Beyond the Moons (34 page)

“Enough,” commanded the neogi again. Teldin, his arms wrenched and twisted, hardly noticed the difference when the umber hulk let go. He didn’t feel himself lying on the table, panting in choked spasms. Slowly the neogi’s face, floating overhead, swam before his eyes. The beast reached down with spidery legs and dragged the tips across his chest. They were surprisingly sharp, slicing the remains of Teldin’s shirt and pulling the sweat-and blood-soaked rags from the human’s bare skin. In his current state, the farmer could only eye the neogi with mute terror and rage.

“You perhaps now talk,” the neogi murmured, its face pressed close to Teldin’s ear, “but I want to listen not yet.” The razor-like limb tips etched Teldin’s shuddering chest, slowly creating a web of thin cuts across the skin.

“Overmaster,” hissed a familiar voice, “mine to tattoo meat is!” The enraged neogi stopped its bloody tracings and drove the claw tips into Teldin’s chest. Though not deep, the punctures ignited pain. The farmer writhed under the touch, only to have the immense lordservants wrench him back down onto the table.

“Bold my quastoth, kin slave M’phei, grows. Will overmaster challenge?” said the torturer to the hidden speaker. “This meat I take, then remove unnecessary parts I will – first a tongue.” The neogi glared at its opponent.

There was a scrabbling noise near Teldin’s head, the clicking walk of a neogi. “Confused overmaster is. Without tongue, meat will talk never about cloak,” the voice, M’phei’s, shot back. “Perhaps ready to join
yrthni ma’adi
overmaster is.”

The golden-skinned neogi, the captain, the overmaster, from what Teldin understood, jerked its head up with a rasping hiss. Struggling in the arms of its lordservant, the neogi lunged outward, making a biting snap at the air in M’phei’s direction. “Overmaster I am. Quastoth, slave kin you are. You threaten me not!”

Moving slowly, Teldin painfully managed to turn his head enough to see the other neogi. He judged by its tattooed colors and the hissing voice that it was the creature that had captured him. “Tattoo meat I will, not overmaster,” M’phei coolly answered. The overmaster bristled in rage. “Unless,” the challenger continued, “overmaster’s errors all quastorh to know overmaster wants.”

Teldin was not quite sure why, but the other neogi abruptly paused, then slowly returned to his upright position. “Human meat you will have, quastoth M’phei, but cloak I claim.” The words came out in icy, venomous tones, clear even to the cloakmaster’s untutored ears.

“Quickly do it then, overmaster,” M’phei said with equal vehemence, “or remember your errors again I will.”

The gold-hued overmaster clicked his teeth in a fierce snap, then turned once more to Teldin. The eelly creature lowered its head until its razorlike teeth brushed the farmer’s ear. It whispered, “The Reigar’s cloak is where?”

Teeth clenched tightly to suppress the rivers of torment inside him, Teldin fought to keep from shivering. The farmer could feel the neogi’s fetid breath on his neck, making the muscles tighten and cramp, as if parts of his own body were trying to crawl away from the creature. “I don’t know,” the human slowly said, articulating each word with excessive care to prevent all his other feelings from rushing out. Greatest of these was the urge to manifest the cloak in hopes that it could protect him. Frantically Teldin drove back that thought before the magic took effect.

There was a snap and a sudden burning pain in his ear. Teldin’s back arched with a jerk, only to have the umber hulks slam him down again. The neogi rose back up, its mouth bloodied and a piece of Teldin’s ear dangling between its jaws. “Cloak is where?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Teldin screamed, his face contorted in pain. The lordservants yanked at his arms, reviving the shearing agony. The dimly lit room started to go gray, swirling into oblivion.

“Overmaster, my meat maim not!” shrilled M’phei’s voice. “Meat must be whole or your errors I report. Work meat must do. No broken bones, no torn limbs.”

“No broken bones,” the overmaster sullenly agreed, “yet.”

For Teldin, the speakers were growing distant and faint and the pain grew less and less. He only vaguely heard the overmaster’s voice, filled with disgust. “It talks not yet. Lordservants, fill meat with pain, but mutilate body not.”

There was a strange clicking and buzzing voice as one of the umber hulks replied. “Yes, little master. Your slaves do as little master commands.” With the words came a searing pain, then darkness and nothing.

Chapter Twenty-two

It was later. How much later, Teldin did not know, for time had been replaced by a wheel of pain and numbness. There were centuries where the lordservants towered over him, clicking their mandibles as they pulled and twisted Teldin’s inert body. The centuries were broken by hours when the overmaster appeared to ask Teldin a single question in its stilted tongue: “Cloak is where?” Sometimes Teldin thought of answering, just to end the pain, but each time something else in him stopped the answer from coming.

The farmer struggled to hold the cloak at bay, keep it from doing anything. Teldin knew that if he slipped and let the cape make the slightest sign, everything was lost, his life and possibly even his world. So far the human had managed to deny the overmaster his prize, but each refusal brought another century of pain, followed by the oblivion of unconsciousness.

At one point, the farmer dimly feared all his resistance was for nothing. The umber hulks, searching for some new torment, noticed the thin cord and silver clasps, all that showed of the cloak the neogi sought, around Teldin’s neck. Fearful that the lordservants would try to remove it and discover his secret, he feebly tried to raise an arm to push them off, but the best he could manage was a weak wave of one hand. Arrogantly, one of the creatures batted his hand with a wave of its own claw, ending the attempt. The farmer’s hand burned from the savage blow.

For all his pain, luck had not abandoned Teldin. The clasp was small compared to the umber hulks’ grotesque claws, and they were unable to work the silver buckle. Neither could they slip their talons between the chain and his neck, except perhaps by gouging Teldin’s throat. Under orders not to mutilate or kill, the umber hulks gave it up and returned to the better understood agonies of their trade. It was then that finally, blissfully, Teldin passed out and remained unconscious.

From this moment of non time Teldin slowly awoke and recovered. He still lay on the table, stained with his own blood. A lantern in one corner cast a dim light over the slaughterhouse. To the captive’s numb surprise, his torturers were gone; indeed the room, or as much as the farmer could see of it, was deserted. They had left him alone and unbound, but it mattered little, since Teldin barely had the strength to roll his head from side to side.

Finally tiring of staring at the tongue-and-grooved ceiling planks’ knots and whorls, Teldin began to take inventory of himself. His chest was crossed with thin lines of dried blood and raw patches caused during the flood. More blood caked his hair and clotted around his bitten ear, muffling his hearing on the left side. The lordservants had done their work well, mangling, twisting, and pulling every joint in his body. Still, he had all his limbs and, in accordance with the neogi’s orders, none seemed broken or even dislocated. Every inch felt bruised, and his face, especially, was puffy from beatings.

“I must be a handsome fellow,” Teldin croaked, his throat parched. “It’s time to go,” he told Gomja’s image, standing over him. Astonished, he blinked, and the giff was gone, replaced by Amdar, as unsmiling as ever. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing tight,” the old man’s ghost preached. As quickly as it had appeared, Amdar’s face disappeared into the planking above.

With excruciating effort, enough to force tears to his eyes, the farmer swung off the edge of the table and stood unsteadily on his feet. He clutching the table for support, then ventured with jerky steps across the room. Slowly and painstakingly, the human tottered toward the door.

Incomprehensibly, the portal swung open as he neared it, and there, blocking his path, was a party of umber hulks and neogi. Teldin’s mind was too numb to be surprised, and he could not read the malevolent expressions on the neogi’s faces. In the forefront, though safely behind the lordservants, were the golden-tattooed overmaster and M’phei. The overmaster’s small claws snapped in triumph.

“There,” the neogi gloatingly hissed. “You see, unharmed human meat is. Warned you were, quastoth M’phei, my patience test not too far.”

“True, meat lives,” the other neogi sourly conceded, “but tell you nothing it has. Useless meat will be with more persuasion.”

“No longer important that is.” The overmaster signaled an umber hulk to seize Teldin. The beast ducked through the small door and easily caught the exhausted farmer in its grasp. “To
yrthni-ma’adi
meat will be given.”

M’phei’s eight clawed feet rattled on the metallic floor in anger. “No! This you do not. My capture human meat was. My slave it is!” The neogi made a snapping lunge for the overmaster. One of the lordservants seized the enraged M’Phei and restrained it.

The golden neogi ignored the outburst. “Overmaster I am and feeding
yrthni-ma’adi
my responsibility is. This meat I claim for feeding. That my right is.”

“Expose you I will, overmaster!” the other hissed.

Hoisted up by its lordservant, the overmaster smiled evilly. “You will not. Against your overmaster witnesses have heard you speak. Revolt of my quastoth I tolerate not. This you risk or human meat for feeding I take.”

M’phei paled, its tattoos gaining an ashy gray color. Futilely, the neogi tried another tack. “Cloak —”

“Revealed will be, if cloak human meat has,” the overmaster hissed softly so that Teldin, as groggy as he was, had to strain to hear the words. “Cloak protect meat it will, certain I am. Cloakmaster it will let die not and then know I will.”

M’phei looked hungrily toward Teldin. “Eating this one I hoped,” it said plaintively.

“Other meat will be. Rich in meat this world is,” the overmaster curtly announced. “With me to feeding you come – as my guest.” There was no warmth in the overmaster’s voice, only the cold calculation of keeping an enemy close in its sight. Teldin, still listening, doubted these creatures knew any love or charity. “Time it is. Lordservant – to the pit.”

The overmaster’s umber hulk carried the neogi through the ship’s corridors. Teldin’s guard pushed the staggering human along behind, while M’phei brought up the rear. This time the route was well lighted, which the yeoman could only assume was to honor the overmaster. The group went down a deck, other neogi gradually falling in behind. Teldin noticed a few non-neogi cowering in the corners as the overmaster went past. These were a smattering of humans, gnomes, and elves, watching from the shadows with a haunted look in their eyes. Teldin could clearly see the elaborate tattoo each bore on his shoulder, marking the poor soul as neogi property.

Finally the group reached an improvised pen in the middle of the cargo hold. It was enclosed by solid walls mote than fifteen feet high, which were braced with a motley assembly of beams, as if to hold back some great pressure. A narrow gallery circled the top of the walls and was reached by reinforced stairs.

“Wait,” the overmaster ordered the prisoner’s guard. The umber hulk clicked its huge pincers in understanding. While Teldin stood on the deck, slowly trying to regain his strength, the lordservants hoisted their neogi masters up to the balcony, since it was clear that the small catwalk would never support the huge slaves.

The balcony quickly became clustered with neogi, their bodies tattooed in a variety of ways and colors. Here the overmaster was clearly supreme, the other neogi keeping a respectful distance from where it stood. Only M’phei was close by, glaring hatefully whenever the overmaster’s attention was elsewhere.

At last the neogi overmaster gave the signal for Teldin to be brought up. The brown-plated umber hulk prodded Teldin up the strengthened stairs, staying close behind him. Once on the catwalk, the umber hulk pushed Teldin toward the edge of the pit. At the far corners, several neogi hung lanterns on poles and swung these out over the void.

The bobbing lights filled the pen with shadowy shapes, some real, others only brief interplays of light and dark. Teldin sensed danger and resisted the umber hulk’s prodding as he desperately scanned the shadows for the source of his fears. His vigilance was rewarded when a bloated, dark bulk slowly twisted and heaved across the floor. Moving into the fitful light, the dark blob metamorphosed into a grotesque parody of the vile neogi. Where the overmaster and the others were small, no larger than a strong dog, the thing in the pit was immense. The bulk of it was a shuddering mass about the size of a wagon or more, the flesh falling in thick, sagging folds. Its dull white skin was covered by overstretched tattoos and a network of purple veins. It had the appearance of a gigantic maggot. The body shuddered and heaved as the creature turned its head toward Teldin. There was the face of a neogi, all evil eyes and ravenous teeth, but the neck was buried in the folds of fat. Tiny, shriveled hands protruded from the ball of flesh, and the eight legs that gave the neogi its distinctive spidery appearance were nothing but atrophied stumps. The
yrthni-ma’adi
, the great old master, struggled to climb up the sides of the pit with labored breath, only to slide slowly back to the deck.

Teldin pushed against the umber hulk’s claws that forced him forward, but, weakened as he was, the human slowly lost ground. Two toes slipped over the edge. A hissing chant rose from the neogi, eager for the specatacle to begin.

“Stop!” the overmaster snapped, striking the umber hulk to convey the command. “On platform him you put.”

“Yes, little master,” the lordservant intoned. With pressure behind him gone, Teldin quickly stepped back from the edge.

“Cloak you produce,” the overmaster demanded of Teldin, “before to
yrthni-ma’adi
I feed you.” The overmaster pointed to the thing in the pit. “My quastoth once it was, before too old and feeble it became. Now, more quastoth for me it will breed.” The overmaster was interrupted by a grating scream from the creature below. “Your flesh my children hunger for. Tell me!”