Land of the Giants, page 40
Marius snapped his head over his shoulder at an angle Corbin did not think possible. “Eh, what did you say, scab? Time? Time for what?” Marius glared at him with fire-soaked eyes. Corbin’s palms grew damp and he twitched, breaking eye contact and staring at the ground, trying to look as pitiful as possible.
“Archduke?” Tryn asked, puzzled by the man’s outburst. “Are you okay? No one spoke, sir.”
Marius looked between Corbin and Kyra, inspecting them with swelling interest.
“Sir?” Tryn prodded again, concerned that the archduke had been out in the afternoon heat too long.
“Eh?” Marius said. “Oh, yes, have it your way then, young Tryn.” He sneered at Kyra and flicked his attention back to the marquess. “This one smells of a scab bitch anyhow, and I like my meat virginal.”
“Meat, sir?” Tryn asked, confused by the archduke’s strange behavior.
Marius scowled at him. “Come now, boy, don’t act so daft, just when I was getting optimistic for your future.” Marius waved away the notion with a circle of his short staff and paced away from Kyra, back down the line.
“It’s now or never, Corbin,” Isaac groaned both out loud and in their heads. The jotnar guards were grinning sickly at him, circling to either side and clenching their swords.
“No, Isaac, we need more time!” Corbin begged, watching the archduke’s back carefully.
Their disguises began to flicker. As startled as the slaves were to see the illusion fade off and onto their bodies, none of them made a peep, fearing the wrath of Marius more than whatever witchcraft was at play.
“Looks like we found us a little runaway scab. Commander Erruza will find this quite interesting,” one of the jotnar leered, wading through the filth toward Isaac. “‘Course, we don’t need the scab alive. She can always pull one of those necromantic tricks to make the little piggy squeal, eh?”
“I am sorry, my friends,” Isaac lamented, both psychically and aloud, fully exposing them by releasing his hold on the dweomer.
The line of slaves was shaken when before their very eyes Corbin’s, Kyra’s, and Stur’s disguises melted away. Where once there stood three average scabs, now were a warrior built like an ox, a short pale man with long raven hair, and the most beautiful woman any of them had ever beheld. Fivan covered a woman’s mouth before she could scream in fear at the witchcraft before them.
Thankfully the jotnar retinue had their backs to the group. Down the line, Marius stopped once more in front of the muscular human Tryn had offered, oblivious to the commotion the trio was causing. “I’ll take him.”
Tryn nodded and gestured for the overseer to have the slave cleaned and brought to the palace for servant training. While the pair was speaking, Marius waved his hand, signaling his man to slice the scab’s throat.
Tryn stumbled forward. “But…what? I thought you wanted to take him.”
Marius feigned ignorance, looking back at the marquess with mild amusement. “I am taking him. This is a fine piece of tenderloin you have raised. I look forward to eating it in about a week or so.” Tryn raised an eyebrow, broadcasting his unspoken question. “Oh, I like to let the meat rot a little before cooking it. Makes for a more succulent treat.” Marius cackled at the marquess’s wrinkled nose.
“But I thought you wanted him for a servant. If it was meat you needed, we have stores of that in the chop house.” Tryn felt stupid for not understanding the archduke’s needs sooner, wondering if his father would have made the same mistake.
“That garbage? You mean the leftover scraps of your dying or invalid scabs? No, I only eat the younger ones, and I like a lot of muscle on my steak,” Marius explained, enjoying how Tryn’s human slavers involuntarily squirmed as he spoke.
In the sewers, Isaac backed toward the rubble, as his pursuers closed in.
“Nowhere for you to run now, little scab. Might as well just let us get this over with nice and quick,” the overly talkative jotun guard goaded him, moving close enough to swing his sword across Isaac’s face. Except when he swung, the ebony man flickered, the sword cutting through thin air and cracking so hard across a block of tumbled stone that the force vibrated up the sword painfully into the soldier’s hand and he almost bit his tongue when his teeth clacked together.
“What—?” the other guard began, cut off by the sudden reappearance of Isaac, who let a bolt of lightning fly from his staff into the jotun’s chest. Grinding his teeth uncontrollably, the soldier tried to let go of his weapon but clutched it all the harder with muscles coursing with electricity. When he hit the sludge, grinding his teeth hard enough to shatter a fang, the jotun could see his partner writhing in the electrified sewage beside him, choking on the filth with a gaping scream that would never come.
“Quickly now, Isaac!” Corbin shouted in the mage’s mind, forcing the telepathic connection though the mage had severed it.
Marius stopped short, swinging his head to peer down the line at the strange slaves once more. “Why are those scabs standing like that?” he hissed with a wild look in his eyes that scared even the overseer. Down the line, the slaves stood at odd angles, blocking his view of the scabs he had been interested in earlier.
“Frederick, move those scabs back into formation!” Tryn called, trying to add the proper weight of command into his voice.
The human slaver moved forward, barking at the slaves to get back against the wall. But his whipping only seemed to make the chaos worse, as men and women fell over each other on the ground, howling in pain.
“Isaac!” Kyra prodded urgently, panicking as the slaves created the unexpected barrier around them.
Tryn growled at his man’s incompetence, snatching his own whip from his belt and stomping over to the ridiculous outbreak. With four sharp flicks, he had the slaves all back in line, their backs firmly pressed against the warehouse wall.
Marius was beside him, eyeing Kyra and Corbin suspiciously. “What were the two of you just discussing, scab?” he asked, moving his face up to Corbin and sniffing the air. “I heard you. Don’t try to deny it.”
“It was me,” Stur mumbled, stepping forward to Kyra’s alarm.
Corbin thought about using his magic against the archduke, swaying the jotun that he had heard nothing after all. “Don’t you do it, lad,” Isaac whispered. “This is a powerful wizard, no doubt about it, to have heard your telepathy. You’ll never get so far as to enter his mind before he lays waste to all of you.” Though his heart wrenched at the idea of Stur facing this cruel jotun’s punishment, Corbin did not dare to reply to the mage deep in the sewers.
Marius brooded over Stur, moving fluidly to his side so that as he spoke, his fangs were against Stur’s earlobe. “What did you say?”
“It was me, Your Lordship. I cannot help it, I mumble when I’m nervous,” Stur said weakly. Kyra knew the proud warrior was putting on an act, but it did not bother her any less to see the weapon master cowering before one of the blue-skinned devils.
Marius growled in Stur’s ear and motioned for his man-at-arms. In his heart, Corbin knew there was no way he would stand by while his friend was butchered, and he slowly reached behind his back, grasping the center of his voulge.
“Mark him,” the archduke commanded, “and also his friends here, who think I am a fool who doesn’t see them all for liars.” The man-at-arms slashed a cut into Stur’s shoulder while his men took care of Corbin and Kyra. “And add the old goat there,” Marius said, pointing at Fivan. “He has too much sway over the rest of these scabs.” The archduke had not missed Fivan’s lead when he had fallen to his knees earlier. Satisfied, Marius turned to his royal tour guide. “This has been an interesting tour of your scab facilities, but the granary will be our last stop for the day.”
Tryn bowed humbly before the archduke, exhilarated to hear the mighty leader’s praise. “Shall we convene on the morrow?”
“You may come get me in one day. I have other matters to tend to with your father tomorrow. You will show me around these dungeons Belikar is supposedly famous for,” Marius ordered, turning his back on Tryn and heading to his carriage. “Oh, and don’t forget the marked scabs. They will make excellent fodder for an experiment I would like to show you.”
Tryn could not believe his luck. The ancient gods must surely be smiling down upon him for the day to have turned out so well. He quickly ordered a pair of slavers to tie the bundle of meat up in the rotting house and mark it for delivery to the archduke in exactly a week, adding that none were to touch the slaves Marius had personally selected for experimentation. As he walked away from the line, allowing it to be broken up, he could not help feeling excited that the archduke himself was going to be teaching him.
The slavers were in rare form, whipping the heels of the crowd and barking for them to get back to work.
Fivan roughly made his way through the crowd, grasping Kyra’s shoulder and spinning her in place to speak. “You better explain who in the hell you are and just what in blazes is going on.”
“Oh, so we have your attention now?” Kyra replied with a wry grin.
Chapter 15: The Witch Queen
Marching through the swamps with Bipp and Nero at his side and agmawor at his back, Logan replayed the past couple weeks. When they came across the first totem, which was nothing more than the severed head of an Agma mounted atop a crude wooden spear stuck in the ground, he snapped out of his ruminating over how they had gotten in their current predicament. One look at that rotting head told him it was time to stop dwelling in the past and focus on staying alive.
The marshlands soon shifted back into the dense jungle he had come to hate. Signs of the approaching Agmawor camp became more frequent as they came across more and more of the ghastly totems marking their territory. A group of Agmawor guarding the outskirts of their camp came out of the thick foliage to greet Logan’s captors. There was quick talk of a high priestess named Luana, and then the hunting party was on their way again.
When they came to the wall, Logan was surprised. “How did these primitives build this barrier out here in the jungle?” he whispered to his companions. The yellowed stone wall loomed ominously and looked grossly out of place in the wild forest. It was at least seven feet tall and overgrown with a blanket of vines crawling across its cracked surface. Agmawor rested on top, keeping a lookout.
“This is not of their creation,” Nero countered. “We are likely at the site of Ithiki's zoo. These walls must be remnants from that time.”
Logan shared a puzzled look with Bipp and asked, “What is a zoo?”
“The people of Ithiki collected a wide variety of species, which they put on display here for all to see,” Nero replied.
Why would people want to put animals on display? Logan wondered. The whole concept seemed barbaric to him.
Bipp whistled. “Must have been built well, to have held up all this time.”
They passed through the wall into the Agmawor camp. All vegetation seemed to have been stripped from the campgrounds, most likely lost under the trampling feet of its denizens. The place was a network of tents, wide at the base and narrow at the top, made of animal skins. The ruins of Ithiki stood here and there between the rows of tents, and the smell of burning wood filled the area.
Agmawor were everywhere. Logan was astounded by the sheer volume of lizard people living in this place. They easily doubled the Agma tribe in number. It was no wonder the blue-green cannibals easily overpowered their nomadic green cousins.
As they were led through the dusty camp, groups of curious Agmawor approached, prodding the strange soft-skins before being driven away by a hissing Rahl. The prisoners were shoved across a crudely built platform over a ten-foot drop. As they crossed, Logan thought the bottom of the pit was moving until he realized it was packed with snakes of all colors and sizes.
“Halt!” Rhal commanded, lining Logan, Bipp, and Nero up shoulder to shoulder in front of a cave opening. Several stakes with severed heads decorated either side of the cave. Rhal tapped his spear on the solid rock at their feet and chanted, his voice echoing into the cave entrance. Someone inside replied with another chant that ended with all of the hunting party kneeling, foreheads pressed to the ground. When Rhal saw the soft-skins were not also kneeling, he quickly gave each of them sharp blows to the spine, forcing the prisoners to their knees.
Logan heard the approaching entourage before it emerged from the cave, led by a set of muscular Agmawor who each carried large cudgels made from some sort of carved bone and wore the skulls of wolves as helms. Three robed Agmawor acolytes followed, leading the high priestess.
The high priestess was tall and slender by Agmawor standards, and naked beneath the loose brown robe she wore. Her scales were much paler, more green than blue, and she wore the talons of a drake around her neck, with wide plumes of black feathers standing upright from the back of her collar. She carried her thurible, a long interlinking chain that ended in a hollowed-out censer, with great care. Logan had seen Morgana use a similar item to burn incense during prayer to Baetylus, though he suspected in Luana’s hands it held a more devious purpose.The exotic-looking lizardwoman studied the kneeling soft-skins intently, with cold eyes and a frown, before moving aside to make room for the witch queen.
Nadja was carried out of the cave on a large litter by four broad-shouldered Agmawor who wore nothing but bone necklaces. The litter was wide, covered with layers of animal fur as padding, and the servants carried it with long poles painted in the blood of their enemies. Nadja leaned back amid the soft furs, her creamy white skin draped in a nearly translucent, green silky fabric that fell from her shoulders in delicate layers around an ample bosom. The witch queen wore a look of boredom as she was carried out of the cave, but when her eyes rested on the strange humanoids, the Agmawor leader perked up.
The servants stopped and knelt, remaining perfectly still with the poles of the litter resting horizontally across their backs.
“What are these delightful little creatures we’ve been brought, Luana?” the witch queen asked the high priestess with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“Never have I set eyes on soft-skins such as these,” Luana replied, staring at the odd creatures. “They are too light to be escaped jotnar slaves, and this one—” She pointed at Bipp with the end of her long wooden staff. “—is most peculiar.”
“Which is their leader? Bring it closer,” Nadja commanded of Rhal.
The Agmawor hunter was quick to comply, prodding Logan with the tip of his spear. Logan could not stand up fast enough for the lizardman, who kept poking at him incessantly.
Logan stood before the witch queen, her litter set at the height of his waist. She studied him with a lustful grin. She was not like the other Agmawor, he saw. She almost looked human, with long, shiny black hair cascading down her shoulders and curling around her waist, and a heart-shaped face. When she shifted slightly on her resting elbow, he could see her skin was actually covered in tiny white scales that glittered in the daylight, and her ears had no lobes. Nadja’s eyes met his own. They were almond-shaped and the same emerald green as Logan’s. Her nose was small and delicate above deep red lips shaped like a cupid’s bow. If not for the feral look in her eyes and scintillating scales, which no human could possibly possess, he would swear the witch queen was one of his own kind.
“Does it speak?” Nadja playfully asked her high priestess.
“Why have you brought us here?” Logan asked. “You have no cause to hold ill will toward me and my men. We have done nothing to you.”
Nadja feigned shock, covering her giggle with slender fingers that ended in needle-sharp talons. She gave him a throaty laugh and flicked her free hand at Rhal. The hunter punched Logan hard in the kidney, grunting for him to keep his mouth shut in front of the Queen. Logan almost fell down from the staggering blow.
Nadja giggled some more as he gritted his teeth through the pain. She was impressed by the soft-skin’s strength of will. “They have done nothing to the Agmawor?” she asked. “Is that correct, high priestess?” Logan could see the witch queen was toying with him.
“There were reports of strange soft-skins murdering members of our hunting party a couple weeks ago,” Luana replied grimly.
“And what have you to say to that, soft-skin?” Nadja prompted, smirking at him.
“My name is Logan Walker, not soft ski—” Logan replied, cut off by another jab from Rahl’s spear as he hissed for the soft-skin to answer the queen. Grunting, Logan turned to give the smug lizard a hateful glare. Looking back at the witch queen, he regarded her for a moment then nodded, smirking back. “I see the stories of you are true,” he said.
The queen arched a thin eyebrow. “Oh? And what stories might those be?”
“That Nadja, Queen of the Agmawor, is as wise as she is beautiful. Being here in your presence, I can see why these lizards follow you so,” Logan said, giving the witch his most charming smile.
Bipp rolled his eyes and moaned under his breath, “We’re dead now.”
However, the Queen’s smile grew wider at the compliment. When her hunter moved to strike the soft-skin for his insolence, she held up a hand, signaling it was okay to let the man speak.
“And where, pray tell, have you heard these stories of me?” Nadja said.
Logan feigned a dumbfounded look of disbelief and snorted. “Why, all across Acadia. From the land of the giants to the empires of man, the name of Queen Nadja is spoken with great reverence to your beauty. Except now that I am here, to bear witness and behold you with my very own eyes, I can see those tales pale in comparison to your angelic beauty.”
The witch queen giggled, leaning back farther and letting the folds of her silky robes fall to the side, revealing a perfectly shaped breast. Logan’s eyes instinctively rested on her milky white bosom, its cherry rosebud hard in the exposed air, and he gulped. His mouth grew dry and his face burned hot under her mischievous eyes. Nadja enjoyed the way the soft-skin grew embarrassed and tilted her head farther back than should be possible, laughing raucously. Logan joined her, grinning stupidly, and the Agmawor hunters grew uncomfortable.
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