Page 62 of Vasmora

Arms tangled and body jostling with the wrenching of my wrist, I awkwardly jammed my hand into the opposite pocket in search of the ampoule. The moment I touched it, a rough jerk of my body jarred it loose into the pocket again.

At another outcry from Dravien, I craned my neck to see an Orgoth pinning him to the floor. “Maevyth!” he cried out, wriggling against his captor’s impossible grasp. “Fight them!”

“Take him to the Iron Lung and make him regret his very poor decisions,” Loyce barked.

The Orgoth dragged Dravien behind him by the chain at his throat, the smaller man’s legs kicking, hands clawing at the band around his neck.

Captain Drefan hauled me to the brink of the pit, my toes slipping, teetering on bare rock. “I would’ve loved to be the one hunting you. But I’ll enjoy this so much more.”

“No!” Dravien rasped, his voice echoing behind me.

Time held its breath, the seconds weightless and suspended around me. Like dust motes floating in a ray of sunlight. Sounds muted for the rush of blood pounding in my ears.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A distant memory of Grandfather Bronwick’s clock chimed the hour.

One brutal shove sent me pitching forward, the room lurching into a spin as my body flew toward empty air. My stomach rose into my throat, the floor vanishing beneath my feet. On instinct, my fingers seized the lip of the rock, catching my fall, metal scraping stone as I fought for purchase. I hung there for no more than a heartbeat, air sawing in and out of my lungs, before Captain Drefan stood over me, smiling.

He lifted his boot. Teasing.

White flashes of pain burst behind my eyes as he stepped onto my fingers, my already broken bone crushed beneath his weight.

My grip faltered, and I fell into the dark abyss.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

KAZHIMYR

Hands bound and resting in his lap, Kazhimyr stared through the bars of the prison wagon that’d transported him to where Zivant and two of his men gathered around a massive pyre, tipping back their rum like it was water. They’d found camp somewhere outside of Luximos–a small village along the Solassion coastline. Their plan was to secure passage across the Australius Channel first thing in the morning.

While watching the soldiers indulge in their merriment, Kazhimyr had spent the last hour devising a plan of his own, to keep that from happening.

The captain pushed to his feet, stumbling back a step, his upper half wavering with his drunken imbalance as he made his way over to Kazhimyr. “How’s it feel? Powerless’na cage.” He snorted a laugh and leaned forward, picking up a spiked prod he’d used earlier, when Kazhimyr had fought going into the wagon. He shoved the object between the bars, missing Kazhimyr’s leg when he thrust it forward. Another sloppy thrust, and Kazhimyr jerked his leg out of the way, watching with bored ire as the drunken fool attempted to strike him.

Again, the captain jabbed it, once more missing his mark, and he growled, tossing the prod away. “N’vermind. I’ll see t’ it yer pro … proply … propily … p’nished.”

Kazhimyr stared back silently, as the man swayed on his feet, pouring back another swill of his drink. “I’ll kill you before tomorrow,” he said with cold and calm.

A hearty laugh flew out of the captain, spittle spraying onto the bars of the cage. “P’werless n’caged?” He held up his tankard. “Best’f luck.” He tossed his drink at Kazhimyr, who hardly flinched when it splashed across his face and ragged leathers. With another snort, the captain stumbled off back toward the campfire, where the others had begun to sing.

Kazhimyr sighed and rested his head against the cage bars behind him.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention toward a spider the size of an apple crawling through the bars of the cage after the captain. It crept over the forest brush, stealthily making its way toward the unwitting men, with crystals of frost blanketing the ground in its wake.

Kazhimyr closed his eyes to visions of fangs tearing through flesh, the copper flood across his tongue, filling the hollow of his stomach.

Screams rang inside his skull.

In the darkness of his mind, he saw flickers of movement. Terrified expressions. Blood. His muscles shook, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm.

Kazhimyr exhaled and opened his eyes to the sound of the crackling bonfire in the distance. Just as he had back in his cell, he sat on his knees, bent over long gashes carved into the wooden floor of the cage. He frowned on noticing tiny slivers and bits of blood lodged beneath his fingertips.

Outside of the cage, Zivant and the two soldiers lay on the ground, though he couldn’t discern their state from that distance.

The sound of a clank pulled his attention to the right of him, where the spider he’d seen earlier stood before a set of keys. Kazhimyr reached out, but hesitated when the spider lurched toward him, then took three long steps backward. Slowly.

He reached again, scooping up the keys, and fished for the one that fit his manacles while keeping the spider in his sight.