A Harlequin of Hate by Deck Matthews

Author:Deck Matthews [Matthews, Deck]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Echo Enduring Media
Published: 2019-09-09T22:00:00+00:00

The ghast was big and thick—almost corpulent if such a thing was possible for the damned monsters. It opened its mouth, revealing a tongue like black slime, flicking across twisted and yellowed teeth. Its jowls undulated when it shrieked and clicked. Parten tried to scamper away but felt a thick, clammy hand grasping at him.

He twisted away, just in time to see the ghast's face collapse under a sudden impact. All at once, the creature was falling, and Parten was being hauled to his feet by Treg. The stablehand offered him his sword. Parten accepted it gladly.

There was no time for thanks.

Two more ghasts were shambling toward them. Parten gripped the hilt of his blade. No more hesitation. Fight and kill or fall and die. The words rang in his mind like something out of one of the old epics, a rousing mantra meant to stir the fires of his courage. Parten could only hope they'd help him control his bowels as he threw himself forward.

Long hours of drilling and training took over. He planted his feet, balanced himself and lashed out, cleaving one ghast's arm from its body. The second took his blade full in the gut. Its flesh was soft. Parten's cold steel cut through it like a fresh spiced pudding gone horribly wrong.

The ghasts fell and died, but others always appeared to take their place. There were dozens now, filling the room with their hissing and groaning, and with the stench of soured fruit. Treg's quarterstaff continued to whirl, throwing the ghasts back, and braining any that drew too close.

"We need to get out of here," he muttered.

"What about Nickon?"

"Where is he?"

"There!" Parten gestured toward the far corner, where Nickon was beating back a swarm of the creatures with his massive sword. His face was flushed, his brow soaked with sweat and blood and grime. He grunted as he hacked the closest ghast in two.

The jade-masked Selliar appeared behind him, laughing a like a deranged hyena. Nickon never stood a chance.

Selliar's sword blade burst through his gut.

"No!" Treg's howl blended with the clatter of Nickon's weapon falling to the stone floor.

Selliar withdrew his blade, spun Nickon like a maid in some hellish dance, and lashed out again, opening the dying man from groin to sternum. Guts and gore spewed forth, spilling into Selliar's outstretched hand. He gathered them up like a bouquet of roses, giggling as he drew them close to his heart.

"You bastard!" Treg screamed. "You flaming, hells-cursed bastard!"

He took a single step forward, but Parten's hand came down on his shoulder.

"You don't stand a chance," he whispered. "The door, five steps to your right. Go!" He shoved Treg forward.

Then they were running, racing through the dark, musky halls of the ruined fortress. Suddenly, the place seemed like a maze. Everywhere they turned, more and more ghasts were crawling out of the shadows. The fleeing men darted down one corridor, then another. As they ran, the entire world filled with maniacal, gleeful laughter.

At one point, Treg stumbled.

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