Qing's Quest book 2, Chapter 13: Bloody Limbs

A man lay spread-eagle on a cold stone table. His screams echoed through the room as blood flowed from shallow cuts on his torso. The blood floated through the air to gather in a ball in front of Rufus. He stood within a circle of glowing glyphs, magic staff held across his chest. A bead of sweat ran down his face.

With a visible strain, Rufus separated his hands, and the blood changed. Dark red particles settled on the floor, and the remains changed to a white substance. Rufus leaned forward and pursed his lips, careful of not stepping out of the circle. With a slurp, he sucked the substance in, and his whole body shivered.

“Yes!” He laughed. “Scream you peasant! Scream all you want. In the palace cellars, no one can hear you scream. And it is but music to my ears.” He burped.

“Where is she?” the man screamed between his sobs. “What did you do to my daughter?”

“Oh, she’ll be next,” Rufus said and leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. “Their life force always tastes better when they have lived a little. Especially at that young age. You see, there is a special type of flavor associated with the desperation of hearing one’s father tortured to death.”

“You’re a monster,” the man said, and the table shook as he pulled on his shackles. “You belong in hell!”

“Belong in hell?” Rufus said and laughed again. “You hear that, Cleo? This man, he has no idea, does he, Cleo? Does he?”

He turned and looked at Cleo, who sat in the room’s corner, chained to the wall with a thick metal collar around her neck. Dried blood covered it, and her blonde hair lay plastered to her head. Yet she refused to lie down, instead keeping her back against the wall, knees tucked against her chest.

“You’re insane,” she said. “And Qing will come, and he will kill you. For what you did to my parents, my sister.”

“Qing?” Rufus said, exasperated. “Why do you keep on about that guy? Do you have any idea how far we travelled? Besides, we left him for dead.” Rufus took a deep breath and sighed. “And my power is returning. I’ve been given unlimited power. All I need do is reach out and grab it.” He lifted his hands into the air, and blood boiled out of the chained man, his screams reaching a fever pitch.

Rufus waved his hands through intricate motions, and the blood danced through the air like a ballet performance, swirling around him. “With each life I take, we get one step closer to hell, don’t we, Cleo?” With a burst of speed, he twisted towards the dying man, pointing a finger at his face. “But not there, no. I’m not going to hell. I am the bringer of light and darkness.”

With a roar, he strained, separating the life force from the blood, until it hung in the air, about the size of a bear’s head. Rufus collapsed to his knees, panting, and he licked his lips.

“This is going to be delicious.” He patted his belly. “Soon I’ll be back to my former self and we can—”

A sound came from the chimney, and Rufus turned, just as a colony of bats burst from the unlit oven. They flashed around the room before converging on Rufus like a cyclone.

“No!” Rufus said, swiping his staff through the air. “Careful of my circle!” As the first bat crossed the glowing line, white light flashed through the room, and Rufus was knocked backwards, sliding across the stone floor.

The extracted life force was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn you to hell, Raul’cad! Where have you been?” Rufus leveraged himself up, waving at the bats. “Transform yourself at once.”

Cleo cowered in the corner, hands over her ears. Suddenly, like an arm from a cloud, bats dove forward, settling on her like a dark blanket. She screamed as they clawed and bit, sucking at her blood.

“What are you doing?” Rufus said, waving his staff. “Get away! We need her alive.” He lifted his arm, and a burst of purple electricity shot out, arcing between the bats, and many dropped to the ground, stunned.

“I command you, in the name of the Devil, transform yourself.”

The bats swirled together, settling over the stunned ones, digging tightly together. The little creatures hooked hands, fangs, and clawed feet with one another, moving about until they settled into the shape of a man. Then reality blurred and Raul’cad lay on the floor.

Rufus gasped. “Your leg. Tell me what happened!”

Raul’cad pointed at a locked door across the room. “Give me blood. Any of them will do, just—”

“Tell me what happened,” Rufus said, walking to their dining table, and shakily picked up a cup.

“I need blood, Rufus! Fast!”

“Then speak. Tell me what you have done.”

“It is him. He is here!”

“Who is here?”

“Qing.”

Rufus froze, cup halfway to his mouth.

Cleo’s crystal laughter rang through the room.

“That’s impossible,” Rufus said.

“I told you,” Cleo said.

“Shut the hell up!” Dark red liquid and shards of glass rained down on Cleo as Rufus threw his cup against the wall.

“Did you kill him?” Rufus asked.

“No.”

“Why did you let him live?”

“We dueled, but…he has grown in strength.” The vampire loosened his belt and cinched it around his leg. As the leather creaked, the flow of blood slowed to a trickle.

“No. No. That’s…no.” Rufus paced around the room. “It should have taken months to recuperate, and weeks to get here, even if they knew where to go...”

“You don’t know Qing,” Cleo said gleefully.

“Shut up! If you speak again, I’ll put you in the cell with the others. Is that what you want?”

Cleo glared, but stayed silent.

“Why haven’t you healed your leg?” Rufus asked to Raul’cad.

“It’s a damned desert. Nothing lives but rodents and snakes. Neither of which has enough blood.”

“You are pathetic.”

“Give me one of the prisoners.”

Rufus glared down at him. “Damn it. I am loath to ask our benefactor for more. He is too demanding as is.”

“Master,” Raul’cad said, and there was a pleading in his voice, “I need this. Please help me heal and I will bring you new sacrifices. Think of the ones I brought you in Shadowgrove. How I hunted along the roads for you, capturing merchants, and—”

“Quiet,” Rufus said. Footsteps sounded from the corridor leading to the palace. He brushed down his clothes and wiped his mouth. “Quick. Stand in the corner and hide your leg. It seems our benefactor has come for an early check up. We need to—”

“He knows,” Raul’cad said.

“Shush, quiet.”

The door opened with a squeak.

“Ah, my good friend. How gracious of you to come visit,” Rufus said through gritted teeth, bowing down to a ninety-degree angle with the floor.

“It seems matters have changed, and we need to revisit the fabric of our agreement,” the man said, staring at Cleo. “If the Devil wants my kingdom, I expect a fair price.”

***

Qing made to stand as Jorik approached their table.

He knows where Rufus is?

But Knut grabbed his wrist, halting the movement.

“Jorik, that is amazing,” Knut said. “Won’t you join and tell us more?” He held up the wooden menu. “It might surprise you how delicious the tea is here. Besides, has it not been far too long since we caught up last?”

Knut kicked, and a wooden stool slide out from the table.

Jorik looked down, nodded, and settled onto it. The process made Qing think of a robot, with long limbs sticking out every which way, yet moving with mechanical precision. Knees sticking up, Jorik places his elbows on the table, and leaned forward. With head tilted, his eye glared at Qing, as if to stare through to the back of his head.

“Yes, there is much to be discussed,” Jorik said. “But first…” He reached up and lifted his eyepatch, moving it from his right eye to the left. Underneath was a completely healthy looking eye, except this one was green while his other was blue. None of the others reacted, so Qing didn’t mention it.

Why is he wearing an eyepatch?

As Jorik released the eyepatch, a warm smile spread across his face, and he relaxed, posture changing from that of a stiff Swiss banker to a pot-smoking hippie. “How was your sleep? I hope it was comfortable.”

“Your kirathaane always delivers,” Knut said, raising his teacup in salute. “And again, I appreciate you taking us in on such short notice. We had thought to stay at the palace, but that proved too big an ask.”

Jorik chuckled. “I’m surprised that his highness even let you into the same room as the Queen.” He shook his head. “It seems you have lost none of your charm over the last ten years.”

Qing shifted in his seat.

Why is Knut wasting time? If Jorik knows where Rufus is, we should find out and go at once, before the bastard flees.

He made as if to ask, but Knut elbowed him in the side before he could utter even a word. Jorik didn’t seem to notice, instead asking, “So, Qing, was it? How do you know Knut?”

“We fought together against a terrible enemy. Zombies and demons rose in the Whispering Woods, in the kingdom of Thulenore. Together with the local militia, we put them back in the ground and sent them down to hell where they belong. And now we are here to fini—”

“To sell certain magic items which we picked up over the last six months,” Knut interrupted, “and acquire new ones. So why not come to Jorik’s? You always have the best selection.”

“Oh, stop it,” the man said with a wave of his hand and a smile. “You’ve always had a slippery tongue. And there might be a thing or two which may catch your interest.”

“Excellent!” Knut said. “But first, won’t you tell Qing how you got started? It has been too long since I last heard your tale, and while Taj and Morgana here likely know, for Qing, Jorik the Jester is a new figure.”

“Why, of course! I would be happy to regale you with the story of the orphan who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.” The man smiled, eye widening dramatically. “Except this cookie jar was none other than the king’s! And a king’s cookie jar has quite the bite!”

Jorik lifted his right hand and wiggled five fingers. Then he lifted his left and did the same, before slapping them together with a clap that reverberated through the room. With a flourish, he waved his hands behind his back, and when he brought them back out, his left hand was gone. The arm ended in a stump, covered in old scar tissue.

“Whoa,” Morgana said.

“Yes, indeed, my fellow travelers. It was not my finest moment, bleeding to death on the floor in the palace kitchen. Yet it was there that I found the meaning of luck, loyalty, and friendship. King Sharyar, whose appetites then were more for the culinary than the flesh, came in for a late-night snack. He found me crawling on the floor, biting my lip bloody to stop from screaming.” Jorik held the stump up to his lips. “I knew if the guards caught me, they’d flog me to death.” He shrugged. “Not knowing who the young man was, I begged for my life. But he stepped across my body, hopped up on the table, and said ‘Thieves have no value.’ Then he pulled the cookie jar close, took my hand out and placed it next to him, and proceeded to eat one of the bloody cookies.” Jorik chuckled and smiled. “I nearly lost my mind at that moment, and begged him to bring a healer. He just wiped his mouth and said, ‘Life is burdensome.’ But then, chewing on that cookie, a weird look crossed his face. ‘Ease mine, and I will grant you life,’ he said, and I asked him how. His next words forever changed my life. Can you guess what they were?”