FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

[

This story is licensed under the Creative Commons

Attribution Noncommercial Share Alike 3.0 License

© 2008 by Noisy Bob All Rights Reserved

](%5C)

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: The world this story is set in is the one of Onyx Tao's excellent story series Cold Blood (don't throw a fit, it's all open license and Tao's a great guy!) and is set into the timeline at around about chapter 3 - Green Fields - but is to be considered non-canonical, being purely a fanwork. If you enjoyed this then go check out Cold Blood which as of the writing of this is up to it's 13th chapter, I guarantee you won't be dissapointed.

---

Tathal grunted as he came to, finding himslf on the cave floor with his hands chained behind his back, the pungent tang of mildew surrounding him and the sound of water dripping from the walls in the background. Images of the last things he remembered flashed through his mind - the battle at Mog Ford where he and the other foreign mercenaries had been pitted.

Thirty seconds into the battle he had decided that the Empire simply wasn't paying him enough, when a mace the full length of your body impacts against your shield with enough force to disjoint your arm a life of tilling the rocky soil of Celtia suddenly becomes allot more attractive.

At least he'd managed to take one of the bastards down, when his Minotaur attacker raised his bludgeon above his head for a deathblow Tathal rallied every ounce of strength in his body and whipped out with his Imperial sword. The image of fearful confusion on the minotaurs face as he staggered back, the mace falling from his upraised hands, with blood streaming from his throat like a freshly slaughtered bull was strangely haunting, it was like he couldn't quite belive what had just happened. Tathal had lain still on the battlefield after that, feigning death in the hope of crawling away once the battle was over.

Then the wolven came.

They stalked the battlefield, singular and in packs, a few Imperial soldiers had apparently had the same idea as him but the wolven found them and slaughtered them on the spot. Tathal knew better, unlike the sheltered Imperials his tribe had fought the wolven off for generations. Trying to hide from them was pointless, feigning death was a liability, they could reach out with their minds and find you no matter how well you acted. He scrabbled to his feet and ran low for the woods. Before he reached cover a lone wolven blindsided him, no-doubt hoping to get a kill without his companions sharing in it. If he had been an alpha Tathal would have died there, he could feel the wolvens mind closing in around his like invisible claws and only quick-thinking saved him. Before he fully succumbed to the psychic attack he grabbed the monster, wrapping one meaty hand around its muzzle and clamping it shut while driving his bellows-spear through its furry stomach. It was one of the few mementoes of home he had taken with him, it was shaped more like a sword than a spear, the haft being only forearm-length while the head was near to a meter long, a solid unbladed spike of iron with thirty quill-like notches jutting from the sides like the nose of a sawfish. He had seen grown men weep like children after having been stabbed with such a weapon, virtually no-one survived.

The wolvens eyes went wide and a sharp jolt of psychic pain flashed through him but he endured it and kept his hand clamped tight, stifling its howl. It vainly struggled against him but the leather lorica armour the Empire provided turned away its claws as the strength faded from its body. He dropped the wolvens limp corpse to the ground and looked around to see if any of its pack had been attracted by the psychic deathcry. Apparently he was safe, out of range, he breathed a sigh of relief and ran deep into the forest.

After three days of walking, living off wild game and riverwater, he started realising he was being followed. At first it was small things, the snap of a twig in the distance, strange animal sounds at night, tracks crossing his path, but soon he began to feel it - the mental presence of hunting Wolven. A grating on the edge of his consciousness, putting him in mind of primal darkness and bloody murder. On the fourth day they came for him.

The first attacker came from his right flank, unlike the ones on the battlefield this one was a pale snowy white, it tackled him fangs bared, knocking him from his feet. Tathal yelled a battle-cry and lamped the creature in the face, drawing a canine yelp and sending it reeling. From both sides the other two came in, he drew his weapon to defend himself but it was too late, their mental attack hit him like a sledgehammer to the head, his vision blurred as he folded over unconcious.

Now here he was, he wondered absently where he was and why, for that matter, he wasn't currently carved up into strips of jerkey. He dragged himself up to a sitting position and braced against the wall for support as he rose to his feet and examined his suroundings. It appeared to be a natural cave, the only signs of artifice being the iron bars set over the entrance, there didn't appear to be a door, the bars were set straight into the rock, and he wondered how they managed to get inside.

As he got close to the bars one of the white wolven appeared and snarled at him, he took a step back and watched the bestial creature warily, it's eyes were strangely empty, almost as though cataracted, and it lacked the sense of cold intelligence he expected from wolven. It regarded him with those empty eyes for a few moments before disappearing again. Tathal was painfully aware of how vulnerable he was with his hands bound, even if they hadn't taken his bellows-spear and sword he couldn't use them. If, when rather, they came to gut him there would be nothing he could do to stop them.

"Hey! Why don't you kill me now you motherless bastards!" he screamed down the corridor of bare stone, listening to the echo fade into the distance. When there was no reply he slumped back against the wall and slid to the floor. His tribe considered despair to be shamefull, a sign of the weakness of ones enech, or honour, but right now he didn't see many other options.

It wasn't long after before another sound cut through the background hum of dripping water and distant wolven growls and snarls; approaching footsteps clacking hard against the rocky floor. He listened intently to the sound, different from the soft padding of wolven feet, it was more like hobnail boots or...or hooves.

Without warning the bars of the cave wrenched themselves appart with a screeching of tortured metal, creating a circular opening in it's place. In desparation Tathal scrabbled to his feet and made a break for the doorway, once he had gotten within three meters of the opening he was suddenly stopped in his tracks, something held him back like he was trying to walk into a gale-force wind. He struggled against it for a few seconds before the unseen force intensified and threw him back against the wall of the cave with bone-wrenching strength. He tried to cry out but the blow had winded him and all that came forth was a wracking cough.

A silhouette now filled the cave mouth, the unmistakeable shape of a Minotaur. The creature approached slowly and came into Tathals view, it was swathed in an enveloping robe of mossy green and stood head and shoulders taller than he did, what was most bizzare was the fact that its whole head was encased in a steel mask moulded into a perfect simulacrum of a minotaurs face, lenses of crystal or glass covering the eyes. The only sign that the creature before him was a minotaur was the jutting horns that framed its head. He wondered incredulously what a minotaur was doing in a wolven den, they were as much subject of the wolvens depredations as anyone.

"Well, what have they brought me now?" the minotaur rumbled quizzically from behind the mask, looking down at Tathal with apparent interest, one hand reached out to touch him on the head but he jerked away.

"Don't you fucking touch me, whoreson!" he shouted, backing away from the Minotaur before another burst of unseen force hit him from above and forced him to his knees.

"Ah, a fighter, good. Fighters always break in such interesting ways." said the minotaur with a hint of amusement as it laid a hand on his bowed head.

"Hmmm, a Celti, intriguing." it said "It may interest you to know that I am no stranger to your land, human. But then I have travelled so extensively..."

"You could have licked the goddesses cunny while you were there for all I care!" shouted Tathal, struggling against the force that held him down but not being able to rise more than an inch.

Another burst of force wrenched him off the floor and pinned him against the wall.

"Now, now, I won't tollerate such insolence twice, even from such a valuable specimen as you. I had always intended to return to Celtia, knowing what I do now, but it seems I shan't have to now, how convenient." said the masked Minotaur.

"What are you talking about!? Why are you telling me this? What do you want!?" sobbed Tathal in a desperate tone, not able to fight back the tears the last blow brought to his eyes.

A chuckle came from behind the mask, the hollow metallic resonance sounding eerie in the echoing cave. The minotaur reached out and rubbed the tears from his eyes, drying them with the hazel-coloured fur of its hand, Tathal found the gesture both strangely tender and slightly disturbing.

"You will find out soon enough, my pet, though you may not like the answer, at first, anyway." He took a step back and Tathal felt that the Minotaur was appraising him somehow. He felt a strange sensation, like insects crawling allong his skin and grimaced at it.

"You are injured...take off your armour." commanded the minotaur and Tathals manacles unfastened themselves and dropped to the floor. Tathal considered defying or even attacking the beast but remembering that every time he had so far it had been closely followed by a vicious magical pummeling he thought the better of it. Getting the lorica off was a struggle, his shoulder protested against him as he did but, wincing with pain, he managed to shrug it off. He was bare-chested beneath the leather plate, Celti tribesmen usually fought without armour, considering it effeminate, but the Empire had insisted they wear it.

The Minotaur stepped round behind him and placed a hand on his damaged shoulder, he bit back a cry from he pain the contact brought but soon the pain vanished anyway, replaced by a warm glow from inside his bruised muscle that carried away the ache.

"The damage to this shoulder is extensive, you would have become permanently crippled had it not been treated" said the minotaur, Tathal just grunted and endured the creatures touch.

"What do I want? What, what, why, why?" said the minotaur with a sigh as it ran it's hand accross his back, battle-pains dissappearing in its path "I may choose to elaborate further at a later date, depending on how well you please me, but for now I shall tell you a story."

"A story? What do you mean by that?" hissed Tathal but the minotaur ignored him.

"A long time ago there was an ancient race of great power and wisdom, foremost among their arts was the ability to create life in any form they wished and with this skill they made many children. Now, these beings were fond of turning their abilities to the creation of strange and powerful treasures, some of these treasures they gifted to their favourite children, but the treasures were strange things and they had to change their childrens shapes to allow them to wield these gifts. Some of the treasures they gifted freely, but not equally, to all their children, treasures like mage-talent. Some of these treasures they kept for themselves and some...some they buried." the masked minotaur intoned absently, as though reading a fairy-tale to a child.

"Buried?" said Tathal, interested despite himself.

"Yes, but they didn't bury these treasures underground or lock them away in caskets, oh no. They buried them in living beings, locked them away tight inside them, hidden deep beneath riddles written in blood. Just waiting for the proper key to turn them loose again."

"So what's this got to do with me?" said Tathal.

The minotaur took his hand away, his work apparently done, and rose, looking down at Tathal through the blank crystal lenses of his mask.

"It is my conjecture that one such treasure is buried within you, and at long last I have the key." said the minotaur with apparent relish "And that treasure, that gift, that morsel of ancient wisdom, it shall be mine."

Tathal just sat there, not quite sure how to respond, as the Minotaur strode for the cave mouth. It was the strangest thing he'd ever heard, he'd probably have laughed aloud if the minotaur didn't sound so deathly serious.

"You will be brought food, if you do not eat I will force it down your neck personally. If you try to kill yourself my magic will stop you, and it will do so with pain more agonising than you can begin to imagine. Any further questions?" said the minotaur over its shoulder, all the amusement drained from its voice and replaced with cold, uncompromising, authority.

"Just one." said Tathal "Who are you, anyway?"

The minotaur was silent for a moment before answering, apparently weighing the response.

"I am Mallear of Lycaili, inheritor of Xarbydis. But that likely means nothing to you..." his voice trailed off, as though remembering some forgotten tragedy but he shook his head and reasserted himself "In any case, you shall refer to me as 'Master' and by no other name lest I give you leave, Clear?"

"I'll not call you or any man 'master'." stated Tathal with a scowl. The minotaur Mallear turned around to face him, he could feel the beasts wrathful glower even from behind the mask.

A malevolent laugh echoed through the cave, almost too quiet to be heard.

"I do so love it when they fight..." said the minotaur, raising one open hand to point at Tathal, he was about to respond when a sudden rush of agony ripped through his guts. He wailed from it, his cries of pain echoing loudly, curling up foetal as it tore through his body, it was worse than being stabbed, surely even the bellows-spear would have been better than this!

Abruptly the pain stopped and he sucked in his breath, panting from shock, and remained curled up, shivering, his nerves shattered from the experience.

"That was but a fraction of the torment I can inflict upon you, and do not think the pain will bring the blessed release of unconciousness, either. I can keep you alert and awake through levels of agony that would normally kill a creature so fragile." said the minotaur "Now, what do you have to say?"

Tathal pulled himself together and looked up into the minotaurs masked face.

"Rot in hell, you bast-" the statement was cut short by another wave of agony which froze his throat, the pain was too intense even to scream, all he could manage was a kittenish mewl as hs whole body convulsed and went rigid.

"If you insist on being uncooperative then this is as things shall be, lets see how more compliant you are after half an hour of this." said Mallear as he left the cave, the iron bars wrenching themselves straight behind him. Tathal barely heard it, lost in his own private world of pain, screaming silently.

When the torment finally stopped he collapsed onto the hard-packed earth of the floor, his back having been painfully arched the whole time. Sweat streamed from him in rivulets and it was a long time before he could bring himself to think clearly again after such trauma. The scent of cooked meat assailed his nostrils, a steel dish with a slab of roast lamb had been placed inside the cell. On his hands and knees he scrabbled for the dish and devoured it hungrily, eager not to do anything to warrant feeling Mallear's magic again. He licked the dish clean before dropping it to the floor and rolling onto his back, exhausted, mentally brutalised, frightened...incredibly frightened, not since he'd been a child had he been gripped with fear like this, he wanted someone to run to, anyone.

"'ello." came a voice from outside the cell, making him start. Tathal shifted round to look at the source of the voice, a rag-shrouded figure crouching just outside the bars.

"Wh-who?"

"Who 'm I? M'called First." said the figure in a strange pidgin drawl.

"Y-your...human?" said Tathal, hopefully.

"Yar, fer' th'most part." he said cheerfully. Now that Tathal was closer he could make out the face of the rag-swathed stranger, he was red-haired and blue-eyed beneath the hood of tattered sackcloth, his teeth, when he spoke, were oddly pointed, like they'd been filed down.

"What are you doing here? This place is full of wolven and there's a minotaur-"

"Yar, th'master, them wolven ain't no bother, funny lot, they be servin' th'master too, I think." said the strange man "As fer what i'm doin'; bringin' you yer dinner o'course." he finished with some amusement.

"You work for that Minotaur?" he said, disbelievingly. The man, called 'First' he remembered, nodded enthusiastically.

"Born in th'families service, known 'im since 'e was 'th'young master'." he proclaimed proudly.

"How can you serve a...monster like that?" said Tathal, still shuddering slightly from his ordeal.

"Eh? Naw, th'master ain't that bad, yer gorroff onna wrong foot, thas'all. 'Sides, I ain't got much choice 'ave I?"

"Your a slave?" inquired Tathal.

"O'Course, i'm 'uman un I? Well, mostly, I ain't so sure these days." said First wistfully.

"Why do you keep saying that? About being 'mostly human'?"

First grinned, an odd effect with his pointed teeth, and removed the sackcloth blanket draped over his shoulders.

Tathal reeled back, pushing himself away from the bars with his heels and fighting to keep the contents of his stomach down. First's right wrist didn't end in a hand, in it's place was four stubby purple tentacles like those of an octopus, parts of his torso didn't even have skin, replaced with scales, furry hide and even glossy black chitin like some monstrous patchwork. His left arm was overlarge compared to the right, the (fortunately human) fingers of the hand sporting thick black claw-like fingernails.

"Wha-whagh-what are...?" Tathal stammered, his speech broken by gagging at the horrendous sight.

"Dun' worry," said First, covering himself back up "Th'masters much better at it now, you won' look like this."

"He did that to you!?" said Tathal in a forceful whisper.

"Yar, fer his 'speriments." said First with a nod.

"Monster." said Tathal in a bitter hiss "He's a monster."

"Dun' say that!" cried First "S'not right, talkin' 'bout th'master like that!"

"Look what he's done to you! What else could he be?" said Tathal, scarcely able to believe that First could defend Mallear.

"S'not that bad, really..." said First, sheepishly, breaking Tathals gaze as if in shame.

"Are you upsetting First, slave?" Interjected another voice, that of Mallear.

First looked round suddenly and half-rose into a stooped stance as Mallear came into view.

"Master, I be allright, no bother really." said First in reverent, placating tones.

"That's good, this one has been fed?" inquired the minotaur, before First could answer Tathal butted in.

"What the hell have you done to him!"

The minotaur sighed "I had hoped you would be more compliant after such a stern punishment, it seems it will take a great deal of time to get past that thick feral skull of yours. What did I do to First? Very little compared to what I intend to do to you, he was merely a test, something for me to hone my skills on."

He held out his hand to First, who nuzzled it like a housecat, he even purred.

"But I suppose I can forgive your outburst as distress, Firsts appearance can be quite disturbing to some, though of personal preference I find his modifications quite beautiful. Perhaps it's not so much his body that distresses you as his mind? Yes, the poor boy is quite insane, though I assure you it brings him no discomfort. Generations of being bred for docility and obedience seems to have inculcated a certain weakness of psyche in the native breed."

"You're going to do that to me?" said Tathal, fearfully, pointing at First.

"Not quite, the process will be similar but the outcome should be more...symmetrical."

Tathal could barely contain his horror, the thought of being changed like that was unthinkable but what could he do?

The creature that imprisoned him was so immensely strong and had the powers of a mage, he had nothing that could stand against that.

"It seems you have come to accept the gravity of your situation, good." said the minotaur, he waved his hand and the bars again wrenched themselves open "Know that it is within my power to reach inside your mind and enforce your compliance and unlike many of my compatriots I have no squeamish mores preventing me from doing so, my decision to allow you to serve of your own will was an act of generosity, understand?"

Tathal hung his head "Yes." he said in a whisper.

"Yes, what?" pressed Mallear.

"...Master."

The minotaur drew himself up to his full height "Good, I knew you would see things my way, Come."

He beconed for Tathal to follow him through the arch of distended bars, the corridor he was led down was of the same undressed stone as the cell, it was a cave complex of some sort, how far it went down he had no clue but a constant breeze blew in from somewhere. First followed behind him, loping allong hunched over with a strange uneven gait, his left arm so long it was practically touching the floor. From out of side caves came the distinctive growls and snarls of wolven, their silhouettes from the fires danced along the walls, the bestial noises broken intermittntly by a wail or sob that sounded distinctly human, though sometimes not quite.

Neither First or Mallear seemed the slightest bit perturbed at being surrounded by the beasts, he felt instinctively that it was Mallear's presence that was keeping him safe from them, that he'd be jumped on and torn to shreds in an instant if the masked minotaur whimed it to be so.

The corridor eventually opened up into a massive underground chamber, as big as an Imperial temple. It was lit by glowing outcroppings of crystal jutting from the walls and the place was strewn about with all manner of instruments and paraphenalia; books and scrolls were piled high on tables and the floor, glass-fronted cabinets filled with bottles and jars, parchment diagrams, one wall had been cut smooth and every inch was covered in chalk writing and small, intricate drawings, Tathal couldn't read, only the druids and the sons of chiefs who had been sent to be educated by the Imperial invaders as a peace declaration had been taught how to read, and the druids could only read Ogham anyway.

Three things dominated the center of the cavern, a steel table mounted on swivels with leather straps set at cardinal points, a selection of skelentons hanging from metal stands, he recognised three as being minotaur, human and wolven but the other two he didn't recognise, the four-legged skelenton in particular was a mystery. Then there was a massive tablet of black rock, it was perhaps twice as tall as he was and four times as long, deeply etched with sigils of a language he didn't even recognise by form. Something about that solid slab of unmoving stone made all his uneasiness about the wolven fade into insignificance, it was unearthly.

While he was looking around two wolven grabbed him by the arms, he yelped in suprise, wondering whether this was the time they had come to eat him at last, but all they did was wrestle him onto the steel table and strap down his arms and legs, the cold metal chilling his bare back.

"what's-?" he began in protest.

"You must be still during the rite of unlocking, else mistakes can occur." said Mallear, taking hold of a handle set onto the table and swiveling it so that Tathal was facing him lying diagonally "Now be silent."

The minotaur turned away from Tathal and studied the tablet intently, from time to time he would pass his hand over one of the glyphs embeded in it and it would glow with a sickly green light before he moved along, pacing down the full length of the tablet, searching for something.

"Such a complicated language," he said aloud "almost as unknowable as its authors, each word changes its meaning depending on the context of its neighbours in all dimensions."

Tathal didn't know what he was talking about but the minotaur seemed content just to have an audience to listen to him speak.

"The glyph that most commonly represents 'human', for instance, can also mean 'blank', 'uncarved', 'clean' or even 'water' and much more besides depending on the surrounding rune-structure, the direction it's read and even the preconceptions of the reader, riddles within mysteries wrapped in enigmas..." he said, half to himself "But...yes, this is it."

Mallear reached out again and touched a glyph on the tablet, this time not just it lit up but a twin-spiral of glyphs emanating from it lit up too, forming a swirling pattern of glowing runes. From beside him Tathal heard First gasp at the sight, his eyes fixed on the tablet.

The minotaur returned to him, swiveling the table into a horizontal setting.

"I have the pattern, now to find the seed..." he placed one hand over Tathals chest and for a moment he thought he was going to be hit with another dose of magical agony, what he felt instead was a tingling along his skin that slowly sank into him, intensifying in places from time to time like unseen fingers.

"It's here somewhere, it must be..." whispered Mallear, lost in concentraton "where, where..."

It went on like that for a minute before a new sensation struck Tathal. 'Struck' was exactly the right word, his heart had suddenly begun beating furiously, not a slow-build up, it's beat had simply gone from slightly faster than rest to maddly spasming like he had been running for miles in the space of a second. He yelped in shock, it was like his own heart was attempting to rip itself free of his chest, beating against his ribcage like a wild animal.

"Found it!" exclaimed Mallear with a snarl as Tathal convulsed on the table.

Tathal looked down in horror to see his muscles shifting and distending beneath his skin, writhing like a sack full of snakes, he screamed at the sight but the sound that came from his throat didn't sound like his voice at all, it was guttural and harsh, more like a roar than a cry. He began to shake uncontrollably, the spasms wracking his body rattling the table, as his vision closed in. Soon it was like he was staring down a tunnel filled with red mist, at the end of it he could see figures crowding round him but he barely recognised them as Human or Wolven or Minotaur, a maddening rage had consumed him and all he saw was sacks of fibrous muscle and blood held up by fragile assortments of bones and he wanted to make them die.

With a gut-churning roar he tore one arm free of the restraints, the steel surface of the table warping and buckling before the belt holding him down snapped. A wolven rushed to hold him down but he grabbed the creature by the throat with his loose hand and crushed its throat effortlessly with a casual flex of his fingers and threw it against the wall where it impacted with a grotesque crunching sound.

Mallear howled in triumphant laughter "Superb! Better than I ever could have hoped! A lost warrior-art; Furore'!"

Tathal only heard him in the back of his mind, right now he wanted to do nothing more than tear the cackling minotaurs head from its shoulders. Just as he tore his other arm loose the rage left him as suddenly as it had come, his heart stilled to a more sedate beat and the unnatural strength that had coursed through him faded to nothingness, leaving him sitting upright on the steel table and unable to move. The source of his paralysis slowly became clear, he had felt this before though never so profoundly, torn ligaments - all of them. He cried out again, not a furious battle-cry this time but the simple whimper of a hurt animal, every limb was on fire.

Mallear lowered his hand "An exemplary trial-run," he said with an air of intellectual accomplishment "though it seems your present form was incapable of properly testing the limits of the gift, to be expected I suppose."

He reached out and unbuckled Tathals leg restraints before lifting his broken body in both arms, Tathal mewled helplessly but he felt the pain leech from his body as Mallear carried him.

He was set down upon a blessedly soft bed of furs in a chamber filled with candlelight. Mallear looked down at his limp form, perhaps with amusement, perhaps with interest, perhaps even with sympathy, it was impossible to tell with the unchanging visage of his steel mask.

"I suppose I can spare a spell of dreamless sleep while the healing magics do their work, I am pleased, very much so, though at this stage you likely derive little pleasure from knowing that" he said "It may seem laughable, even perverse, to you when I say this but I am not a cruel master. I do this because there is no other way, not because I take delight in your suffering. Take heart at least that your pain will do immense works for the understanding of our past..."

With that Mallear placed one hand over Tathals eyes and muttered something and a second or so later a soft, encapsulating drowsiness enveloped him like a swathe of black velvet. He welcomed it gladly.