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    Venator

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      Lorin released his arrow aimed at that smug grin and turned to flee. The light where he’d entered seemed blinding, but he could see movement through the glare. His running steps had just begun up the slope, when the exit was blocked with a crosshatched grate clanging down onto stone. Lorin sprinted and rammed his shoulder against the iron grate, but two massive hands gripped the thick bars from outside and opposed Lorin's attempt.

      "Theo!" Lorin screamed. "What are you doing?" Lorin dropped his bow to his feet and pushed. "Help me move this, Theo, I can't do it alone." Lorin's voice echoed twice back to him from the cave.

      "Your family will know you fought well, with great skill and honor," Theo said, his tone fatally serious. "You will be remembered as a hero, I will make sure of that."

      "What are you saying? Let me out!"

      A hollow crunch of bones sounded behind Lorin.

      "Your death is serving a greater purpose." Theo's face looked as hard as the iron bars. "Take comfort in that."

      Lorin released his grip from the gate and picked up his bow. He took one step back and aimed the point at that stone face. "Let me out."

      "Lorin." Theo locked eyes as he spoke. "You will die. Your family, however, will live on, inspired and proud of the hero you will be remembered as."

      A chittering sound mixed with the movement of shale came from behind. It was close.

      "Let me out. I won't say it again."

      "No… no you won't."

      Lorin's eyes widened, and more than realization hit him.

      Crippling pain exploded in his upper shoulder, causing his fingers to lose grip and shoot the arrow as his vision went white. The hit was forceful and blunt which allowed Lorin to roll with it. He moved in a half tumble, half scramble, toward the more spacious part of the cave. His back was to the wall now with a few stray arrows from his quiver poking uncomfortably into his side.

      Resting on tree trunks for legs and covered with glossy black plates like a beetle, the Queen stood before him. The head hung low, with a set of jagged pinchers big enough to cut a man in half protruding from its inky black face. It looked like a much larger howler, tensing and ready to pounce.

      Not allowing it to act first, Lorin faked a turn deeper to the cavern, then spun, heading for his weapon on the floor at the blocked exit. The beast fell for the fake step, and leapt for him in a wholehearted pounce. Instead of the warm taste of blood it had expected, it got a face full of dirt and a sudden jolt when its pinchers snipped a deep groove in the wall. Bathed in sunlight, Lorin armed himself, then readied a shot. He took a quick glance for any sign of Theo and saw the large man bent forward holding his ear with a bloody hand. Lorin smirked, knowing that his misfired arrow at least hit something. Then, he switched his focus wholly to the nightmare. Shaking out its mouthful of dirt, the Queen turned to Lorin and cocked its head sideways. Two arrows hit against the beast’s glossy armor, leaving one small harmless gash where an arrowhead skimmed off. Lorin was nocking a third when the Queen pounced again. Its pinchers opened wide, and before he could react they were around him.

      The Queen’s attack knocked the wind out of him, but the expected sensation of having his lower half severed remained a mystery. He had been forced off his feet and slammed against the iron grate. The hit whitened his vision again, but this time made his ears ring as well. A feeling like a wet worm trying to wiggle into his waist pulled him out of his daze, and he looked down. A head twice the size of a bull's pressed up close to him, but didn't actually touch. However, the pinchers put some pressure above his hips, and the creature's tongue pressed on his belly and was licking with an unsettling hunger. Somehow, he hadn’t been crushed, and still had his bow in hand.

      Given the opportunity, Lorin pulled his bow string taut and shot at his reflection in the beast's eye. It dug in about a quarter of the arrow's length, but the orb was firmer than expected. The Queen screamed and retreated, but other than dust and bones flying from the creature's skidding feet, and the rattle Lorin felt from the scream, the situation didn't change. The arrow moved weirdly as the Queen panicked. Lorin tried to lift himself from between the jaws, placing a hand on either side and turning his hips to free himself. It worked, and Lorin dug his heels into the eyes as he attempted to clamber over the monstrosity.

      The thrashing creature wasn't easy to stay atop of, but Lorin managed to balance on an armored plate, then he turned back to see where he escaped from. The Queen, in its attempt to snip Lorin in two, had forced both pincers through the crosshatched iron bars. The pincers were thicker closer to its mouth and had wedged securely in the space between the bars, which had stopped the Queen from pressing Lorin against, and probably through, the grate. The crimped iron around its pincers held it now, but Lorin wasted no time and fired an arrow where the armor plates met. The arrow sank to the feathers and made the Queen buck like a young stallion.

      Lorin had expected some movement under his feet, but the Queen still surprised him. He was thrown off and landed hard on one shoulder, the pain making him gasp while his chest spasmed for breath. The Queen recovered faster than Lorin, but it hadn't managed to free itself yet when Lorin stood. He picked a few scattered arrows off the bone chips while favoring his side and focusing on breathing. He assumed a stance and fired three arrows. Each hit its mark at the edges of the armor.

      The Queen struggled in a wild fury with each new arrow wound—the iron bars creaked and moaned but nothing more. Black blood thick as pitch was pouring from under its armor plates. One of the plates made a wet sucking sound and it unhinged, flapping like a month-old scab. When it calmed a bit, Lorin grabbed the lower part of the plate and lifted it with little effort. Hiding under the plate were three rows of fleshy sacks, each one black and dripping with viscera. The sacks looked similar to each other, but varied in size. Lorin held the plate up and reached to grab his knife from his leg. He slashed, and the sacks burst in a black spray. Four premature howlers slid out from one sack, landing with a wet slap on the ground. Lorin looked at the corpses at his feet, then back up to the remaining sacks. A flurry of swipes later and his feet were covered in hot bile.

      The Queen seemed more enraged than before and struggled again to back into the cave. The blood and unborn howlers underneath its feet made the attempt futile. Lorin returned his knife to its sheath and walked around to lift another plate. Desperate, the Queen pushed forward and lifted against the grate. There was no immediate headway, but the iron moaning in stress grew loud in the cave. The noise stopped Lorin from trying to lift the other plate, and he instead started to back away. He managed one step before the grate gave way and fell over. The iron landed with a loud crack just before Lorin felt the thud through the ground. Dust filled the entranceway, but the cloud didn’t obscure the Queen rushing toward Lorin.

      Surprised, he reacted too slow and was knocked off his feet. Flat on his back now, Lorin curled up, holding his ribs. The Queen moved to stand over him, its face dripping black from where its pincers used to be. It lifted one foot over Lorin and smashed it hard on the ground. Lorin rolled out of the way, but the Queen brought its head low and bit onto his arm. It hurt, though he was thankful it didn't have fangs like the smaller ones, Lorin's arm just felt pinched against two round stones. Without a second thought, he used his free hand to grab onto the arrow still lodged in the Queen's eye and lifted himself to his feet. One arm pinned, Lorin pulled the arrow out of that eye and began slamming the tip into its other eye. He got a few solid hits in before the Queen shook its head and flung him. He rolled on the softer-than-expected bone shards and stopped near the entrance of the cave. The Queen's back was to him still while she scratched at her mangled eye. Catching a few breaths before he stood, Lorin then did his best to sprint to the now-open entrance. The grate laid uneven on the ground, blocking him from making a quick escape. The Queen's head turned at Lorin's first step on the iron.

      Lorin didn't look back, but knew the Queen was charging in his direction. He saw the broken-off pincers sticking straight up from the grate,
    still wedged in place, and tried to reach them. He tripped once, but remained upright, and got a firm grip on one of the pincers. They may as well have been welded to the iron, and Lorin's mind raced for another option when he saw the shadow of the airborne Queen above him. He ducked, but that was all he had time for.

      It was uncertain if it was a lack of sight and depth perception, or just adrenaline-fueled anger that made the Queen overshoot the jump. It was trying to bite Lorin, but landed head first into the grate just a little past him. Even though its bite missed, its body still crushed down on Lorin before it rolled partially off of him. The Queen writhed up in pain waving its head back and forth while spraying its tar-like blood from two large gashes made from the wedged pinchers. Its movements slowed as it lost more blood and quickly stopped thrashing. The Queen tried to stagger to its feet, failed after a few steps, and slumped to the ground, convulsing and gurgling. The Queen died with Lorin pinned under one of its legs.

      Lorin's vision was fuzzy, and a deafening ringing in his ears complemented his restricted breathing. It was nightmarish, a dream in which he was frozen and everything felt covered by heavy fog. He spasmed a few times, letting his lungs fill enough to stay awake. He could reach his knife and managed to get it in hand. It was slow, but he made progress sawing under the leg that covered him. Some of the tendons and muscle he cut away began to let some of the weight off his chest, and he could almost wriggle free.

      "She's dead." The voice was shocked but familiar.

      Lorin paused when he first heard the words, but then with renewed motivation his cutting hastened.

      "Theo! Do you see the worm?" The same voice continued and was getting closer. "If he lived we need to find… Ah! Here he is." Varron said and walked to Lorin. "That was not part of the plan—you were to die like a good worm." Varron knelt, pressing all his weight atop Lorin, and leaned in close enough that Lorin could feel his breath. "She lived here long before you were even a thought." Varron unsheathed his blade and examined it. "My masters won't be pleased, so I will just have to enjoy th—"

      His words turned to a howl of pain after a flash of steel. While he was talking, Lorin had finished cutting himself free and slashed out at Varron as soon as he could. Varron recoiled with both his hands covering his face, while crimson seeped through the cracks of his fingers. Lorin pushed the dead weight of the Queen to the side, which made Varron tumble off as well. Lorin winced, his chest was bruised, and some ribs felt broken, but he crawled out through the pain. Now he stood over the curled-up Lord who was rolling from side to side spraying blood with each scream. Lorin looked to the knife and tensed his grip on it.

      Instead of doing what was necessary, Lorin shook his head, faced the forest, and ran, limping, to the trees. He made it thirty painful steps from Varron, then steadied himself against a tree for a proper breath. The instant his fingers touched bark, his back was forced to the tree. Confused, Lorin pushed off the tree, but found that he was glued to it just above his hip. It took that long for the wave of pain and searing heat to come to the forefront of his mind. He looked down to see a twisted spiral of black iron poking through his flesh, silver feathers at its end moving with the breeze. Pain pulsed with his heartbeat, each breath stretched with such a peculiar sensation that Lorin's skin turned to gooseflesh all over. He tried to grab the bolt and pull it out, but his grip was weak, and he stopped, immediately out of breath. A certain squirrel flashed through his mind's eye.

      "I would've let you run," Theo said. "But you shot first." Theo wrenched the bolt from the tree, and some of Lorin's fleshy bits followed in a spray of blood. Lorin fell against the tree. He didn't realize until his knees buckled under him that the bolt had been the only thing holding him up.

      "Get up," Theo said.

      Lorin tried, but wasn't fast enough for Theo. Theo’s massive hand wrapped over his shoulder and he lifted him. Lorin, who was now suspended an arm’s reach from the massive man, looked to the hand crushing his collar bone, but couldn’t feel the grip. Lorin could only dangle like dead meat. Theo turned back toward where Varron's wailing was beginning to fade. Lorin could see Varron on hands and knees, face low and dripping blood.

      "I have him," Theo said.

      Varron raised his head. The blade’s swipe had cut across Varron's right eye, leaving a dark red hole behind his sliced eyelid. The gash across the bridge of his nose made a valley of missing cartilage until it ended with a faint cut reaching up to his hairline.

      "Where is he?" Varron said, spitting blood.

      "You can't see?" Theo asked, giving Lorin a little shake.

      Varron lowered his head and let out a tortured scream, exhausting his lungs.

      "M'lord," Lorin said. "Don't cry. I think you look much better now."

      "Shut it," Theo said, then looked to Varron. "It's not serious, you will live."

      "It feels serious," Varron hissed. "All I can see are lights and blurs."

      "Be thankful. I wouldn't want to see that face if I were you," Lorin said, then coughed up more blood.

      "You don't know when to keep your mouth shut do you?" Theo said.

      "You'll kill me anyway, so I may as well enjoy what I can," Lorin said with a smirk. "Did you hear that? That bloody flap of skin still work?" He motioned to Theo's ear. A large portion of it had been ripped off by the arrow Lorin fired.

      "It works quite well. Well enough to hear you begging for a slow death."

      "Slower than digesting in that?" Lorin looked at the Queen. "I'm sure I'll bleed out before you can do worse."

      "I didn't say it would be your death." Bright white teeth spread across Theo's face, like a blade slowly being unsheathed.

      Lorin's grin fell with his heart.

      "Varron, can you walk?” Theo asked, still smiling.

      "I'm not going anywhere." Varron's hands patted the ground around him until one hand found the hilt of his sword and he stood. "Point me, Theo, I need to dig his eyes out."

      "No, not yet."

      "What do you mean, you overgrown pack mule? This whoreson needs to suffer. An eye for an eye."

      "Not yet. He needs his eyes to see his family one last time."

      Varron looked in the direction of the voice, and a smile crept under the blood and dirt. "You are right. That is an inspired idea."

      Theo turned to Lorin. "We better hurry, we wouldn't want to keep them waiting." Theo took back the pouch he had given to Lorin and poured it out. He tore the pouch and covered Varron's eyes with it. Then he checked for any weapons Lorin still had. There weren't any.

      Lorin's face was drained of color, and his vision kept closing in on the edges. Unconsciousness began to pull him away, but not before he heard Theo say, "You won't die yet." Then, there was a clinking of glass, and a bittersweet taste poured past Lorin's lips.

      CHAPTER NINETEEN

      "Whatever they gave me, it numbed everything," Lorin said, sitting on the ground and looking at his hands. "After that, Theo led Varron and carried me until we got back to my…" Lorin's hands had begun shaking, and he could feel it all over again. Fear began to tighten his throat, panic drummed in his ears, and his stomach twisted.

      "How did you… Why didn't Varron kill you?"

      "He wanted me to watch. Karine, their healer, force fed me one of her vials after they hung me up on hooks. Every cut she made after that sealed up and didn't bleed, but it kept me alert. Physically, I felt great, but…" Lorin cleared his throat and choked-up. "The dwarf impaled them. In front of where I was strung up and I… they left me there. It was dark before one of the hooks slid from under my shoulder blade, and I dangled for a while before the other three ripped out. My family was… I found a shovel and… I… I can't," Lorin said. His voice was only just louder than silence. He was off to a different world, snot ran from his nose, and his hands shook like a leaf refusing to give to the breeze.

      "Hush, it's okay." Ashmere was somehow in his cell beside him now and had put her arm over his shoulder.

      Lorin could feel her warmth and pressed himself close,
    burying his face in her collar. His eyes stayed closed, but he could still see Sarah's face twisted and strained. Samuel beside her scared and confused at Mommy's screams, then, Jessica's face…

      A part of him broke. Lorin didn't know there was more that could be broken, but something did.

      CHAPTER TWENTY

      Lorin awoke in his cot, the cell outlined by the pale light of the widow across from him. He rubbed some crusted tears and mucus from his face, then sat up. Separated from him by two locked cell doors, Ashmere was asleep in her cell snoring like a dog. Lorin rubbed his eyes a second time. He didn't remember getting to bed, and his cell door was shut. He was alone, but had Ashmere been beside him before he fell asleep? It had felt so real. Lorin stretched and rolled his neck loose—his body felt twice its age, and his mind and heart felt devastated.

      The walls were dark, he knew they were, but whether he closed his eyes or not, his family, bright as the sun, watched him. Each familiar face peered through a different wall like his cell was a glass box. He buried his face in his hands, but they appeared in the creases of his palm and fingertips. He wept. He looked at his feet, then his hands, then up. All three silently laughed at him from the ceiling, an almost perfect portrait missing only one thing.

      Lorin opened his mouth to scream, to curse Varron and the whole world. Death and disease on Theo. That blonde dwarf Nock, to be crushed a thousand times over by his own hammer. That witch, Karine, to be burned, her skin to wither to dust. But he stayed silent, looking up at the ceiling. Jessica's face was there. Her nose twitched like it always had—Lorin loved that little twitch.

     


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