The_Hand

  Note: please read this page, if you haven't already -> Four_Short_Stories

 

The Hand 

Genre: Fantasy 

Language: 1

Violence: 3

Sensuality: 3

 

Kat ghosted through the forest silently leaving only the faintest ripple through the tall grass in her wake. Her left hand gripped her bow loosely as she used the leading tip to guide the branch in front of her away from her face.

She was close, she knew it, she could feel it. They had been tracking their quarry for days now from one town to another—circling back, going forward, circling back again, ever elusive, always one step ahead of them

Their lucky break had come four days ago in a small farm village. Two hunters—recently returned from a long stay in the wild—were making up for all the ale they had missed in their absence. At some point their talk turned to strange and mysterious things they had encountered, among which was the tale of a haunted cave not far from the village.

Not the strongest of leads perhaps, but worth exploring nonetheless. They had spent the last three days scouring the area fruitlessly, and were on the verge of giving up and searching elsewhere.

Kat argued they just needed more time, but as the newest member of the king's Elite guard—the youngest ever allowed to join in fact—and one of only three women to ever be allowed among their ranks, her voice carried little weight. The decision was made to spend just a few moments in the morning, and then they would break camp and move on in search of new leads. She had risen well before dawn, to give herself more time to search, and now her search was paying off.

It was barely noticeable—a too-dark spot between the trees, easily overlooked, even from a mere dozen paces away. As she continued forward, she found herself standing in the mouth of a well-concealed Cavern.

She briefly considered returning to camp, calling the others, but then decided to explore a little further into the cavern first. Better to have more solid evidence before returning to them .

Who knows, maybe she would just capture him. One lone thief trapped in a cave would be easy quarry, no matter how slippery he had been. She could almost see the jealousy in her comrades' eyes when she returned to camp, their prey in tow.

Less than a dozen paces in, and the cave widened, opening into a chamber with a moss-covered floor. The chamber was illuminated by clusters of bio-luminescent lichens which grew in patches on the walls, floor, and ceiling.

She noticed the trap half a heartbeat too late to evade it. Clusters of vines above and below shot out at her, tentacle-like. They wrapped around her, knocking her bow from her hand and entangling her. She reached for the hilt of her sword to cut herself free, but the vines wrapped around her, restricting her movement.

Somewhere near her, a sinister voice spoke in a foreign tongue. The vines—as if in response—began moving with clear purpose, some tendrils wrapping around her waist, while others encircled her wrists and ankles. The remaining vines moved away, leaving her suspended in the air, as a slender man in a grey, hooded cloak stepped in front of her.

"What have we here?" the corner of his mouth curled in a sneer as he examined her.

"My apologies if I've trespassed, good sir." Cat assumed a contrite tone, adopting the accent of an unschooled woodlander, "ben trackin this buck fer days, thought e'd slipped in ere."

The man's mouth turned up in a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Liar," his hand reached out to caress the royal sigil on the pommel of her short sword.

"You must be Theril," Kat dropped the accent, her voice flat, disinterested.

"At your service," Theril replied with a mocking bow, his eyes directed to the ground. As his gaze traveled back up, it paused on the slender dagger strapped to Kat's boot. He reached out, wrapped his hand around the silver hilt, and withdrew it. He examined the craftsmanship with admiration. "Lovely."

"Touching other's things without permission is a bad habit of yours, you know. It's what got you into this trouble," Kat's voice dripped with contempt.

"Trouble?" His gaze didn't leave the tip of the dagger, he slipped it between Kat's body and her sword belt. A quick flick of his wrist, and the dagger sliced through leather belt with a soft hiss. The sword and belt tumbled to the mossy floor beneath her.

"Very sharp." Theril observed.

"I'm not alone. They know I'm here. They will come looking for me any minute."

"Truth... Lie... Wishful thinking," Theril punctuated each word by severing a strap of Kat's armor, leather pauldrons and bracers fell away as he continued slicing. "You really don't have a face for deceit, my dear." He paused to gaze into her eyes, his face inches from hers, "You do have a beautiful face, mind you, just not a deceitful one."

Theril turned on his heel and took four casual steps away from Kat, "And just how many of you am I to expect?" He wheeled again to face Kat, idly twirling her dagger in his fingers.

Kat wrapped one hand around the vine binding her wrist, feeling it, probing with her fingernail. The vine was smooth, almost soft to the touch, yet unyielding. "More than enough to deal with you."

The smile didn't reach Theril's eyes. "I believe... that you believe that." He waved his hand, and more vines wrapped around her, undulating against her leather shirt, pants, and boots, peeling them from her body in a fashion similar to how one would peel loose skin from a piece of fruit. Kat struggled and fought, but to no avail. The vines completed their work, and Kat was left, once again, suspended and spread-eagled, now gasping for breath, clothed only in her braies and a linen wrap. Theril's eyes traveled the length of her, his lips curling in a smirk. "Hmmm. More than just a pretty face."

Kat's retort was interrupted by rustling and the muffled sound of voices near the cave entrance. At least two distinct voices. The deeper voice was Garret's, a newcomer in the guard, big, burly and brutal. The other voice belonged to Trynan, the company's scout, a slender man with a keen eye and quick reflexes.

"Oh, we have company," Theril glanced at Kat in mock surprise, "seems they *are* looking for you."

"I'm here! Watch out—"

Kat's shout turned into a muffled whimper as a vine wrapped around her mouth like a gag. It tasted like earth and stale blood and something darker. Theril placed a finger to his lips as he glided backward into the shadows, disappearing from view. Kat struggled and thrashed with all the force she could muster, but only succeeded in achieving the slightest wobbling of her torso.

"Kat? That you?" Garret's baritone voice boomed in the cavern. His heavy footfalls overcoming the dampening effect of the mossy floor. "Where are you?"

"There she is!" Tryndan's exclamation barely carried to Kat's ears.

Moments later the two men stepped into Kat's field of vision, staring at her perplexedly.

"Kat?" Garret stepped closer, "What happened to you?"

Before Garret had time to blink, a vine dropped from the ceiling and wrapped around his neck, lifting him from the Cave floor. Trynan pulled his blade halfway from the scabbard when a cluster of vines on the floor bound his arms tightly to his torso. Another vine unrolled from above and curled around his neck with a slow, sinuous grace.

Kat screamed into the vine around her mouth as Garrets feet kicked wildly in front of her. His fingers clawed desperately at the unyielding vine around his neck, and his face purpled as his eyes bulged from their sockets. Trynan's body, encased in vines shook with tremors as the vine around his next constricted and pulled, until the sounds of popping and snapping ligaments came from his neck.

Garret's thrashing slowed, his fingers, once clawing frantically, now twitched like a dying spider's legs. His tongue—swollen and purple—hung grotesquely from his mouth. With a last hissing breath, Kat watched helplessly as the light left his eyes.

Theril returned from the shadows, surveying the carnage. He reached a finger up and wiped a lone tear from Kat's cheek. "Oh dear, you didn't get to give them a proper goodbye, did you? How sad." With a flick of his finger, Theril chased away the vine covering Kat's mouth.

"I'll kill you..." the words rasped out of her throat, hoarse from screaming, "I'll kill you, you—"

"Yes, you are grieving, you need to be able to say goodbye." Theril stepped back again waving his hands like a conductor. The vines holding Garret and Tynan shifted and twisted, moving their corpses like gruesome marionettes. "Here you go, Kat, give them a proper send-off." The two corpses pressed against her, their flesh already cooling. Garret's swollen, protruding tongue dragged lewdly across her face.

Kat's stomach twisted in revulsion, bile rising in her throat. Unable to move, she closed her eyes, willing her mind away from the horror her body was experiencing. After what felt like an eternity, the press of the corpses against her ceased and she heard the wet thump of their bodies dropping gracelessly to the moss floor of the cave. Kat opened her eyes when she felt a hand grip her chin.

"Are you ready to tell me how many more bodies I can expect to add to the pile?" Theril's voice had a false gentleness to it.

Kat blinked tears from her eyes. She tensed her tongue drawing saliva into her mouth. Her eyes narrowed to angry slits as she spat directly in Theril's face.

Without breaking eye contact, Theril slowly brought one finger to his face. He wiped it through the spittle, then touched it to his tongue. He turned away from Kat and walked a half-dozen strides. "Do you know why I am not the least bit concerned about you or your comrades?" He turned to face her, his expression darker, more stern. "I think you should see."

He began speaking a strange language—dark, hissing, malevolent in tone—his fingers weaving patterns in the air in a rhythm synchronized with his speech. A circle of strange runes began to materialize on the ground between them, glowing a sickly green. the air grew warmer as the runes grew brighter. The ground trembled, and cracks formed within the confines of the rune-circle, then the ground seemed to fall away, as a roar rose up from the gaping hole in the earth.

A massive, clawed hand—large enough to reach around Kat's waist—reached up out of the depths. Then, another hand, followed by a head, followed by a body. The demon hunched, its back touching the twelve foot high ceiling, its arms reaching to the ground. Its skin was smooth, black as obsidian. Two eyes, large as saucers and set above a short snout lined with sharp fangs, glared balefully at her.

"Hello Vorgoth, old friend," Theril addressed the monster genially, I have a little snack for you.

The monstrous beast stretched one hand out and gripped Kat by her legs. He pulled her forward,stretching the vines and contorting her body until she feared her limbs would tear. A tongue as long as her arm flicked out and dragged diagonally across her torso from hip to shoulder the heat of it burning her skin, raising red welts. A deep rumbling purr issued from its throat. "Tastes like... purity."

"Not her" The creature let out a roar of frustration as an invisible force restrained it. Kat slipped from its grasp, the vines snapping her back to her previous position.

"That one is not for you... not yet at least."

"Tastes like...dead," Vorgoth rumble expressed disappointment. He grasped Garret's corpse and brought it to his mouth, his Jaws opening wide, exposing row upon row of jagged teeth which tore into the pallid flesh, sending gobbets flying in every direction. He then turn his attention to Tynian's remains.

"I have a proposition for you Kat," Theril took one step forward. "You can see my friend much prefers living flesh, and you now have some inkling of his capabilities..."

Kat watched in horror as Tynian's body was torn to shreds, unable to look away.

"I will give you a choice, Kat." Theril raised his arms and brought his hands together in front of him until his splayed fingers just touched. "I can send my friend her to deal with your comrades..." Vorgoth rumbled, a thick drop of pink drool dripping from his snout.

"...or... You can give me a kiss." Theril flicked his fingers, and the vines holding Kat suspended lowered her to the ground, releasing her. Her eyes flicked first to the entrance then to Theril, and finally to Vorgoth.

"No, Kat, you can't outrun him, you won't even get clear of the vines before they grab you."

If it was just her life, Kat would gladly sacrifice it over touching the vile man, though she shuddered at the thought of what the demon might do to her before she lost consciousness...

But her comrades... She swallowed the bile rising in her throat and shuffled forward, skirting the monstrosity glaring at her with hungry eyes, until she stood face to face with Theril. She tilted her head up slightly, then leaned in pressing her lips to his in the briefest of pecks. A strange tingling sensation spread across her lips as she retreated.

"Oh come now, Kat, you can do better than that. Convince me you are doing it willingly"

Kat took a deep breath, let it out, then leaned in again, pressing her her lips more firmly to his. The tingling sensation returned, this time with a warmth which spread through her like a gentle wave. A feeling of calmness washed over her.

"Mmm, better," Theril purred, he placed a small vial to his lips, taking a sip, "but I think you can do better. Let's try once more." Out of her peripheral vision, Kat saw Vorgoth extend a hand, but some force prevented him from reaching her. He mewled in frustration.

This time, Therils lips came to hers, a gentle, yet insistent press. She felt liquid flow into her lips from his mouth—the liquid from the vial? Had he held it under his tongue? It slid down her throat, warm and smooth, both bitter and sweet at the same time. the tingling sensation she felt on her lips previously now spread through her whole body, along with a feeling of euphoria. Her vision blurred at the edges, and all the tension seemed to flow out of her body. She felt as though she were falling through air as thick as syrup. She was only vaguely aware of Vorgoth's howl of rage as the earth swallowed him.

"Just one more kiss" Theril's voice was soft now, seductive, but with a quality of distance to it. Kat tilted her head further and closed her eyes, no resistance remaining in her. It was not his mouth, but the vial which pressed to her lips this time, the sweet-bitter liquid flowed freely into her mouth and down her throat. The warmth spread from her belly, flooding outward to her extremities. Her eyes fluttered open to see Theril's smile, inches from her face. Her vision narrowed, the edges blurring, then darkening, shrinking to a pinpoint focused on that smile, and then, blackness.

---

"Kat, my love"

The voice sounded distant. Familiar, and at the same time foreign. A pinpoint of light appeared in front of her. slowly widening. Everything was blurry at first, both sights and sounds, as though she were underwater. As the world came into focus, the surroundings were unfamiliar. Kat was no longer in a cave, but in a room. Two high-back, red, velvet chairs rested in front of a stone fireplace, the warm glow of the fire radiating into the room. Theril stood in front of her, that same, warm smile.

"Welcome back my love, it's been nearly a week." Theril spoke in smooth, syrupy tones, with something sinister beneath it.

Something didn't feel quite right, Kat tried to look around the room, but her head wouldn't turn. She felt... disconnected from her body. She wasn't seeing through her eyes, but from behind them.

"I have just one more favor to ask of you dearest," Theril reached into a small box resting on a table near the chairs. When he withdrew is hand a tiny, lizard-like creature lay curled in his palm. It's purple-blue skin was smooth and wet, like that of a salamander. Its tiny eyes regarded Kat with indifference, its tongue flicking out to taste the air near her.

"I need you to seduce the King." Theril raised his hand to kat's head. As his fingers gently grazed her hair, the tiny creature skittered off his palm, the sticky fingers on the end of its legs gripping Kat's skin. Kat recoiled internally, but her body did not move. The creature wriggled into the strands of her long, dark hair, disappearing from site.

"Just a kiss," Theril crooned, "That is all you need. Go to the palace garden just after dusk, wait near the moonpool. He likes to walk there alone, at night." Theril leaned in and kissed her, almost tenderly. Kat wanted to scream, to struggle, but her body would not respond, she was gasping, but her body breathed in slow, even breaths. It was as though she were a prisoner, trapped within her own mind.

Kat's body turned and walked, Zombie-like toward the door, then stepped out into the noon sunlight.

"Return to me soon, my love," Theril's voice called from behind. She didn't turn, didn't speak, just walked in slow, smooth, even steps.

It was nearly dusk when Kat arrived at the city. How she had managed to travel that distance without encountering another soul, she did not know. She slipped into the city, traveling toward the center by way of dark, narrow alleys. She tried to call out, to scream, but no sound issued forth. If anyone noticed her, they did not show it, perhaps embarrassed by her immodest state of dress, or perhaps some enchantment Theril had placed upon her. She climbed cat-like over the the palace garden wall just after the sun set, and ghosted along the torch-lit pathways until she stood by the moonpool—a shallow reflection pool near the garden center. There she stood, like a marble statue, waiting.

It wasn't long before the sound of shoes crunching on gravel announced the impending arrival of the King on his nightly walk.

"What in the name of—" The king came into view, his eyes expressing alarm, then recognition as they scanned Kat from head to toe.

"Katarine? Is that you? They've been searching for you for days, how is it that you are here? In this state?"

Kat didn't move, didn't speak, she just stared blankly.

"You must be in a state," The kings gaze showed sympathy, "Your comrades—were you present when they were attacked? In the cave? Barely anything left of them, must have been dreadful." His hand gripped her arm. "Come. I will take you to my quarters and send for help."

Her body woodenly submitted to the King's escort. Kat tried desperately to scream, to shout, to wiggle a finger, anything to give the king warning. Her efforts were in vain, she was a passenger in her own body.

They entered the Kings chambers and the Kings only just closed the door when Kat gripped the front of the Kings robes and pulled him toward her.

"Katarine!" The King protested raising a hand between them, but halting as though he were unsure where to modestly place it. "This is most unbecoming of you, what are you doing?"

Kat lunged forward relentlessly, her grip on the King overpowering him. He staggered back with her in tow, until he tripped over a footstool and tumbled to the ground, Kat landing on top of him. Her lips found his in a kiss that was more force than heat, a mechanical sort of kiss that swallowed the kings protests.

As soon as their lips met, Kat felt the small lizard stir in her hair. It skittered down her forehead to her nose, and then bridged the short gap to the king. The King's startled gasp into her mouth told her he felt the tiny creature on his face. With renewed force and a complete disregard for modesty or decorum, he thrust his arms upward, launching Kat into the air and away from him. Kat rolled and immediately regained her footing. Her body stood and stared at the King. Inside her head, Kat watched in horror as the tiny lizard flattened its body and slithered into the screaming King's eye socket. The King clawed at his face desperately grasping at the creature's slippery body as it disappeared into his skull. He twitched once, twice, then went still, his eyes wide, vacant.

Kat wanted to scream to cry, to do anything. She raged silently against the invisible prison bars holding her captive, helpless, while her body stood still, surveying the scene without emotion.

After a few moments, the Kind woodenly rose to his feet. Without saying a word we walked to a writing desk. He sat down, and withdrew a quill and parchment. Kat's body crossed the room to stand beside him as he wrote.

The King created three separate documents as Kat watched in disbelief. The first was a full pardon for Theril's crimes. The second was a transfer of deed, giving ownership of the Dreldor manor to Theril in perpetuity. The final document was an order to fill two wagons with gold from the treasury and deliver them to Dreldor manor, into the hands of Theril, along with Kat.

Kat's heart sank. Had Theril planned this from the beginning? Had he foreseen her arrogant tendencies, and used it to his end? This was her doing. Her pride would ruin the Kingdom. She watched helplessly as the King affixed his seal to each of the documents.

The King rose from the desk and rang a bell. In minutes a summoned guard arrived at the door. The guard took one look at Kat, his eyes widened in shock, and his gaze locked onto the kings face, like a man fighting for his life.

"See that these orders are executed immediately," The King thrust the documents into the guard's face. The guard scanned the documents, his face betraying his uncertainty. He cast another dubious glance at Kat then, he saluted the King and turned on his heel.

Kat followed the Guard. The guard did his best to pretend she wasn't there. When they arrived at the treasury there was a heated discussion, involving a considerable number of gestures in Kat's direction, but ultimately, the Kings orders were the King's orders. Kat watched helplessly as chest after chest of Gold and Gems were loaded and carried from the treasury. None of the men spoke to her, her state of undress being sufficient deterrent for men of good standing.

As the final chest was brought out, a rather nervous-looking guard—no doubt the one who drew the short straw—approached Kat and invited her to follow him. With no ability to control herself. Kat watched helplessly from behind her eyes as her body silently fell in step behind the young soldier. He led her outside where two heavy wagons, loaded to the breaking point with chests, had been hitched to teams of sturdy workhorses. A detachment of mounted soldiers completed their final preparations to serve as a security escort. Kat was lifted onto the lead wagon, where she sat next to the driver, who placed as much distance between the two of them as he was able. Once she was settled, the driver flicked the reigns, and the entourage set out.

The heavy wagons trundled forward slowly, and it was early dawn before the Manor came into view. Kat's heart filled with dread as it drew closer. What would become of her? What were Theril's plans for her?

A bone-jarring bump in the road provided her first opportunity. There was the briefest flutter of the magic binding her will, like a curtain caught by a breeze, but there it was, right at the edges of her mind, the tiniest of tears in the magic like a frayed edge in fabric. Kat latched onto it with all her will, and she pulled with all the mental force she could muster.

Her fingers twitched—just a faint flicker. She mustered all her energy and curled them in, digging her nails into her palms, she used the pain to anchor herself, then braced against the spell as it tried to reform—to close the gap. Another sharp jolt as the wagon fell into a rut on the ill-maintained road, and the spell wavered, tears forming all around her. she pushed, pulled, kicked, arched against it and then, it broke. The spell fell apart in tatters, fluttering about in her mind.

Her body gasped, her chest heaving in irregular breaths. She was free...

Free from what? She was still here. The messenger bag carried by the captain who rode at the lead still carried the King's orders. A half-naked, mute girl suddenly crying a tale of treachery would convince these men of nothing. Particularly where they were just now drawing to a halt at the manor door, where Theril stood, dressed in his finest robes, a placid smile on his face. Her dagger rested in his belt like a trophy. Next to him stood two young people—a man and a woman—in servant garb. They looked worse for the wear, and stood near the door, a look of fear etched into their faces.

A memory resurfaced in Kat's mind. Dreldor Manor had been mentioned during her team's preparation to hunt down Theril. She could only recall fragments—The Dreldor family had gone missing five years ago. A note of questionable origin claimed they had embarked on a lengthy journey, leaving Theril in charge of the Manor until they returned.

Kat's body stiffened as hands gripped her waist, lifting her down from the wagon. She forced her breath into the steady, mechanical rhythm of her enthralled state, and locked her eyes in a distant, vacant gaze.

"Welcome home, my love!" Theril smiled brightly, opening his arms to Kat as she walked to him, her face devoid of any emotion. She stood next to him, still as a statue as he wrapped one repulsive arm around her. She watched in silence as the guards unloaded the chests and carried them into the manor. They were nearly done when Theril ordered the two servants into the house to prepare breakfast for him and his new wife. Kat swallowed against the rage that fought to explode from her.

"Be sure to thank the King for his generous gift!" Theril called out as the last chest was deposited, and the entourage turned about to return to the castle. Theril waved the hand in which held the three royal decrees, his smile smug. Kat remained motionless and emotionless at his side.

As the wagon train disappeared from view, Theril placed his hands on Kat's shoulders, turning her to face him. His eyes gleaming with triumph. "How about a kiss, my darling?"

Kat automatically tilted her head upward, her lips parting, her eyes vacant as Theril leaned toward her, pressing his lips to hers. Kat flicked her tongue out grazing Theril's upper lip. Theril grinned against her mouth, his own tongue sliding forward. As he entered her mouth, Kat hollowed her cheeks drawing him into her as far as she was able, then she bit down hard, Yanking her head away from his.

At the same time, her left hand reached to his throat pushing him away with all the force she could manage, and her right hand reached down to grip her dagger. she drew it up and across in a quick, precise, surgical slash, which grazed his lips and completely severed his protruding tongue.

As she anticipated, Theril's automatic response was to raise both hands to cover his face. her left hand snapped away from his face and clamped down on his right wrist. She reversed the swing of her blade while simultaneously twisting his wrist, positioning his hand to meet her swing. The blade struck precisely, severing the first and second fingers at the third knuckle. The force of the swing carried the blade through the second knuckle of his ring finger and the first knuckle of his pinky finger, leaving only his thumb intact.

While Theril was still reeling from the shock of Kat's sudden violent attack, She released his right wrist to grab his left, bringing the blade back to cause similar havoc to the fingers of his left hand. She took one step back, her eyes glittering with rage, her face spattered with blood. She turn her head and spat Theril's twitching tongue from her mouth, then raised her foot and planted it squarely on his chest kicking him backward. Theril landed hard on his back, his head snapping back to strike the flagstone with a sharp crack. His choked scream came out in a gurgle around the blood filling his mouth.

Kat lunged forward, landing on top of Theril's prone form, her thighs bracketing his hips. Her eyes locked with his, not with anger, but with the gaze of a woman counting the balance sheet.

"Can't talk, can't wiggle your fingers," Her left hand rested on his throat, while her right hand reached behind her, sliding her blade under his leg, just above the crease of his knee. "Makes using magic difficult." The razor-sharp blade slid across his flesh with a hiss, slicing cleanly through tendon, as he gasped, she felt the tendon retract into the muscle. "Don't go anywhere she mumbled," turning to the door of the manor without a second glance at the now ham-stringed mage.

The first thing to catch her eye as she entered the front room was the fireplace. The fire iron lay forgotten on the hearth, the tip buried in the hot coals. Kat lurched forward and gripped the handle. It was warm to the touch. The tip glowed red. She marched outside—a woman with purpose. She dropped onto Theril's chest with a force that drove the breath from him. "Open!" she ordered raising the iron above his face. When he didn't move fast enough, she drove the glowing tip into his partly opened mouth, searing his lips and chipping a tooth. She pressed the metal against the stub of his tongue branding the wound while Theril screamed and bucked underneath her. Removing the iron from his mouth, she gave the stubs of his hand the same brutal treatment. Standing back she inspected her handiwork, arterial spurting has been reduced to a slow oozing through cauterized flesh.

Satisfied, she returned the Iron to the fireplace. Then she explored the study adjacent to the room. Her eyes fell on a bookshelf, and she examined the titles. She recognized a book of cantrips immediately—she had spent two years at the mages guild before joining the Guard. She'd learned a handful of cantrips in that time, and could still use a few of them—simple, practical things like starting a fire, or mending a rip in fabric. There were books on geography, and politics, a ledger which predated Theril's occupation of the Manor. Another book of remedial spells—nothing of the level to suggest Theril was actually a competent mage.

It dawned on Kat, The only spell of any magnitude she had seen him use was the vine trap. There was the potion he'd used on her, and the supernatural creature... The King...

Both of those were instruments of possession, and both were items he could have taken, rather than created.

Her eyes fell on a book which cause a shiver to run up her spine. The leather was made of bits of human skin, sewn together. The cover of which had unearthly symbols branded into it. The pages seems to emanate a feeling of malice.

"Vorgoth." The name tasted like ashes in her mouth. That was the sole source of Theril's success—his access to a demon. The book fell open to a worn and dog-eared page.

It was not a particularly difficult summoning ritual. Likely it had been written as a trap. Easy to summon, hard to control, Vorgoth would arise from the depths and consume the one who summoned him. Somehow Therill had managed to escape that fate. As Kat ran a finger across the page the runes pulsed at her touch, the ink roiling, revealing threads of red entangled with the black ink.

Blood.

Kat examined her fingers, covered with the aftermath of her violence. Somehow, Theril had altered the spell with his blood. She dragged her finger through the wetness on her face. She had plenty of that to work with. Clutching the book to her chest, she returned outside, where Theril still lay moaning and writhing. She collected his tongue and the stubs of his fingers and arranged them in a circle next to Theril's prone form.

She stepped a short distance away from Theril and the circle, and, using the tip of her dagger, she etched a rune of protection into the dirt and gravel, remembering instruction she had been given during her time in the mages guild. Then, following the directions in the book, she walked around the outside of the circle she had defined with Theril's severed appendages, drawing the pictured runes in the air while reciting the summoning chant.

A warm breeze issued from the circle as she chanted, and runes she traced in the air slowly materialized around the circle's borders. A faint trembling of the ground sent vibrations through her bare feet. As she completed the final phrase she stepped within the boundaries of the protective rune she had scratched with the dagger.

The ground opened up inside the rune-lined circle like a gaping maw, and a familiar, clawed hand reached out.

"Hello Vorgoth, do you remember me?" Vorgoth, fully erect, stood as tall as at least three grown men, his obsidian skin seemed to swallow the sunlight. His enormous saucer eyes turned toward Kat, and he lurched forward at a frightening pace, his giant claws grasping for her. They stopped short of Kat, right at the edge of the protection rune, and the beast howled in Rage.

"I didn't summon you to bind you, or bargain with you. Kat spoke calmly, but with authority. Nor will I ever summon you again. I wanted to inform you that this man no longer holds dominion over you." She pointed a finger at Theril, who was now curled in on himself, his eyes wide with terror.

Vorgoth's eyes narrowed as the focused on the maimed and trembling mage.

"This means, of course, he won't be bringing you any more... toys... to play with." Kat tried to not grit her teeth as she said it. "So, I offer him to you as a final gift."

Vorgoth gazed at Kat, his eyes regarding her curiously, then they narrowed as a stuttering rumble, vaguely resembling a chuckle sounding deep in his throat. One giant clawed hand reached down and wrapped around the whimpering Theril, lifting him from the ground. Theril let out a strangled cry as the second hand opened to—almost tenderly—stroke his head.

"Fear makes it better." Vorgoth crooned, holding Theril's convulsing body close to his. He stepped into the rune circle, and Kat watched as Demon and mage slowly sank into the ground. The ground finally closed, and the runes faded, along with Theril's blood-curdling screams. Kat stood still for a moment longer, letting the warmth of the sun wash over her.

The servants were just placing a tray of food on the small table near one of the velvet chairs when Kat entered the Manor again. When they turned and saw her, they froze in place, their eyes as wide as the teacup on the tray they had just deposited.

"You two," Kat spoke authoritatively to the servants, "Run after those wagons. Tell them that master has reconsidered, and he has decided he cannot accept the King's generosity, tell them to return the gold to the King immediately."

The servants glanced at each other, then back at her. "Why are you still standing here? Go!" The servants jumped at the barked order, and fled from the house, nearly forgetting to close the door behind them.

Kat felt the weight of the book in her hand. She'd forgotten she was holding it. her eyes narrowed to slits as she stared at the abyssal cover. One breath... two... three... With a flick of her hand, she tossed the abomination into the fireplace. The book fell open as it landed among the coals. The pages darkened and curled as tendrils of black smoke began to rise around it. She thought she heard a groaning sigh as the book burst into flames.

Kat was tired. Her body ached. Her bare feet were cut and bleeding. She looked at the food on the tray. How many days since she had eaten? Her stomach growled. She dropped into the chair and attacked the tray of food ravenously. She stuffed an entire piece of toast into her mouth and barely had time to taste it before she swallowed it. She ignored the utensils and scooped the eggs up with her hands. The golden yolks dripped from her fingers, and dribbled down her chin. She clutched the bowl of porridge in both hands, tilted her head back and poured it down her throat. She drank the hot tea in great gulps.

It wasn't enough to fill, but it did take the edge off her hunger. She lay back in the chair and closed her eyes letting them rest for a minute.

The first thing Kat noticed as she began to awaken was the warmth and weight and softness of something resting on her body. She stretched, catlike—feeling, almost relishing the stiffness in her muscles.

"You've slept for a whole day, I think," A familiar tenor voice came from the chair beside her. Kat's eyes snapped open. She instinctively raised her hand to salute as she shifted to an upright position to stand, then clutched her hands to the blanket she was wrapped in as it threatened to slide down and pool at her feet, leaving her exposed. At the same time Spymaster Eagon waved a hand, indicating for her to remain seated.

"I arrived yesterday evening—the servants said you were fast asleep by the time they returned to the house." Eagon shifted in his chair "They put a blanket on you to guard your virtue while the Soldiers returned the treasure. I've been waiting since then for you to awaken." He squinted at the window, "Nearly noon now, I think. Do you need a minute to compose yourself, or are you able to give your report? I am most eager to hear it."

Spymaster Eagon listened attentively while Kat recounted every detail, from the morning she left camp to hunt for Theril alone, until she fell asleep in the chair. Neither his face nor his body language expressed any emotion she could read. When she finished, he closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his fingers together in front of his face.

"The official story is this," he began after a moment's pause. After Garret and Trynan went looking for you, they stumbled on Theril's trap. You stumbled upon their remains, but only after Theril had fled. You attempted to follow his trail, but lost it. Before you could return to your comrades, you were stopped by the King's hand, who enlisted you to aid him in a plot to bring down. Theril."

"The Hand?" Kat's forehead creased. The Hand's a myth, a legend, he'd be centuries old by now, "The Hand—"

"Is an idea," Eagon finished for her, "There have been many who have filled that role," He gazed at her pointedly, "some even unawares."

Kat's mind raced. What was Eagon doing? Why was he changing the facts? Erasing her sin?

"That subterfuge culminated with you posing as a double agent for Theril, and—under the King's direction—delivering a prize he couldn't resist, at which point... The Hand... dispatched him."

Kat started, nearly dropping the blanket, "The King—"

"Is fine." Eagon rose from the chair and stirred the embers in the fireplace with the iron. "The creature controlling him fell from his skull and turned to dust yesterday... I estimate about the same time Theril departed from this plane of existence."

The images of her lewdly throwing herself at the king came unbidden. Her insides churned.

"The King, you, and I are the only people who know any of this." Eagon seemed to read her mind. He fixed a hard gaze as his tone grew stern. "And it will remain thus." Eagon turned and strode to the window to gaze out, he continued, his back to Kat. "The deed to Dreldor Manor is now in your name. Dreldor's servants are now your responsibility." He turned to face her. "One chest of gold was retained at the manor as well. That should be sufficient to maintain the manor for some time."

"Servants? Slaves." Kat spat the word.

"Depends entirely upon how you treat them." Eagon returned to the chair, "I have servants, you know. Tormaal for instance."

Kat frowned, "Your cousin?"

Eagon, smiled as he slowly shook his head, giving her time to understand. "How you treat them." He repeated.

Kat slumped into the chair, her eyes downcast, "I can't... You can't reward me. This is all my fault."

Eagon leaned forward and placed a hand on Kat's knee, "Everyone err's." His gaze softened, "Not many are able to repair their errors, and precious few ever hold themselves accountable."

Eagon turned his head, and gazed out the window. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled a long, slow breath. "You've had a long week," He patted Kat's knee before rising from the chair, "get some rest."

Kat was still staring into the fire, turning thoughts over in her mind, when the door closed. She rose from the chair, wrapping the blanket around her body, and strode to the window. Eagon stepped into the stirrup and swing his leg up and over, barely settling into the saddle before his horse lurched forward into a fast trot.

"The gentleman had some clothes brought for you." The female servant's voice came from behind. "Twernt many things—some breeches and blouses is all, but it beats nothing. I cleared out all of Theril's clothes and burned them, and then hung up your things. The room's all freshened up for you m'lady."

Kat turned her head. The servant's gaze and posture seemed tentative, as though probing uncharted waters. Kat smiled at her. "Thank you.... I don't know your name."

"Mirai, M'lady."

"Thank you Mirai."

Mirai twisted her hands together, her mouth twitching as she worked up her courage. When she finally spoke, the words came in a rush, "Joon and I are awfully grateful for you getting rid of that dreadful wizard. We're forever in your debt."

The smile remained at her lips but a sadness filled Kat's eyes, "No, Mirai. There is no debt to be repaid. You owe me nothing."

Mirai's brow furrowed, and she shifted her feet, "still... be nice to have you as master of the manor."

Kat chewed on her lower lip. She rubbed her hand against her blood-encrusted cheek. "Of a truth, Mirai, I know nothing of managing an estate."

Mirai brightened. "Oh, M'lady, twixt Me an Joon, we know all what's needed. We kept it in fine shape these past five year" Mirai scowled, "except for the roads, hadn't the ways nor the means to tend to those."

"But..." Kat tooks a step forward, "If you had the funds, you know who to call on."

"Oh yes, M'lady!" Mirai lit up again, her face eager and hopeful, "We could have it fixed up nice before the month is out."

Kat move two steps closer to Mirai. "I am so fortunate to have you and Joon to help me. I am sure I would be lost without you."

Mirai seemed to be at war with herself. Then on a sudden impulse, she lurched forward wrapping her arms around Kat in a warm, albeit awkward embrace. Kat inhaled deeply, Mirai smelled of honey-milk and elderflower. Kat leaned her head into the hug. A different kind of warmth flooded through her drawing the tension from her muscles, draining her of her misgivings and doubts.

Mirai stepped back, "Is there anything you need right now M'lady?"

"A bath."