Take the body and give me the rest Read online

  For my mum, who got me reading Lord of The Rings and got me into fantasy.read me Lord Of The Rings instead of something actually for children and got me into fantasy.

  Chapter 1

  Hunger: it was the feeling that defined his current life, more than cold, boredom or even anger. It was hunger. He could feel it as a solid dull pain in his stomach that radiated through him. His normally strong body felt weak and traitorous. He sat on the hard wooden bench with his back against the freezing blue stones of the prison wall and wished for another bowl of watery gruel or heel of stale black bread. The food he’d been given in the debtor’s gaol was the food you feed people you hope would die. A few more weeks of this diet, in these elements and Seth knew that he would be obliging them. He focused on his anger and tried to let it build in him, like cupping hands around a fledgling fire, but it didn't shake off the cold of the dark night outside his cell; it didn't help protect against the cold wind that blew in through the bars — the bars that made one side of this cell into a giant viewing room. It didn't help get rid of the shame that he was in this place, and what would his father say if he knew about it?

  The pale sun shone down in the morning and Seth along with all the other unwashed and ragged debt slaves, did their best to move from the hard wooden benches along the back wall and get a place in the sun against the bars. The cage was built so that people walking past could easily look in and view the various chattels. Slavery wasn’t against the law, but this also wasn't slavery. He owed money, and he’d been sold into debt bondage until the ledger was clean. Should be about five years for the two silvers and few coppers they said he owed for a week’s room and board that he hadn’t paid.

  Seth made his way easily to the front of the cage; the other slaves got out of his way. Even in his hungry and half-starved condition, he still looked like what he was — a soldier, a tall Northern lad of nineteen name days, fresh from two years as a levy in the local lord’s militia. He was the same height as everyone else in his troop, which meant he was around a head taller than most Cravosi; had a hard body and determined look from two years of near constant training, riding and fighting in the line. Right now, he felt he couldn't do a single chin-up from a tree branch—but then, he hadn't had a decent meal of meat in weeks, and not only meat but a decent meal of anything in the last two days since they hauled him down into this cold, blue stone prison.

  Northerners had a unique view on life, in that they tended to live by the mottos that ‘scars are strength’ and ‘to avoid a battle just because you are outnumbered is the coward’s path.’ Seth was going to be sold onto someone else — and, honestly, if he were bought, then at least he’d have a timber roof over his head and some food in his stomach. So he stood up the front, like last morning, and did his best to look like a good and humble slave. He wasn't about to die of starvation inside this cage like the poor fucks alongside him. Inside, he was bursting with secret rage at the situation that sent him here, but it would be a mistake to show it. He’d seen many men tougher than him by far be beaten savagely by the guards for being trouble starters . . . and if he got himself a broken arm or leg, he’d just as well start digging his own grave.

  As people walked past the cage, Seth sorted them into two groups. One was comprised of potential buyers, being servants in livery and hands in pouches, well-dressed and respectable slaves shopping for their owners, or various tradesmen looking for cheap labourers to work to death. The other group was made up of mean-spirited petty bastards who had nothing better to do during the day than make life harder for those already on the bottom. They were the men with no jobs, but with freedom, who laughed and shouted things at the slaves, little piss pant kids who liked to throw stones, and the bored young lordlings and merchants’ sons, who mostly liked to leer at the underfed women in tattered clothing. Seth didn’t consider himself a violent person. Sure, he was a fighter, but he wasn’t the type to take pleasure in the suffering of others. But if he could get outside this cage with a cudgel, he’d make short work of some of these bastards with their proud sneering faces.

  As the market was closing and the sun was near to set, a man walked past the cages. Seth recognised him from the previous day. He had an extremely refined appearance, short black hair and a very serious expression on his face; he was clearly a steward for some important man. He was dressed head to foot in black and gold livery; his jacket had a golden eagle with a broken spear between its talons. He was walking very close to the cages, staring intently from person to person as he had done yesterday when he’d passed them all over.

  The slaver in charge of Seth was a large, overweight white lump of man, with not many teeth and a cruel sneer permanently set on his pudgy rat face.

  ‘Back again,’ the rat faced slaver said.

  The steward looked at the slaver for a moment and then, without saying a word, went back to peering at the faces of the different slaves. He cast his critical eye over a woman standing close to Seth. She had ragged blond hair streaked with dirt and a shift dress that had once had some sort of pattern on it. Now it was a dirt-streaked grey. She may have been half pretty once, but Seth could see she was barely holding herself up on those bars. The large purple black eye the guard had given her wasn’t helping. While the man stared at her, he spoke to the slaver. ‘How long has she been here?’

  ‘Not more than a few days I’d say,’ the slaver replied in a lazy fashion.

  ‘More like two weeks; she’s near death’s door,’ the steward said.

  ‘She’ll come right once your man feeds her up,’ the slaver said. ‘Or, if it’s men you’re after, you should look at that Northern lad two over. He’s strong, tall and quiet; haven’t heard boo from him since he came in. Might be simple, but that’s good in a slave.’

  Seth felt his face almost go red when that piece of shit said he was simple. It took all his strength of will not to shout back at him. The steward walked down the line a few steps, crisp leather boots treading into the mix of mud and piss from the cage. He looked Seth in the eyes for a moment and then looked at him from head to toe, sizing him up.

  Returning to examine Seth’s gaze once more, he spoke to the slaver. ‘He’s not simple. Are you simple, boy?’ the steward asked in a polite, questioning voice.

  ‘No sir, I’m not,’ he answered.

  ‘Smartly answered; plenty of life in him. He’ll do the job.’

  The steward then turned to the slaver. ‘I’ll take the lad here, and you’ll shave a few silvers off the price for the sorry bloody condition of him. He has the hungry look of an underfed dog at the kitchen door.’

  Chapter 2

  The slaver and the steward argued about the price back and forth, with Seth, the chattel in dispute finally being sold for the princely sum of two gold coins and three silvers—not a bad price for five years of someone’s life, he thought. A shiver ran through the length of him when the slaver stepped up onto his little wooden stool and poured a bucket of cold water over him, the closest Seth had to a bath in four days.

  His hands were thrust into some heavy metal cuffs that the steward had brought with him. Without as much as a ‘come along dog,’ the steward led the dripping but triumphant Seth through the crowd. Sure, he’d had just been sold; sure, his clothes were caked in dirt, filth and soaked with water; sure, he was being lead through the crowd like a dog on a cold metal leash. But he hadn’t died in that cage like so many others had; he’d played the game and he’d survived. He’d done what he needed to do for a week or two. He’d tend house for some rich man; he’d eat well and sleep well. Then, when the time was right, he’d run all the way home to the North. Fuck Cravoss and fuck the Cravosi. Stupid city didn’t seem half as goo
d now as it had three weeks ago.

  Long strides kept him up with the steward and for the most part the crowd moved out of the way for them. Once they had made their way out of the slave market, they walked up to a black carriage led by two white horses. The carriage was ornate to Seth’s eye and had a large golden eagle crest with a broken spear. The horses were beautiful animals, much leaner than the large Northern warhorses he was used to riding. The steward passed his chain to the driver and said, ‘Get up with him,’ before stepping inside the carriage.

  Seth clumsily got up into the seat next to the driver without the use of his hands; he was dripping water and muck all over the wooden seat. The driver was a very young lad with a little red cap.

  ‘You want some water?’ the boy said, offering him a flask.

  ‘Thanks,’ Seth said, raising it to his lips. He enjoyed the cool clean water as it soothed his still aching stomach.

  There was a tap from inside the carriage, and they set off. Seth had been so impressed when he’d first come to the great city of Cravoss just three weeks past. He and three friends from his troop had made the two-week ride from the Northern Duchy of Bloodcrest to the city. They had all finished their two years of service on the Line, as it was called, and had had a right to petition for a place in the city guard or local militia.

  The city was the biggest thing that Seth had ever seen. The Duchy of Bloodcrest was essentially one large stone keep and a hamlet of around a hundred families. Cravoss consisted of buildings as far as you could see in all directions. It had a port with hundreds of boats and a huge stone wall bordering the edges of the main city to protect it from without . It was a trading town, a major stop between the North and the rest of the realm, like Pelloss across the sea. Everywhere you went in Cravoss, there were clusters of a market, a store, a tavern and, of course, more people all packed in than Seth thought there were in the whole North.

  They had ridden back through much of the city but it being such a large place, Seth had only seen a small corner of it. Off one main street, they turned through some large black gates set in red brick and into the yard of an expensive stone mansion. The building was at least four stories tall and extremely vast; it would have fit the Bloodcrest feasting hall easily inside of it.

  The steward climbed out of the carriage and, taking Seth’s chain from the driver lad, led him around the back of the building towards the servants’ entrance.

  ‘Now, don’t speak unless he speaks to you. You’ll have a short interview with the master of the house, and then we’ll take you to the kitchen for a feed and get cleaned up a bit.’

  The steward led him through a door and into an empty seeming house. They entered a room that was blazing hot, with a fire roaring in the corner. Seth could see someone at the far end sitting at a desk. The steward walked with Seth to a point in the room where there was a metal ring hammered into the floor. He looped Seth’s chain around it, pulled a large metal lock from his pocket, and locked the chain to it. Seth looked at him questioning.

  ‘Just for the first interview; don’t worry,’ the steward said and turned, leaving the room.

  The room was nothing like Seth had ever seen. He’d thought they’d had had some nice furnishing in the Bloodcrest keep but this was something else. The fire was bathing the room in an orange light and he could see this was a study of some kind. On the other side of the room, at a large, dark, wooden desk, a man with silver hair was hunched over, writing quickly with a quill. The room was filled with shelves of books, ornate tables, chairs and the fireplace was surrounded by richly carved dark wood.

  Seth heard a chair being pulled out and saw the man stand up and regard him. He was fairly tall by Cravosi standards and held himself with a distinctly military bearing. His clothes were also of a fighting cut, leather armour but tailored and printed with a golden eagle crest. He had silver hair, but a strong expression framed by a trimmed, short beard. At his hip, he had the Cravosi weapons of choice: a long rapier-style sword on his left and long dagger on his right. Using those was the way refined men killed each other.

  He walked up to Seth, his black leather boots ringing across the polished floorboards.

  ‘You look very hungry my lad, very hungry indeed. But we’ll sort you out after our little interview is over,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ Seth said, inclining his head.

  He laughed. ‘No “my lord” I’m a military man. But as it seems that you are also an army lad, you can call me General.’

  ‘Yes, General,’ Seth replied.

  ‘You are an army lad? Am I right? Short hair, good posture, relaxed stance. Where are you from?’

  ‘I’ve just spent two years on the line at Bloodcrest, sir; in the levies as well.’

  ‘In the levies as well? You’re too young to be lining up in the shield wall. But still, it is the North. Few scraps against the neighbouring lords, was it?’

  ‘Yes, sir, they plotted expansion.’

  The General laughed. ‘They always do, son; they always do. Now, I need you to do me a favour. You need to be quiet for a minute or two while I do something. It may seem strange, but I want you to just listen to what I have to say.’

  The General looked into the air and, in a language Seth had never heard before, started to chant a string of dark and rough words. Immediately, Seth was apprehensive. This looked like something the wise women of the North might do. The General was chanting the short dark words with more and more energy, pacing back and forth in front of Seth. For the first time, Seth looked at the floor around him and saw that he was inside a circle of strange objects, small stones, a tiny skull, some bones and little metal boxes with runes carved into them. He tested his chains; he was still fastened tight around the wrists to the floor.

  The words of the General’s chant seemed to be filling with more and more power, Seth felt as if the very air was beginning to thicken in front of him, as if it were hard to see though. The power kept building like a fog until the air in the circle was black and thick like a silent storm cloud, with Seth at the centre. The fog rippled and began to thin again; the black faded to grey. Seth could see that on the other side of the fog veil, a large white shape was moving. He saw it reach out. Four clawed talons ripped slowly through the veil and into his land.

  A creature that Seth could never have imagined followed its clawed talons through the rift to stand in the circle with him. It was in the shape of a giant wolf but hairless. Its jaw was too long and held too many sharp teeth. Its skin was a mottled and sickly white and its tail was thin like a rat’s. It regarded Seth with piercing yellow eyes and pushed its head towards him. As it did the stench of decay, like that of a dead body left to rot in an abandoned field of battle, reached his nostrils.

  The General looked at the both of them in the circle. The creature took up most of the room but had the space to pace around the chained Seth.

  ‘Good of you to come, creature, even if you were slow to arrive. Now, please take the body and give me the rest.’

  Seth was breathing hard, trying to quickly manage the burst of fear and terror the very sight of this thing had put into him. Northerners had a different relationship with gods and other beings than the Cravosi, and Seth knew that, above all, these beings demanded respect but admired courage. When the creature had appeared, Seth had gone to one knee, head lowered as a servant to a king in an instant reaction.

  The creature lashed out at the General with its awful black talons. They struck the very air and were deflected. The General laughed. ‘Every time you try that, beast, and every time you fail. Now take the body and give me the rest. I’m tired of these games.’

  The creature stopped its pacing and regarded Seth. He felt its presence sweeping through him, through every memory and private thought in a heartbeat. It seemed amused by the smallness of his life. Words boomed in his skull like a sword butt banging against a shield.

  ‘Little Northern boy, at least you know some respect and hunger too. I feel your pain
ful hunger,’ it said.

  Seth looked up and met its eyes while remaining kneeling. He stayed silent but kept looking into its eyes. Slowly, it moved its head and jaw forward. It opened its huge jaw wide, and Seth saw into the mouth with its double rows of impossibly sharp teeth and felt its warm graveyard breath against his face.

  The General smiled as the creature slowly closed its mouth so the tips of its teeth pushed against the skin of Seth’s throat and forehead. Seth closed his eyes and said a prayer to his ancestors. He pushed away his fear and prepared to die with a pure, fearless heart.

  The creature’s laugh boomed in his mind, ‘Very brave, little Northern boy, ready to end your tiny, precious little life like a man. I don’t like people much, but I like you more than him, so now do what I say and you’ll live a little while longer.’

  Quicker than he could see, the creature released him, with impossible precision and grace; it slashed the metal restraints off his wrists and severed the steel ring bolted to the wooden floor. The metal shackles fell to the ground as Seth stood up in an instant and lashed out. Obeying the creature beside him, he kicked out hard at a small stone that created the circle of power. The little pebble rolled across the hardwood floor a few paces towards the shocked face of the General, and with it, the power of the circle faltered. The creature rushed past Seth and leapt onto its past master.

  Blood sprayed up in a thick gout as the creature’s teeth ripped into the General’s throat. The creature swallowed the bloody mass. Seth stood, watching it devour the General, and felt a delicious yet sickening feeling washing over him. With every bite the creature took, he could feel the blood and the meat in his own mouth, sating his own terrible hunger. He felt stronger and better with every mouthful of the General’s bloody arm, hand, face, blood and bone. The creature ripped, tore and swallowed until nothing was left of the man but a pile of shattered bones, ripped open ribcage and a bloody stain on the hardwood floor.