Witches Be Crazy, page 9
Quickly the residents of the room began to see this for the opportunity this was. They dashed to the gate and began to slide themselves through the opening. Dungar’s face was red. His ears pounded from the sound of blood rushing through his body. He had no idea if he was being thanked or not, he could hear nothing. But still he held on, despite every fiber of his body screaming in protest.
Eventually only Jimminy remained. Every other prisoner had taken off in search of their freedom with nary a backwards glance or attempt to aid Dungar in holding the gate.
“Get out of here, Jimmy!” Dungar ordered.
“But mista Dungar! What about—”
“I DON’T HAVE TIME TO ARGUE WITH YOU!” Dungar screamed into the room. The pain was excruciating. “I can’t hang on!” He spit out in between heavy breaths. “Go! NOW!”
Without a word Jimminy sprinted towards the gate and dove underneath it. As soon as he cleared the room Dungar’s hands gave out sending the gate plummeting to the ground resulting in a thunderous crash. His arms, legs, hands, and back, every muscle that he could have possibly engaged to hold that door, burned like fire. As soon as he let go he collapsed to the ground in crippled heap.
Outside the room Jimminy was trying fruitlessly to work the turnstile. No matter how he heaved or kicked at it, the gate did not so much as shudder.
“Go before they catch you and throw you back in here, Jimmy!” Dungar yelled from his spot on the floor.
“But mate …” Jimminy began. He stood at the gate looking through at Dungar laying on the ground. Even in the dim light the pain on Jimminy’s face was visible. “… Wot are you going to do?”
Using whatever remained of his strength, Dungar got off the floor and met Jimminy at the gate.
“I’m going to marry a princess and live happily ever after.”
Jimminy smiled sheepishly at him, and the two simply stayed where they were for a moment.
“Okay seriously, what in the blazes do you think you’re doing?” Dungar demanded incredulously. “I just freed you, how dare you insult my efforts by sticking around. Get out of here. Go go go go go go.” He continued to repeat go whilst slamming his hand against the gate in rhythm with his demands until Jimminy disappeared into the darkness. As soon as he was alone, Dungar again crumpled to the floor in a wreck.
“Kidnap me, will ya?” Dungar soliloquized from the floor. “Fine, I’ll just ruin your livelihood.” He chuckled to himself for a few moments where he lay before his tiredness overtook him and he nodded off.
His second wake-up call in the cell was very similar to his first one. Only it wasn’t just Dritungo’s voice rousing him this time, but also the feeling of a fist roughly the size of a cannonball being drove into his stomach. Dungar’s eyes opened to the sight of the angriest face he had ever seen nose to nose with his own.
“YOU ARE A DEAD MAN!” Dritungo bellowed at him whilst laying more murderous punches into his midsection.
“Enough, Dritungo.” Herrow’s voice chimed in.
The petite lady entered the room wearing a long black cloak with the hood up. Dritungo dropped his fist, but remained holding Dungar up by the collar of his shirt.
“I’m not entirely sure how you managed it, Dungar.” She addressed him, giving him a cold stare. “But you’ve sabotaged my main event for tomorrow and now you’re going to have to find a way to make it up to me.”
“Well send the ogre outside and I’ll make it up to ya right here.” Dungar sneered, earning him another punch in the face from Dritungo.
Herrow strode over to where Dungar lay and pressed the sharp heel of her boot deep into his neck.
“Not on your life, you disgusting, hairy animal.” She snarled at him. “No, I already have other plans for you. We’ll find more people for the main event before it happens, and until then you are going to entertain the crowd.”
She stepped off of his neck and strode out of the room. Dritungo stayed behind.
“You’re lucky we need you for tomorrow.” Dritungo growled. “Or I’d break you right now.”
Dungar lay where Dritungo dropped him as the henchman stormed out of the room, locking him in there once more. He thought about his aching ribs and the feeling of the sharp boot heel pressed against his neck.
“Totally worth it.” He grunted to himself with a chuckle.
TEN
Are You Not Entertained!?
Being alone in the cell started to grate on Dungar after a short while. He would occasionally nibble on his provisions and take short naps periodically due to boredom and lack of stimuli. Before long he sense of time was all but obliterated. He had no idea how long he had been confined there alone by the time the gate opened up again.
“I thought we were supposed to take blood bath people to the other cell?”
“It’s totally full. It’s no big deal to leave him here, he only has to last the night.”
Dungar watched as a tied up man was tossed into the cell with him. As the gate closed and the room turned to dimness, Dungar made his way over to the individual. He was an older gentleman with long greying hair, most of which was swept back behind his head. His face was old and weathered, but still tough looking. It was a similar toughness to that of Sir Pent’s face, battle-hardened and unapologetic.
“You plan on staring at me all day, or are you gonna help me up, son?” The man groaned exasperatedly.
Like many of the men Dungar had encountered on his journey, this man’s voice too had a bit of drag to it. But it was slightly higher than what he had been becoming accustomed to, and there was a noticeable drawl to it. He bent down and undid the binds on the man’s hands before helping him to his feet.
“Appreciate that, boy.” The man thanked, dusting himself off.
“No problem, sir.” Dungar responded.
“Sir? How did you know I was a knight?”
“You’re a knight?”
“You just called me sir.”
“Is that not a typical way of addressing an older man?”
“Older man!? Just who do you think you are, son?”
“How about you stop calling me son and I won’t refer to you as an old man.”
“How about I feed you my fist, son!?”
At that, the man wound up and took a very uncoordinated swing at Dungar. Effortlessly, he sidestepped the punch which caused the man to lose his balance and stagger before falling to the floor. Dungar gaped at him as the man gracelessly rolled around trying to get back up before settling into a sitting position.
“Alright son, I’ll let ya beat around the stump … This time!”
“Are you drunk?” Dungar bluntly asked.
“Well that depends on what you mean by … You.” The man slurred while looking around.
Sighing, Dungar slumped against the wall into a sitting position as well. They sat for a long time, neither speaking to the other. Dungar eyed the older fellow suspiciously as he sat in the middle of the floor gibbering to himself before finally going silent.
“Is that blood event tomorrow?” The man finally spoke
“Yes.” Dungar replied matter-of-factly
“Well that sucks.” He stated. “How’d y’all get holed up in this calaboose?”
“… Uh. What?”
“… Where did they snag you from?”
“Lotsotri forest.”
“Lotsotri forest? What were you doing there?”
“I was on my way to Jenair.”
Upon hearing that, the man sighed to himself.
“Aw flaming piss buckets. You weren’t intending to marry the queen were ye? Because if you were then I got bad news for ya.”
Dungar perked up at the mention of her. It’s only been a few days; surely she couldn’t have gotten married already. If she ended up with Rainchild then he’s really going to kill her.
“What do you mean?”
“The queen, son.” The man repeated. “The fishy wench ain’t who ya think she is. She’s a witch and a killer. And I’ll have her head on a spike even if I gotta see every last one of you suitors knocked galley west.”
The multitude of questions roiling around in Dungar’s mind left him with a very odd look on his face. The man, however, assumed his odd look was surprise resulting from the information he was just presented with.
“Hope this doesn’t foster no bad blood between us, son.”
“I think we’ll be okay, sir.”
Dungar wasn’t sure what to make of the strange man he found himself locked in a room with. Did he actually know about the queen, or was he just a crazy conspiracy theorist? Questions like those forced Dungar to question his own stance on the matter. If he were to write off this old fellow as a crazy conspiracy theorist, how could he justify his own quest? On the other hand, perhaps this man could be the ally he needed.
“What do you know?” Dungar asked.
“What do I know!? I know she’s a witch and a murderer!” The man responded defensively.
“I’m asking how you know that, you crazy old goat.” Dungar countered, irritated.
“You watch your tongue or I’ll take it from you, boy!” The cellmate growled.
Dungar stared at him with a bored expression of contempt. He was imprisoned, starved, and beaten. Petty threats of violence from an old man weren’t about to faze him now. Something about Dungar’s scrutinizing stare must have tipped the man off to that notion, because he opted to carry on.
“I saw it with my own eyes. I was stationed outside the king’s private chambers to superintend his slumber that night, and I had barely even been drinking before this shift! Then the princess came, so naturally I let her inside. I figured if there was anyone on whom his highness could rely it would be his own dang daughter. But after she went in I watched her. She went right up to his bed and knelt by him.”
“Why were you spying on the princess when she thought she was alone with the king?”
“THAT’S NONE O’ YER GODDAMN BUSINESS, BOY!”
“… Alrighty then.”
“Ahem now where was I? Ah yes. She began to work some sorta witchery on my dear king. There were flashes of red and purple and all them other colors and before I knew it King Ik was lookin’ all gone up the flume in his bed. When she left his chambers, the harlot tried to convince me the king was resting and not to be disturbed, BUT I KNEW BETTER! I rushed to his side only to feel the touch of the king’s cold carcass. Naturally, as any of us knights would do, I rushed to our betrayer to beef her where she stood! But wouldn’t you know it, son, she knew I would come for her. I was arrested by my own brothers, my cries of treason falling on deaf ears. But mark my words, boy. I’m gonna track down yer bride-to-be, and she’s gonna die.”
“So wait.” Dungar replied. “You mean to tell me that you were actually a knight?”
“Still am, boy!” The man declared. “A true knight serves his king! And even stripped of my position I still am and will always be Sir Lee of Castle Jenair!”
“Dungar Loloth.” He introduced himself, stretching out one of his giant bear paws of a hand. Lee took it in one of his and they had themselves a nice manly handshake with just the right amount of firmness.
“Did you perhaps know a Sir Pent?” Dungar asked.
“DID I!?” Lee exclaimed. “Why that wretched scumbag is one of the traitorous lowlifes who arrested me. He’s so crooked he’d swallow a nail and shat out a corkscrew. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire!”
“I think he’s dead.” Dungar added nonchalantly.
“Don’t be so sure, boy.” Lee warned. “He’s a wall-eyed, lippy bastard, but he’s also one tough son of a whore. If you didn’t hear no death rattle from em, then don’t bet all yer chips just yet.”
They sat in silence for a little while after that. Dungar couldn’t figure out whether to be amused or annoyed by the man’s idiomatic jargon. He had no idea what most of the phrases the man was saying meant, and yet still found himself able to understand the bulk of it. He was still convinced the man was at least a little bit loopy, but he couldn’t help but like him anyway. He was a stand up fellow with a chip on his shoulder and a burning vengeance for the queen. Just the kind of guy Dungar needed.
“I have it in for the queen too.” Dungar finally spoke.
Lee, who had been ventriloquizing to himself with his hand, paused and looked at Dungar.
“I met a man from the Kingdom of Farrawee …” Dungar began, and proceeded to fill Sir Lee in on the details of his encounter with Stranger.
When Dungar finished recounting the story, Lee spoke again.
“Why that no-good squirrelly mudsill of a woman, soon as we find her she’s getting nailed to the wall, son.”
“Agreed,” Dungar nodded.
“BUT UNTIL THEN!” Lee yelled for some reason. “I suggest we find a way to survive our current predicament. Once that blood bath starts that whole arena is gonna get hotter than a whorehouse on copper night. Best get some shut-eye, son. Yer gonna need to have yer wits about ya when that place starts turnin’ into a bone orchard.”
And without another word, the two men rolled over to go to sleep. Not that it was that easy to drift off with the threat of death looming at any moment. Dungar’s mind drifted back to what Herrow said to him earlier that day about how he was apparently going to entertain the crowd while they rounded up more people to replace the ones he released. He doubted she knew that he knew how to juggle, so she probably had something more sinister in mind. All the more reason for him to get some sleep, he knew he was going to need his strength tomorrow.
When Dungar woke up the next morning it was not to the sound of Dritungo yelling; nor was it to the feeling of fists being driven into his body. Instead, it was to the feeling of being picked up and gagged by four guards while they carried him out of his cell, probably to avoid waking Sir Lee.
As he was dropped in front of the familiar arena gate, Dritungo came up to him and clasped a hand onto Dungar’s shoulder.
“How’re the ribs, murto?”
“Better than yours will be when I’m done with ya.”
Dritungo laughed a deep belly laugh.
“Well here’s hopin’ you get to find out, tough guy.” Dritungo foreshadowed as the hand of his on Dungar’s shoulder grasped the back of his tunic. “If you live through today then I’ll let ya go toe to toe with me.”
Before Dungar could respond, he felt himself thrown through the door and out into the arena. The familiar dull roar of a large audience surrounded him as he blinked in the harsh sunlight. When his vision adjusted, Dungar looked around. He was truly alone in the arena this time. No Jimminy, no rock stuffed down his pants, just his own weary body to rely on.
“Gentleman and ladies!” Herrow’s voice rang out through the stadium. “Welcome to the biannual Vthnnqouayey arena blood bath!”
As usual, a tremendous cheer reverberated from the crowd.
“Before we reach our prestigious main event though, we have a special treat for you this year! Down in the arena before you there is your first round of entertainment! He is one of the most elite members of the infamous Bare Knuckle Bandits.”
The usual jeers and boos then erupted from the crowd. Dungar just rolled his eyes. Were the Bare Knuckle Bandits even a thing, or did she just make that up too?
“The bandit you see before you,” Herrow continued, “Was caught and tried for his numerous counts of theft, arson, vandalism, rape, and of course, murders. Rather than seeing him simply executed for his heinous crimes though, we here at the arena petitioned to have his cowardly presence here for his final hours, so he could at least see what it’s like to fight with real men before he dies!”
As she finished speaking, the gate on the far side of the arena opened to reveal Dungar’s opponent. It was a tall individual with incredibly long arms and of average build, but it did not appear to be human. Its skin was a brilliant white color and had an odd layered texture to it like papier-mâché. It was completely hairless and had beady black eyes and no lips or nose, just an opening that Dungar assumed was its mouth. It wore nothing but a loincloth and a ring of fur around its neck, and it was armed with several spears as well as a small, circular wooden shield.
“Our gladiator this fine morning is Chocky of the Weib Tribe. He may not be the burliest of our gladiators but he is fast with a spear and has quite a reach!”
The crowd was clearly as used to seeing a member of the Weib tribe as Dungar was. There were cheers for the gladiator, but they were quieter and more unsure sounding than usual.
“His village was also burned down by the Bare Knuckle Bandits!” Herrow added, hoping to add some drama and sympathy. “Here is his chance for revenge! Let the fight begin!”
Immediately Dungar found himself being forced to dive out of the way as a spear was thrown at him. As he hopped back to his feet, he found his opponent bearing down on him with a second spear in hand. He frantically had to dodge side to side as the spear was repeatedly thrust towards him. As the barrage of attacks continued, Dungar felt himself rapidly losing control of the fight. He started to back away while continuing to dodge the wild swings and thrusts of the savage white man.
Soon enough, Dungar felt his back against the wall of the coliseum as his opponent moved to corner him. Chocky wound up and thrust forward the intended killing blow. Dungar felt the cool breeze created by the weapon on his face as he barely managed to duck out of the way. Just as Dungar had hoped, the spear became embedded in the wooden wall of the arena right where his neck was a second earlier. As the gladiator grasped his weapon, frantically trying to pull it from the wall, Dungar ball up his fist and delivered a massive uppercut right into his opponent’s chin.
The force of the blow was so tremendous that not only did the Weib Tribe representative’s hands leave his spear, but his feet also left the ground as he careened backwards towards the center of the stadium. With impressive resilience, the gladiator managed to get back on his feet just as Dungar reached him. As Dungar grabbed him by his fur necklace, the gladiator delivered a return blow to the side of Dungar’s face. When knuckle met cheekbone a faint cracking sound could be heard. It was the sound of Chocky shattering his hand. He hardly had time to make a pained facial expression before a storm of enraged swings from Dungar sent him back to the ground.
