Probably It's Prophecy, page 18
part #3 of Antiheroes Series
“Yeah,” Fedder said.
“And yet you didn’t draw any of them, instead chose to use one of the creatures as a club?”
“Of course,” the mage said. “Don’t want ‘em stained with rat blood, do I?”
“As opposed to human blood,” Dannen said, “which is so much cleaner.”
“Exactly.”
“Alright, Mariana,” Dannen said, “it’s your turn.”
“I…” The woman hesitated, wincing. Then she reached into her pocket and retrieved a key.
Dannen raised an eyebrow at her. “What’s that?”
“What’s it look like?” she said, avoiding his eyes. “It’s a key.”
“Sure it is,” he said. “And is it just a random key you picked up, figured you’d carry with you in case you ran into a lock and thought you’d give it a go?”
She glanced at Tesler and cleared her throat, quickly looking away. “It’s…well, it’s a key to Two-Time’s room.”
Dannen blinked. “To his room.”
“That’s right,” she said, wincing. “He gave it to me…after…well, when the rest of you weren’t around.”
“I see,” Dannen said, “and…”
“I haven’t used it,” she snapped. “When would I have had a chance to?” She grunted, turning to Tesler. “Not that I would have anyway, I mean. That is—”
“Well,” Tesler said, reaching out and snatching it from her hands then shoving it into the growing pile in Dannen’s hands, “you won’t be needing that.”
They all stared at him. The young man’s face grew crimson and it was his turn to avoid their gazes.
Dannen grunted. “Anything else?” he asked, looking around at each of them. When they all shook their heads, Tesler and Mariana both refusing to meet his eyes, he turned back to regard the self-styled king of the wererats. “You see, Your Highness?” he asked. “As I said, we have brought great gifts.”
The alpha’s whiskers quivered with undeniable excitement. “Come, come,” it squeaked, “you bring them to me.”
“O-of course,” Dannen said. He glanced around and saw the beta watching him with a frown, looking all too ready—and all too willing—to cut him down should he do anything threatening. Not that he intended to. In truth, Dannen didn’t want to get any closer to the king of the wererats than he had to—maintaining a safe distance of, let’s say, at least a hundred miles between them. After all, he remembered all too clearly the speed with which its doom had come upon the small wererat. Alive one second, being chewed on the next.
The image of that doomed rat being scooped up with such speed, its head bitten off, bones and eyes and…and head and all, was not one that was easily dismissed. It was so powerful, in fact, that he did not realize he was standing still until the alpha spoke again, this time in a voice that was clearly losing its patience.
“Well?” it squeaked. “You bring gifts or not?”
“Of course,” Dannen managed, glancing back at the others. Perhaps unsurprisingly, none offered to deliver the gifts in his stead. The bastards. You’d think that him being the leader—despite his constant efforts to the contrary—would mean that someone else would be the one to risk life and limb…and head, at the claws of a wererat, but judging by the way they avoided his gaze, such was not the case.
Dannen sighed and started toward where the wererat alpha sat ensconced on its throne, focusing on forcing one foot in front of the other lest he turn and sprint in the opposite direction. He stopped ten feet from the throne, far enough away, he judged, that the massive rat wouldn’t be able to snatch him up and take a bite out of him if the mood took it, then held his arms, loaded down with their “gifts” out to the king. “Your gifts, Your Majesty.”
The wererat bared its teeth in a grin as if it knew well what he was thinking, and it made a show of narrowing its eyes as it peered at the gifts. “I cannot see. You must come closer.”
Dannen grunted and took another step. “Here you are, Your…Kingliness.”
The wererat frowned. “Why do you not approach? Is it that you are in awe of our royal presence? That you feel yourself unworthy?”
“That’s it exactly, King,” Dannen said quickly. And partly it was the truth. After all, he was in awe. Mostly in awe of the fact that any creature—alive or dead—could smell as foul as the wererat alpha. The odor which wafted from it was a mixture of wet, filthy fur, excrement, and sewage. A powerful stink, one that dwarfed the others of the sewers and the city of Berush itself.
“Or…” the alpha said in a low, cunning voice, “is it that you fear something else?”
Dannen followed its meaningful gaze to the remains of the dead wererat then grunted. “Can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind.”
The wererat nodded, grinning. “Yes, but you need not worry, mortal. I would never eat you.”
Dannen inclined his head in a bow. “That is—”
“Not in one bite anyway,” the king finished, and then there were squeaks of chittering laughter from the crowd as he himself leaned back, patting his massive belly and snorting. “Now,” the wererat said after a moment, “what have you got for me?”
It leaned forward, inspecting the goods—such as they were—that Dannen carried. Dannen waited, tense, expecting that now, seeing their poor gifts, the king would become enraged, would no doubt order the hundreds of wererats in the chamber to attack.
Indeed, the king’s eyes went wide, but when he spoke it was not to say what Dannen expected. “Ah, you indeed bring fine gifts. Fine shinies for my collection.”
Dannen cleared his throat, surprised to still be counted among the living. “Of course, sire. Only the best for Your…Extravagance.”
“Yes, yes,” the alpha chittered. “And tell me, fleshling, what is it that you would like as a boon in return?”
“A…a boon, Highness?”
“Of course,” the massive rat said in what he assumed it thought its most magnanimous voice. “It would be wrong for king to send away loyal subjects who have come bringing him gifts without treasure of their own.”
“I see,” Dannen said, thinking that there just might be a chance they’d make it out of this after all. He made a show of looking around the random clutter—trash, in truth—piled up on either side of the throne. All of it, it seemed, covered in excrement and the gods alone knew what else. “There are so many…fine things…” He glanced back at the wererat alpha. “What about…your hat?”
The rat frowned, its whiskers twitching. “My hat?” it asked, its paw going protectively to the ragged, stained cap on its head.
“It is a wonderful hat,” Dannen said, “and you, Majesty, make it look truly…appealing.” Which, of course, was a lie. What the hat looked like, in truth, was a filthy article of once-clothing that even a homeless man would discard as of no worth.
The rat, though, seemed to think otherwise. “You would ask, as a boon, for my hat?” It squeaked, and a man didn’t have to speak rat like Tesler to hear the anger in the creature’s voice.
“It is a very…nice hat,” Dannen said carefully. Mainly because it is the hat that will get us out of this damned city.
The rat seemed to consider, eyeing the junk in Dannen’s hands with undeniable greed, its red eyes flashing with it. Finally, a look of low cunning came over its face that Dannen did not like, and it bared its sharp teeth in a grin. “Yes, yes. It seem like fair trade. You may place the offerings with the others.”
Dannen nodded then walked to the nearest pile of useless junk, his eyes beginning to water from the smell, and reverently placed his burden beside it. Or, at least, he meant to. He stumbled over something—what turned out to be a peg leg, thankfully without its owner attached—and his attempt at reverently placing quickly turned to dumping.
There was a clatter of noise as their “offerings” landed among the rest and Dannen winced until it quieted down, turning back to the king, expecting to be scolded for the mess. But rats, apparently, were not so easily bothered by a mess—their den was a testament to that if nothing else—and he seemed unperturbed as he slowly removed his hat, offering it up.
Dannen winced, seeing what the alpha intended. “If you could just toss it to me—”
“Toss it?” the rat asked, its red eyes going wide in mock surprise. It shook its head as if in disappointment. “Come, visitor. A kingly gift such as this must be treated with the reverence it deserves. It is not something to be tossed. What if it fell on the floor?”
Then it would be no dirtier than it already is, Dannen thought, but he cleared his throat. “O-of course, Highness.”
“Come,” the rat said, grinning again. “You may approach the throne.”
Dannen fought back the fatalistic sigh that threatened to come then slowly moved closer, preparing to leap away. The king waited, holding the hat out, its grin still well in place. He reached out his hand, thinking he was prepared for anything the creature might try. The problem, of course, was that he wasn’t ready for the speed at which the rat might try it. Such a massive creature had no right being so quick. Despite the fact that he was ready for it, when the creature reached out, snatching at his wrist, Dannen wasn’t able to pull his arm away before the alpha grabbed it in a shockingly powerful grip.
“There’s just one more thing,” it squeaked, its red eyes dancing, “before you and your companions leave. One more thing to attend to.”
“Oh?” Dannen asked through gritted teeth, feeling as if the bones in his wrist were being ground into mash. “What’s that?”
The king smiled widely displaying its bloody teeth. “Why, dinner, of course. You see, visitor, my rats are hungry.” Its grin widened as it leaned forward, so close that he could smell the putrid foulness of its breath, could feel it, hot and moist and revolting against his face. “They are always hungry.”
“Sorry,” Dannen growled, “we’ll have to skip dinner.” And then, before the rat could say or do anything else—like bite his head off for example—he balled his free hand into a fist and punched it as hard as he could in the snout.
The alpha roared in shock and pain, its head rocking backward, and Dannen took the opportunity to snatch the filthy hat out of the creature’s matted paw. Then he turned and ran. Or, at least, he meant to. He’d only made it two steps when he was brought up short by the beta rat who stood in front of him, a sword in its hand. And not just any sword—his sword.
He frowned at the creature. “I’ll be wanting that back.”
The rat chittered something, and though he might not have understood the words themselves, the creature did enough sword waving and scowling that Dannen thought he probably didn’t need Tesler around for translating. Homicidal rage was, he’d found, a fairly universal language, and seconds later the creature charged at him, chittering in fury.
Dannen crouched low, his hands out to the side, waiting for it to come. The creature brought the sword down in an unskilled, two-handed blow meant to cleave him in half, but Dannen stepped to the side, planting a foot in its back as it went past him. The creature squeaked as it was sent tumbling away, and Dannen took the opportunity to check on his companions.
He was surprised to see that they were still standing as they had been. None of the rats had moved to attack them, and Fedder and the rest were looking at Dannen with surprised expressions. “Run, damn you!” he yelled, but no sooner were the words out of his mouth than there was a loud sound, a mixture between a roar and a squeak, and he spun to see that the king had risen from his “throne.”
The creature’s snout was satisfyingly bloody but what was less satisfying was the way it waved its great paws in an obvious rage. “Kill them!” it yelled. “Kill them all! And get my hat!”
Dannen turned, terrified, to look at the masses of wererats, but they only stood glancing at each other in obvious confusion at the king’s use of the common tongue. Then the king let out a bellow of angry squeaks and that got them moving, surging toward Dannen’s companions.
Dannen started forward—though whether to help or to flee toward the chamber’s exit even he wasn’t sure—but had barely taken a step when he heard a squeak from behind him and spun to see the beta rat barreling toward him, his sword still clenched in its paw.
Dannen yelped, leaping backward and narrowly avoiding the creature’s swiping strike. His opponent didn’t give him a chance to recover though, rushing toward him and making up for its lack of training with a ferocity that was…well…bestial. Dannen was forced to dodge desperately, leaping and rolling away from the creature’s onslaught, thinking that it would be just his luck that after all he’d survived over the years he would die to his own sword.
The creature snarled, swinging the blade in a vicious arc, and Dannen leapt to the side. Or, at least, he meant to. His foot caught on the stone of the cobbled floor, and he fell, narrowly catching himself before his face planted in the stone. He rolled over in time to see the creature bearing down on him, and he scrabbled away as the blade struck the stone where he’d been a moment ago with a metallic chime.
The creature pursued, raising the sword above its head with both hands, preparing to bring the blade down in a blow that would go a long way toward ruining—and ending—Dannen’s day. There was no time to dodge, so he did the only thing he could think to do—he kicked the creature in the leg. Hard.
The rat let out a yelp, dropping the sword, and more by luck than skill Dannen managed to catch the handle before it impaled him. Then, with a growl of his own he swiped out, severing the creature’s legs from beneath it. The wererat howled, collapsing to the ground. It mewled and squeaked for several seconds, then its struggles ceased and it lay still in death.
Panting, Dannen staggered to his feet, his sword still in hand. He spun to take in the situation in the room and immediately wished he hadn’t. The wererats seemed to be everywhere. Wherever he looked there were furry bodies surging forward. His companions had all but disappeared beneath the swarming tides, and he could only mark them by Fedder’s roars and the small furry rodents that went flying as the mage struck them.
He saw, too, that other creatures were moving toward him, beginning to encircle him, and knowing that he had no time to think about it, he rushed toward his friends. Several creatures moved to stand in his path, but none were as large as the beta—or the king, of course—and he made quick work of them with his recently reacquired blade, scything them down one after the other as he cut a bloody path to his companions.
As he drew closer, he was able to make them out in the throng of rats. Fedder was, perhaps unsurprisingly, holding another rat—or what was left of one at any rate—using it as a club to batter its fellows. Mariana might not have had her weapons, but that did little to lessen her lethality as she punched and kicked with shocking speed, striking like some terrible serpent and sending the creatures stumbling away, bloody and battered.
Tesler, though, was faring worse. He’d procured a fishing knife from somewhere—likely one of the beasts who’d been unfortunate enough to challenge Fedder or Mariana—and was swiping at several of the creatures encircling them with ineffectual strikes.
The young man was so intent on keeping those at his front at bay that he had wandered a bit out of the protective circle his companions had made and, even as Dannen watched, an unarmed wererat rushed at his back, its teeth bared.
“Tesler, look out!” he yelled, but if the man heard him over the din of the battle and the chittering, squeaking rats, he gave no sign. With a curse, Dannen rushed forward, leaping between Tesler and the creature coming on him from behind. He interposed his blade between them, and the creature impaled itself, howling with pain as it did.
But instead of being a good rat and dying, the creature lunged forward, snapping at Dannen’s face. He brought his arm up protectively by instinct, and then hissed in pain as the creature’s fangs sank into the flesh of his forearm.
With a growl he shoved it away, ripping his sword free and beheading it.
“Dannen!”
He turned to see Tesler staring at him wide-eyed. “Are you okay?” The young man asked.
“I’m fine,” Dannen growled. “Get back with the others!”
Dannen covered their retreat with his sword and soon they were standing back-to-back with their companions.
“Butcher,” Fedder roared as he grabbed a wererat by the scruff of its neck and hurled it into its nearest companions, sending them all sprawling. “I was wondering where you got off to! You good?”
Dannen spared a glance at the wound in his forearm where blood and some milky pus leaked out. “Fine,” he yelled back as he parried the fishing knife of an attacking rat, taking its head off with his backswing.
“Just how many…of these bastards are there?” Mariana yelled as she ducked the swiping claws of one beast and spun like a dervish, her foot lashing out and striking it in the face with such force that Dannen fancied he could hear its neck snap before it fell away.
Dannen cut down the next to come and in the brief moment of respite that afforded him shot a quick glance around. How many were there, the woman had asked, and the answer, while not a good one, was simple enough—too many.
Despite their efforts and undeniable skill, it was only a matter of time before they were brought down. Even had Tesler and his squirrel pet turned into the beasts they had become back at the northern kingdom, still he did not think it would have mattered, not against so many. He told himself to focus, to think, but it was difficult. There was the horde rushing toward him, of course, but that was only part of it. His arm, where the creature had bit him, felt warm, an unpleasant, feverish sort of warmth, and it throbbed painfully with each beating of his heart—which, just then, was pretty well hammering.
Finally, an idea struck him. Not a good one, maybe, but the only one so far as he could see. “We need to kill the king!” he yelled.
“Where is he?” Fedder yelled back, and Dannen saw that the man had procured himself a fresh weapon, the creature squealing as the mage used it to bludgeon its companions.
