Free Blackhand by Matt Hiebert Page A

landowners joined him. Applause for Huk bounced off the walls and filled the castle halls. They had much to celebrate.  Quintel perceived their glee. Even the dimmest of the lot knew that an army of these creatures meant victory over the entire world. Their loyalty and fealty to the god had finally proven profitable. Many doubts had been raised over the wisdom of following Ru in the last few years. Such a display of power was enough to waylay these doubts.
    “More!” Someone in the crowd shouted.
    “Yes!” Taln shouted through a large smile. “Feed it more!”
    The underlord hopped from his seat and vaulted the table. He grabbed Quintel by the wrist, making him drop the clay pitcher of wine he held.
    “Give it this one, Huk!” Taln said. Although his grip was firm, the underlord felt Quintel's strength and it angered him. He pulled a thin dagger from his belt.
    “You dare resist me, dog?” Taln brimmed with hatred, inflamed by the wine and bloody executions. “One less Abanshi will make the world --”
    Taln was cut short by a bolt of pain shooting from his elbow. He dropped the dagger and screamed as Siyer broke his arm.
    Siyer had crossed the room in a blur. With a twist of his wrist, he had snapped Taln's arm. No one realized what was happening until Taln screamed. Holding his fractured limb away for his body, the underlord sputtered an assortment of sounds.
    “He broke my arm!”
    The guests and guards saw the splintered bone sticking through the skin of Taln's forearm. A dozen of the guests drew their swords. Three of them charged Siyer. Two others grabbed Quintel from behind.
    One of the guards clubbed Siyer in the back of the head, sending him sprawling.
    “Stop!” Huk shouted. “Don't kill him!”
    The warlord walked over to them, still uncertain of his strength. Behind him, the Thog shifted from foot to foot, snorting and gripping its ax, aroused by the escalating tension in the room.
    Huk stood in front of Taln and looked at him with contempt.
    “I need a physician,” Taln said holding his arm, biting back the pain.
    “He is our physician,” Huk said pointing to Siyer's motionless figure. He turned to the sergeant. “Take the underlord to a field medic.”
    “A field medic!” Taln said. “It is only broken...I do not need it amputated!”
    Huk ignored him. Two guards escort Taln out of the room. He walked over to Siyer who was struggling to stand. Grabbing a handful of hair, he pulled Siyer's face off the floor. Their eyes locked.
    “You fool,” Huk said. “It's over now.”
    He released Siyer and said something quietly to the sergeant who nodded and left. Then he turned to Quintel.
    “I hope you feel confident with your healing skills, Abanshi,” he said. “Your life will depend upon them by the end of night.”
    Huk faced the guests. Already they were losing interest in the altercation and returning to their drinking.
    “Continue!” Huk shouted and the musicians broke into a jubilant tune.
    The corpses were removed from the floor, and a large wooden scaffold was carted into the room. Ropes hung from a cross beam on top of the scaffold, but the guards hung Siyer on the frame by his shackles. A three-tailed leather whip was handed to Huk. At the tip of one of the tails, a metal barb glinted in the firelight.
    They dragged Quintel back to his cell.
     
    The guards replaced the gold shackles with an iron set and left him alone. Although the banquet was at the center of the fortress, Quintel could hear the muffled rumble of the celebration through the stone walls. Occasionally, a united cheer would seep down the hallways. That was when they were torturing Siyer, he guessed.
    He listened for three hours. Even with his heightened senses he could not tell what was happening. The night plodded forward and the celebration died down. The guests broke away and headed for their beds.
    He wondered if Siyer was dead.
    After a time, he sensed the approach of Crag and another guard. They were carrying