A Monster Inside, page 30
part #1 of Undying Prince Series
“But who knew you were just another little slut willing to spread your legs at the first sign of upward mobility!” The glint of heartache pulsed in Ypse’s yellow eyes. “Whores, all of you!”
From the utterance of the word ‘slut,’ Sir Tandri was already moving, long legs flashing as he dashed toward Ypse, flinging away the Punisher that got in his way. The Lightbender reached the Sorcerer and kicked out the back legs of the chair the man sat upon. Arms and legs flailing, Ypse tottered backward, slamming against the ground so hard that he grunted. Bits of wood and foliage rained down around him.
It happened so fast that Hanna had not had time to take more than a single step back. She took a sharp breath as conflicting emotions stymied her thought process. On the one hand, watching Ypse writhe in pain sent a thrilling sense of pleasure shooting up her spine. But at the same time, it seemed wrong no matter how disrespectful he had been.
Sir Tandri pressed his knee down on Ypse’s chest and held the man still with a hand wrapped around his throat. “Now show me your tongue or do you want me to dig for it?” He waved a savage looking knife in his free hand.
“Mercy,” Hanna said to the Viscount.
The sound of Hjörtur’s clanging bells stole Baldur’s attention. He paused with his hand on the railing of the balcony, gazing toward the outer walls as if he could decode its distant mystery from here. The boy in the blue coat served the Viscount a new bowl of wine, and he drank it absentmindedly.
“Thank you, Leon,” Baldur said, then returned his focus below. “Release him, Sir Tandri, it seems we have more pressing concerns.” He pointed at the Punishers. “And you lot, take that piece of filth back to his cell. I will deal with him later.”
Sir Tandri sucked air through his teeth and released Ypse. “We will pick this back up later, sweetheart.”
Baldur surrendered his empty bowl to Leon and stepped into the air. He tilted, falling, but somehow caught himself. Whatever trick he was using to walk on air failed, and he plummeted from the sky.
Hanna’s voice joined a dozen others in a gasp as the Viscount struck the earth. Bloodied and foaming at the mouth, Baldur lurched onto his side and rose an accusatory finger at Leon. Touching the crane pinned onto his chest, the boy peered down at the Viscount with a self-satisfied smirk. The smile only grew wider as Baldur’s eyes rolled back into his head.
“Poison!” Jenny ran toward her husband with her sister nipping at her heels. They threw themselves at Baldur, frantically trying to resuscitate him.
Ypse still lay on his back with both eyes closed, seemingly unaware of what was transpiring around him. What is he doing? A sinking feel opened up in the pit of her stomach. He’s up to something? Could this be all his doing?
“Murderer!” Lexi shouted, pointing up at the balcony. Leon staggered back, grin turning to despair. “Apprehend him! Murderer! Murderer! You will pay for this!”
Sir Tandri and a handful of once invisible Lightbenders dashed toward Leon, and the boy turned and fled. The top-knotted soldiers leaped twice as high as should be possible, grabbing onto the railing and pulling themselves onto the balcony. The ground beneath Hanna’s feet rolled, and shouts and screams rose anew. Someone struck her from behind, and she fell to the ground with the oppressive weight of a man pressing down on her.
The earth heaving and twisting under her, Hanna scratched and clawed at the arm snaking around her neck. The helplessness of being so easily overpowered filled her, choking her on waves of stomach-churning fear. A blade pressed into the soft flesh of her neck and she went deathly still.
“Relax, the real fun is just beginning,” Ypse whispered into her ear.
From the center of the gardens, soil and rock spewed into the air. A flesh-toned monster the size of an elephant crawled out of the hole. With a barrel-shaped body segmented in three and four pairs of stubby legs, it was like nothing Hanna had ever seen before. Each one of the creature's jointless limbs ended with four claws on its feet.
The abomination had no eyes or nostrils, not that Hanna could see. At the center of its large head sat an extendable circular mouth, filled with vicious-looking teeth. It fell to its eight legs and charged, moving in a way reminiscent of a bear’s lumbering gait. The ground shook at every step as it smashed into trees, uprooting them from the earth.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Ypse asked. “My forebears called them Vatn Björn.” The shrieks of fleeing servants and women filled the gardens, all looking to escape by any means necessary.
They? Hanna’s mind latched onto that one word. She swallowed. ‘They’ implied that there were more than one of these monstrosities. Her chest knotted. Everything that had happened thus far was part of Ypse’s plan. With Baldur incapacitated or dead, Hjörtur had lost one of its biggest assets. The Citadel might fall!
“They’re notable for being one of the most resilient monsters ever created,” Ypse said with a note of awe and pride. “They can survive conditions that would prove fatal to almost any other life form. For example, they can do without water or food for over forty years. They’re truly a marvel.” He laughed, a short, satisfied sound. “Fate smiled on me the day I discovered an ancient book written by their creator. It’s odd the way unrelated things have a way of coming together in a spectacular fashion. Almost enough to make one believe in the existence of gods.”
The Vatn Björn reached the spot where Hanna and Ypse lay, and another Vatn Björn emerged from the hole. A Punisher rushed to attack Ypse. The first Vatn Björn moved above them, making sure not to crush them beneath its massive body and slammed into the Punisher. The armored man was sent flying like so much scrap metal. Howling, groaning, the soldier crashed into the ground with the sound of breaking bones. Claws cut through plate armor like cheese, and the monster attacked another wave of soldiers. Lexi and Jenny dragged Baldur’s body away.
“Come, my dear.” Ypse yanked Hanna up by her hair and pulled her toward the hole. “We have places to be.” Hanna grunted, stumbling behind the Sorcerer. The second Vatn Björn joined the first.
“Sorcerer, this is all your doing!” Sir Tandri shouted from atop the balcony, surrounded by four of his fellow knights. They leaped to the ground and joined the failing counter assault. Some turned invisible, but it did not help. The monsters located them despite their light bending trickery.
Ypse glanced back at the Lightbender. “Smart, isn’t he?”
Legs coming together, Hanna tripped and fell in a jumble next to the hole in the earth. She sneaked her hand up her dress and removed the blade strapped to her thigh. Ypse yanked her back to her feet with a click of his tongue.
“You will not get away with this!” Hanna shouted, concealing the knife at her side. Fear flashed through her, her limbs trembling. I only have one chance.
Ypse smiled at her then returned his gaze to the battle. “I don’t suppose I will—”
Hanna plunged the knife into his yellow eye, and he jerked back, screaming. Joy hummed into her bones until he kicked her in the chest, knocking her backward. Eyes wide, Hanna fell back into the tunnel, gasping for air. The back of her head struck a rock and darkness consumed her vision.
Chapter 36
Cries of “Murderer!” nipped at Leon’s heels as he bolted through Viscount Baldur’s private apartments, fear clawing at his throat. Though no stranger to the emotion, never had it seemed this insidious; it dug deep into his flesh, scratched at his bones. If not for the need to keep moving, he would have collapsed in sheer terror. This was the most daring part of Ypse’s plan. Possible danger awaited at every turn, in the form of an invisible Lightbender, in the shape of a descending sword. And there was no telling until he felt the blade in his gut.
Eternal Father, have mercy on me. He touched the small, glass vial in the right pocket of his breeches—the third time he had done it since dashing away from the balcony. It burned with every swing of his leg, distracting him with a different kind of worry. A worry that could prove just as deadly.
Viscount Baldur’s apartments were more ornate than any other room in Hjörtur, and Leon had seen them all—well, almost all. The black stone of the walls was covered by panels of some white, polished wood. The panels sported carvings of trees and dancing children that, at first glance, looked innocent—though were anything but. The three fireplaces, all unlit, were decorated in black twisting serpents, and the red and blue floor tiles were polished to a gleam.
Leon skidded, stumbling over a rug in front of a large table, tilting over dangerously. Hands reaching out, he caught himself on the armrest of a stout chair. He gasped, righting himself and clutching his right pocket. The vial was still whole. What if he had fallen and smashed it into pieces? Then . . . then. . . .
Behind him, through the open door of another room, came the sound of hard boots landing on stone. He gave his head a shake. There was no time for this. He ran on, all the while wondering how he had even heard the boots over the clanging of the citadel’s bells and the shouts and the yells. It was a nervous thought. Unimportant. All that mattered was escape.
He threw open the door of the antechamber and fled into the torch-lit hallway, which stood in stark contrast to the grandeur he had left behind. Here, at least, the overriding concern was not comfort, but utility. However insane the Sorcerer-Kings had become, they had known how to build a fortress, or so Ypse had told him. To him, the citadel was home. He had been nowhere else, had nothing to compare it to.
There was a groan, and he spun. A liveried servant lay on her rump next to the door, a pale-skinned woman with dark hair done in a bun. The platter of sizzling meats she once held was splattered all over her face and the ground. He offered her a hand and caught himself; there was no time for him to help her. “Run and hide! The gardens are under attack!”
Leon turned and ran, not waiting for a response. Guilt pricked at him. Will she survive tonight? Will I? Maybe I should go back and. . . . No! He quickened his pace. He was only ten, much too young to shoulder the weight of the world. Besides, none of the servants had ever offered to help him, and they all had known. They had all heard rumors of the Viscount’s predilections. The only person who extended anything more than a sympathetic glance was Ypse. The Sorcerer had provided a path out of the horror. For himself. For his friends.
Sweat matted Leon’s brown hair and brow as he trotted around a corner, shooting for the stairwell. He needed to get down to the main floor. Nothing else mattered, not the exhaustion that made it hard to breathe, not his guilt, not his doubts. He took the stairs three at a time, leaping down and bracing himself against the wall every time he jumped. Not his smartest idea perhaps, but it seemed quicker.
On the main floor, Leon slowed his steps to a walk, struggling to hide the fact he was out of breath. He need not have bothered. Hjörtur was in turmoil—a Lightbender now and then, rushing past with no time to notice a boy; four or five squads of armored soldiers hurrying off to parts unknown; a scattering of serving men and women moving on errands even more quickly than the warriors.
Just a little further. Holding himself straight, pretending his legs were not shaking, he left the more well-traveled corridors behind and ducked into a closet. Enclosed in darkness and surrounded by mops, buckets, and rags, he breathed a sigh of relief. The only light in the small room came from the gap between the door and wall.
Slowly, almost reverently, Leon pulled out the vial and placed it on the edge of a cluttered shelf. The liquid in the bottle glowed, leaking a dull, green light. For something so deadly it looked oddly beautiful, the same way a drop of ink on paper could be beautiful or—
Leon shook his head and undid his breeches. Taking hold of his boyhood, he aimed at a stack of rags propped against the wall. He tried to pee, but when nothing happened, he laughed in his head. It just seemed so ridiculous. During his mad dash away from the Viscount’s balcony, he had felt like he might wet himself at any moment. And, now, when he needed to go, he could not. How did that make any sense?
Eyes narrowed, he tilted his head back and imagined himself somewhere else, on the back of his giant White Crane, Pen, the world scrolling below him, the wind roaring through his hair. The tension in his bladder eased, and he released a trickle of urine that soon became a steady stream. He looked down with a smile, soaking every inch of the rag he had chosen.
Leon finished and he pulled up his breeches. He tied the piece of cloth around his face, so it covered both his mouth and nose. The rag turned the dusty scent of the closet into a piss-filled chamber pot. It was wet and warm, but rapidly cooled.
Leon did his best to ignore the sensation and removed the glass stopper from the vial on the shelf. Ypse’s instructions had been very strict. If he did not follow them exactly. . . . Well, he did not want to think about that. Ever so carefully, he pricked his finger with his crane shaped pin, dripped a drop of blood into the vial, and resealed it.
Task completed, he took a step back and watched. The scarlet drop and the dull, green liquid mixed, and, for a moment, nothing else happened. Then the mixture whirled, bubbled as if heated, changed into golden-green particles of what looked like pollen.
Leon grabbed the vial. It was warm. Almost hot. He poked his head outside the closet. As expected, the hallway was clear; no one came down this way unless they had cause, and sometimes not even then. Just down the next corridor lay the entrance to Ypse’s sorcerer’s cavern. A place often talked about with fear by the servants.
He stilled himself and exited the closet, shutting the door behind him. The hallway vibrated with the ringing of bells and with the palpitations of his heart. Terror gripped him. Fear of the unknown. Fear of failure.
Leon charged forward, screaming at the top of his lungs, bolting into a part of the citadel he had never been in before. He could hardly think, with the intense heat knifing at his heart. In front of the thick iron bound door at the end of the corridor, four golden-surcoated Punishers stood guard. As one, they drew their swords, armor clanking as they moved.
Leon jolted to a stop ten meters from the soldiers, mind blank, sucking putrid air through the urine-soaked rag. His stomach flipped. He knew what he had to do. He did. But. . . .
“B-boy, what are you doing here?” a dark-eyed soldier asked.
Tears swelled in Leon’s eyes. I can’t do it. Yes, you can. I can’t! You have to! “I’m sorry!” He threw the vial. It smashed against the dark-eyed soldier’s conical helmet, and exploded in a cloud of expanding golden-green particles. The Punishers collapsed to the floor gasping for breath, swords crashing onto stone as their hands clawed at their throats. “I’m sorry!”
Leon stood there, his own urine wet on his face. Was the price of freedom too high? For himself? For his friends?
He was yanked from behind and slammed against the wall; pain bloomed along where his back struck stone. The air shimmered in front of him and coalesced into the scowling face of a Lightbender. He could not breathe. The black-coated man held him by the throat with his feet hanging off the ground.
“What did you just do, you little shit?” The Lightbender growled, nose twitching. The man had hard eyes, eyes that made Leon think of death. His face was youthful, but like all Lightbenders, there was no way to tell how old he was; he could have been as young as twenty or as old as sixty.
Leon hung there, jerking back and forth, trying to pry the man’s fingers apart, unable to say a word. No! No! His eyes bulged. His head rang with the pounding of his blood.
“Answer me!”
Leon flicked a glance over the Lightbender’s shoulder. The Lightbender turned to follow Leon’s gaze and screamed in surprise when the pointy end of the crane-shaped pin jabbed into his eye. Leon landed, dropping to his knees, gasping for breath, and the Lightbender stumbled back, drawing his sword.
Grunting, the Lightbender removed the pin and let it drop. “You’ll pay for—” He fell silent. The soldiers climbed to their feet, eyes glowing like yellow lanterns. They moved unnaturally, almost like puppets manipulated by unseen strings, jerking toward the Lightbender, swords snaking forward. “Sorcery!”
Even knowing what to expect, Leon was taken aback. The sight of the glowing-eyed Punishers made his skin crawl. It was unnatural. And if not for the rag over his face, he would have become like them. The thought scared him more than the idea of the black-coated man killing him. Death would be a better fate than theirs.
The Lightbender whirled among the soldiers, bending and twisting like a dancer, his longsword thrusting and slashing. He blurred. His blade whistled. The four Punishers crumbled to the floor, spewing golden-green blood from severed and punctured throats.
Leon climbed to his feet, knees shaking. He had come so close, but it would all end here. In failure. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream.
The Lightbender turned to face him, his back to the iron-bound door. “You’ll hang for your part in this, boy. That I can promise you.” He coughed, took a step forward, and stumbled. He collapsed, clutching at his throat.
The iron-bound door opened, and a yellow-eyed Punisher stepped out with his sword unsheathed. The size of a small bear, he was menacing in his armor. He jabbed his weapon into the Lightbender’s arm, leg, and chest, twisting the blade with every stab, seeming to take great pleasure in his work. An ugly smile contorted his face.
“Is it done?” Leon was proud his voice only shook a little.
The yellow-eyed Punisher beheaded the Lightbender. “You’ve done well, Leon.” He turned away from the corpse. “Now the hard part is over. Soon, we will be free from all of this.” The words were slurred and the voice different, but the cadence was all Ypse.
The door opened wider, and another yellow-eyed soldier exited, a good-sized leather sack tucked under his arm. He was not as large as the first Punisher, and at one point his nose had been broken and had healed crookedly. “Take it.” He handed the sack over to Leon. “Now go before it’s too late.”
