turned and dragged Fitz out of the room.
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Tobias steadied the prisoner’s footing on the ledge. Both glanced downward into the remains of the collapsed well. The fall was still nearly thirty feet from the one side. Tobias checked the binding of the rope, assuring tightness.
The warrior glanced over to the fire blazing by the camp in the other courtyard. There his friends slept soundly, peacefully. It had been decided Tobias should deliver the deathblow on his nightly guard shift. The young man always chose the witching hour as his shift, assuring his friends were well rested.
“Do you have anything else to say or request?” Tobias lifted the dagger to the Culite’s throat.
“They will come after you. You will all die. And when Cula Vak returns to rule Ostia Prim you will all suffer eternally for your insolence.”
“Right.” The blade danced upward away from the killer’s neck, Tobias’ skilled arms plucking out the one remaining eye. “That is so you can truly embrace the darkness of your God.”
The blade flashed again, catching the moonlight as it opened a horizontal wound in the neck of the captive. “One more thing,” the paladin spoke as blood gushed downward and sprayed toward the far side of the collapsed well. “I want you to know that I am a paladin, a warrior of the angels. They’ve sent a message for you. Your god cares not for you. And as you pass into the realm of the gods you’ll realize this. It is at that point that Cula Vak will rise up and devour your soul.
“You’ve wasted your life.” A gurgling rasp was the only response. Tobias released his hold on the prisoner. The Culite disappeared into the black maw of the collapsed well.
Slowly and methodically, Tobias knelt saying a prayer to Reddel. Then he moved to shift enough stone and dirt into the black maw to hide the corpse for an eternity.
