Torment and Terror (6 page)

CHAPTER 14

They were tied up now. Baking in the sun. Waiting. Brak’s stomach growled like a hungry wolf.

“Eh, you might want to feed us while we wait,” Fogle suggested to the gnoll leader. “My big friend gets unsettled with his hunger.”

Chewing the meat off of a chicken bone, the gnoll tossed the greasy stick away. “There’s no hunger in the grave.” He got up, approached Brak, and slapped him on the shoulder. “It will be over for you all in about an hour.”

Brak shook his big head. He’d gotten better about controlling his hunger, but right now he was feeling confused.

Seated on the sand beside him, Jubilee said, “Stay calm, Brak. We can’t have you going berserk on us.”

Shifting around, he fought at the knots that bound his hands behind his back. His heavy shoulders ached. The rumbling in his stomach got worse.

The gnoll leader stopped and stared at him. “I’ve never heard such hunger before. Men, come!” More brigands with grimy teeth and dusty faces surrounded him. “Listen to this.”

Brak’s stomach let out a loud moan.

Mrrrrorbbb!

All of the brigands exploded in knee-slapping guffaws.

“I say we let this one starve to death,” one said.

Another added, “Let’s cut his belly out.”

“Hungry. Bish, I’m hungry too! I say we fill our bellies with him. He’s got a week’s worth of meat on him. Bah! Haw-hawhaw!”

“What is going on here?” a voice louder than all of the others said.

A tall wide shadow fell over Brak. The man that spoke was behind him.

All of the brigands,
including
the lead gnoll, shrunk back. Finally, the leader rose up. “Just poking fun at the prisoners, Lord.”

“Oh, we are here to have fun, are we?”

“No,” the gnoll said, averting his eyes, “but we’re brigands, and their demise, I’m confident, is certain.”

“I see.”

Brak couldn’t see the man behind him, but he saw Jubilee’s head twisted over her shoulder. Her eyes were fear-filled. She didn’t blink, just stared in silent horror.

He didn’t try to look around. He was so hungry that it didn’t matter. But he got the impression that whoever it was, was a big, big man. His nose twitched. A smell of salt and urine filled the air.

What is that?

“Carry on and keep me apprised,” the voice said. Heavy boots crunched over the dusty ground and faded away.

All of the brigands’ expressions eased. One half-orc with a missing nostril wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “He must be in a good mood today. I was certain somebody would be in for.”

“Aye, I remember the last time he was disturbed. He cut poor Milsap’s arm off and beat him to death with it.” The male brigand in full chain dress turned his back to Brak and said with arms wide, “Looks like we all live to laugh another day! Aye!”

A spear bigger than any Brak had ever seen ripped over his head and skewered the celebrating man through the back.

“Urk!”

Huge and thick, the eight-foot-long spear protruded evenly through the man’s body.

“What a throw!” one brigand praised.

“Quite the cast!” one said with trembling lips.

Another spear rocketed into the same man’s face.

Glitch!

The corpse teetered over and stuck half upright in the sand. Blood and gore oozed from his wounds.

The brigands let out a raucous cheer. “Gondoon! Gondoon Gondoon!”

“Fogle!” Jubilee shouted in a whisper. “We need to get out of here!”

The mage shrugged at her. His face was fixed on Brak’s.

The recesses of Brak’s mind recalled something familiar. It was that scent. It was that name. He knew it. Gondoon Stoneskin. That was the ogre who had broken his back.

***

“Brak!” Fogle said to him while the chanting continued. “Brak, don’t lose your mind. Not now. I have a plan.”

Hunger, rage, and frustration fused together in the huge man’s face. Brak’s eyes started to flutter like beating wings.

Oh slat! He’s going to get us all killed!

“What’s your plan, Fogle?” Jubilee said, gawking at Brak.

On a good note, he did have a plan. There were a few serviceable spells on his lips, and the brigands hadn’t figured out he was a mage yet. They’d gone through his bag but hadn’t found the spellbook. It was mystically hidden.

On the other hand, Brak was ready to explode.

The moment Fogle heard the name Gondoon Stoneskin, he was certain the bowels of Bish would start erupting. Everyone in the Magi Roost remembered that battle. Detail after detail. The way Venir told it, the sound of Brak’s spine snapping could be heard for a mile. Venir snapped a heavy broom stick when he told it. It wasn’t one of Venir’s gusty and boisterous tales either. It was dark, sad, and with sympathy.

“Fogle! Do something!” Jubilee urged.

Brak started to grumble and mutter. His eyes rolled up in his head, and only the white with a red rim shone. The cords that bound him snapped. Brak was on his feet. He headed for the dead man with the huge spears sticking through his body. He ripped them both clean out of the corpse.

One of the brigands caught wind of the attack. “Aye, how did you get loose?” Suddenly the blood ran from the man’s face. He turned to run.

Brak skewered him like a pig. Using the spear, Brak hoisted the brigand up off the ground and skewered another and another.

Three men died on the end of one spear.

Brak chucked them aside and charged the others.

Fogle never saw men run so fast. They scattered in all directions.

Brak was like a giant tusked boar. Fierce and terrible. The berserker ran down the slowest, and using the spear he gored the brigand to death.

Captivated by the bloodcurdling scene, Fogle almost didn’t hear Jubilee screaming at him.

“You know, once they’re dead, he might kill us too!”

“I know. Give me a moment.” Fogle started recalling a spell. Nothing complicated. The short term was “rot.” It was something he’d thought up after talking to Melegal once. He summoned it, said the words, and let the magic do its work.

“Well?” Jubilee said, scooting closer to him.

“Be patient,” Fogle said. His wrists were burning with a fire-like sensation. The fire was burning away at his bonds. He fixed his eyes on Brak. The huge warrior’s dripping spear was broken in half. With half in each hand, he impaled one man right after the other. Howling in triumphant rage, Brak held the bloody sticks up.

Out of nowhere, Gondoon Stoneskin, bigger and broader than Brak, stormed over the landscape.

Brak charged with spear heads lowered.

They clashed.

The spears snapped like twigs.

The pair of titans hammered at each other with thunderous blows.

The ogre wrestled Brak down to the ground and started pounding away.

Fogle could feel every jarring blow.

How does Brak hurt an ogre named Stoneskin?

CHAPTER 15

Trinos was down on the floor clutching her gut. The radiant woman’s pain-filled face said it all. Game over.

Do something, Rat. Do something!

Melegal’s fluid limbs were frozen. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. In all of his life he’d never witnessed a display of power such as this.

The entire room ebbed. The building’s frame trembled on Trinos and Scorch’s every syllable. Their speech went through the skin and into the marrow.

With effort, Melegal’s hand fell on his double handled dagger.

“Oh, how I’m going to delight in this,” Scorch said to Trinos. With a mere motion of his hand, he twisted the dazzling blade inside her gut.

She let out a cry. “Aaagghh!”

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Finally, Melegal eased his blade out. It was instinct more than anything else.

Desperation. I don’t think this blade will even prick his skin. Don’t be a fool, Melegal. Perhaps you should align yourself with him? Pah, and have more needles stuck in my eye?
This bastard has to go.

His grey eyes slid over to Venir.

The warrior stood like a statue, his face an angry grimace. The great blade Brool halted in full swing. Sweat beaded and dripped from Venir’s monstrous limbs. His great figure moved a little. The eyelets on the helmet radiated with a terrifying darkness.

“Mercy? How is this for Mercy?” Scorch’s hand lit up with a tremendous fire and blasted into Trinos. The mystic attack drove her body deep into the floor. Scorch poured it on, second after second. The hole in the floor burst into strange flames and started to smoke. “Mercy! Mercy! Mercy!” Scorch cried out. “Mercy is for the weak!”

In the chaos, Melegal’s keen ears picked up the garbled cry of Trinos. Something inside him came to life. A well of bravery ushered forth. As he focused on what he needed to do, the cap started to tingle. The seconds slowed. Things clicked into place. The thief couldn’t hear his own thoughts anymore. He envisioned himself invisible. Focused on the sudden idea that came to mind.

Let’s do it, Rat!

Like a silvery cat, he sprung across the broken boards and bore down on Scorch’s exposed back. Dagger poised to strike, he summoned charges from Sefron’s ring. With two hands on the pommel, Melegal took aim and jabbed the blade with all his might. The charged blade sliced through the skin and slid in-between the neck bones.

Scorch jolted and flopped to the floor. The fires in his hands extinguished.

Gaping, Melegal backpedaled.

Scorch wasn’t moving.

It worked! I did it!

Scorch moved.

Melegal’s heart skipped a beat.

The omnipotent being rose to his feet, turned, and faced Melegal. He gave Melegal a look of disdain Melegal would never forget. With the blade tip still sticking out of the front of his chest, Scorch said in a scratchy voice, “I always knew you’d be a pain in the neck.” Reaching behind his back, he jerked the dagger free.

Melegal tried to back away. “What?” He glanced down. His feet were frozen to the boards. Tingling, his head snapped up.

Striking faster than a cobra, Scorch impaled him.

Glitch!

***

Venir’s reddened eyes darted all around. Trinos was being pummeled one blast after the other. Helm started to throb. It moaned inside his mind. Endless energy coursed through his limbs that strained and groaned.

Move! Blast my skin! Move!

With titanic effort and everything heaving inside, his knees began to bend. Brool, warm and eager in his white knuckled hands, beckoned to slice. To slaughter. To destroy. The blade started to move.

Scorch’s torrent of power came to an abrupt stop. His jaw dropped. His head snapped back with wide-eyed horror.

Venir caught sight of Melegal. Somehow the rogue had managed to ram a dagger into Scorch’s back. Venir’s mind let out a triumphant cry.

Yes! You dirty rat!

Helm still throbbed. Danger.

Venir felt the hold on his body weaken and took an exhilarating step forward with his axe half swinging. His limbs seized up again.

Bish!

Scorch rose with a tired, aggravated, and evil sneer on his face.

Venir could feel the man’s rage.

Run, Melegal, Run!

Striking quicker than an arrow’s flight, Scorch buried the dagger hilt deep in Melegal’s chest.

The thief collapsed, bleeding out on what was left of the floor.

Venir’s jaw became unhinged. “Nooooo!” Powered by the armament, his massive frame busted out of his unseen bonds. His steps were slow. Agonizing.

Scorch turned to face him. “Impressive.” The sound in his voice was rough. The hole in his body sealed up. He cleared his throat. “Much better. Now—”

Venir still moved, straining against an invisible pool, thick like molasses.

“It’s striking that you are still moving. Interesting. You must be the one the underlings fear so much. It seems your armament gives you a tactical advantage.” He slid out of Venir’s path and pushed Brool’s point away. “One can’t be too careful.”

Muscles bulging and popping, Venir kept charging through the force. In his mind, Helm screamed for vengeance.

“Hmmm, seems that it would be best if I removed from you this mystical vesture.” Scorch lifted a brow. The lines in his forehead creased.

The armament remained. Its power coursed through Venir’s mind like a raging river.

Scorch threw his arms up. “Impossible! It has a will of its own!” His face beaded in sweat. Worry filled his eyes. Desperately, he searched all around. “Ah!” He marched over to where the mystic sack lay and picked it up. He eyed it. “How clever. Such well-concealed power. And if I can’t control it, I must destroy it.”