Blue Words - Part I Read online

the rest.

  “If I knew for sure my blood grafts were permanent you would have been beheaded by now,” said Kyran, who had relieved himself of his soiled jacket and shirt.

  “Strong words,” strained Gudrik, “but we both know a mortal life would be the least of your problems should I die.”

  “Possibly. In truth I cannot know for sure what would happen. It could be a catastrophe, it could be nothing,” he said, wandering amongst the captives and examining them. “The world is a much bigger place now Gudrik. If it was to be released, I could allow it to have this land and simply move my empire to the other side of the globe.”

  “You! Woman!” Gudrik gasped looking up at one of the greys. “Put one of those bullets between my eyes now so I don’t have to listen to this any longer.” Kyran ignored him.

  “Tell Alicia to bring me a new shirt,” he said calmly to the Sword.

  Coarse hair covered Kyran’s heavily muscled chest. He was much broader than Gudrik, yet just as tall. He appeared small alongside the Hammer, but was his own giant when standing over George. His clean shaven face and styled black hair made him pleasant to look upon. He did not look decrepit or ragged, but he had aged since that night a thousand years ago, no doubt avoiding the addiction had taken some toll.

  As Kyran spoke, a possible salvation revealed itself to the Warlock, a faint glimmer of hope. A small ventilation shaft sat directly above Gudrik. It was flowing a light breath of fresh air into the room. That breath had been very gently eroding away at the salt trap. Just behind Gudrik, obscured from view by a small pile of rocks and dust, the thick line was now just a thin strand. “Keep him talking and we may yet be free of this.” The man seemed to love the sound of his own voice; surely it wouldn’t be too hard?

  “Where is the child?” Gudrik demanded with newly found strength.

  “You’ve gotten soft over the years Gudrik. Trying to distract me with some false humanity?” he chuckled.

  “I care nothing for it, but I’d hate to see you enjoy its company as much as your father would have.” Kyran’s face reddened.

  “My father did no such thing!” he snapped, “He was a holy knight, a defender of the faithful, the Blessed Dragon. Those tales were nothing but Warlock lies.” He paused and ran his fingers through his hair; realising Gudrik was simply inciting him. Kyran collected himself. “You are in no position to demand any information of me. She may be alive, she may be dead. Either way, none of you will ever see her again.”

  “You monster!” screamed George. “I’ll kill you if you’ve hurt her.” The grey closest to her punched George in the mouth, opening her lip.

  “You did this to her when you took up cause with the demon,” scolded Kyran. She spat blood at him. He glared at her in disgust as he wiped it from his face.

  “How did you find us?” Gudrik asked. The room was still, the breath of air from the surface had stopped. “Come on!”

  “Find you? I have known your location since the day you escaped. I simply let you be, nurtured public fear. As long as you weren’t causing any hassle I was going to leave you to your own devices. You really have no idea just how insignificant you are. Pathetic. With my weaponry you’re not even a treat anymore. It was only your visit to my research centre which prompted this.” He turned towards Kahn, “Even familiars have their price.”

  “Lies!” Kahn roared in response. The Sword stepped forward and smashed him across the face with the butt of his rifle.

  Kyran ignored Kahn and moved to the two wounded Inscribed. His attentions turned to Ami and he dropped to one knee beside her, stroking her hair gently. “Such a beautiful girl, she has always been my favourite, such loyalty.” Kyran turned to the Sword. “You two share a bloodline you know.”

  Kahn’s face washed pale. Despite their long and twisted history, he had always defended her loyalty unflinchingly. “Has my guilt clouded my judgment all these years?” Kahn thought. He could hear what Malaki would be saying right now. The greatest scorn however, was seen on the face of Dorian. His feelings were not contained. Tears streamed down his cheeks cutting paths through the blue war paint, as he struggled with the writhing clutter of emotions. Gudrik glanced at the salt circle. The vent had almost finished its work, but the air remained still.

  Kyran then moved to Malaki and looked around. His brow furrowed and his look darkened. He gestured to the Hammer, who stomped over. Kyran wrenched the dart from his shoulder; not even a flinch from the big man. He returned to his post over Gudrik as if nothing had happened. Kahn struggled at his bonds furiously, earning another thump from the Sword’s rifle butt.

  “How is it you bleed blue?” asked Gudrik trying to distract him. Kyran lowered the razor shard to his side.

  “Not sure if you were aware under that amulet or not Gudrik, but I stopped feeding on you almost a decade ago. I won’t bore you with the details, but as I said earlier, the research is the only reason we are still speaking.”

  Gudrik did not really have any concept of time during his captivity, but Kyran did speak the truth. For a long time he had seen only minions or greys come to bleed him.

  “After the grafting, the amulet’s presence began to affect me as well. I am actually glad to see it gone. A circle of salt and some large obsidian spikes should work just as well anyway. Though I dare say it won’t be as pleasant for you.”

  “The blood is useless without the language,” Gudrik rumbled.

  “True. My familiar is fluent though,” he glanced at Kahn who glared back, killing him numerous ways in thought, “But I’m no Bond villain. I am not going to regale you with my scheme.” He turned to the Sword. “Any word from Alicia?”

  “Still at least an hour away sir.”

  It didn’t matter. Gudrik felt the welcome breath of a column of air from the surface. The moment he had been waiting for arrived. The ring was broken. “Xitzsus,” he breathed. There was no reaction, despite the constant trickle of blood seeping from his bullet wounds. He repeated his command, but the outcome was no different. “The night stone.” He began searching for a means to draw fresh, untainted blood. Normally Gudrik would have simply bitten his hand, but the bindings prevented that.

  Kyran bent down, hovering over Malaki, shard in hand. “Where’s my daughter!” George screamed again, sick of hearing him talk.

  “Now I have a problem with this woman,” he said pointing the shard at George. He forgot Malaki and began to walk towards her. “You came into my home and stole from me.”

  “First of all dickhead,” she cursed through tears, “It was an accident and considering the messed up shit you are into I don’t think you should be so critical. Where’s my fucking daughter!?” George’s anger fought through the anguish and fear.

  “You are a prime example of what is wrong with this world now,” he said ignoring her. “I may have saved it from Gudrik’s kind, but a new scourge is rampart. Whores like yourself who lust after worthless men and flood society with undisciplined bastard children. People openly worship false gods and flaunt common decency and respect without being punished for it. The treasure I fought for turned to shit in my hands without me even noticing.”

  “You have known your share of loose women,” snarled Kahn.

  “True, thanks to the addiction.” He nodded in ashamed agreement. “It held me for a long time, but my soul was already sacrificed anyway.”

  “Have you ever actually listened to the crap that comes out of your mouth?” George yelled, tears of anguish leeching from her eyes, “WHERE’S MY DAUGHTER!?”

  Something in Kyran snapped. He stormed over to George and stood above her, still clutching the shard. He wrenched the distraught mother to her feet by her hair and wrapped his fingers around her throat. He pressed the shard to her cheek. His face burned red, his teeth clenched wildly. Blood ran and dripped from her chin. Gudrik tried to intervene. “Stop! I will go willingly with you if you allow her to go free.”

  “YOU WILL COME ANYWAY!” Kyran roared at him. Slowly he dragged the s
hard down George’s cheek.

  Gudrik fidgeted harder than before struggling as if he was being cut, struggling to free his hands. He rolled and kicked and his fingers dragged through a small pile rocks and dirt. His hand bumped something, something which he hadn’t expected. A small, metal object. He ran his fingers over the familiar curves and lines, Scurt’s wand. He glared up at the vent. “Fates be praised.” He scooped it into his bound hands.

  Gudrik glared at Kahn signalling him for help, a distraction. Kahn’s centuries of experience led him to read the intention perfectly. “I’LL KILL YOU!” he screamed, struggling to get up. Once again he earned a heavy strike from the Sword. This one was delivered with much more force. This one left him unconscious in the dirt. The Sword gave a small giggle which drew the gaze of everyone in the room. Seizing upon the opportunity, Gudrik ran his finger along the blade and issued the blue word under breath. The fresh, untainted blood reacted instantly. His body faded. The obsidian slugs dropped through him sounding four light thuds as they hit the dirt. The bindings fell free of his wrists. He restored his physical state just as the gazes returned. Gudrik’s body healed. His strength returned, for the moment, he kept his secret.

  Kyran pressed the shard against George’s other cheek. His hand closed tighter around her throat. Gudrik quickly weighed his options as he scanned