Chapter Twelve
Chapter
Twelve
Parley
“We’re
gonna die,” Zaria said.
The
ground continued to rumble. For the past few minutes, it had not stopped. The
sandwyrm was agitated. Every minute, it was tunneling closer to the rib cage of
the colossus, making a deliberate quake of its passage. It was a display of
threats, though it was not yet an attack. The dragons were blind. Likely, it
could only sense the shape of the colossus, rather than the city within its
ribs. The wyrm was only an animal, and animals were intimidated by size.
Of
course, once the dragon realized the colossus was dead. . . .
For a
moment, Isaac imagined a circular maelstrom of teeth, a jagged maw capable of
swallowing ten men whole. He imagined the roars. He imagined the scales that
had shrugged off all but his most powerful scrolls. Most of all, he imagined
the quickening, the sudden increase in vibration that served as the only signal
before the killing began.
He
flexed his hands, drawing on the magic within.
Ahead,
at the palace walls, the pirates had severed the heads of the sorcerer’s
thralls and erected them on their ramparts, capping off their black pirate
standard. Armed patrols walked the makeshift scaffold. They had rigged black
powder bombs at all the gates. If they exploded now, the sandwyrm would
certainly attack. Isaac wasn’t sure if they were unaware of this, or
deliberately threatening to do it.
Beyond
the walls, a shouting voice echoed down the dead city streets.
Captain
Black Eye Soren.
“We got
the element of surprise,” Zaria said, “and fuck all else. If she don’t accept
the parley, we’re dead. If she don’t accept the duel,
we’re dead. If she finds it insulting that I’d appoint a human as my champion,
then we’ll be wishing we’re dead, I promise you. She will make it slow.”
“Calm
yourself,” Isaac said. “Deep breaths.”
There
was a sound of breathing, which quickly devolved into a low, throaty whoop.
“Better?”
he asked.
“No!”
Isaac
sighed, turning away from the corner of a skull-shaped house. He faced Zaria,
who was pacing rapidly across the street, her tail bristling like a broom. He began
counting on his fingers. “She wants to take you alive. That’s one. She wants to
make an example of you. That’s two. She wanted to fight a duel with you
earlier. She won’t know I’m a mage, so she won’t know how easily I can blast
her away. That’s three and four. Finally, she will take any chance to raise the
morale of her crew, because she knows they’ll flee if things get too dire.”
Zaria
did not answer. She kept pacing across the knuckled pavement, kicking up small
spurts of dust. Her hands clenched the air, and she was making the odd whooping
noise again, as if her instincts couldn’t be helped.
“Yes?”
Isaac asked. “Is that not correct?”
“Fuck
yourself, squire.”
“What
am I doing?”
She
stopped, made an angry exhalation, and marched over to his position, standing
tall and stern above him. Her fur turned to gold beneath the hanging cartilage
light.
“Don’t
get cocky,” she said.
“I
won’t,” Isaac replied.
“If she
closes the distance, you’re dead, and it won’t be a pleasant departure,
neither.”
“I’m
well aware, believe me.”
“Oh,
are you? What a brave lad.” She gave him a light slap above the groin. “Try not
to trip over your cock, young lord. Seems it’s swingin’ low.”
“Zaria,”
he said. “I’m aware this is risky. You don’t need to tell me that. Honestly, I
think you’ve spent too long seeing me tied and helpless. She’s the one who
needs to be afraid.”
For a
moment, the rumbling intensified, as if the sandwyrm had closed in for a pass.
Beyond the palace walls, the few shouts of merriment ceased immediately. The
patrols on the ramparts clutched their crossbows to their chest.
They
were scared.
They
had good reason to be.
“Let me
do the talking.” She went to pace, decided against it, and came to him again,
squeezing his shoulder with a meaty paw. “No matter what, follow my lead. Beck
and call at all times. Got it?”
He
bowed. “As you say, madam knight.”
She
cocked her head, surprised. For a moment, her usual mirth returned. “Well, now.
Truly?”
“For
this one time, yes.”
“Don’t
give me leeway, squire. I could get used to them words.”
“Those
words.”
“Oh,
whatever.”
“Grammar
is important, you stupid brute.”
She
almost grinned. Another shout rang from the palace, and the expression fled
from her face. Her hackles rose until they were needle straight. She took a
deep inhalation, eyes closed, trying not to whoop.
“Hey,”
Isaac said. “I’ve got your back.”
She
nodded, as if she hadn’t really heard him. At the palace, Soren’s voice echoed
through the city.
“Can
you trust me?” he asked.
She
looked at him. He opened his palms, letting the sleeves of his robes billow
away. In the distance, a building collapsed from the constant quakes.
“Aye,”
she said. “I think so.”
“Good.
That’s all we need.”
She nodded.
She looked at him again. She opened her snout, took a final breath, flexed the
fingers on each of her hands, and began to peel back her lip, exposing the
yellow fangs beneath. “Right.” She slapped herself on the cheek, briefly
jogging in place. “Right.”
“Right,”
Isaac said.
“Right!”
Zaria said, punching the air. “That’s right!”
“Oh,
it’s very right.”
“You’re
fuckin’ right it is!”
“Let’s
go.”
“Let’s
fucking go!”
There
was a pause.
“Zaria,”
he said.
“Fuck!”
Zaria
emerged around the corner of a skull-shaped house, her back straight, her fists
clenched, her poleaxe tall and sharp. She marched headlong towards the palace.
Isaac followed right behind her.
The
guards on the rampart did not notice them immediately. The dim glow of the
cartilage held the plaza in a soft twilight, bathing their entrance in shadow.
At the same time, the rumbling of the wyrm seemed to be traveling in a circle
around the palace, growing tighter and tighter. Both guards were following the
sound.
They
were scared.
They
had good reason to be.
“Parley!”
Zaria shouted. “Parley!”
The two
zoanthropes—both male hyenas—flinched in surprise. They took up shooting
positions, one of them almost tumbling from the shoddy perch.
“Soren!”
Zaria called, cupping her snout. “Soren! I’ve come to parley, you fuzzy
cunt!”
On the
other side of the wall, all sound ceased at once. For a moment, the rumbling of
the wyrm faded as well, and only the dead silence of the necropolis remained.
Then, all at once, there was a rush of stomping feet.
“H-hold
right there!” one of the male hyenas yelled, his crossbow trained. “Zaria,
don’t—I mean, stop. Don’t come any—”
“Is
that you up there, Emmet?” Zaria asked.
“Yes! I
mean, no! I mean, shut up!”
Zaria
barked out a laugh. “What bleedin’ moron trusted you with a weapon?”
“I mean
it! Stop! D-don’t come any—”
Emmet
stepped forward. The rampart cracked beneath him, shifting his weight. There
was a snap of string, and the bolt of his crossbow shot straight into the
ground. Emmet stumbled, lost his grip, and dropped the weapon entirely, letting
it fall down the wrong side of the wall.
“Emmet!”
the other hyena barked.
“Sorry!”
Zaria
scooped the broken bolt from the pavement. “Did you just loose at me, you
sniveling cuntsucker?”
“I’m sorry!”
Emmet cried, overwhelmed.
“You
open that gate,” Zaria said, “or I’m shoving this bolt through your pisshole!”
Emmit
yipped in fright. “Open—o-open the—”
“Open
the gate!” Soren yelled. “Let her through!”
By now,
a mass of pirates had swarmed around the rib-shaped grills of the palace gate.
They were large, they were fuzzy, they were scarred and armed, and they all
snarled like they did so for a living. Like Zaria,
most of them held two heads of height above Isaac. All of them seemed able to
wrench him limb from limb, if given the chance. As they worked to disarm the
blackpowder satchels currently rigged to the wall, Isaac began to doubt the
wisdom of their plan.
Below,
the sandwyrm’s rumbling faded down to a hum.
Distant.
Listening.
The
gates opened. The crowd of pirates barely parted enough for them to pass,
forcing them to walk through a tight tunnel of bodies. Isaac followed behind
Zaria’s downturned tail as they entered the palace courtyard, never more than
spitting distance from at least five different sabers and maces. The pirates
growled heavily in his face.
“Kaiser!”
Zaria shouted, warmly. “Still pissing blood, are we?”
A male
lion snarled at her.
“I told
you not to shag that wench, ya daft bastard!”
Isaac
studiously avoided eye contact.
Ahead,
Captain Soren, otherwise known as The Black Eye, stood in the center of the
courtyard. Human blood shone on her leather armor, glistening on the sheaths of
a dozen waiting knives. Now that he was close, Isaac could appreciate how the
pirate had earned her name—the left side of her face had been scarred by a
vicious flame, leaving the flesh mottled and furless. Now, her left eye was
made of glass, and there had been no attempt to make it look natural. It was
completely black, reflecting everything it saw, like moonlight shining on dark
water.
When
the bunny looked his way, Isaac was not sure if he should look at the solid
black of her fake eye, or the wicked blue of the real. Behind her, the palace
of the dead city was a spilling heap of skulls, their eyeless faces gazing in
wonder towards the rib cage sky. It was hard to imagine that such a pile of
bone had ever been used as a building.
Were
those structures made of stone, as well? At this distance, Isaac couldn’t tell.
Was it
bone?
Could
the necromancer. . . .
Soren
made a grunt. She pressed the flat of her cutlass against her leather pauldron,
wiping off the blood in one long stroke. “You truly are desperate, aren’t you?”
“Nah,”
Zaria said, marching forward. “Tell the truth, I’ve never been better.”
Isaac
could feel the pirates walking behind him, beginning to fan out to either side.