Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
Gmork remained in a half-doze while he sat on his haunches in his
listening room. The numerous baubles glowed serenely on the wall
before him, their little voices tickling his ears with every thought
his pets had. At his side rested two of his pups, their sleep
interrupted by the occasional twitching leg or slight whine as the
roved through beastly dreams. Gmork didn't dream; he planned.
But he was still subject to exhaustion like his pups and his pets.
Minutes swam from him before he even noticed them near. Few of his
pets had anything of interest to think, and most of them were asleep
and beyond his hearing anyway. His thoughts, when they were coherent,
were mostly focused on the bird Lubec. The gull had fled south and so
Lubec was following him, but he had no idea where the puffin had gone.
That meant that they knew where the rest of the Resistance was
hiding. Gmork should not have wasted his time trying to trick the
half-dragon into revealing his secrets. He should have taken the
minds of those two birds immediately and learned from them what he
wanted to know. He might have learned about the dragon before he'd
been brought to his door. He might have saved his fourth son.
It may have won over his youngest, but the price was too steep. And
so it was that the remainder of his lucid moments were spent hating
Nasoj. If not for that treacherous wizard, he would have over a dozen
pups now and could spend his time creating more entrapment baubles
for his pets. Until then he would always have to hide and that was
one thing he truly hated to do.
But most of the time he sat there with no thoughts in his mind at
all. And so it was when his ears perked at the sound of many booted
feet approaching. He yawned, long tongue stretching past his teeth,
and rose to a mostly human stance. When the knock came at his door,
he said, "Open and speak."
Beyond stood a few of Calephas's soldiers. The leader of them yanked
a young man bound and gagged into the doorway. "These are the
tanner's apprentices. We were told by your sons to bring them."
Gmork noted the dark-haired man with disinterest, and the
blond-haired young man that followed him with equal complacency. He'd
waste no time in making them his pets to learn what they knew. "Did
they learn anything there?"
The guard smirked as he hauled a third, but younger boy into view.
"They didn't want to talk."
"They will," Gmork assured him. His eyes alighted on the boy whose
face was besmirched by a trio of hairy warts. His heart skipped a
beat and he grinned widely, revealing an array of teeth that made all
three of the apprentices pale. "Oh my, thank you. You and your men
may wait down the hall."
When the door had closed, Gmork clapped his hands together twice. His
two pups stirred and after blinking a few times, walked to his side
and nodded. The elder of the two asked, "Are these to break our fast?"
"Nay, your brothers sent them," Gmork replied. "Keep them from
moving, and remove the gag from the black-haired one." So saying, he
turned and took one of the six unlit baubles from its place on the
cushioned shelves and rolled it about in his hand which swelled with
thick, dark calluses and sharp claws that curved to meet the brass
bauble. His pups obeyed, pushing the young men into one corner and
moving the boy atop their disheveled blankets where his third pup
forced him to sit leaning against his fur-coated side. A long red
tongue groomed the boy's neck despite how much he struggled to get away.
"Damn you, Gmork!" the black-haired man shouted as he struggled
against his bonds. His hands were tied firmly together so all he
could do was try kicking with his legs. Gmork shook his head and
leaned closer with the bauble.
"You aren't angry at me, boy." His voice glided over his tongue,
across the surface of the smooth brass sphere, and went into the
young man's ears where they twisted and twisted. "You are angry at
your master Ture for putting you in such danger. The soldiers could
have killed you for Ture's treachery."
Within a few minutes of many similar words, that same man was crying
for forgiveness because he did not know where Ture had gone. Gmork
even allowed the man to kiss his toes since he begged so earnestly
for such a debasement. The bauble glowed a bright orange, vibrant and
all-absorbing.
The blond-haired man wailed beneath his gag and struggled to break
his bonds, but Gmork's second son put one paw on his chest and held
him down as firmly as if it were an anvil. When his gag was removed,
he begged for mercy. "I don't know anything! He's told you already. I
don't know anything!"
Gmork leaned back on his haunches, tail wagging, as he put one finger
to his chin and sighed, "If only there were a way I could know for
certain that you were telling the truth." His eyes brightened
fiendish and triumphant. "Ah, there is." He took another dark bauble
and walked toward the cowering man. The last apprentice wailed as he
struggled against his third pup's embrace and impromptu grooming.
The blond-haired man surrendered his will even more quickly than his
fellow, and within another minute both were slavish pets waiting with
nervous anxiety for a command from their beloved master. Gmork set
their baubles back in the reliquary and considered what to do with
them. The answer was obvious.
He turned to his second pup and said. "Show these two where they can
watch the Baron's little laboratory unobserved." Then, he smiled to
his pets and stroked them each on the head as if they were little
dogs. "You are going to watch what the Baron does and says. Think
every one of his words as clearly as you can in your mind. Do not
reveal yourselves for any reason. I will send for you when you may
rest and when you may eat. And obey my sons as you would obey me. Do
you understand?"
They nodded eagerly. He licked them across the face from chin to
forehead before turning to his two pups. "Since you are now awake,
find your brothers and once you can, send them back here so they can
sleep. And tell the soldiers to return to their patrol."
His third pup deposited the boy on the rumpled pile of fur and cloth
as he followed his brother and the two pets out. The boy scooted on
his rear as far as he could away from Gmork who paid him no mind
until he closed the door.
"You do not need to be afraid of me, boy. I am not going to hurt you.
I am not going to make you one of my pets." He turned and allowed a
mostly human face to smile ever so faintly. "You are a very fortunate boy."
The boy pressed as far into the corner as he could go as Gmork came
closer, crouching over him and gently placing his hands on the boy's
knees. His face loomed close, ears twitching and nose swelling with
each measured breath. He studied the boy intently, looking into him
and seeing the way his spirit brushed against all the threads of
magic flowing past him. Most humans were so detached from that flow
that they could never even discern its presence; they could only
marvel at what magicians could do.
But this boy could feel them, and from the way little threads were
being bound together in his presence to form some rudimentary shield,
the boy could willfully use them too. Gmork's lips and teeth
stretched a finger's width as he blew into that mental casting,
scattering the threads like dried leaves. "You don't need those; not
from me. Nor do you need this anymore." He lifted one hand and pulled
the knot out of his gag. He tossed the rag aside and then grabbed the
boy's head firmly in one hand, while the other very gently stroked
along the red marks where the gag had bit into his flesh.
"I am sorry that the soldiers handled you so roughly." His touch
conveyed a sullen warmth that did nothing to still the boy's
trembling fright, but the bruising healed. And with each stroke he
brushed his own magical core against that of the boy's. "Isn't that
better?" The boy alternately glared and cowered. His grip did not
tighten, nor did he press his claws into the boy's cheeks, but his
jaws did stretch further and his voice was accompanied by an
insistent growl. "You will answer me when I ask you a question."
"No!" the boy said through clenched teeth. "I hate you! I hate you
and your filthy pups! I hate you all!"
The burst of anger made the boy's magic flare erratically. Gmork
reached into it and slid his will through its variegated channels and
paths. The sudden invasion made the boy gasp and moan like an oily
liquid being sucked down a drain. His eyes widened and his head
rolled back, spittle dribbling across his lips. Fur sprouted along
Gmork's back as his nose swelled and blackened.
Unlike the foreigner, this boy had little self-control and knew
nothing about guarding himself. His magical talent was weak and
unformed, but it could be trained. There was some meager strength in
the boy that would be useful. Weaker than any of his other pups, it
was nevertheless strong enough to enable him to become a child of
Gmork. So weak, so unprepared, it would not be more than a few days
before Gmork had begun to mold his flesh and his will. He would only
ever be able to cast minor spells, but if used wisely even they could
prove devastating. At the very least, in a few weeks, Gmork would
have another son.
But there was only so many changes he could make at once without
hurting his newest pup. Once he was satisfied that he knew the boy's
magical abilities and had begun laying the foundation for a love of
his father, he withdrew and resumed stroking the boy's face with
rough paw pads. "Now, isn't that better?"
The boy blinked, eyes and face still completely human though now
slack and dazed. "I... I..." Slowly he lowered his head and his eyes
briefly met Gmork's golden regard. He quickly lowered them further
and stared at his knees. "It is."
"Father," Gmork said softly. "Call me Father."
The objection had no energy behind it. "But you... you aren't..."
"I am now. Call me Father."
The boy swallowed and tried to shake his head. "You aren't... I... I
cannot..." He winced and tears began to flow down his cheeks and
across Gmork's furry hands. "I... you aren't my... you... you... Father."
"I am." He reiterated. He narrowed his gaze and leaned back a hand
span. "I can see why the Baron never took an interest in you. Your
face is marred in a way he would consider most foul. These," he
tapped one of the warts with the tip of a claw, "are not healthy for
you. I will remove them." The boy stirred with a sudden apprehension,
but he pressed his other paw-like hand against the boy's chest and
stilled both his heart and his magic. "The Baron will not touch you.
You are under my protection now. You are mine, my little pup."
The boy blinked but still the tears came. His mind was a cacophony of
fears and confusion that rendered him pliable. The adoption was
always different for each mage, Gmork had learned. Where his eldest
here in Arabarb had eagerly welcomed the change thinking it would
bring him more power, and his latest had resisted it with titanic
effort for over a month, this one would eventually cling to Gmork out
of fear of everything else. He could see it already.
He grasped the nearest of his warts between his thumb and finger, and
pulled firmly. A little magical will expended, and the wart and its
disgusting roots in the flesh slid free of the boy's cheek. Blood
followed which Gmork cleaned with his tongue until the wound had
closed. He held the fungus up so that the boy might see. "This was
eating into you, my son. If not for this, you would have been brought
to the Baron earlier this year. I would have protected you then too.
This is foul. I will destroy it for you."
Gmork set the wart on the stone as far away as his arm could reach.
He spread his fingers wide a few inches above the wart, and the
entire thing was consumed by a burst of flame. A moment later nothing
was left but a wisp of ash and a blackened scar against the stone.
The boy's eyes fluttered in wonder.
Gmork smiled and stroked the boy's now clean cheek. "Would you like
me to remove the others, my son?"
The boy hesitated, but as that soft hand continued to brush against
his cheek, he finally started to nod. "Aye... Father."
Gmork growled in delight.
----------
Yajgaj had been surprised when Gmork and his slavish pups had
returned when they did. He'd hoped to have another hour or two to
make his preparations. Instead he gave order to the Blood Harrow he'd
grown closest too since coming west to Arabarb to wake him after an
hour's rest. It was all he dared allow himself. The beast mage would
be at his most alert after returning from their hunt and so he could
do nothing then.
His rest was deeper than he would have liked, and the Lutin warrior
had dreams of the man in the dungeon, the boy in Calephas's
laboratory, the dragon that had killed Gmork's youngest pup, and the
woman they all sought. Wisps of reverie floated through his thoughts
and chased after him, no matter how much he tried to run from them.
Nearby he could see the camp of his tribe nestled in the crook of the
mountains overlooking a plain so cold that only stunted trees and
bright wild flowers grew. His dreams assured him that within the
Blood Harrow camp he would find security and an end to all confusion;
but no matter how fast he ran he never seemed to get any closer to it.
Two faces laughed him to scorn. The lupine visage of Gmork, his
muzzle drenched in blood from an adoring pet, barked in mocking
derision to his left. And to his right the sneering countenance of
Baron Calephas regarded him as he crushed Lutins and men alike
beneath his boot. Yajgaj reached for his bone knives but could not
find them. And one by one those evil men murdered the prisoner, the
boy, the dragon, and the woman over and over again.
So when his friend and fellow warrior returned to wake him, he felt
better merely for having risen from his meager cot. "Khilaj," he said
as he pulled his hides over his wiry, green chest and arms, "where is
he and his young?"
Khilaj grunted and his yellow eyes looked hatefully at the ceiling.
"Two went into town. They sent the tanner's apprentices back to their
father. They're with him now."
Yajgaj licked the back of his sharp teeth as he wrapped his bearskin
buckler and sheathed his knives. "Then he will not watch us a while."
Grabbing his friend's shoulder, he leaned in close and whispered into
the long, pointed ear, "Send six of our tribe to guard the armory.
Make humans there go man the wharves." He smiled in wicked amusement.
"Don't want Resistance taking the river."
Khilaj laughed and nodded. "And you?"
"There's other places in the city the men need to watch. I tend them."
The two Lutins grinned as they left the dungeon's antechamber together.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
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