Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (34 page)

Baus ran at
all speed to the opposite wall. Struggling to secure the rope, he
bound it round the nearest doorknob.

The Dakkaw
surged forth like a rabid beast. He snatched at Baus to crush his
neck like a twig, but Valere had already leapt off the table and
dragged the monster back in the opposite direction with his
lariat.

The Dakkaw
strained in a choking grimace. He clutched at his throat. Valere
coiled the end of his rope around the inside doorknob of the
nearest repository for security. Pulling it tight, he gave an
exultant cry. Stumbling over the obnoxious clutter, Baus tied his
end of the rope to other doorknobs along the opposite wall.

The Dakkaw
uttered strangled roars. He was secured like a boar. To move
forward meant a painful garrotting by Valere’s loop; to move
backward would have Baus’s rope eating into his shins, causing him
terrific pain to stumble forth and induce a gasping, strangling
pressure from the noose around his neck. Now, sensing the
hopelessness of his situation, the Dakkaw became a petulant
captive. “Insolent puppies!” he bellowed hoarsely. Struggling with
his massive hands at the loop digging into his wattled neck, he
hissed, “Do you think you can subjugate me in my own home so
easily?”

Valere reached
indifferently for one of the bronze gongs. With mallet poised, he
stepped within the Dakkaw’s earshot to strike odiously.

The Dakkaw
clamped hands over his ears, grimacing. Valere took great pleasure
in striking the gong again.

Baus moved in
as close as he dared and shot a faint smile at the Dakkaw. “Well,
it seems as if matters have taken an ironic turn.”

The ogre
growled. It seemed he only wished for one of them to stray too
closely and he would crush them to death. “Indeed—but can you
maintain your edge? You shan’t escape, grinning thief—not while my
hands remain free and I guard the key opening the door in my
belt.”

Baus framed a
tired sigh. “I had considered this before, Dakkaw, which is why I
have another plan, don’t I, Valere?”

Valere nodded.
“How be I tug this rope a might smarter and constrict his knavish
neck!”

“The idea has
merit,” agreed Baus.

“The gesture
is rude!” the Dakkaw retorted. He allowed his tone to become
notably earnest. “Let us return to an earlier state of amicability.
You have me at odds, agreed, but perhaps we can work out a
compromise. We are friends after all.”

Valere gave a
chirrup of laughter. “Friends? You would have us cluck over your
infernal riddles? Nothing of the sort. We are bound for New Krintz
. . . that is, after we dispose of you and possibly your
valuables—” He bent to pick up the studded plank and contrive a
means to brain the giant as was his intent earlier.

The Dakkaw’s
thoughts seemed to turn to the memory. “To Krintz, eh? Well,
perhaps we would all benefit from a trip there.”

“How’s that?”
sneered Valere.

“I am in need
of a bride. You are in need of funds, particularly to advance this
impoverished mission of yours as outlaws. I can provide access to
Krintz’s coffers—a stash more beautiful than you can imagine. With
this, you can repay your sordid debts, purchase yourselves a vessel
perhaps and gain safe passage to Owlen. All I ask in return is that
you spare my life, and that you swear you will leave me and
Bisiguth, once you get your treasure.”

Baus pondered
the information. “How are we to guarantee your good faith?”

“Bind my
wrists,” suggested the Dakkaw. “I offer this as a token of my good
intentions.”

Valere laughed
jeeringly. “Do you think we are such simpletons? What prevents you
from dashing out our brains at the merest instant we release
you?”

“This is not
in my best interests, considering you can easily freeze me on the
spot.”

“True,”
admitted Baus. “But what more do you wish of us in return? Easily
you could have snatched up a hundred helpless wives without our
help.”

“As I have
adumbrated,” the Dakkaw grated frostily, “the villagers have spiked
the town with shallots. I cannot stand them. You must chop them
down or dispose of them as you can, otherwise I will not be able to
pass through the streets and show you the way to the trove without
suffering an adverse reaction to their poison. Such substances,” he
added sneeringly, “curb my amorous intentions and aura of
appeal.”

Baus nodded
with reflection. “We can’t have that. It seems a fair plan.” He
turned to Valere. “What have you to say of the proposal?”

Valere’s
humour was scant. “I say he’s not to be trusted.”

The Dakkaw was
nettled. “Trusted? You, Captain, of all people, talk of trust. Have
you forgotten who rescued your hides from the asphodel?”

“The point is
well taken,” admitted Baus, “though I question your altruism,
Dakkaw.”

“No matter!
Deeds have their way of showing sincerity.” He offered his wrists
again. “Bind me, as you please.”

Baus gathered
a rope in which to tie the ogre tightly.

“Another
condition,” blurted out the Dakkaw.

“No
conditions!” growled Valere.

The Dakkaw
paid no heed. “Cedrek must not take the journey. He must stay
below.”

“What of
Rilben?”

“He stays, as
usual.”

Valere
shrugged. “I care not for either of them. Let’s see those
hands.”

The Dakkaw
produced his wrists and Valere lashed them together with tight,
painful precision, paying particular attention to any movement or
treachery which might constitute his own demise. Baus watched
vigilantly a foot away, ganglestick on the ready. The Dakkaw
meanwhile, eyed the magic rod with shrewd dismay. His lumpy eyes
glittered with speculation. “There is something else.”

“Nothing
else!” remonstrated Baus. “I wish to view this ‘Cedrek’ and satiate
this brewing curiosity of mine that has been eating away at me for
a long while.”

Valere
expressed a similar, pressing interest. “Yes, this mystery of
Cedrek has me bewildered too.”

The Dakkaw
gave an ill-mannered snort, but he had no choice in the matter and
mustered a torpid shrug. “You must do as you must. But I warn you,
considering the current stasis of affairs, I formally forbid
tampering with the conditions as stated!”

“We shall do
as we please, Dakkaw!” called Valere angrily. “Shut your maw. We
are masters of this keep and you are hardly but a fly in a bottle.
Do not make any demands.”

The Dakkaw
tempered his tone, for he knew the seaman was right. Valere
finished binding the oak-tree wrists. He took from his belt the
keys and proceeded to the trapdoor. Baus peered about the candlelit
murk with uneasy foreboding. Rilben’s absence was eerily
discommoding, but nothing could be done. He retrieved his golden
blade from the basket on high and helped Valere wrench open the
trap. They snatched torches, and made cautious steps to investigate
the crypts below Bisiguth.

IX

What greeted
them in this dim sublevel was a dungeon-like undercroft ever dank
and silent. Gloom was perpetuated by an absence of sconce-light and
a noisome chill left them shivering. What comprised the mildewed
spaces was supported only with mouldy crusted pillars and wooden
beams from which cobwebs floated rottenly. Spiders clung in the
darkness, like crabs, crouching steadily with grey abdomens and
beady yellow eyes. Sensing the intruders, the creatures scuttled
deeper into the shadows, spawning unwholesome scents and draughts
with their spongy webs. Baus was mildly revulsed at the burrow.
Eyes darting in all directions, he observed the floor
hard-packed—perhaps twenty or thirty musty earthen rooms ranged off
in the periphery.

For the moment
the easy victory over the Dakkaw seemed cheaply won. The two new
masters of Bisiguth took precarious steps away from the staircase,
and now a torn trail of webs revealed the path where the Dakkaw had
last forged his bulk. Baus set fire to the troublesome straggle
which already was re-forming and the spiders snapped and hissed at
the destruction to their homes, but foisted no further appeal. The
two explorers gripped their resolve, fearful of traps that the
Dakkaw had set. They searched vainly for any signs of Cedrek. No
hint seemed to suggest the presence of any humans at all. Such
could easily be a smoke-screen.

They passed
several dim portals. Five subchambers down showed tarnished, brass
doorways, each clamped shut.

One mouldering
doorway still dangled open; Baus deigned to poke his head in and
immediately he felt chill vapours sliding in and out. An intense
odour hung in the air, like rat dung, or some stagnant water from
an open cistern. The tightly-woven space was cramped with a
criss-crossing of ledges and banisters, cabinets, compartments and
components, in which, to his little surprise, a glut of packrat
oddments resided: ibex skulls, wegmor horns, bison antlers, rabbit
feet, ox teeth, mortars, pestles, flasks. There were belts,
leathers, hides. In the chamber adjacent they discovered a catacomb
jammed with an unlikely profusion of broken antiques, rakes, hews,
mauls, pylons, chests, traps, bones, gnarls, whips, lures, nets,
wire. What a packrat this Dakkaw was! Almost inaudibly they could
hear his low-pitched grumbles wafting from the floorboards above as
he stood trussed and seething. The sounds were pitched in casually
triumphant cadences—which seemed to suggest the ogre knew into
exactly which chamber they traveled.

Baus expunged
his growing trepidations. The main passage branched right, then
left, then he stopped short, holding his breath sharply. To lose
oneself in the Dakkaw’s maze would be foolhardy misfortune. Who
knew what labyrinthine terrors lay in wait in Bisiguth’s crypts? To
stumble upon some unimaginable thing and save the Dakkaw the
unpleasant task of disposing of the two of them, was
unacceptable.

Baus edged his
way toward the wall. He was about to urge Valere to do the same
when all of a sudden they heard a faint mewling cry softly in the
dimness.

It came in
plaintive fits and starts, then a sound of low repetition and
hopeless terror, which sent chills down their spines.

Baus flung
himself into a crouch. The sound was real, coming from one of the
larger spaces off the main corridor.

The moan
lingered, past a rotting beam where clotted remnants of webs hung.
From here issued a soft whooshing, which proved to be a procession
of gimlet bats.

The call
resumed itself: a piteous, wretched wail, devoid of any sane
emotion.

Cautiously the
two explorers crept forward. They ducked their heads. A low arch
heralded a wide chamber. The entablature, as Baus noted, was
ancient and marred with thick coats of dust and spider dung. Valere
followed no more than a hair’s breadth behind Baus, as if assured
of a margin of safety by shadowing his peer. The two wedged
themselves between the entranceway, plucking torches like ragbag
thieves. The murk was illuminated to reveal a sizeable room held
aloft by two round limestone pillars. A figure, hanging upside down
from a chain was visible in the room’s center.

The man, or
what they perceived as a man, was hooked a mere few inches above an
iron-strapped barrel. A matted tangle of curls fell low. The barrel
was filled to the brim with an offensive liquid, rippling
occasionally. Chains were wrapped around the figure’s ankles, from
which the frail limbs were strung up from the ceiling. The man’s
legs were pulled tight with his weight, his thin arms dangled
loosely, slack as fishing wire. He twirled slowly—like some piece
of cod on an odd string. He wore a pair of cut-off green dungarees,
a soiled brown shirt, a tattered bandanna, all clinging to his
emaciated frame like slimy rags. A complicated apparatus was
connected to the chain—levers, ratchets, pulleys—the like of which
was supported by a bizarre wooden scaffolding. The sudden light of
torches seemed to hurt his eyes and he clamped them shut with all
his waning strength, but he could not cover them completely because
his hands were bound behind his back.

Valere fumbled
along the nearest wall to light a rusty wall-sconce.

Baus moved in
closer, afraid to peer into those strange eyes that surely must
stare hollowly back at him. In the midst, he stumbled over a
beat-up bucket. The gaunt, pinched face wrenched itself about,
struggling to show a ghastly smear of welts, pimples and sucker
marks edged from chin to brow.

The dry mouth
wheezed—a ragged, phlegmy sound: “Come again so soon, Dakkaw? Well,
do your mischief! Your poor wastrel is immune to your abuses!”

Baus discerned
that the figure was not an old man, perhaps six years older than
himself, though he was extraordinarily haggard and dishevelled of
frame beyond his years. An ankle brace drilled into the back wall
with a loop chain was from where he guessed the ogre played a
hanging game with him. Game completed, the ogre was content to
leave him shackled—with the spiders.

“Why don’t you
speak?” the figure croaked wretchedly.

“We are not
the Dakkaw,” came Baus’s emotionless reply.

The prisoner
struggled to peer up at his new visitors, but his eyes were
mal-adjusted to the light and his attempts only brought him
frustration.

Baus offered a
commiserating shrug; he forwarded his credentials. “I am Baus of
Heagram, an explorer—this is Valere, my seafaring associate. We
visit Bisiguth only to drop in, courtesy of the ogre. Look at what
we find! Cedrek, the butcher’s son.”

“I am he!”
affirmed the hanging man with a thin snarl. “Cedrek, son of
Halfhan, son of Golfan. But how is it that you attend me
unescorted? The Dakkaw permits no one to roam about his underground
lairs but he.”

Baus responded
in an affected voice, “Suffice it to say that the Dakkaw is
currently ‘indisposed’.”