The Sword of Retribution

The Underworld - Part 4

     The first thing Shaun was aware of as he drifted slowly back to consciousness was a thumping pain in his head, as though a dragon was trying to smash its way out of his skull with blows from its mighty tail. It slowly dawned on him that every explosion of pain coincided with a beat of his heart, and that it was beating with desperate speed. He lay there for a while, wondering why his pulse was so high when he’d just been asleep, and then his memory came back all in one go, bringing with it a sudden terrible fear for his life and the lives of his friends. He was weak, terribly weak, and his hand shook as he strained to lift it to his neck, where he felt a huge, rough scab made from some kind of mucus that wasn’t quite dry. He turned his head and saw his friends lying around him, deathly pale and with similar scabs on their necks, but as he tried to sit up the effort brought black spots to his eyes and he passed out again.

     He was brought round again by the feel of soft fingers on his face and neck, and the sound of a female voice pleading to somebody for his life. New strength flooded through his body as the healing power took effect and he made a second, more successful attempt to sit up. Diana was kneeling over him, a look of profound relief on her face even as she sagged with weariness, and as he looked around he saw that some of the others were also up and about, apparently none the worse for the experience. Diana carefully climbed back to her feet, helped by Thomas, and went over to where the trogs and Matthew were still waiting to be healed.

     He got back to his feet, and gave a cry of rage when he saw the slaver standing a few feet away, its arms crossed over what passed for its chest. “You!” he cried furiously. “So you came back when the danger was gone, did you?”

     “I had done all I could to drive them off,” replied the cthillian impassively. “If I had remained, I would only have suffered the same fate as you. One of us had to remain awake and on guard in case any predators or scavengers arrived before you recovered.”

     “We could have been killed!” shouted the soldier, picking up his sword and advancing with it. “It’s a miracle we survived!”

     “No,” replied the slaver. “The fust rarely kills its victims.”

     “What do you mean?” asked Shaun, stopping in confusion.

     “A predator that kills its victim gains only one meal from it, but a predator that leaves its victim alive and gives it time to recover can return to feed again whenever it feels the need. The fust farm their victims, never taking so much blood that it kills them, and when it finishes it seals the wound by covering it with quick drying mucus. The greatest danger is that someone kills it while it’s still feeding, in which case the wound remains open and the victim can bleed to death.”

     “What!” cried the soldier in shock, staring over at where Diana was kneeling beside the trogs. “Oh by the Gods! You mean I almost killed my own sister?”

     “Don’t worry about it,” called back the cleric, smiling wearily. “No harm was done, and you were only trying to protect me.”

     Shaun was inconsolable, though, and lost the desire to argue further with the slaver, who resumed his place as leader of the party as though nothing had happened. Diana finished healing Angus and Matthew and then took her brother aside to try to talk some sense into him. When they returned, a few minutes later, Shaun looked a little better, but it took him a long time to get over his feelings of guilt.

     “You said those creatures return to their victims time and time again,” said Thomas to the slaver. “Does that mean they might attack us again?”

     “No,” replied the slaver. “They allow their victims several days to recover from the blood loss. You will be long gone from cthillian territory by then.”