A Deadly Play

He wrenched the blade out and ran toward the sounds, only briefly pausing to look up to the wall where he had come over. There was no sign of Imre. I suppose it's up to me then, he mused as he charged into the curtained warren with his sword raised high. He followed the screams and snarls, battering his way through barriers when needed, until he emerged from the tangle of curtains to stand face to face with the monster.

It whirled on him, blood dripping from its claws, and fixed Bromm with a death glare. Its red eyes smoldered like hot embers, its obsidian lips curled back from ivory fangs and Bromm felt his blood freeze in his veins. Master Cipius lay on the ground, his last breaths leaving his shredded chest, and Bromm decided he should have stayed atop the wall as a mere spectator.

The creature advanced on him, its clawed hands to either side and its wings unfurled behind its back. It hunched forward, its head leering forward with malicious intent. Bromm took an involuntary step back, and found his retreat obstructed by the thick curtain that he had only battled through with considerable effort.

He disliked the thought of fighting back through the curtains with the monster at his back, but the terrible visage bearing down on him instilled such a fear in him that he could think of little else. Yet by chance, his eye wandered past the monster to Nessia, cowering naked at the back of the cell under a thin sheet she had pulled over herself. To flee was to die, but also to abandon her to the same grisly fate as Cipius.

Gripping his sword before him in both hands, he steeled himself to face the monster. It snarled at him and Bromm roared back. The cry reverberated in him, rattling around his throat and scrubbing it raw. He felt his resolve hardening, so he slammed a fist into his chest and shouted "Come on, then!"

The monster paused its advance, cocking its head slightly with curiosity. But it did not last. The monster snorted in derision and lunged at him, clawed hands descending from high to either side. Bromm darted aside and slashed at the monster's chest as he did. The iron blade rang off it like stone, leaving not even a scratch on its glossy black hide.

It whirled on him as he scurried away, impossibly fast as its wings beat the air around him and harried his escape. Bromm ran into the side of the copper bathtub with a thud. In the narrow confines of Nessia's cell, he would have a hard time escaping the monster's reach. Better to attack, he thought.

He seized a lit candle from its sconce and brandished it in one hand, his other wielding the sword. The monster snarled again and lunged for him. This time, its great bat-like wings lifted it into the air to attack from above, yet its claws slashed in from below. Bromm threw himself backwards, the claws cutting the air just in front of his face, and responded with a thrust of the candle.

He jammed the burning wick against the monster's skin, but the strange hide held firm. The melting wax of the candle was smashed flat, and the wick extinguished.

"Damn!" Bromm cried, diving aside from another sweep of the claws. I shouldn't have expected that to work!

He resolved to try something else as he skittered toward the curtained wall. The monster charged after him, its red eyes burning with hatred. His hand scrabbled for a new weapon, but all he came up with was the hem of a curtain. Before him, the monster hopped up into the air on wings of midnight and rose up into the dark sky. For a moment, he dared to hope that it was fleeing, but with a great shriek, it swept back down at him. He heard himself cry out and threw the curtain over himself.

Something slammed into him, claws scratched horribly at the thick cloth, and he was knocked to the ground. He heard the monster screech again as he fought to his feet. Its claws battered at the curtain, and Bromm seized a chance.

He threw the heavy curtain over the monster's heading and pulled it tight. It hissed with muffled fury and flailed its limbs about in search of him, but Bromm kept out of its reach only by the grace of the gods. From the wall came a cry and then another splintering of wood in a great crash. Imre's fallen from the wall just like me, thought Bromm, but at least he's coming. I hope he hurries!

Grabbing another candle, Bromm laid it against the cloth in the hopes that it would set it alight. But the monster marshalled itself and ceased its blind flailing. Its claws stretched back to its head and tore into the curtain. Bromm watched with mounting dread as it tore holes for its eyes and began to widen them further. He looked to his candle flame. It was burning brightly but showed little sign of catching the curtain of fire. He blew on it desperately, pleading with the flame to catch.

The monster shrieked again and dug its claws into the curtain around its head. Its wings buffeted Bromm again, and their stirring at last carried the candleflame to the curtain. Bromm felt his face light up as the curtain burst into flames, the fire quickly spreading across the black cloth to ring the monster's face. But his hopes were just as quickly dashed as the claws pulled apart and tore the curtain completely free. Still burning, it fell away to the ground in pieces and the monster turned on Bromm.

Now on its forehead burned a new eye, a strange, crystalline thing that glowed with a harsh white light. It fixed all three of its eyes on Bromm and hissed. White fangs shone in the courtyard's torchlight. It ambled forward with menace in its eyes and Bromm found that he had misplaced his sword again.

From behind the monster came a sudden cry, and to Bromm's relief, Imre came charging in with his sword held high. But relief turned to horror as the monster whirled and knocked his friend to the ground. Imre grunted under the impact and crashed into a tall wardrobe. His sword clattered from his hand to the dirt below. Bromm scrambled to his feet and snatched up his sword from where it lay. He threw a glance to Nessia, now on her feet and wrapping a sheet around herself. "Run!" he told her, and gripped his blade in both hands. With a wild scream, he charged the monster again.

It whirled on him as he approached, its claw shooting out toward his throat. Bromm craned his head back even as he charged and thus kept his throat from its grasp. His sword scraped off the monster's hide again, but he plunged between its flailing claws and bowled it over. They crashed to the ground again, becoming entangled in another curtain. Bromm scrambled to his feet, but found a curtain over his head held him down. He was battered in his midsection by the monster's flailing fist, but the thick cloth kept its claws from opening his stomach.

He felt it thrashing about, heard its claws shredding the curtains, and scrambled to disentangle himself. At last he wrenched the curtain from his head and saw Imre charging to his aid. But the monster had freed itself as well.

The terrible black head thrust itself up from the jumble of fallen curtains and fixed its eyes on Bromm. He felt his courage quail under its red fury. The white eye above the others burned with a sickly light. It stood up, the torn curtains sliding from its shoulders, and unfurled its wings again. With another shriek, it lunged for him.

Bromm stabbed it as it came, his sword plunging to where the heart would have been on a man, but to no avail. Worse, as the creature rushed for him, it bent the blade against its chest until the iron snapped, sending the broken blade spinning away along with Bromm's hope.

Cold, cruel claws tightened around his throat and Bromm sank to his knees. He let his broken sword fall away, for he could see no escape now. The monster raised its free hand high, and the razor edges shone in the torchlight. It sneered down at him, savoring the moment of the kill. Bromm felt himself grow cold. The claws flashed, then descended.

But Imre caught the creature's hand as it fell. The monster turned its horrible gaze on him as they wrestled over the free hand. Imre's face contorted with the effort needed to restrain the monster's claws, and Bromm felt the other hand tighten about his throat. He coughed and choked, but Imre's intervention brought him the hope he needed to raise his hands and attempt to pry the monster's claws from his neck before he was strangled.

Its grip was iron, however, and as he tried to dig his fingers in between the monster's claws, he began to understand how trapped he was. Imre and the monster fought over its arm, its wings beating at him though he held on. Bromm groaned with exertion as he strained against its claws. His teeth ground together, he felt his veins pop out, but all that he managed was a slight loosening of its grasp.

The monster kicked at Imre, knocking a foot out from under his. His grip loosened, and the monster wrenched its arm free. It slashed at him immediately, and Bromm's cry of concern died strangled in his throat. Imre cried out and fell away, clutching his bleeding belly. The monster sneered dismissively and turned back to Bromm. Its red eyes fixed on him, burning brightly. Its lips curled back to bare its fangs. Bromm's resistance died a quiet death.

But a new savior emerged, for Nessia came from seemingly nowhere to smash the base of a candle sconce into the creature's white third eye. It screeched a cry more horrible than anything Bromm had ever heard before, but as it clutched the wounded eye, it released its grip on Bromm and he fell gasping to the ground. The eye flashed white, then dulled, and fell from its head to the ground.

The monster staggered backwards, knocking Nessia aside with its wings. It stumbled against the copper tub, hissing and screaming in pain. Bromm snatched up the fallen eye and stuffed it into his pocket. Rising, he took up his broken sword.

"Good work," he gasped to Nessia. "Let's get another one."

The monster's head snapped up toward them, its two remaining eyes burning with fury. But Bromm could see that it was hurt. It raised itself to its feet unsteadily, then lifted itself into the air with a powerful thrust of its wings. Snarling with rage, it swept away across the sky.

Bromm turned to Imre. "How bad is it?" he asked, kneeling beside his wounded friend. Imre grimaced as he moved his hand away from the wound.

"Not great," he admitted through gritted teeth. "Good work with the candle," he said. Bromm turned to Nessia. She stood behind him, her face still white as she clasped a sheet around herself. Her hair was wet and clung to her bare shoulders, still wet from the bath. Her whole body was still wet, he realized, he through the sheet he could see the outline of her form, including her nipples.

The sight of her made him hard, despite the peril of their situation, and it was Imre who thankfully brought him out of it.

"We should go before it comes back."

"You should come with us," Bromm said to Nessia, "It was after you."

"He needs a healer," Nessia said woodenly. "The other two are dead." At a sullen wave of her hand, Bromm turned to look at Cipius. As she said, he was well and truly dead, his end a grisly one. Through the tangle of curtains, he glimpsed the body of Tirnys, or rather the unknown man who played him, being lifted off the ground by a group of actors who had at last emerged from hiding.

"You're right," Bromm muttered. "Come on, Imre. We need to find a healer. Nessia, will you come with us?"

"Where are you going?" she asked in a flat voice. Her steel blue eyes were dull and her face blank. Bromm stood up, supporting Imre on his shoulder. He considered the answer for a moment.

"We have to find a way to deal with the monster."

"Orrtunath," said Nessia, some spark returning to her eyes. Bromm gave her a blank stare. "Its name is Orrtunath," she said in reply. "The monster from our play."

"Whatever its name is, we need to find a way to kill it."

"We need a sorcerer," said Imre. "Gonnsar knows sorcerers."

Bromm shuddered at the thought. "No. Not one of them. I know a man with the Guild who has a shop nearby. The Guild knows sorcerers."

"Where is the eye?" asked Nessia. "The white gem that fell from its head when I struck it. Where is it?"

"I have it in my pocket," Bromm replied. "What is it?"

"It grants it sight," she said. "Here." She crossed her ruined cell to a table and produced a thick tome. She opened it and flipped to a page where the monster, Orrtunath, was drawn. "This is what Cipius used to research his play. The book spoke of a third eye that gave it magical sight of its enemies."

"So perhaps, now that it is blinded, it can't find you?" Bromm asked hopefully.

"Perhaps," Nessia said with a shrug. "But I can't take that chance." She paused. "But who are you?"

Bromm extended a hand. "Bromm, a sailor. This is Imre, one of my crewmates."

"How did you come to be in our courtyard, Bromm?" she asked. Bromm felt his heart leap into his throat. How could he admit to spying on her in the bath? It had been a fortuitous choice, as it were, but would she see it that way?

"We saw the creature," Bromm began, for it was true enough. "I heard screams and thought to help."

Nessia regarded him with suspicion, still clutching the sheet around herself with one hand while she held the dented candle sconce with the other. "You came over the wall?" she asked.

"Aye," Bromm replied. "Never have I climbed so fast, even in the ratlines of a ship in a storm."

Her brow furrowed, but she let the matter drop. She turned to her wardrobe and opened a door to shield herself from the men as she changed. Bromm examined Imre's wounds. They were not so shallow as to doom the man, but he would not be much use if the monster came back. He tore a length of curtain off and wrapped Imre's wounded stomach. Then he took a discarded robe from nearby and laid it about his friend's shoulders. If he walked with Bromm for support, he would look drunk to any who did not look too closely.

Nessia shut the wardrobe, now wearing a robe, hooded cloak, and shoes. She tied a pursestring around her waist and slipped a dagger into the folds of her cloak.

"Where is this man of yours?" she asked, turning an eye skyward.

"He runs a shop by the river. I hope he's still awake and at home at this hour."

"Then let's go. I don't want to stand around in the open any longer."

Bromm settled Imre's arm around his shoulder, and they headed for the street. As they made their way through the courtyard, other actors approached them to gawk or inquire.

"Nessia, by the gods, are you all right?"

"But Master Cipius... who will sponsor us now?"

"What was that thing?"

Nessia brushed them off with short answers and empty words. Many of them moved past her toward the macabre scenes in the courtyard. Once the initial gawkers had been assuaged, their progress to the street was easy.

They exited onto the busy street and quickly blended into the crowds that still occupied them even at this hour. Bromm led the way with Imre on his shoulder, looking to all passersby like nothing more than a man and a drunk, with Nessia trailing in their wake. She had pulled a hooded robe over herself, and despite her fame passed unnoticed in the night. They kept their eyes skyward, their every movement haunted by memory of the monster that had stooped in from the darkness above.

Bromm froze, and pulled the others into a darkened doorway. "Look!" he hissed, finger pointing skyward. The others sucked in a frightened breath as a winged shadow passed before the moon.

"It's still hunting," Nessia swallowed hard. "We must stick to the shadows."

They waited a long moment after the shadow passed before they emerged again. Bromm hurried the trio from shadow to shadow, staying out of the city's well-tended streetlamps, until they came to the bridge.

Ahead of them, the river split the urban sprawl and a tall, arched bridge stretched over the water. Bromm and Imre turned away just before the bridge, and he checked over his shoulder to ensure that Nessia was still behind them. The three of them stopped at the door to a small pawn shop, and Bromm banged hard on the ironbound door. There was a long pause before the viewing slit opened and a pair of suspicious eyes peered out.

"Bromm?" asked a voice. "What are you doing here?"

"I need help," Bromm replied. "Imre's hurt."

"Are you alone?" the voice asked.

"It's just us and a woman. She's not dangerous, don't worry. We haven't given you away."

"What woman? This is not a public location."

"She won't breathe a word of the Guild. Don't worry yourself."

The viewing slit slammed shut. Bromm held his breath. A long moment passed with no sound but for the distant cheering of nighttime revelers. Finally, Bromm heard the sound of locks opening and a heavy bar scraped out of place. The door swung open, and a hooded figure beckoned to them.

"Come, come. Before someone sees."

The inside was a small shop, the counter protected by bars and a thick door. Behind the bars were rows and columns of little drawers, each marked with a number. The hooded man slid back his hood to reveal a middle-aged face, olive-skinned and creased by age. A pair of spectacles hung from a chain about his neck and his fingers were slightly stained with ink. He ran a hand through salt and pepper hair and sighed.

"What have you gotten yourself into this time, Bromm?"

Bromm leaned Imre against the counter and sighed. "There's a monster loose in the city, Brelyn. It attacked the actors' colony behind the theater and killed two men. It almost got Imre, too."

"A monster?" asked Brelyn, his face suspicious. "What kind of monster?"

"Winged," said Nessia, "with hard black skin like stone and two red eyes."

"Some sorcerer's creation, no doubt," Brelyn mused. "Well, what does that have to do with me?"

"We need a healer, a place to hide Imre, and a sorcerer," Bromm demanded. "It might come back, and we have to know how to defeat it."

"Why did it leave?" Brelyn asked.

"I drove it off," Nessia declared. "I smashed its third eye from its head, robbing it of its magical sight."

Brelyn suddenly turned to study Nessia beneath her hood. "I know your face," he said. "You're Nessia!"

"I am," she admitted, "But don't shout it from the rooftops. I fear the creature is after me."

"And why is that?" Brelyn asked with an amused smile.

"The... play," she said at length. "The book that Cipius found had an invocation in it that was the one Vercenx used to call his monster. Cipius' scholar warned him not to use it. He said the magic might still be holding strong, that Orrtunath was never destroyed even after Vercenx's death. Cipius agreed throughout rehearsals, but when the play was ready to open and the scholar had moved on... he changed his mind."

"So, when the man playing Vercenx said the words," Bromm mused.

"He invoked the spell and called the monster down to kill us," finished Nessia.

"Damn," Imre muttered. "I should have gone for ice cream with the others."

"Don't worry, Imre," Bromm reassured him. "Brelyn will find a healer, and you'll be alright. Won't you Brelyn?"

Brelyn ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I suppose I have to now, with the Guild being what it is."

"I knew you'd help. We also need a sorcerer. Someone who can tell us what this thing is and how to kill it."

"I told you," Nessia cut in, "It is Orrtunath, a creation of the wizard Vercenx."

"Yes, but what does that mean? Does your book tell us how to kill it?"

Nessia folded her arms under her breasts and leaned back against the wall, pouting in silence.

Brelyn raised a finger into the air. "Did you say Vercenx? The ancient sorcerer-tyrant?"

"Yes. Don't worry, he's long dead."

"But his monster isn't!" Brelyn protested. "Sorcerers have ways of coming back from the dead."