Roar, page 2
And if a man was a wizard in hiding it would be the Enforcer who came to kill him or take him away to the Palace of the Sun!
Seeing him, Thorm was terrified, knowing that at least one of his magical hounds and a team of guards was likely waiting only just beyond the front door. Though the man would make a point of seeming to walk somewhere alone, as if he had no fear, he never was. He never went anywhere without protection.
“Ah Master Endorson. At last we meet.”
The man smiled, and Thorm's insides almost gave way. His smile was like that of a spider seeing his fly caught in his web.
This man so they said, visited the royal dungeons every morning. He ate his breakfast while listening to the screams of the prisoners being tortured. And that was merely the start of his day. He trained his inquisitors in the arts of inflicting pain and extracting confessions. He also directed the hunting parties who chased down the King's enemies and commanded the pens where the hunting trolls were kept. He was one of the very few who ever saw the King.
“Lord Aston.” Thorm bowed. It wasn't just expected, it was required. All Thorm really wanted to do was throw the man out of his store as fast as he could, but he couldn't be rude. And he especially couldn't afford to show fear. Not when it might raise the man’s suspicions. He also had to be respectful to the Eternal King's Enforcer. Anything else would be asking to be killed on the spot – Lord Aston was known to do that too.
“I'm told that you're seeking Royal patronage.”
“No my Lord. I'm not. I could never produce enough weapons for the soldiers. And not cheaply enough either. Unfortunately, there's been some sort of misunderstanding.” Thorm began desperately trying to back out of whatever deal Mara had made. Mara in turn suddenly gasped and stepped back, away from him.
“Really?” The Enforcer smiled even more broadly than before. “Because your representative was most emphatic about it. And most err – persuasive?”
“Persuasive?” Thorm didn't know what that meant but he didn't like it. In fact, from the disgusting way the man was smiling he hated it. And then he looked at Mara and saw the look in her eyes and he knew exactly what the man was inferring.
“No!” Thom screamed at Mara, unable to believe what he was hearing. He felt sick. It was as if a knife had just been pushed into his guts. It couldn't be! He loved her! She loved him! She couldn't betray him like that! And yet he saw the truth in the way her eyes couldn't meet his.
“Mara?” He demanded the truth even though he didn’t want to hear it. He felt as though his entire world was collapsing in on him.
Defiantly Mara raised her head. “It had to be done. No matter what. You can't simply stay in this trader's store for the rest of your life!”
“No!” He tried to deny what she was saying even when she told him the truth. Instinctively he wanted to run from what he had heard. To somehow pretend that this was just a bad dream and it wasn’t really happening. But there was nowhere to run to and he couldn’t pretend. Mara had just confirmed what the man had inferred. Worse, she seemed proud of what she had “sacrificed”.
Seeing that he might not agree, Mara’s face abruptly changed. Her blue eyes grew even wider, and suddenly there were tears slipping down her perfect cheeks.
“Don't you love me? Because if you did you'd understand. This is how we can be together.”
Time seemed to stop as Thorm’s mind suddenly shut down. The only thing he could think was that this evil creature had had his hands on her. And that she had let him put them there. That she had done other, even more terrible things with him. And that he desperately needed to throw up.
“Thorm?”
Eventually he heard her speaking his name, trying to break through his shock. It was a mistake on her part. Because the only thing he could say when he finally regained his senses was something he could never have imagined himself saying.
“Get out!” Thorm screamed it at her, unable to keep the rage and horror from his voice. He put all the strength he had in that scream and it still wasn't loud enough. Nothing was loud enough. Not to drown out the awful thoughts that were still running rampant in his head. Nothing ever would be.
And then the doorbell rang once again, and everything that had gone before was as nothing.
Thorm looked around to see an old woman with long straggly hair and dressed in rags standing there just behind Lord Aston. She wore the requisite chain around her neck and he knew he was in danger. Deadly danger. She was a witch hunter. A hound of the magical. A slave to the King, her mind befuddled by his philtres. And she had come with the Enforcer. But worst of all he knew what she was going to say even before she raised her hand and pointed her bony finger at him.
“Witch!”
She uttered the proclamation with a hideous screech, and Thorm knew in that heartbeat that he was doomed. The Enforcer hadn't brought her because he liked her company. And he also knew what was coming next. He knew it as if he had planned it himself.
“Hag!” Lord Aston immediately bellowed the word for everyone to hear. Or more accurately, for one person to hear. The one who was waiting just outside the store in case she was needed. And scarcely a heartbeat later she ran into the store, flanked by soldiers hanging on to her chains.
The hag. The fell witch as some called her kind. Death as he called her. She was hideous, exactly as Thorm had been told she was. Unwashed, dressed in rags, insanity raging in her eyes, and snakes wriggling around in her hair. Just the sight of her was enough to terrify him. But then he felt her magic, and he knew his fear was as nothing compared to the truth of her power.
Something hit him. A wave of force, a blast of air; something so wild and powerful that it didn't have a name. But he felt what it did even if he didn't know what it was. It picked him up and hurled him backwards into the rear wall of his store. It didn’t stop there though and an instant later Thorm found himself thrown through the wall and into his workshop where he crashed into his work benches, before falling to the floor.
He lay there for a moment, stunned. He was in a lot of pain and his brain felt addled, even as he tried to make sense of what was happening. He heard screaming and eventually realised that it was his. There was blood too, and that also belonged to him. But not all of the screaming was his. Some was Mara's. She was screaming incoherently somewhere in the front of the store, adding to the confusion. He also heard the witch hunter continuing to screech out the word witch. Over and over again, at the top of her lungs. And in between the witch hunter’s screech and Mara's screams, he heard the hag cackling crazily. Truly it was the sound of a mad woman.
Thorm desperately tried to ignore the pain and get back on his feet so he could grab a gun. But he stopped half way as he realised the truth. None of his guns were loaded! He was in a gun store, surrounded by weapons, and yet not a single one was loaded!
Another blast of whatever force the hag had sent his way came at him again. This time it was mixed with flame and once again he was sent flying backwards again, feeling the lick of fire on his skin, and he realised he had only one defence. His magic. But even as he crashed into yet another wall and more bones went snap in his back, he knew it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. No one had ever defeated the hag in battle. She was the Eternal King's most powerful spell caster. His most deadly warrior.
Still, he had to try. Thorm raised a shield of force around him, hoping he had sufficient power and skill that it would keep him from being burnt any more.
It didn't work. It held the worst of the next blast from him, though he was still sent sprawling across the room in pain. But then the fire came. Huge torrents of fire that burnt straight through his shield and then into his skin.
Thorm cried out in agony, barely managing to raise another shield against the inferno before he was reduced to ashes, and then screamed some more. Within a few short moments he could do nothing more, and instead lay on the cold stone floor, screaming in pain. He couldn’t even see anything as all around him there was only smoke and flame.
Then she hit him with something else. A magic that started twisting his very bones, turning his flesh inside out, ripping him apart.
He fought it, using every bit of strength he had just to try and heal himself. Unable to shape any sort of defensive spell against it, because he had no idea what the magic was. But he fought it regardless. Working on instincts and desperation instead of knowledge and feel.
But even as he was fighting the spell the world abruptly exploded.
The size of the detonation was so great that had it not happened he would never have imagined it was possible. It felt like the world was roaring its fury all around. In the air, in the sky which he could suddenly see through the missing roof, and in the ground beneath him. There was thunder and lightning mixed in with the fire. Bricks and timbers were flying. Walls were collapsing and even the floor had started to lift. Thorm couldn’t tell if anyone was still screaming – he couldn't hear anything over the sound of the thunder. Yet even in the midst of the chaos he knew what had happened. The hag, mad as she was, had unleashed fire in the middle of a store filled with barrels of gunpowder!
But it was only the start. Most of the roof was still sitting on top of the store. Clearly only some of the gunpowder had gone up. There was a lot left. And there was fire everywhere. Soon there would be nothing left of the store. But her mistake in unleashing the fire spell in a gun store gave him a chance. Because, while he was surrounded by fire, and everyone else was either dead, dying or running for their lives, he could see a way out. The hag had hurled him into his back room. And then the world had exploded while he was lying there. Close to the shelves that led down to his basement. A basement that no one else knew about!
Though the pain was truly terrible, it didn't matter. Nor did the twisting and warping of his flesh. All that mattered was that he escape before he was killed. Using the last of his strength Thorm dragged himself along the floor toward the secret entrance behind the shelves, thinking longingly of the coolness of the basement’s stone walls. If he could get there he would be safe.
So he crawled. He crawled and he screamed in agony with every movement. And then he crawled some more. And when he finally found the shelves he somehow reached up high enough despite the pain, to pull the hidden lever.
Only one of the shelves parted, but the gap was enough for him to slip past to the hidden trapdoor and then slide down the stone stairs on his belly like a worm to the basement below. Once there he collapsed on the ground. He knew he had to shut the trap door but he wasn’t sure he could. He was just too weak and sore. And his body was still warping and bending uncontrollably, robbing him of most of his ability to think. Certainly he couldn't cast a spell.
But it didn't matter as a few moments later there was another massive explosion as another barrel of gunpowder detonated somewhere above him, and the trap door opening was buried in burning shelves and bits of building. It left Thorm lying there in near darkness. The only light coming from a distant paraffin lamp hanging on the wall.
Thorm laughed when he saw the collapsed entrance way, finding it funny, though he didn't know why. But maybe it was funny because it was the hag's doing. She had actually saved him from herself, and maybe even killed herself in the bargain, by unleashing her own fire in a store full of gunpowder. And maybe she'd killed the Enforcer too. He could only hope. Because if there was any man who deserved to die it was surely him. He needed to be flung down to the deepest level of the underworlds, and be tormented by the lamaia for eternity. For the crimes he had committed against so many. And for what he had done to Thorm. For what he had done to Mara.
Or maybe it was funny because it was easier to laugh than think about his injuries. Or about what Mara had done. Or even whether she was still alive.
Maybe Thorm was laughing because it was easier to laugh than cry.
Thorm raised his hand and pointed at the blackened pile of rubble above him for no reason at all that he could think of and laughed like a madman. He laughed even louder when he saw that his arm was covered in fur and his hands had become paws with claws on the end. Like those of a wild animal. A big cat. Had she shape-shifted him somehow?
But that couldn't be. Why would anybody turn someone they were trying to kill into a deadly beast? Surely she wasn't that mad?
Chapter Two
It was a long time before Thorm finally opened his eyes again. And when he did he wasn't sure that he wanted to. Not when all he knew was pain. The pain of his broken body. The pain of his broken heart.
How could she have done that?! Lain with that vile creature?! Just the thought of it sickened him. He wanted to empty his stomach everywhere. He wanted rip out the Royal Enforcer's throat. He wanted to throw Mara as far away from him as he could. And most of all, he wanted to die.
Fortunately as they said, the gods gave with both hands. And just as they had given him the unbearable pain of his broken heart, they had given him the horrific pain of his flesh. He was able to concentrate on that instead for a bit.
Every part of him hurt. Things were digging into him. From above and below. There was enormous weight bearing down on him. Crushing him. Stopping him from taking any but the shallowest of breaths. He was buried in rubble. Only his head was free of it. And on top of that, every fibre and sinew of his body felt wrong.
He had to get free.
Thorm started struggling against the massive weight on top of him. Pushing against it. Wriggling around in the rubble like a worm in the sunshine. Squirming with his arms and shoulders, kicking against it, and it seemed to help a little. He could hear stones falling away. But something was wrong. His arms weren't moving as they should. His legs almost seemed to be bending the wrong way. And his tail hurt as things dug into it. But how did he have a tail to hurt?
He ignored that question as he continued, inching his way to freedom. And little by little it seemed to help. The weight on his chest began to ease, and he could start to breathe a little more easily. All around him more rubble began to slide around him until it was almost as though he was in a small avalanche.
And then in one final effort he found himself sliding out of the mountain of rubble, free at last. It was a glorious feeling – freedom. But it came with its own pain. The pain of discovery. Because it was then when he was finally free that he could start to understand what was wrong with him. And that wrongness began with the fact that he didn't have arms any more. He had front legs.
Thorm stared at them in disbelief. At these things he had instead of arms. Things that were too short and too wide. That bent strangely and were covered in fur. That didn't have hands on the end of them, but instead paws. Where were his thumbs? For some reason that bothered him even more than everything else.
Then he rolled to get to his feet, and he forgot about his thumbs. He forgot about everything else, as his body didn't move as it should. It was too heavy. Too powerful. And too long. Much too long. It took ages for his legs to follow the rest of him. But then he realised, his legs were a long way further away from his shoulders than they were supposed to be.
“Shite!” Thorm cursed and then started. Because what came out of his mouth wasn't a word. It was a growl. Like that of a wild beast. And he realised as he tried to curse again, shaping his tongue and his mouth exactly as he normally would, that he couldn't speak. And sure enough when he tried again, only more animal sounds came out. More growls and roars.
He couldn't speak!
Thorm lay there, taking that in. How could he talk to people if he couldn't speak? How could he talk to his family? His customers? And then he realised – it didn't matter. He didn't have a store any more. He didn't have customers. He couldn't make weapons either. Not without hands. And even if he could have made weapons and spoken to customers, it wouldn't have mattered. His secret was out. He was a wizard! His life such as it had been, was over.
As for his family, he couldn't go to them either. He couldn't tell them what had happened if he couldn't speak. And they wouldn't recognise him anyway.
He'd lost everything.
His career was gone. His future as a weapons smith. His future that he'd dreamed of. His family and friends. His love. He had nothing left – all because of Mara and the Royal Enforcer.
That brought the pain back. The pain of his heart. Now that he was free of the rubble, no longer being crushed by its weight or having things digging into him, the pain of his flesh had faded. But the pain of his heart was more than able to take its place. And behind it there came a new emotion – anger.
The anger brought with it something else – strength and the determination to use it. And that began with his getting up.
Before he even thought about it he rolled to his feet – or he tried to. But things didn't work out as they should. He tried to stand up, but his instinct was to stand on his legs, and his body simply didn't do that. He was too heavy. Too strong. Too long in the body. His legs – front and back – didn't work as they should. And he ended up half standing up, and then falling over as the weight of his upper half carried him too far.
