The Gift of Volkeye (3 page)

Murlach could hear them stir as he approached the cages. Next, from both sides of the corridor, there were hands and tentacles reaching outside the bars of the overcrowded cells, desperately pleading for a morsel or two.

“Master, have you brought us food?”

“No,” Murlach said, rolling his eyes, knowing the oaf had already seen the bloody sack at his side. He hated stupid questions.

“Come now, Master, starve us no longer…we’ve had nothing since yesterday!” a heavy voice said from somewhere deep in the opposite cell.

“Yeah, and we shouldn’t even be in here with the like o’ some o’ these creatures,” said another that climbed to the shoulders of a friend, so he could see. “So why we gots to be sharing food with them?” He pointed in the distance to the pitch-black corner of the cell where they could all hear the bustling about of a pack of snarling, invisible things.

A small army of large and hairy, spider-like creatures with human sized eyes, three each, raced forward on the ceiling. They were followed by a spike-studded tentacle, which whipped in and out of sight along the ceiling, nearly scalping those below. The restless noise from the opposite end of the cell doubled as the creatures’ hunger lured them forward.

“My Lord, you lettin’ us outta’ here today, ain’t ya?” a hunchbacked peon asked nervously as he squeezed his way through the crowd, looking into the darkness with unease.

“That depends on whether or not you exhibit your normal buffoonish behaviour, or if you will actually make an effort
not
to throw your excrement up against the castle walls just for fun and games! If you’ll
not
rip each other’s limbs off while rough housing, or send boulders flying through the castle walls while playing ‘kick ball.’ …And if you could please
not
embarrass me by making spectacles of yourselves while performing the simplest task I’ve asked of you all in a long while, I would greatly appreciate it!”

He unlocked the gate and, with some difficulty (even for his size), squeezed into the cell. Just as he made his way to the center, a bone-chilling cry echoed throughout the chamber. Murlach discovered he was wet, and there was a pungent taste in his mouth. When he looked up, he saw that one of his underlings was showering the chamber in blood.

The tentacle, whipping violently about, had accidentally split the minion from his neck all the way down the middle, nearly severing him. Clearly the beast, as well as others, was ornery from hunger.

“My god, throw the corpse to that hungry thing!” Murlach shouted irritably.

The underlings obeyed, gladly offering up some flesh and bone that did not belong to any of them. Though crowded and blind from having blood sprayed in their eyes, they managed to hoist him above and roll the corpse over the tops of their heads to the end of the cell. When the sound finally came, they were happy to hear the body being dismembered and fed upon, knowing that this would tide the beast over so it wouldn’t go after any of them. This, however, didn’t mean they didn’t have other creatures to worry about, but they were happy to have one of the worst sated for the time being.

Meanwhile, Murlach was both furious at the beast and his own foolishness, knowing he had been stupid to sit some of his more civilized minions in a cell with these savage creatures. Had he arrived later, his subjects might have already been ripped limb from limb.

“You don’t throw temper tantrums! We’ll see about this!” he said, waving his fist in anger.

Though they were crowded and could hardly breathe, some of the others managed to scramble forward as to inquire about Murlach’s orders (and to hopefully get dibs on some of the delicacies he was to dish out!).

There was a deep voice, followed by a gust of horrid breath on Murlach’s left. It said, “What do you need, my Lord?”

“A select group of you will…”

Murlach wasn’t able to finish, because a chorus of noise from heavy taloned feet, racing towards him, suddenly assaulted his ears. The beasts, delivering some serious injuries as they broke through the crowd, began circling Murlach, snapping at the open air around the crimson red, soggy bag. Saliva flung about, forming small pools on the dirty stone floor.

Murlach was unimpressed with the creatures which towered above him, standing six to eight feet in height, each weighing about a ton. This strange breed of his had a lion’s body and mane, but a dog’s face, and birdlike feet with razor sharp talons. In the same manner as the tentacled creature, these—the
Karnovs—were also a vicious species. The biggest difference with them, however, was that (whilst being worrisome killers) they were also intelligent. Though they couldn’t speak it themselves, they did comprehend the human tongue and obeyed Murlach and Phyllamon’s every command within their presence.

What made the Karnovs so dangerous were their tempers. It had been many a day that Murlach had come to feed them, only to find that they’d devoured several of their cellmates for some reason or another. In Murlach’s opinion, to say that the Karnovs were unpredictable would have been an understatement. Still, for all of their ferociousness, the beasts obeyed him.

“Down!” he said, snapping his fingers.

The Karnovs went to their knees. Everyone was silenced at his level of command with them. No matter how often they saw Murlach exercise his control, they were awestricken with it every time. Most of them never dared look the Karnovs directly in the eye, lest they be ripped to pieces.

Murlach dug in the sack and pulled out a limbless, slimy torso. It, having been from a servant who was immensely obese, would provide a hearty meal. He pushed the torso in the center of the Karnovs and grinned as they tore into it. Flecks of spittle and body juices landed on Murlach’s jacket, as he turned to exit the cell with the others following him.

Those who followed, a bit over two-dozen, were allowed to pass Murlach as he turned around and dug in the bag again. He pulled out random body parts and began hurling them across the cell, rolling his eyes as his minions attacked each other in attempts to secure their meals. A few, who were tussling over morsels, got too close to the Karnovs and were nearly dismembered.

“Now don’t kill each other! Though some of you are useless, I do require your services on occasion!” Murlach said and turned to lock the remaining savages in. He then looked to the opposite cell.

“Come, you lot…you’ve done enough time in here, methinks.” He squeezed past the others and opening the rusted, steel door.

More than thirty of his underlings came rushing out of the cell. Seeing that Karnovs had already trampled some of their acquaintances in the other cellblock, they didn’t want to be in the way when he tossed a treat to the more violent creatures in their chamber.

Murlach entered and slung the bottom half of a body into the middle of the cell. All the meat from the two buttocks was ripped off immediately, followed by the quick mutilation of the thighs, as a group of beasties worked their way down. There were others who waited patiently off to the side, and Murlach saw them panting. He then hurled an arm, leg, and a pair of feet in the air, laughing as his creatures launched themselves at them, catching the carnal parts like Frisbees.

Surprisingly, this bunch shared equally and didn’t harm one another over their meals, and this pleased Murlach. He threw over a dozen more body parts into the crowd and then turned to leave, locking the steel cage behind him.

“Now, I believe your stomachs are growling as well,” he said, upon exiting.

Murlach sat the bloody sack on the floor amongst his many peons. They dug in greedily, each pulling out random body parts for their self, emptying the bag.

The hunchback shut his eyes in ecstasy as he sank his jagged teeth into the bicep of a muscular arm.

“Thank you, Master,” he said, lightly spraying Murlach with blood and spit.

Murlach wiped his face and set for the outdoors. The underlings followed, carrying along their food. Suddenly, he turned to face them.

“You all see how this works, don’t you? If you exercised the slightest bit of common sense, you would dine on a regular schedule and not be locked up with the Karnovs and other creatures of a less-than-hospitable nature!”

Murlach was unsure that they heard him, as they were far too busy eating. He shook his head and unlatched the door in front of him, knowing that some of this group would probably be on punishment as early as the next day. This, however, wasn’t the way he wanted it. Though they were not the brightest, he still favoured these minions because they were civilized enough to speak like humans and therefore easier to communicate with—much unlike the tentacled beast and some select other breeds that he could only talk to through a series of hand signals, grunts, and clicks with his tongue.

I don’t want to lock you all in with the savages, but there are times when there is no other way to discipline you!

Murlach was near boiling, as he recalled a recent incident that had irritated him more than anything in a very long while. In the middle of the night, the buffoons had invaded the castle’s liquor room and drunk all the spirits, which were set aside for Phyllamon’s get-togethers with
Vlajdimir and Zephranie.

FOOLS!

As they climbed the steps leading from the dungeon to the courtyard, they heard deafening shots echoing throughout the air. Murlach found several of his minions outside, firing laser rifles. Far ahead, they each aimed at their own flat metal target—one square foot and an inch thick, suspended on tall, thin stands. They were a mix of talent, some of them being great shots, whilst others were merely decent or even terrible.

An enormous beast, on the far end, had the best aim of all. His target now hung from a miniscule thread of metal, and that too was destroyed with his last shot. He laid his gun aside and stretched.

“Zu, you’re doing well, I see,” Murlach said.

“Yes, Master, but in all honesty, I would prefer to deliver death in a much messier fashion. You know…crush a man with my fists, or squeeze them until their innards come spewing out of their ends!” he said, laughing.

This beast was not a breed of Murlach’s. Almost three years ago, the two of them met at Beazul’s Market when Zu held a job there as a wrestling Titan. Murlach had been so impressed by Zu’s size and strength that he offered him employment with Phyllamon. Zu took the job without hesitation, for he was tired of sleeping on dirt within a filthy tent every night. Since then, he’d been the favourite of his masters, allowed his own private quarters, away from the other beasts.

Zu was a magnificent spectacle. He had white skin with black spots, which was stretched to capacity, for he was so muscle bound. His chin and jaws bulged outwards, having a peculiar bone structure, and his nose was tinier than a cashew nut, as were his eyes, red and beady. The only hair on his body was three upward standing, extra thick strands on his head. Zu’s feet consisted of two enormous toes with an extraordinarily wide heel, the middle of the foot being rather short. Also, there was a steel linked chain circling around a rather thin waist for his size, and, attached, was a long and wide strand of leather, covering his parts.

Murlach was considering Zu’s dislike of the laser rifle, noting the size of his hands and body.

“Or perhaps you just need a weapon to match up to your size?”

“Definitely. I’ve already destroyed three weapons today, and I nearly crushed that one,” Zu said, glancing at the rifle.

“I’ll see what I can do. In the mean time…”

Murlach turned and addressed his minions, waving them closer as to give instructions. They crowded around in a circle, towering above him. Some still had their rifles, and those he’d just let out of the cells held fast to their body scraps, acting as if the others aimed to steal their food. Murlach’s underlings listened intently.

“Phyllamon and I have an idea…”

As Murlach dished out orders, explaining the plans to his subordinates, he had no idea that somewhere deep in the castle, a young woman was making plans of her own.

3

She paced back and forth and twirled her blade about, ready to stab Phyllamon or any other unfriendly face that came through the chamber door. Her name was Sing Tzi Yi. Sing, or Sing Yi for short. Her lips pointed downward in a pout, contrasting her cheekbones, which were high and proud looking. Her eyes, already thin and slanted at the edges, were even narrower due to the fact that they were always strained in an unfaltering gaze of concentration. This young woman of twenty might have been attractive had the years of servitude, injustice, and loneliness not robbed her of such features.

Sing’s fire red hair protruded outwards in a uniquely random fashion. It was as if her hair had a life and personality all of its own, matching well with her angry, belligerent spirit. In a rage, she spun her knife several times in a circle and turned to face the others. They had been watching her closely, praying that she wasn’t bent on doing anything to get them all killed.

Sing snarled. “Mason is dead! We must act, or one day our fates will be the same as his! Let’s get out of here now…we’ll have strength in numbers!”

“Girl, we are not all so young as you,” said Ash, the sixty-one-year-old servant, who had just seen his friend murdered by Phyllamon. “I say we sit it out,” he added, shivering with rage. Ash looked around to the others, and they nodded in agreement.