Chainers Torment mgc-2 Read online

  "Sorry, lady," the boy muttered, and the human woman clipped him across the ear.

  "Shut up," she snapped. She turned and stomped down Veza's path, dragging the boy behind her.

  Veza stood in the open doorway for a full minute after they'd gone. Then, she shook her head, closed the door gently, and went back to her papers.

  CHAPTER 5

  The First stood silently in a chamber no one but he and his attendants knew about. He was gazing into a detailed light model of Cabal City and its environs, a perfect miniature recreation. The First used it as an organizing tool, one of many he employed to keep thousands of Cabalists and millions of transactions working smoothly.

  He focused his thoughts on the model and spoke a few words under his breath. The background buildings in the projection faded slightly, leaving a series of stark, colored dots to represent the individuals he was interested in following.

  Two small, black dots waited in the proving grounds of Skellum's dementist academy, representing Chainer and Skellum himself. The

  First noted with some satisfaction that the pair were still training hard, even with the progress Chainer had already made. The boy was proving to be capable of everything the First had in mind for him.

  A small blue dot lurked around the shore just outside the city walls, where Ambassador Laquatus connived and plotted. The ambassador both interested and amused the First. Laquatus may have mastered the shifting tides of diplomacy, but his childish self- interest made him woefully predictable. Also, the egotistical fool seemed to actually think he could keep secrets from the First in the heart of the Cabal's biggest city.

  A small cluster of white dots approached from the plains beyond the main gate. Lieutenant Kirtar of the Order coming to call, or perhaps Captain Pianna herself? Whichever of its noble heroes came, Chainer's found treasure spelled the end of the Cabal's relative tnice with the Order. The First thought of himself primarily as an entertainer. While he was pragmatic enough to accept a resumption of hostilities, the host in him mourned the loss of resources that would be spent on destructive conflict rather than constructive spectacle. Finally, and most interestingly, a single red dot was heading into his city from the Pardic mountains to the southeast. This dot glowed brightly when compared to the others. The First commanded the finest network of spies and informers on or around Otaria, bar none. He knew who this dot was, and what it represented to his plans for the Cabal. The First smiled.

  He compared relative distances between the various dots and the Cabal City pits. Within a day or two, all of the players would be assembled. He touched a smooth, gray finger to his temple and a skull- attendant stepped forward out of the darkness. "Bring me Skellum and the boy," he said. Sometimes, the showman in him thought, the best thing to do with something everyone wants is to throw it up in the air and yell, "Catch."

  *****

  After four months in it, Chainer grew to hate the room in Skellum's academy that was designed to recreate the pits. It wasn't anywhere near as large and there weren't hundreds of bloodthirsty spectators screaming for death and carnage, but it was as near- perfect a recreation as possible. From the black stone floor to the fixed and inextinguishable torches to the spiked wooden barriers that protected the crowds, Chainer had to hand it to Skellum: the old man had an eye for detail.

  He'd had plenty of opportunity to examine those details. For endless weeks now Skellum had filled Chainer's days with breathing and meditation techniques, and extremely boring speeches about Cabal history and the dementists' role in it. After the first week Chainer had mouthed off to Skellum about the monotony of the routine. Skellum had spun his hat and left Chainer alone in the room with a two-headed harpy and a fifty-pound slug that seeped acid. Chainer hadn't complained since.

  Today, Chainer perked up because Skellum was carrying an eight-inch pewter cage. The cylinder- shaped contraption was hinged in the middle and had a thick slot in the top. Chainer stared at it hungrily. It was the only new thing he had seen in weeks. Maybe Skellum would let him actually do something.

  "Big day today," Skellum said. He drew a thick charcoal coin and a match out of his satchel. He struck the match against his thumb, held it under the coin until the edge glowed red, and then dropped the charcoal disk into the slot on top of the cage.

  "Here,". Skellum flipped the cage over to Chainer. Chainer caught it gingerly and tossed it from hand to hand until he was sure it was cool to the touch.

  "Fasten it to your chain and set it on the floor," Skellum said. He spread his cape out with both arms and gracefully lowered himself into a cross-legged sitting position.

  Chainer broke off five feet of chain, held the end near to the cylinder-cage, and whispered, "Link." The air shimmered, and the pewter cage became attached to his black metal chain as if it had been forged there.

  "I've told you about we dementists," Skellum said. "We are the First's favorites. We work and sleep in places that would reduce lesser beings to babbling hysteria. We walk paths that would turn others' feet to ashes. We travel at will to the shores of nightmare, and not only do we return, but we return bearing captives. The Cabal serves Kuberr for a purpose, and no less than the First himself has confirmed-the dementists are part of that purpose."

  Chainer shrugged. "Yes. You have told me these things."

  "And I have told you about the paths we walk. How some bind their eyes and plug their ears in order to find a path. And others go without food, or water, or air until their feet find the way. And some turn to drink, or drugs, or the hypnotist's candle in order to leave this world behind and find the world within."

  "So you have said, Master Skellum."

  "But I haven't told you why I am the master. Why my service to the Cabal lies outside the pits. Why I am uniquely qualified to help you find your path."

  "There is no need," Chainer said carefully. He watched Skellum's impassive face. "You are my master. I am your pupil. Lead, and I will follow."

  Skellum smiled, gave his hat a playful spin, and caught a gap in front of his face after exactly one revolution. He reached into his satchel and took out a dusty red coin as thick as a finger.

  "Put this in the censer." He showed the red disc to Chainer. "It's Dragon's Blood. Not the actual blood from a dragon's veins, mind you, but a resin we call Dragon's Blood."

  "Why?"

  "Mostly because it's red and stinky. Here."

  Chainer caught the disc and dropped it into the slot. There was a hiss and a sizzle, and then fragrant smoke began to pour out between the bars of the pewter cage.

  "Place it on a hot coal," Skellum said, "and it produces a strong scent and thick smoke. Quite a lot of thick smoke, actually."

  Chainer nodded, but the choking fog from the censer stung his eyes and clogged his lungs.

  "Can you still hear me, pupil?" Skellum's voice was clear, but Chainer couldn't quite pin down its direction.

  "Yes, Master."

  "Good. Spin the censer around on your chain. I'm about six feet away from you at ground level. Be sure not to hit me with it. When you've got a clear space around you that you can breathe in, say, 'Ready.' In the meantime, I'll tell you about Cateran."

  Chainer coughed. "I understand, Master." He picked up the censer, tossed it out into space, and started it whirling around his head.

  "Cateran," Skellum's voice now echoed out of the smoke from about two feet off the ground to Chainer's left, "was one of the greats. An extraordinary dementist. Before your time, before my time, maybe even before the First's time. The Cabal is here, Chainer, and some say it has always been. There are many more stories about its early days than you or I will ever hear."

  Chainer had the censer spinning easily, and he was slowly creating a miniature cyclone of Dragon's Blood smoke with himself at the center.

  "I'm still waiting to hear this one."

  Skellum sighed. "Loathsome boy." Chainer spun the censer a few more times, then yelped as Skellum hit him on the end of his nose with a spare charcoal disc.

/>   Skellum continued. "Cateran was a summoner. He was so good at it that he could threaten you with a monster, and make it appear between the letters in the last word he spoke."

  "What was he good at? Big, scary things, or lots of little sharp things?"

  "Both, and more besides. There's an old legend about him going into the pits alone on the eve of no moons and not coming out until the next one, a full month later. He must have been astounding. An inexhaustible roster of ferocity, size, variety, all at a moment's notice."

  "So what happened to this dementist hero? Did he finally meet someone better than he was?"

  "Of course not."

  "But that's the rule. That's how it works in the pits."

  "Cateran did not die in the pits." Skellum sounded hurt, almost offended. "Some say that Kuberr rewarded him, and he now sits by our god's side on a pile of gold and silver markers. Others say Kuberr rewarded Cateran with an entire world to infiltrate and colonize on behalf of the Cabal. And some among us dementists think he became too good, that he got so comfortable in his own dementia space that he simply forgot to come back."

  "What do you think, Master?" Chainer took a deep breath. "I'm also ready, by the way."

  "Excellent." Skellum's voice now came from the floor to Chainer's right, but he hadn't heard his mentor move. Chainer wondered if the old man had been spinning his hat as he spoke. It was possible that Skellum was speaking from inside Chainer's head again.

  "I think," Skellum's voice said from directly in front of Chainer, "that Cabalists never get to lie around on big piles of money, even in paradise. And I think if you gave a dementist his own world, he would forget why you gave it to him and spend all of his time playing with it."

  Chainer kept spinning the censer and scanning the smoke for Skellum. "And what if he's lost in the place that you go to find monsters?"

  "That I don't know, Chainer. But together, maybe we can find out." Skellum's hand clamped over Chainer's eyes from behind and Chainer could feel whispered words hissing in his ear. "Let's go look."

  Chainer heard a deafening boom, and he fell forward onto his knee. He struggled to keep the censer spinning and away from Skellum, but the old man seemed weightless as he kept his hand pressed tightly over Chainer's eyes. Angled as it was, the swinging censer should have been slamming into the stone floor by now, but it continued to spin freely.

  "Keep your eyes closed. Stand up straight. Keep the censer spinning."

  Chainer straightened his back and got the censer realigned. "I'm trying, damn it."

  "Don't talk back. And keep your eyes shut." Skellum's hand came away from Chainer's face, and the young pupil did as he was told.

  "What do you hear?" Skellum asked.

  Chainer listened. "It sounds like we're outside or in a really big room. An empty one. Are we in the pits?"

  "What do you smell?"

  Chainer sniffed. "Dragon's Blood. And… dead trees? Mulch. Lamp oil. I don't know, a lot of things."

  "What do you see? Keep your eyes closed."

  "How can I-"

  "Shut up, and tell me what you see. Now."

  "We're on the salt flats," Chainer said instantly. "It's the dry season, so the ground is hard. There's been a fire recently, and all the vegetation is burned and black."

  "What about the sky?"

  "It's about to storm. It's midday, but there's no sun. The clouds are thick and heavy and dark. They want to rain. They're bursting with it, but they can't. All they can do is flash and rumble."

  "Anyone here but us?"

  Chainer focused all of his available senses on the space around him. "No one," he said.

  "Keep the censer spinning. Open your eyes."

  The sky was just as Chainer imagined it, but the landscape was all gray and jagged stone instead of black and ruined marsh. Skellum sat cross-legged on the ground to his left. His hat was in motion, but slowing. The spinning censer created a ten-foot ring of scented smoke with Chainer and Skellum safe in its center.

  Outside the ring were a thousand slavering horrors. They crowded and jostled each other for the chance to peer directly into the protected circle. They produced an unholy chorus of snarls, growls, and shrieks as they jockeyed for position. Occasionally, one would lash out at its neighbor, and a vicious skirmish would break out, but there were too many of them to get a good melee going. Besides, they were far too busy drooling and leering at Chainer. They ignored Skellum.

  "Welcome. These are my nightmares." Skellum said.

  Chainer cleared his throat. An insectoid whose head was all compound eye and razor mandible was eyeing him hungrily.

  "I've seen worse," he said.

  "But not all at once," Skellum said. "And not all waiting here, just for you."

  Chainer cleared his throat. "Okay. You've got me there." He spun the censer, and for the first time wondered how much longer he could keep it spinning.

  "Master Skellum?"

  "Yes, Chainer?"

  "Forgive me, but… what in the Nine Hells is this place?"

  Skellum smiled. "I just told you."

  "But how did we get here?"

  "I come here all the time."

  "Okay. How did I get here?"

  "I brought you. This is why I am Master Skellum. My path to this place is slow, but sure. I'm not very good in the pits without a partner, because I take too long to get going. But the creatures I produce are exceptionally stable and strong. And detailed, if I do say so myself. Look, there's my grendelkin." Skellum waved playfully at the elephantine beast prowling the perimeter of the censer's circle. "Also," his voice went serious, "I can take others with me when I come here."

  "Other pupils."

  "On occasion. And sometimes, people I just don't like."

  Chainer was scanning the crush of monsters, picking out the ones he would most want beside him in the pits and least want to fight against.

  "Will I be able to produce such creatures?"

  Skellum laughed. "I expect so. But these are mine, created from my memories and my mind. Your dementia space is currently empty. Starting tomorrow, we begin to populate it."

  "Now," Chainer said. "Take me there now."

  Skellum scowled. "No. Tomorrow. It's dangerous enough in here, and I'm standing right next to you. If that chain stopped spinning, they'd attack us en masse without hesitation. I think I could make it out, but you'd be trapped here. Fighting forever in the darkest parts of my brain until I called you forth. And even then, you wouldn't be you. You'd be a shadow of the Chainer I knew and trained, real form without real substance. A puppet to my will."

  "Then take me out of your space and into mine. If it's empty, it can't be-"

  "Chainer," Skellum said sternly, "no. Trust your mentor, boy." He stood up, crouching to avoid the chain overhead, and moved behind his pupil. He covered the boy's eyes again.

  "Close your eyes," he instructed, "and when I say so, start slowing the censer down and drawing it in. Ready?"

  "Ready."

  "Now."

  The boom and the internal wrench were softer on Chainer this time. The horror's noises suddenly stopped, and Chainer felt the pressure around him change. He knew he was back in the pit facsimile inside Skellum's academy.

  Skellum pulled his hand away. "Open your eyes and catch the censer." Chainer did, noting that the pewter cage was still cool to the touch, and that the smoke had tapered off to a few final wisps.

  "Tomorrow," Skellum promised, and he threw his arm up and over Chainer's shoulder. Chainer took one step forward, and his legs buckled. He felt cold, dizzy, and on the verge of vomiting. He fell heavily against Skellum, who laughed as he propped his student up.

  "It takes more out of you than you realize," Skellum said. "Especially at first." Skellum was physically stronger than he looked, Chainer thought, as his mentor half-dragged and half-carried him toward the door.

  Before they reached it, someone knocked loudly and forcefully. "Master Skellum," a voice called. Skellum stood Chainer up a
nd held him there with one hand while he opened the door with the other.

  "Yes?"

  One of the First's skull attendants was in the hallway, with the woman warrior who had admitted Chainer and Azza to the manor four months ago.

  "Hello, Deidre," Skellum said to the woman. "Still on house duty, little sister?"

  "Yes, Master Skellum," Deidre said. Then, over his shoulder, "Chainer."

  Chainer feebly waved through half-lidded eyes and an exhausted smile.

  "The First requires Master Skellum and the pupil Chainer in his chambers." The skull attendant's eyes were unfocused, and he spoke in a pathetic monotone that irritated Chainer. "Immediately."

  CHAPTER 6

  Ambassador Laquatus soaked himself in a hot bath. He enjoyed the steam and the bubbles, but he always kept one eye on the timer next to the tub. Ocean-dwellers like himself were built to survive in the extreme cold of deep water, but they were not normally required to cope with high temperatures. To Laquatus, the sensation of a hot spa was worth the risk of being cooked alive if he stayed in too long. He prided himself on enjoying as many of the surface's unique luxuries as he could, even when they were potentially harmful.

  He smiled, and corrected himself: especially when they were potentially harmful. In all the depths of the ocean and all the nations of the land, he was unique. There were no boundaries for one such as he, no limits except for the ones he himself imposed. In his legged form, Laquatus appeared remarkably human. He was six feet tall and handsome, with two small horns at his temples which he had capped in silver. He claimed the vestigial horns were a sign of his royal blood, as were his very light skin color and smooth, almost invisible scale texture. Without his ornate robes and his horns, Laquatus could easily pass for a normal air breather. On a whim, Laquatus switched from his legged form to his tailed one in a flurry of arcane blue light and sea spray. Now nearly nine feet long, he had to fold his lower half back over itself to fit in the spa. He gently flexed his muscles, his scales shimmering, and submerged for a difficult breath of hot water. Though he spent almost all of his time walking and talking with humans, he still needed to keep his skin moist at all times and to spend a few hours a week in his seagoing form.