Five large wolves loped through the forests on the southern periphery of Fjellvidden. An area of at least a mile in any direction from the city had been clear cut, though in the last ten years, the outer edges had begun sporting an assortment of pines and shrubs taking advantage of the plentiful sunlight. These were especially dense east of the bridge and thinned out to the south where the many flocks were grazed.
An older man with graying beard dressed in a heavy cloak, carrying a crook in one hand and a sword at his belt tended a small flock of sheep about halfway between the city and the edge of the woods. Beyond them were an array of pens for pigs, goats, chickens, and other livestock that the city depended on to supplement their usual diet of fish, game, and whatever grains they could grow in the fields to the west where the soil wasn't as rocky.
There were a few soldiers perched in watchtowers. No matter who ruled Fjellvidden, they needed to protect the herds from predators. The five wolves who sat on their haunches and watched hungrily were exactly the sort of predators that the shepherds and soldiers feared. A quick coordinated run through the flock to scatter them, and then the foolish ones who ran toward the wood could be chased under the cover of trees, killed, and dragged back to a hidden den from whence it would never again emerge.
But these wolves sat, watching. Golden eyes and slavering jaws regarded the sheep with eagerness, but not a one of them would move unless given leave by the alpha. He was larger than the others, bulkier with broad brown fur blending to gray along his haunches, with deep tear drops beneath his eyes. His thick, black claws dug into the ground as he watched with still tail the sheep, the shepherd, and everyone else that he could see across the expansive meadow.
For some time the wolf with his pack watched without comment, neither growling nor panting. The only thing that broke his focus was an errant whimper from one of the four wolves in his pack. At each such sound his head would turn and his jowls retract in a silent snarl revealing wicked yellow fangs and a dark red tongue. Vermilion flecked his golden eyes and the offender would tuck tail and and lower his head shamefully.
They sat there, silent, upwind of the sheep, for three hours. Then, the alpha rose, and followed by his packmates, loped deeper into the woods. Hungry.
The day went far too quickly for Lindsey. He and Pharcellus spent most of it relaxing with their backs against Strom's paddocks, looking across the meadows as the elder shepherd tended his flocks. The pigs grunted and squealed, rooting around and looking at them hopeful for some treat. The sheep bleated and grazed in contentment. A slight breeze came down from the north and ruffled the distant pines, but it never bothered them.
Pharcellus had been right that there was no way anyone from the village could see them as long as they didn't leave the wall. Lindsey knew that this was his last chance before he would risk everything. So he listened to the dragon's stories and tried to forget that he wasn't just a young boy listening to his older brother. He tossed stones at the sty's wooden posts to amuse himself.
But the day wore on, and soon his muscles as well as his stomach began to complain. Lindsey threw one last stone and then stood up, stretching his arms out wide. "I'm hungry."
The dragon stood and stretched too, his human hair catching a bit of the breeze as it changed direction. "I'll see what's left of our supplies."
Lindsey grabbed his shirt and tugged. "And... I'm scared."
Pharcellus put a hand on his shoulder and smiled down at him. "Good. So am I."
"You?"
His smiled widened. "Very. But this is going to work. Brigsne and his men will be here tomorrow. Quoddy and his brothers should be too. It's going to be all over very soon."
"And... if I fail?"
"Then I will tear the castle apart stone by stone with my hands and my jaws." There was no laugh behind those words. Pharcellus meant them with the same conviction one noted the sun's rising in the east.
"But he's certain to have defenses against dragons!"
"And as soon as he kills one of us, every dragon in the mountains will come and burn him to even less than ash. He might kill us both, but he will not survive it. You are not going in there for nothing. Your brother, your father, your people, all of them. And for your new home too. We are all with you."
Lindsey took a deep breath and shuddered. "I... I... thank you. I'm just..."
"I know." Pharcellus patted him on the shoulder and then beckoned him back into the paddocks. "Hungry and a little scared. Well, let's take care of the first, and then we'll see about the second."
The boy smiled a little and followed the young man into the paddocks. "Thank you..."
Pharcellus stopped halfway to the wagon, turned and in a very serious voice suggested, "Perhaps you can tell me about Yahshua and Eli."
Lindsey blinked in surprise. He would never have expected that request. "Didn't Father tell you? I mean, my father?"
"He did. But you haven't. After you tell me, perhaps we can pray for His help too. I'm sure he won't mind somebody like me asking either."
"No, not at all!" Lindsey felt a warmth filling him. He tried to imagine a dragon with heavy, scaled paws folded in prayer and making the sign of the yew and couldn't help but start laughing.
Gmork was in a good mood. And so he decided to make another visit that evening to his soon-to-be fifth pup. He carried with him a much smaller chunk of flesh, this time taken from a wild boar and denuded of its hide. He doubted that his wayward son would be so quick to devour it once told it was human, but it would give him another chance to drive one more crack into the last of his closely guarded conscience.
He'd told his eldest pup to wait in the listening room in case any of his pets had something to tell him, and bade his latest child to act as a runner in case they learned something more about this assassin come to kill Calephas. The other two were sent into the city in as human a shape as they could manage now to strengthen his scrying and defensive spells.
Four was such a small litter. But that had been the total number of mages in Calephas's employ after the catastrophe that had become the winter attack against Metamor. At Nasojassa there had always been a number of mages who had mastered a few tricks and thought themselves worthy to study under Nasoj but in reality were good for nothing more than army fodder. Naosj had never seemed to complain when Gmork made them his children, at least until the day he'd had every single one of them killed.
That Gmork had even escaped with his life let alone his baubles was a testament to his careful planning and preparations. Calephas was not as capricious as Nasoj, but Gmork had no illusions that he would be able to gather his family to such a strength either. At some point, the Baron would do to him what Nasoj had done.
Which made his acquisition of new children all the more important.
He hunched over as his misshaped legs carried him down the narrow twisting stairs to the dungeon and smiled with relish at the thought of what his fifth pup would be able to do once he was ready. To become a whelp of Gmork took away none of the magical skills they had honed in their lives as humans. The other four had been conventional wizards, each favoring the flashy over the subtle. This one possessed a talent built off of one principle, but in feeling along that magical whirligig inside of him, he could discern the numerous clever ways in which it had been employed.
This pup would be his bodyguard and his assassin, and there was not a soul in Arabarb that could contest him.
Gmork met the Lutin hunter serving as gaoler at the small room serving as a guard house. Yellow eyes lifted from a game played with knives to regard him with cold contempt. Judging by the array of bone-knives, each curved and serrated to maximize how much blood they could spill, Gmork knew that this Lutin was very clever and not to be crossed. Around his neck was a leather band decorated with human finger bones, all thumbs. Gmork counted ten of them and chuckled under his breath.
His voice was harsh and irritated. "What you want? Yajgaj praying to elders."
Gmork allowed his arms to swell with beastly strength. He would never admit it to anyone, but his powers to control wills did not extend past humans. Should this Lutin decide to kill him he'd only have his own prodigious physical strength and skills to aid him. Yet another reason to hasten the conversion of his newest pup. "I am here to see the prisoners. When I am done you may continue your prayers."
Yajgaj grunted, rose and sheathed four knives in his leather buckler and produced a key from beneath his hides. "Come," he beckoned as he started down the last set of stairs. Gmork followed at a casual distance.
Yajgaj unlocked the heavy iron doors and then both of them stepped through to the dungeons. The Lutin waited by the door until Gmork had passed. With a flick of one hand he willed a flame to life on the nearby torches and walked straight toward his pup.
What had once been a man still retained mostly human features, although he was beginning to look more and more like Gmork and his other children. Two days ago his ears had been covered in fur, his nose and lips were beastly, and his hands and feet were swollen. Now he could see dark tear marks along his nose, swollen and stretched feet, with obvious claws dotting the ends of only four toes. No tail yet, but it was sure to come soon.
Eyes even more golden than before looked up at Gmork as he approached and his body trembled, whether from delight or fear, Gmork wasn't sure. "Hello my pup. How are you feeling?"
"Sore, Father." No hesitation this time in recognizing Gmork as his father. Another sign of progress. "I want to move and run."
Gmork liked the sound of that. But it needed to be tested. "How do you want to run?"
The once-man rolled onto his hands and knees and tried to put his feet beneath him but his legs were too long for it. "Like this, Father."
Either he truly was giving in, or he was trying to tell Gmork what he wanted to hear. That would be folly for all he had to do was touch the pup's magical being to know the truth of what he said and willed. Still, he was curious to see just how strong this will was if that is what it was. Either he truly did wish to run as a beast and would express it more openly as Gmork questioned him, or his resistance ran even deeper than his father suspected. "One day soon you will, if you are obedient to your father. Let me look you over."
The pup stayed still in his uncomfortable position while Gmork crouched low and began rubbing his hands over his child's body to feel where the changes had taken place. He started with his face, pushing up on his lips and noting that the canines were decidedly longer and his incisors had shrunk. Even his lips were becoming thin, and stretching further back across his scarred cheeks. The scraggly beard felt softer and less wiry than it had a week past when he'd last inspected him. The ears were complete and a symbol of his pup's complete acceptance of the truth of all things his father told him.
Gmork tousled the pup's hair and moved down to his shoulders. These wouldn't change much most of the time, but they did feel as if they had pressed forward some. Gmork then lifted one of his pup's arms and stroked his stubby fingers across the flesh, poking it with his claws several times. His pup made not a noise of complaint. The swollen fingers were beginning to harden at the tips and in the palms, though they were no shorter than before. The nails were thicker and harder and would soon be more claw than nail.
Moving down his back, he felt nothing different, but grinned when he felt a nub of a tail there starting to emerge. He turned his head and let his tail swing clear of his hides. "You cannot run if you do not have a tail."
His pup whined and lowered his head. "I want a tail, Father."
"If you want one, then why don't you have one?"
"I... I want one, Father!"
Gmork could feel the nub quivering under his touch. It would grow more soon. Now his pup wanted it badly, or so he said. Either way, he'd agreed with his father. That was all it truly ever took. Even if he was trying to deceive him, the words of his tongue would convert him anyway.
"Then," Gmork said in a low growl. "Grow one. Please your father."
Of course nothing happened. It never did so suddenly. But the idea was now planted firmly in his pup's mind. In another few days this little nub would be longer by a few inches if not more. His pup whined and professed his obedience while Gmork continued his examination.
The only thing left were his legs. Like the man's face and chest, this too was marred by scratches that ran up and down the length of his thighs and shins. The flesh felt tough and well muscled with the first suggestions of fur in several patches, especially around his knees and ankles. Gmork lifted one of the legs and watched the way it bent and flexed. Still very human in design, but the upper leg did appear to be shorter, with a thicker shank and shallower round. The heel was still pronounced, but it had lost some of its toughness. The bone there was receding.
Gmork set his legs down and crouched before his pup, studying him with firm eye. His growling voice exuded command. "Are you a man?"
He tensed for a moment as if unsure how to answer. "I... I am, Father."
That settled it, Gmork decided. If he were trying to deceive him, he wouldn't have admitted to being a man. It also meant there was a great deal more work to do to convince him otherwise. Once he no longer believed he was a man, everything would move more quickly and he'd soon be able to leave the dungeons a trusted pup.
"Do men have tails? Do men have claws? Hmm?" He lifted one hand and pressed the thick callus of one finger against his dark, wide nose. "Do men have snouts?" And then he rubbed one of his ears between two fingers, pressing firmly through the soft fur. "Do men have ears such as this?"
His pup whined again and tried to fold his ears back submissively as he lowered his hindquarters into a crouch. "They... they... they do at Metamor."
Gmork tensed and chided himself for his foolishness. This attack had often worked in the past. But those who knew Metamorians would not accept it so easily. They had seen men with tails, fur, and snouts. They had seen men who looked like beasts. He had to distance him from that as quickly as possible.
"But you are not touched by Metamor are you?"
He whined again and lowered his golden eyes. "No, Father."
"No, you aren't. You are not of Metamor. We are not men. You are my son, and I am not a man. That means that you are not a man. Are you a man?"
He blinked and dragged the tough nails at the tip of each finger across the stone floor beneath him. His tongue pressed against the back of his lips as he breathed. "I... I think so... Father. I... I don't understand."
"Because you cannot be a man as my pup," Gmork replied in a low whispering growl. He could see the swirl of magical energies inside of him cascading back and forth, torn between what he'd once been and what Gmork was making him. There was still some core of him that clutched tightly onto his humanity. That would have to be broken. It was different for each mage, but given enough time Gmork would unlock the secret.
"Your are a beast, my pup. Say it."
He swallowed and held his hands close together as he crouched. "I... I am a beast, Father."
"Again."
"I am a beast, Father."
"Again!"
"I am a beast!"
"Again!"
"I am a beast!"
With each repetition his pup crouched lower and lower against himself. Through the torn black garment, Gmork could see that his skin was fading into hue as gray as the stones along his belly and chest. What hair he had on his chest had thickened. Even his face was altered some, his nose darkening further and the suggestion of a snout stretching his lips and teeth.
Gmork put one hand on the satchel with the meat and said, "And beasts are not men. Say it. Believe it."
"Beasts are not men, Father."
"Again!"
"Beasts are not men!"
He had him repeat that phrase five more times before he was satisfied that his pup believed it without doubt. But it was one thing to make him believe an abstract concept, quite another to make him realize that it applied to himself as well. Unless he'd been extremely lucky, his pup would believe he was both man and beast without being able to reconcile the contradiction. Best to distract him before the juxtaposition of conflicting ideas made him recognize that one of them had to be false. Gmork had to teach him that and had to make sure it was the right one.
"Very good, my pup. Now, I have something here for you to eat." He set the satchel down and drew out the hunk of meat. Immediately his pup began to pant and salivate with eager delight. The bone from his last meal lay nearby gnawed and cracked. This one would soon share its fate. He held it up before his pup. "Do you want this?"
He yipped in eager delight, all thought washed out of his mind. "Aye, Father! I'm hungry! Let me eat!"
"You may eat this." Gmork set it down on the ground, and to his relief his pup bent over and began tearing into it with his jaws. He used his hands but only to hold the hank of red flesh in place. "My good and dear pup."
He tore out chunks of flesh with his teeth and swallowed them after chewing only a few times. Blood smeared his face and jowls. Gmork stroked him down the back of the head and neck. Very softly, just after his pup had taken a bite, he whispered, "It's from a man."
His pup tensed and began to tremble, nose and jowls wrinkling in distaste, eyes filling with horror and fear. Before he could open his jaws to spit out the latest piece, Gmork growled fiercely at him. "Don't you dare spit that out! You bit it, now eat it. Eat it!"
His pup whined in anguish, but he chewed obediently and after what seemed an endless series of whines and slow circles with his lower jaw, he swallowed the morsel down.
Gmork smiled, revealing his long fangs. He picked up the meat and tore a little chunk off for himself, letting his snout grow out much longer than his pup's, before swallowing and licking his jowls clean of blood. "Now, my pup. You are like your father. Did it taste any different from deer, sheep, or boar?" Those were the animals whose flesh he usually brought. That this was the flesh of wild boar was irrelevant to his question.
With a cringing whimper his pup slowly shook his head. "No, Father."
"Do you like the taste of deer, of sheep, and of boar?"
"A... Aye, Father."
"Then, as this tastes no different from these, and you like the taste of them, you must like the taste of man flesh."
He whimpered again but could not bring himself to say anything. Nor could he draw himself any closer to the meat. Blood stained his cheeks and dribbled onto the tattered remnants of his black cloak.
Gmork put the meat in front of him and then rose and with a scowl on his face said, "This is all you will receive. When I return tomorrow, my pup, there had better be no meat on this bone. You do not want me to be upset with you." His pup whined and trembled in anguish. If Gmork had judged him rightly, the bone would be stripped by the morning. The thought of upsetting his father would be enough to overcome the shards of his conscience.
Gmork needed him to enjoy man flesh. But first that meant he had to believe he'd eaten some. Swallowing that one bite had been a start but would not be enough. As he rose and backed away from his pup, he decided to offer him an additional inducement. In words as sweet as his earlier had been harsh, he added, "You will never grow a tail, my little pup if you do not eat."
He did not linger to see what effect this had on the pup. Nor did he waste his time looking at the other prisoner. The Lutin Yajgaj appeared to be keeping a close eye on him. He did not wait for the Lutin to realize he was finished before heading to the staircase and extinguishing the torches on his way out.
Lindsey didn't sleep well, but he did sleep. The morning dawned cold and gray, with the ground lightly covered in frost. The young boy stood at the entrance to the paddocks staring out at the southern meadow and wanted nothing more than to run away into the woods and never come back. Today was the day he risked everything to free his homeland.
"Zhypar," he whispered into air, his breath misting like incense rising to heaven. "Help me. Find me the strength I need. Holy Mother Yanlin, protect me with thy strength. Yahshua, guide my steps and protect me from all my enemies."
Pharcellus joined him soon enough, and then after they had eaten more porridge brought by his mother, they took to waiting and watching Strom tend his flocks. This lasted until midday when Pharcellus caught sight of a pair of mismatched birds circling the city in a wide arc. He stood up and waved his arms in the air until the pair turned and began to fly in their direction. As they approached, Lindsey could see that one was light and the other dark across his back. A minute later he recognized the seagull Quoddy and knew that the other was a puffin. That must be Machias.
Lindsey and Pharcellus held open the doors to the paddock while both birds flew in and tumbled to a halt on their webbed feet. Standing and shaking themselves off, both birds grew to a mostly human sized and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
"Lindsey! Pharcellus!" Quoddy exclaimed in a hearty squawk. "It is good to see you both safe and sound."
The puffin waddled to the dragon in human guise and looked him up and down. "The red hair's a nice touch, Phar," he hugged him with his wings and then looked at Lindsey with a steady eye. "Wow. You really do look like Phar's younger brother."
"Lindsey," he said by way of introduction, giving the arctic seabird a gentle pat on the shoulder. "It's good to finally meet you. Where's your other brother?"
Quoddy cawed, more softly this time, "He's traveling with his contacts and should be here later today. We can keep an eye out for him."
"Good. I was hoping more than just you two would arrive today. I was planning on... you know."
Both birds nodded. Machias lifted his orange and black beak and turned his head to one side. "We saw a few merchants coming up the road from the southwest. Quoddy said he recognized them."
The seagull nodded. "Brigsne and the others from Vaar. And a few more we didn't see but I hope are with them. If so, that's a dozen men right there. And Lubec said he knew of at least another dozen."
"My contacts won't be here until tomorrow," Machias admitted. "But they're at least fifteen strong that I know of."
Lindsey beamed at the thought of forty to almost fifty men come to aid them. "That's better than I expected! Far better!" He glanced at the two sea birds and laughed lightly. "You both must be exhausted after your flight. Is there anything we can get you?"
"A little something to eat and drink, and then a recommendation of a good perch out of sight of the guards," Quoddy said as he shrugged his wings behind his back. "I think that will do it."
Pharcellus gestured to the distant woods in the south. "From there you can see the whole city and anyone approaching, especially your brother. One of you could wait here at the back of the paddocks. I know your eyes are good enough to pass signals to each other. Nobody else would ever see you."
"I'll go to the trees," the puffin offered. Before his older brother could object, Machias put his wing-claws together and begged, "Please brother. I haven't really seen trees in over two months. It's my turn. I'll be okay."
Quoddy sighed but relented. "Very well. But not until we've eaten."
"I'll find something for you both," Lindsey piped. "I think I'll want to have something to eat too. Before I..." He sucked in his breath and closed his eyes.
"When will you go?"
"I... I want to see my mother one last time."
Pharcellus folded his hands together and frowned. "Elizabaeg said she would be back this afternoon. She's talking to the others she knows in the city to make sure they're ready. We may have another fifteen from them, and even more once they see the battle going our way."
"Then," Lindsey said after another deep breath, "I'll find some food for us all, and we'll wait for my mother."
Elizabaeg returned in the middle of the afternoon as the dragon predicted. Machias had already flown out to the trees, while Quoddy perched on the sill of a window in the paddocks to keep a watch on him. He waved with one wing to the disguised woman and then returned his focus on the woods.
Pharcellus and Lindsey had been scouring the wagon for anything they might need but had not found much. Lindsey would at least need some sort of knife on him, though the soldiers would undoubtedly confiscate it. But no boy of Arabarb of his age would be without a knife or even a sling. The only ones they had were the ones that Lindsey brought with him from Metamor; they were foreign made but only the most astute of observers would know. And by all accounts, this did not include Calephas's hired thugs.
But once Lindsey's mother returned, all searching stopped and he ran to her and hugged her as tightly as he could. "Lhindesaeg!" she exclaimed, then bent down to his level and returned the hug. "It's time isn't it?"
He nodded, trembling, and took a deep breath to try to calm himself. "I wanted to see you one last time, Mother."
She smiled through the fake beard and pressed her face to his. "Here I am."
Their embrace lasted almost an entire minute before Lindsey felt enough courage to dare let go. This could be the very last time he held his mother. For many years he thought he'd never have a chance again. Now that it was past, he knew that if he tried he wouldn't be able to let go.
"And here I go," Lindsey said as he stepped back. "Please pray for me, Mother. I'm frightened, but... I have to do this and I cannot wait any longer. Our allies are arriving and they won't stay long."
"I heard that they have not yet all arrived. Why do you go now?"
"I don't know when I'll be brought in to see the monster. Now that some are here, I have to go. The longer I wait, the less likely this will work." Lindsey hoped he was right. His heart pounded against his chest with a thousand fears about what could go wrong. He ignored them.
"I hope you're right. How are you going to be captured?"
"The same way I almost was two days ago. This time I'll be alone."
"I will shadow you," Pharcellus assured him. "Somebody needs to make sure you are actually taken into the castle."
"Thank you. But, if I don't go now, I won't have the courage to do it at all."
Elizabaeg sighed and tears pooled in her eyes. She turned away and pressed her sleeve to her face. "Then go. Now! Kill that murderous bastard!"
Lindsey stood a little taller, smiled to his mother and his childhood friend, and then returned to the wagon to grab his buckler, knife, cap, and hide cloak. He hurried with each piece, wasting no time in donning them. Once attired, he had to force his legs to move, as they wished, and his heart wished, to stay firmly planted in the smelly paddocks where he'd be safe. But he walked, stiff and with purpose, repeating the same prayer he'd offered that morning in his mind and in his heart.
He smiled to his mother and to Pharcellus as he walked passed them. The smile, meant to reassure them, was more an artifice to reassure himself. He stepped into Strom's home with the dragon quick on his heels. His mother watched but did not follow. Lindsey refused to look at his friend, striding across the simple home to the other end not ten paces away, and then walked through the front door and out into the dirt streets of southern Fjellvidden. He glanced from side to side, and then raced across the street to a narrow alley and started to cut through to the core of the city.
Lindsey kept a close watch at the end of each intersection for soldiers. It was best he not be caught anywhere near the paddocks, and so when he first saw a quartet of them wandering down the street in formation, steely eyes scanning the homes and businesses with suspicion, he melted back into the shadows and stayed very still until they had passed. He even put one hand over his mouth to keep from breathing too loud.
It took him ten minutes to pass through to the center of the city, and once there he found a place to sit down out of sight and wait. He curled his knees to his chest and trembled. The air was cool but not unpleasant, but still he shivered. The world around him was dark, gray, and uninviting. And though he could hear the sounds of labor all around him, he heard not a single voice.
He tried closing his eyes, but that only made his fears multiply. Would Calephas blindfold him so that he couldn't see anything? Would he manacle him? Would there even be a moment of weakness or lowering of his guard? All Lindsey had was the ability to make himself an adult again. The rest would be accomplished by surprise and brute strength.
Before his thoughts could take him any further, he heard it. Coming down the street was the sound of boots and low grunting. Human voices, but none of them happy. Accompanying their stride was the clink of mail and the creak of leather. Soldiers. Lindsey tensed, opened his eyes, and stood as tall as he could. He prayed one last time.
Then walked into the street, casting his head back and forth as if looking for danger. The soldiers were a dozen paces to his right coming toward him; there were four of them, and the two in front noticed him immediately. Lindsey gasped as if surprised, and turned to run. "There's one! Get him!" One of the soldiers shouted as they took up the chase.
Lindsey darted back and forth and even reached the next alley, before he was yanked backward by a hand grabbing his collar. He tumbled roughly to the ground and felt a boot strike him in the chest. The blow was not very hard, just enough to knock the wind and any fight out of him. He gasped and curled up into a ball, face pressed into the cold dirt of the street. Above him the men laughed, while one of them grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him up.
"Let's go kid," the leader said. He was a man with a dusty, scraggly beard, which made it clear that he was not from Arabarb. Two of the other three did have braids, but the fourth was like him and clearly a foreigner. Lindsey scowled and spat at them as soon as he could.
"None of that now," the leader said as he pulled Lindsey's arm behind his back just enough to make him stand on his tiptoes to keep from crying out in pain. "Back to the castle. We have what the Baron wants."
"Good!" One of the two from Arabarb said with a haughty laugh. "I could use a good meal for once."
"The money we get for this won't last a week," groused the other.
"But it's more money than we see just walking these damn streets," the second foreigner pointed out. His voice was high and nasal-pitched, which made it sound like he'd swallowed a weasel.
"Please," Lindsey whined as tears began to well in his eyes. "Please let me go. I did nothing wrong."
The leader tugged his arm again and Lindsey cried out, clenching his eyes shut, forcing the tears to spill down his cheeks. "You'll keep your mouth shut, or you'll be begging to go to the Baron!" A knee struck him in the back and off his feet. His cry bounced from ear to ear as the pain lanced up his arm. He'd felt worse as a man, much worse, even nearly being strangled to death by a noose in the forests north of Breckaris six months ago. But he was a child now in body, and he had to let them believe in mind too.
It wasn't taking much effort on his part.
When he regained his feet he whimpered but didn't say anything more as the quartet of soldiers surrounded him and marched him eastward through the city toward the main gates of the castle. The leader never slackened his grip on his arm and so he walked tiptoe the whole way as quickly as he could. Every slip and stumble made his arm lance with pain.
"How long do you think this one will last?" the second foreigner asked with an uncertain chuckle.
"I don't know and I don't want to know," the leader said with a snarl. "And neither do you if you don't want to feed Gmork's pups."
All three of the other soldiers paled at the suggestion and nothing more was said between them. Lindsey sniveled and wondered just how Gmork could inspire such fear. And who were his pups? And why did they call them pups? The answers would come more quickly than he would like. Already the bailey wall rose up before them, the gatehouse creaking open to allow them entrance.
The double doors were reinforced iron with a heavy portcullis and a long narrow killing passage that dipped down a good six feet before climbing back up again. Nobody would force themselves in that way easily. Once through they reached a small courtyard with barracks, stables, and a guardhouse. Lindsey was marched instead to the main castle and into the westernmost tower. They went up one flight of steps where a small room with a child-size pallet lay in one corner. He was shoved onto this and the door closed behind him.
Lindsey sat down on the pallet and stretched out his arm while wiping his tears on his other sleeve. Outside he could hear voices and booted feet moving back and forth. The stone walls were cold, and the air was bitter and angry. Once his arm began to relax, he huddled close in his cloaks and tried to think clearly.
Fear and anxiety clouded his thoughts, but he did have enough presence of mind to check his belongings. His knife and sling had been taken by the guards as he'd expected, but all the rest of his things were with him. He'd wished he'd dared hide a second knife in his boot or behind his back, but he'd never be able to get that into Calephas's bedchambers.
The small unadorned and uninteresting room was obviously a holding cell for the boys that Calephas pleasured himself with. Apart from the pallet that was clearly meant for a child, there was a small chamberpot with a short chain affixing it to the ground. The chain was only long enough to turn the chamberpot out the narrow window, and it was too thick even for a grown man to break. The narrow window was the only one in the room, and through it a long shaft of light navigated across the room. There was no other light, and the door he entered was the only door. Even Charles as a true rat would have a difficult time squeezing through the window or under the door. Lindsey wasn't going anywhere until Calephas sent for him.
He heard a strange scuffling on the stone that made his heart leap in his chest. The new sound wasn't boots. It was claws, a sound so familiar and welcome after years living at Metamor.
The door opened and in stepped a hideously deformed figure. Dressed from head to toe in old hides was a man with sloping forehead, long tongue that dangled between his teeth, dark streaks along his protruding and flattened nose, and a patchy tail dangling behind him. The figure's long hairless ears perked as golden eyes studied him for several long seconds. Drool fell from his tongue to the floor. Lindsey recoiled in horror and pressed himself as far back against the wall as he could.
The beast man smiled, revealing little whiskers at the ends of his lips. In a growling voice mangled by his long tongue the creature said, "You'll do nicely."
And then it turned back out the door and shut it behind him. Lindsey heard no key turn, but he did hear the clawed feet retreat back down the hall, while booted feet returned to stand guard at the door.
He swallowed heavily and made the sign of the yew across his chest until his arm grew tired. Was that one of Gmork's pups?
And if so, what was Gmork? No mere mage would make such mockeries.
Despite his best efforts, Lindsey started crying again. And this time, no memory, no hope, no prayer could make him stop.
Gmork was on his way down the narrow staircase to see if his latest pup had finished stripping the bone. He hoped so; he hated having to punish his children. But sometimes it was the only way they ever learned. The anger could even be used to break them of their pointless clinging to humanity.
But he'd rather they just succumb. It made them easier to manage once they were fully converted.
But before he was even halfway to Yajgaj's chamber, he was interrupted by the barking voice of one of his other pups. He turned and growled, "What is it?"
The pup, his third, lowered himself onto all fours, even going so far as to let his hands dwindle into mere paws. His long snout garbled the words, but between his whining and yipping Gmork understood him well enough.
"Already?" he asked, standing a bit taller, his tail stiffening behind him. His pup's tail wagged anxiously as he nodded. Gmork smiled and started back up the stairs. He reached down and stroked his pup between the ears. "Thank you for telling me. Your brother can wait. Come." His third pup crawled almost on his belly after him back up the stairs.
Machias had been waiting in the trees for a couple hours before he finally saw a familiar black shape flying high in the sky. Their brother had finally arrived! He waved his wings in signal to his brother Quoddy back at the paddock, then leaped into the air and ascended after his brother.
Lubec the Cormorant saw him when he was halfway, and the two of them turned to find a quiet spot away from the city. They banked together and descended to the edge of the trees near to where Machias had watched. As best they could with webbed feet they landed amid the arbor, and then hugged in greeting. "You made it! I was beginning to wonder if you would," Machias said with a chirp.
"Just now. My friends from the west are waiting for me to tell them where to go to meet with the rest of the Resistance. How long have you and Quoddy been here?"
"Since midday. Metamor's assassin has already gone into the castle, but we don't expect anything to happen until this evening."
Lubec nodded his beak and shook his wings from side to side. "Good, that will give our men time to gather together and coordinate. Where are the rest staying so I can tell my contact?"
"I don't actually know," Machias admitted. "My contact and his friends won't be here until tomorrow, but Quoddy's are already here and somewhere in the city. We're staying at that paddock there. Strom should know where the rest are."
Lubec's eyes frowned but he nodded and more brightly, added, "I'll pass that along and be back soon. It will be so nice being together again."
"That it will," Machias agreed. The brothers hugged one last time before both took off to go their separate ways.
The sliver of sky outside Lindsey's window revealed a world on the brink of twilight when the oaken door opened again. To his surprise the figure that stepped through holding a wooden spear that was curved to suggest a hook like a primitive guisarme was not the monstrous deformed man that had appeared earlier, nor any of the human soldiers that had arrested him, but a Lutin dressed in a fur vest and cloak, with an array of knives shaped from bone around his waist and a necklace of finger bones prominently displayed on his chest. He waved the guisarme once in the air as yellow eyes narrowed to consider him. "Baron wants you now. Come."
Lindsey was still curled up in the corner of the room farthest from the door with his face turned to the wall. Slowly, he uncoiled his limbs and managed to climb to his feet. The Lutin stared at him, eyes widening and narrowing as his thick, wide lips slipped over his pointed teeth and prominent tusk-like canines. Lindsey had never spent much time in the presence of Lutins - his last few encounters had all ended with the green-skinned savage's sudden death - so was not quite sure what to make of the odd expression on this one's face.
There was a trio of Lutins behind him who from the way they shadowed the one wearing the necklace of finger bones were his subordinates. The lead Lutin taped the but of his guisarme on the stone just inside the doorway and they fell back a pace. He walked backward three steps to allow Lindsey space to leave his cell.
"Why... where are you taking me.... I didn't do anything..." Lindsey murmured as he walked, keeping his arms very close to his chest.
"To see Baron," the lead Lutin snapped. He felt the butt end of the guisarme against his back. "That way."
Lindsey walked between the pair of human soldiers set to watch his door, with the four Lutins following close behind. They jostled a little but the leader, so far as Lindsey could tell, only needed to tense and bring them into line.
He tried not to be frightened by them, but for the first time in a long time, they were actually the same size as he was. Still, he reminded himself with every step, by this time tomorrow if all went well they'd all be dead or in flight. Calephas wanted him for his bed. And that's where the monster would die.
Their path through the castle took them up another few flights of steps and away from all the windows. He was brought at last to a hallway modestly apportioned but that must have at one time been fine, with draperies and old suits of armor betraying spots of rust. A carpet now torn in places but at one time a lush red, led to a large set of ornately carved doors with flambeaux on either side. Lindsey saw the forest, the mountains, the rivers, bear, elk, moose, and even dragons in the design. But to his surprise there were no guards.
The question was answered when the doors opened and a tiger Keeper dressed only in the sort of harness usually attiring plowhorses. His golden eyes were kept ever lowered, and his shoulders bent forward as he cringed away from the Lutins and the boy, holding the door open only to let them in.
"Your boy, Baron," the lead Lutin announced as he gave Lindsey one last shove with the butt end of his guisarme. "We wait here."
"Thank you," a smooth voice spoke from where Lindsey couldn't see. Beyond the doorway was a room about twice the size of their room at the Inn in Vaar, the other end directly in front of him occupied by a bed draped in heavy quilt and two bear hides sewn together. To the left he could see a hearth crackling with a blaze that kept the air in the room very warm. A couple small chests and a writing table were also there, all resting on an old carpet whose colors were now faded. But of the speaker he saw nothing.
"Weaker," that voice said again, this time with the sternness of command, "bring him to the bed and then wait by the door."
The tiger kept his eyes and face downcast and then wrapped a meaty paw about Lindsey's arm. He was very strong and his claws poked at his skin ever so slightly. Lindsey looked into his face and wondered if this was one of the spies Metamor had sent, but that didn't seem to make any sense. Hadn't he heard something about another Keeper being taken prisoner not long ago? Is this mindless obedience another consequence of Gmork's magery?
Once he was dragged from the doorway he could see the rest of the room. The right side had another set of chests, a long table on which libations and various goblets were set, and other devices whose function and purpose Lindsey hoped he never learned. Before this table stood a tall man dressed in expensive furs neatly trimmed and holding a pair of small brass goblets in gloved hands. His coiffured hair was light brown with hints of gray, with cold-hardened cheeks and a slender but round Midlander face and complexion. His eyes were a soft blue that surveyed Lindsey with a predator's hunger. And buckled at his side was a rapier.
"I am Baron Garadan Calephas. You need not be afraid." His eyes flicked to the tiger Keeper who picked Lindsey up and set him on the bed as if he were a sack of potatoes. "Of Weaker at least. Is his appearance frightening?"
Lindsey trembled and curled against the intricately carved headboard and nodded. He had to pretend like he'd never seen a Keeper before and he hoped his wide-eyed stunned expression was convincing.
The Baron took a few steps toward him but stopped halfway. He swirled whatever was in the goblets idly as he let his eyes pass between the tiger and the boy. "He's quite harmless. Strong, capable of violence should I wish, and certainly to protect me, but completely tame." Lindsey swallowed heavily at the thought of having to subdue this enslaved Keeper in addition to the Baron. He'd have to be quick. He shook his head as he stared fixedly at the tiger. The tiger whom the baron named Weaker stood with head lowered like a marionette waiting for its strings to be pulled.
And then, with a sudden shout, he brought the tiger's ears up at least. "Weaker! My shoes." The feline fell to the floor at Calephas's booted feet, licked the backs of his arms, and then began polishing the boots with his own fur. This he did very quickly and without any suggestion of irritation at so degrading a task. "Thank you. Wait by the door."
Lindsey swallowed as the tiger backed up to the door and hunkered there beneath the lantern, bringing him into relative shadow. Calephas crossed to the bed and sat down a few feet from Lindsey. "You are mine now, child. I am going to enjoy your flesh and turn it to my purposes. Most likely you will not enjoy it. And it will hurt. Drink this. It will help with the pain and help you relax. There is no other way out of this, boy."
Extending his right arm, he held out the brass goblet. Lindsey could see what looked and smelled like wine. He'd almost certainly tainted it with some drug that would make Lindsey completely unable to resist. He didn't dare drink it. He swallowed and looked from the goblet to Calephas. He didn't know how fast this man was with his rapier, but Lindsey was going to have to be faster.
Calephas stared at him over the top of the goblet, eyes transfixed and sharp as an eagle's. He turned the goblet back and forth between gloved fingers. "Take and drink this. It is not poisoned. I do not like dead boys. Do not believe me? Watch." He tiled the goblet over his own and poured a portion of the wine into it. Then he drank from the goblet in his left hand and smacked his lips in satisfaction. "As you can see, I am well. Drink."
Lindsey reached out his hands and took the goblet from Calephas. The man smiled, so sure and disgusting. The boy put the goblet to his lips, an let the liquid pour into his mouth. It tasted much like any wine he'd ever had. But as soon as the last drop passed his lips, he spat it straight into Calephas's face.
The Baron spluttered and fell backward, even as Lindsey jumped to his feet to grab the rapier and will himself back to his normal adult age. Only, he didn't quite make it to his feet. He fell forward onto his face and rolled onto his back, blinking as everything around him began to fall into darkness and all strength vanished from his bodies.
From a distance, he could hear Calephas's voice growing ever further and further away. "The wine wasn't poisoned; that much was true. But the spell attached the goblet... well, that's why I'm wearing gloves. Spitting it in my face was..."
And then there was nothing.