The Inquisitives [1] Bound by Iron (13 page)

Cimozjen used his momentum to spin around and swing at the beast, but the darkness and the fast spin had disoriented him slightly, and the angle of his blade was too steep. He watched his sword glance off the beast’s ribs, shearing away a portion of its dense fur. If the blade had drawn blood beneath the shaggy coat, Cimozjen could not see it.

The creature turned with amazing speed, wrenching its axe from the wood. It snarled and hacked at the ground in frustration. A grotesque split purple tongue lolled out of its butterfly-shaped maw and licked at its nostrils. Small red eyes stared malevolently at Cimozjen as it appraised him.

The two circled each other warily, Cimozjen casting quick side glances to determine which, if any, of the surroundings he could use to his advantage. To keep the creature’s attention away from his
darting eyes, he spun his sword rapidly through the Rekkenmark Sword Drill. He also hoped the flashy sequence might unnerve the creature. He was quite uncertain whether he’d survive the next few moments with no armor, shield, or helmet, and any advantage would help.

The creature snorted like a bull, and waved its weapon back and forth. Then it took one long step forward and swatted crudely at Cimozjen’s weapon with its own.

Cimozjen yanked his sword out of the way in a circular swing, then brought it back down, striking the wooden haft of the monstrosity’s axe. The blow, though solid, did not go clean through the beast’s weapon. Rather Cimozjen’s blade buried itself in the wood.

The two combatants stared at the locked weapons in surprise. Then the creature hoisted the double-headed axe into the air, taking Cimozjen’s sword and arm with it. Cimozjen desperately tried to yank his weapon free, but while his arm was still raised, the creature punched him solidly with its third arm. The impact knocked the Karrn off his feet, but also wrenched his sword free from the wooden haft. Cimozjen stumbled and fell, rolling to the right to keep the lantern from shattering on the deck.

The beast charged, swinging a wild, two-handed chop at the supine man. Cimozjen rolled toward the swing and in. The axe blade whistled as it passed his ear, drawing a gash across his cheek, and he felt the wood shake beneath him as the blade took another chunk out of the decking.

As Cimozjen rose, hoping to hamstring his foe, the lantern guttered. His heart caved in his chest, and he aborted his attack to pull all his focus into holding the oil lamp steady. He knew he had no chance of surviving against the twisted creature in pitch darkness. He backed away quickly, heading for the center of the open area, knowing that he stood no chance of backing into a crate. He kept the beast in his peripheral vision until at last the wick’s flame rose tall and steady once more.

Thus relieved, he turned to look at his shaggy foe again. It
had crept up upon him while his attention had been diverted by the lantern, and took another wild swing at his sword. This time it caught Cimozjen unprepared, and with a loud metallic clang, it struck his wrist and the blade. The impact sent his sword from his grasp, tumbling along the floor to come to rest against the wine casks, and nearly severed his thumb from his hand.

Cimozjen stared at the creature, turning his hand palm-down to hide the injury. He felt hot blood trickle down his fingers to drip upon the deck. The creature’s horrid maw twisted into an unnatural asymmetric grin. It let out a juicy, humming growl, which Cimozjen instinctively knew was a sound of cruel mirth.

Cimozjen lunged hard for his weapon, but the abomination was expecting such a move. It leapt with stunning alacrity to defend the sword, using three of its five limbs to propel it in a low, powerful leap. It arced through the air and landed, claws scrabbling on the wood, bifurcated maw open to tear into Cimozjen’s flesh—

Except he wasn’t there. He’d thrown the hard feint to draw the creature into such a move, trusting its larger weight to impede it from recovering from its error in judgment. He ran to the center of the open area and kneeled, as if ready to spring upon the creature himself.

The thing roared its frustration, a howling burbling messy sound. It grabbed its weapon with two of its hands, preparing to swing it like a club, and closed on Cimozjen in a reckless charge.

“Dol Dorn save me!” Cimozjen snatched the iron ring of the bilge hatch in his ruined hand. Ignoring the pain as he stretched the severed muscles and ligaments, he flipped the hatch open and leaped backwards.

Too consumed with bloodlust, the beast paid no attention to Cimozjen’s ploy. It charged forward, raising the heavy axe for a killing blow, but then its foot stepped into the open hatch. Its great inertia impelled it forward, and Cimozjen saw the sudden lurch as its knee struck the edge of the open hatch. A strangely liquid pop sounded as its knee broke against the rim of the hatch,
and the creature flopped to the deck, landing heavily on its chest, its arms extended.

Pain and rage filled its piggy eyes, and it roared its wrath. It moved to gather itself up, but Cimozjen stepped forward onto the haft of its cruel weapon. With a practiced move, he snatched his dirk from its hidden sheath at the small of his back, gripping its hilt between his middle and ring finger. Bracing the dagger’s butt against the heel of his palm, he stepped forward and plunged the steel blade through one of the creature’s red eyes, driving it deep into its brain. The hideous beast grunted, twitched, then sagged into nothingness, the last stinking breath hissing away through its slobbery jowls.

Questions and Lies
Zor, the 12th day of Sypheros, 998

E
rami d’Kundarak kneeled near the top of the ladder. Pulling her well-worn robe tighter about her nightshift, she called down into the lower deck, “Report!”

“Cargo bay’s locked, it is!” came the reply. “We’ll need us the key if’n you want us to go see.”

“Or we could just let well enough alone, leastaways until daylight, that is,” came a second reply. This suggestion was welcomed with a murmur of affirmation from several sailors.

“Belay your tongues!” snapped Erami. “I’ll not have troubles in my cargo hold! You lot stand fast! I’ll be right back!”

She rose and stomped back to her cabin, her short but muscular legs moving her quickly across the deck. The whole while she cursed all sailors, a cowardly and superstitious lot if ever there were.

Back in her cabin, she quickly changed into something more officious than a faded robe and a satin nightshift that was weary with age. She also took the chance to jam boots on her feet. The clomping noise they made when she stomped gave her stride more presence.

Once dressed, she grabbed her ring of keys and her heavy hammer and made for the ladder once more. She made sure to stomp as she crossed over the heads of the sailors the next deck down. Once down the ladder, she paused to scowl at the eight sailors, armed and gathered at the door to the cargo hold.

“What’s with all the long faces?” she barked. “You think you’d all been buggered by Lazhaarites!”

“We just don’t rightly know what’s going on in there,” mumbled someone safely to the rear of the corridor.

“That’s right. And I aim to find out,” said Erami. She flipped her key ring around and held one of the keys up. “Here,” she said, passing it to one of the sailors. “Open it up. Let’s get to work.”

“Why don’t you open it?” said a sailor, again one safely hidden from her view.

Her countenance darkened. Sometimes she wished humans were shorter. It would make such crass insubordination a lot harder to get away with. “Because you’re paid to keep this vessel on course, shipshape and free from danger. There’s something inside there that might be a danger. You mongrels are to find it, kill it, and tell me what it is. In that order. I, on the other hand, am paid to count money and, in case you’ve forgotten, pay your wages. And if you tell the commander that I cheated you out of two weeks’ pay when we get back to Fairhaven, whom do you think he’s liable to believe, hmm?”

The sailors stared at her for a moment, then the one holding the keys grimaced and said, “Ahoy, boys, let me through to open the door. Let’s have this over and done with.”

They pushed their way into the room, lanterns and weapons held high. Slowly they inched their way in, murmuring to each other as they progressed. Erami followed them in, her hammer resting on her shoulder.

“Avast there!” shouted someone. “Amidships!”

“Stand to!”

“Careful, lads!”

A pause, and then, “How in the storm did it get out?”

Erami pushed her way through the netting that hung from the rafters filled with larder, and approached the nearest sailor. “What is it?” she asked.

“There’s your answer,” said a sailor, pointing to a hulking pile of fur that lay near the middle of the cargo bay.

Erami stepped forward. Whatever the twisted and malformed heap was, it was alive—or at least it once had been. It lay unmoving, its head resting in a quiescent pool of blood. “That, sailor,” said Erami, “is not my answer. It raises more questions. What in Siberys is it? And more important, what killed it?”

There was a short silence, and then one of the sailors offered an answer. “The cabbage stew?”

Pomindras looked at his steward, his hands steepled over his nose and his eyes devoid of emotion. “I know of the beast. It was an exotic animal that was being transported for a very wealthy client.”

“Then why was it not on the cargo manifest, commander?” asked Erami, her anger seeping out with every syllable.

“It is. It’s the ‘large crate, taxidermist’s trophy.’ We thought it best to keep you in the dark about its true nature.”

“Commander,” snapped Erami, “if I am to be your purser and steward, I need to know—”

“You need to know what I think you need to know! And you would do well to keep in mind who the commander of this ship is.”

“Yes, commander,” answered Erami, her ire, for the moment, controlled.

“You say it was dead?”

“Yes, commander,” said Erami. “It was nigh exactly in the center of the hold, lying almost atop the bilge hatch. One of the legs was ugly broken, and one ear lopped off, but what undid it was a strike to one eye. Perhaps a sling stone, a spear, or something
else of the like. And there was a large weapon in one of its hands, a double-ended battle-axe sort of thing.”

“And what of the hold?”

“Blood, commander, and not just that of the creature. Whoever killed it, the beast got one or two chops in. Blood on its weapon, trails of blood circling here and there. Looks like it scored a bleeder. That and a few chunks taken out of the decking is the extent of the wreckage. I’m happy to report the cargo was undamaged.”

“Any idea how it got out?” asked Pomindras.

“No, commander. Either it worked the pin out by itself, or someone deliberately let it loose.”

“Thank you, Erami,” said Pomindras. “However, next time the ship is endangered, I want you to wake me.”

“I tried to, commander, but you were out cold with the drink.”

“Then prod me with the rim of my shield until I rouse myself!” He rubbed his temples before turning to the boatswain. “What of the passengers and crew?”

“Most were awakened. Some were in the halls, some adeck. We did spot one of them armed, on the first deck below, and thought to hold him for you.”

“And who would that be?”

“Cimozjen Hellekanus, commander, a veteran of Karrnath. Provisional papers.”

“I remember him.” Pomindras rubbed the corners of his eyes then ran his hand roughly across his shaven scalp. “Bring him in.”

The first mate opened the cabin door and gestured. Two sailors escorted Cimozjen into the cabin, and a third followed, holding the Karrn’s sword and scabbard. The sailors guided Cimozjen to stand in front of Pomindras.

“You wished to see me, captain?” said Cimozjen respectfully.

“Commander.”

“Pardon me?”

“I am not the captain. The one who owns this ship wishes me to remember my station, so I am the ship’s commander.”

“My apologies. I did not—”

“I am told that you were stalking about the corridors with your weapon in hand.”

“You were misinformed. My weapon was sheathed.” The sailor behind Cimozjen nodded his confirmation.

“I see,” said the commander. “And why were you stalking my ship armed?”

“You heard that terrible noise, did you not? It sounded as if it were some nightmare from the Mournland. As there was no trouble on deck, I thought to go below and investigate. There I met your crew, returning from below.”

“Any blood on his weapon?” asked the commander.

The sailor drew Cimozjen’s sword halfway out from its sheath. “No, commander.”

“Blood?” asked Cimozjen. “Why would there be blood on my sword?”

“Because there is a killer aboard, and I need to ensure that it is not you.”

Cimozjen lowered his head. “Would that I might truly say that I was free of innocent blood, commander, but I cannot. However, I can avow that I have not killed a single person since the end of the Last War.”

“What about this evening?”

“Commander, surely this evening is still after the Last War, is it not?”