Born a Monster

Chapter 165

Chapter 165: Servant of the Axe, 65 – After the Slaughter

Servant of the Axe

Chapter 65

After the Slaughter

Agnar’s men fought bravely, and as a team. Sadly, drunken confidence is little match for numbers and vicious sobriety.

[Quest goal accomplished! Slay Agnar Oen, worth 5 quest points. Complete this quest to collect.]

I wondered if Gamilla, wherever she was, had received that same message.

“Wait! Wait! I’ll swear in public that the Fenris slew them. Just let me live.”

.....

“Kill the liar.” Jacob said, around the shattered remains of his jaw. The axe wound ran up his cheek to the newest dent in his helmet.

He was down to six men, two of them wounded, and three of them archers. He cursed the fates, turned his head, and spat.

“Well, that’s the end of THIS band’s hunt for today. Claim your wages and your prize, Feor.”

A withered hand fell on my shoulder. “Come along, little one. You’re mine, now, to do with as I will.”

“By the seven hells I am!” I said.

“You’ve not the magic to fight me.” She cackled. “And if you try physical escape, you’ve not the strength to avoid my staff. I can stick it far enough up your bum to knock your teeth out, and there’s naught you could do to stop me. Tell me otherwise, if you see another truth.”

“What? Husband?” Madonna said, squealing when ‘her’ man scooped her up by her waist. “You’ve got a new husband, girl. You’ll make me a fine second wife, and maybe bear me the sons my first one refuses to birth for me.”

“Fine.” Said one of the bowmen. “That one comes with us, then.”

“You’ll get your payment.” Jacob said. “On this spear I carry now, I swear it.”

The herdsfolk looked at each other sourly. “We’ll not touch her save to beat her as she defies us, and keep her fed and in good health until then.”

Jacob offered his bloodied hand. “I’ll bear you your coin within two days.”

They clasped elbows and shook on it. Bastards.

“You heard that, Rhishi! Two days to come to the rescue.”

Feor almost broke out in laughter. “Finger bones, child. Your champion won’t be much use once I take those from him tonight. In fact, why wait?”

“Huh? What?” Kismet said.

Feor cursed. “Help me restrain him, you fools!”

I don’t know who taught her grappling, but that old lady had MOVES. I would learn later that at the Thing, a meeting that serves as a Moot for the Norvik, there are naked mud wrestling matches. But with the aid of another, she had my remaining arm extended.

“Hack the hand off at the wrist.” She said. “I’ll cauterize the wound with salted herbs.”

I hope I don’t need to tell you that I passed out after the blow was struck.

Reduced to -7 health, I was unconscious for a good week, too insensate to even dream lucidly.

I could tell you what I woke to, but let me not get ahead of myself. Much as I want to tell the story of Kismet, I must start with the story of Madonna.

#

I caution the reader that, for obvious reasons, none of this was seen by my own eyes. At the best of times, Madonna is unreliable, and at her worst she lies blatantly. So, take in her story with such caution as her narration warrants.

“I thought he’d scream, at least.” She said. “Not just pass out.”

“Oh gods.” Kismet said. “Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods...”

“Keep her well for me.” Jacob called out. “She’s worth more to me unblemished.”

Madonna’s mind rolled as she was carried around the hill toward Sigmund Findseth’s long house. Much as she mocked her husband, and longed to be free of him, she dared not risk his anger. Not at the loss of his limb, she knew how little THAT mattered to the monster.

No, if she let his precious KISMET get hurt, especially in the way Thane Hoyland (Jacob) appeared to have in mind, he might just tear her body apart with his teeth. And pleasurable as that would be a way to go, returning to the Hell of Vanity without completing her task would be... problematic.

And that useless boob had managed to get himself heroically wounded – again. Kismet was Kismet, which was to say only a shade less useless than her monkey. She cursed his name again, turning her head and spitting, empowering the curse with her hatred and the fresh pain inside her.

Oh wait, should she be crying onto her captor to show how weak and helpless she was? Eh, it was too late now. She might as well just guess what dinner was. It wasn’t going to be special fare, but by custom the Jarls ate meat with every meal as a show of their status. Or so she had heard.

The ruthless way in which Hoyland had dispatched Thane Oen had peaked her interest. If all the thanes hated and envied each other like this, perhaps she could complete both quests at once. If not, then she’d just have to arrange for accidents and poisonings, mysterious illnesses caused by food and perhaps a runaway fire.

But only the one, for too much burning would bring suspicion upon her. Unfortunate, that the mortals just didn’t keep the world burning around themselves the way the Legion of Flames did. She pulled what warmth she could from the Sun, mixing the point of mana with her own internal taint to produce the Balelight. Maybe she’d use it, but probably not.

Jarl Findseth’s first wife was a caster of runes, an oracle of some skill. That shit picked up magic SO much easier than other things she could arrange. Although rumor said she was sickly and frail, she was also over three decades of age, and closer to four. If the fates were kind...

Oh, who was Madonna kidding? She’d have to kill the harlot, of course. Sorry, elder, but I want my magics free to wreak chaos with, and that means you’re time in the mortal coil must come to an end.

#

Surgery is rightly regarded as the province of fools, for the patient is a fool to trust his doctor and the doctor is a fool to entrust the lives of others to their usually pathetic knowledge of anatomy. Especially when their doctor is a woman, and blonde, although the fact she swore more evocatively than most sailors tempted one to believe in the unsavory nature of her character.

No shrinking violet, that one. She thrust a wooden bowl at Madonna. “Boil that water, and be careful not to burn the bowl.”

“I, um, okay, where is the fire I boil it in?”

“I’ve heard tales of you, bitch, and I’ve seen your eyes. Boil that water NOW, or I’ll lead an exorcism after this matter is dealt with.” Without even looking at Madonna, she selected a sharp knife, two copper plates, and a small fingerbowl filled with various screws and nuts. She placed a small phial into Thane Hoyland’s shaking hands. “Drink all of that, Jacob, and don’t fight the sleep when it comes for you. You don’t want to be awake for any of this.”

“Essence of fire, daughters to the flames in hell, hear me, fear me, and make manifest my will upon the world. Boil this water to the point of steam. Heat water!” A small portion of her mana mingled with the water, brining it instantly to a boil. She presented it to the surgeon, who dipped in a cloth without even looking, brought it to wash the blood away from the wound.

“I’m sorry, Jacob, this should have already been done for you.” There was a cracking of bone, and muffled screaming, suddenly cutting off as Jacob Hoyland passed out from unimaginable agony. “Men! Always making things messier than they need to be.”

The surgery was swift, one plate inside and one outside the jaw. Through use of screws, these were affixed through the intact portions of the jaw to each other. Her incantation to soften the bone was elegant, and quick, and most importantly, blasphemous. Uttered wrong, it could have caused painful deterioration of the entire skull.

Alas, Madonna saw no such thing. The surgery, so nearly as she could determine, was a huge success. “Well, help me carry this lunkhead upstairs and then we can get to seeing the meal set out.”

“What manner of surgeon also serves as a dinner wench?” Madonna asked.

“I prefer the title of hostess, but if you must ask, I am Jarl-wife Ingrid Findseth, second only to his uselessness, my husband. Be of use, and you’ll live to sire your own batch of disrespectful little children. Prove a nuisance, and you’ll burn at the stake. Make your choice, I’ve already made mine.”

The attitude! The vanity! The sheer power of the woman... “I think we’ll get along quite well, Lady Findseth.”

Maybe she wouldn’t have to kill the wife, after all. Time would tell.

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