The Ogre's Pendant & The Rat in the Pit

Crixus cried out behind her. “What’re you doing!? Get back in formation!”

She lowered her centre and charged swifter, screaming with sword poised. For a breath, the manticore froze. Its mind worked to reconcile this small, frightened prey suddenly rushing it.

With a growl, Wurhi took up her sword in both hands and - with all the momentum and power her little body could muster - cast it at the beast’s vile countenance.

It was a poor throw. The blade wavered as it flew end over end and-

Thawck!

-struck the beast with the mere flat. The manticore startled, and Wurhi whirled and sprinted for Varro’s body. Merrick - no less agile than she - leapt in with all haste.

His spear shot forward, his natural dexterity aiming true.

Schnk.

A roar of agony split the air.

“No!” The wiry hunt-leader leapt from his seat in the stands above.

The spear shuddered in a vile socket: it had snuffed the light from a shining, scarlet eye.

Merrick froze for a heartbeat, disbelieving what he had managed to do. The beast howled in anguish, blood spurting from its eye socket. It tossed its head to and fro as though gnats stung it to madness. Enraged, its remaining eye burned on the Hawk as it lunged at him. The thief sprang aside, his agility proving its master once again as he opened distance while harassing it with his spear.

The manticore snarled.

The spikes on its tail flared.

“Just try it, you bastard!” Crixus charged from its blind side, his spear jabbing into a tail joint. The exoskeleton resisted much of the blow, but enough bronze penetrated to draw blood. The monster whirled to swipe at the Garumnan, but Merrick darted in as it turned, stabbing its tail with his spear.

It whirled again, barreling toward the Hawk with fangs bared.

“You filthy, codger-faced son of a goat!”

Wurhi came screaming back into the fight with Varro’s spear poised. The Zabyallan was out for blood and her weapon drove ferociously into its side. The manticore’s hide proved tougher than a crocodile’s, but her spear sought the softness beneath its ribs.

The point plunged deep enough to scrape entrails.

The monster yowled and whirled about but Agron was there, hedging it in on its blind side. Crixus flanked it and Merrick followed after, jabbing at its haunches. Wurhi roared, stabbing her pole-arm again and again into the beast’s vile countenance, painting its face the same deep scarlet as its mane.

Now the others ran forward, their courage bolstered by their companions. They darted in and picked at its blind side each time it turned. The crowd’s din diminished to stunned silence as the beast’s roars wilted to low, broken cries.

Dozens of tiny wounds soon stained tawny fur. Blood poured down its brow to run into its remaining eye. The hunt-leader’s pet panicked, its movements growing frenzied as it went blind. It sniffed the air, but its cries were plaintive.

When a shield bearer came too close, its thrashing tail knocked her from her feet.

It leapt upon the fallen tormentor. Her screams died quickly beneath slashing claws and jaws clamped around her head. It mauled her with abandon; the beast had passed through pain to drink deep of its rage.

This proved its undoing.

Merrick the Hawk darted forth in a blur.

Leonine ears twitched, but too late. The thief rammed his spear into its side and bit deep, skewering an arm’s length of wood and bronze into viscera.

The manticore stiffened with a deafening cry.

Crixus and Agron sprang upon it, impaling their spears through its flanks. Its shrieks ebbed, drowning in a gurgle of blood. The once fearsome beast toppled to its side as the captives rushed in to hew the abomination.

“No! No! Stand up!” the hunt-leader wailed. “Stand, my pet!”

Berard stared, transfixed. Adelmar gaped. Haldrych cursed and whinged for all to hear.

Yet, the Sacred Alpha only watched from above, his face as impassive as marble. He raised his hand.

Croom.

The gate that brought forth the manticore rose once again.

“Oh, shit!” Wurhi cursed. There would be no reprieve.

Tawny claws cut trenches into the sand beneath the rising gate. When it ascended high enough, the remaining two manticores squeezed through, snarling in near-human wrath.

“No…” Merrick murmured.

A grave mood descended upon the survivors. Their breaths were heavy and stricken with effort. Their numbers were diminished by near one third. One of those beasts had slain three while they had been fresh. Two would annihilate them now.

Roaring their pleasure, the crowd’s bleak mood shifted.

“Yes!” the hunt-leader cried. “See what those filthy lambs did to your brother!? Punish them, my pets! Punish them for all to witness!”

The manticores snarled.

Wurhi snarled right back. She was beyond fear now, and hope had died within her. The Zabyallan prepared to charge. If one of these things was to make a meal of her, she would be damn sure it would plummet to the hells in her wake.

Croom.

The thief froze, glancing to the side. Another gate slowly ascended, revealing a darkened passage. All froze. The cultists slowly fell silent. The slaves stood rigid and transfixed. Even the manticores froze.

The Zabyallan’s nostrils flared. Fear returned. A new predator’s scent filled her senses.

“S…” the hunt-leader stuttered. “Sacred Alpha? What…what is this?”

The iron-built man did not spare him a glance. “It is punishment, Hunt Leader Jairus. Your punishment.” Something stirred in the dark of the grim passage. Something immense.

“P-punishment, Sacred Alpha? Lord Milos?”

Milos of Crotonia leaned his chin against his fist. “Your failure has cost the pack in great measure. Your pets’ lives will pay that price.”

“Sacred Alpha, I-!”

“Enough.” Milos’ deep voice held a note as final as the crack of doom.

Jairus shuddered and slowly sank back into his seat.

The dark shifted. Eyes flashed within.

A beast silently emerged from the passage.

“Bloody piss!” Merrick swore. “Look at the size of it!”

Wurhi recalled members of Avernix’s horde who boasted of trapping sabre-toothed tigers: great hunting cats larger than lions with fangs so lengthy they jutted beneath their lower jaws. This was the form of cat that prowled into the arena.

A thick brown coat sheathed a body that radiated a culmination of physical power.

Primal grace marked its every movement as it stalked forward with ears lowered against a skull that would have suited a battering ram.

Curving claws that shamed daggers dug deep into the sand, and a stubby tail extended behind. Shining upper fangs stretched down beneath its lower jaw, their points surpassing those of steel spears.

The cat’s sheer size balked Wurhi.

It loomed as enormous as a rhinoceros; with shoulders rising higher than many men at full height. The great, muscular mass that drove it exceeded the bulk of all three manticores combined.

Worst were its eyes. They were the familiar yellow orbs of a tiger or lion, but they gleamed with an intellect unlike any beast Wurhi had encountered. Even the manticores’ craftiness seemed low compared to the cold sapience in its terrible gaze.

The beast stalked forward until it stood between the slaves and the two lion-bodied monstrosities. It slowly raised its head toward Milos of Crotonia. For a brief moment, a flash of anger showed in its calculating eyes, but that quickly fell away to subservience.

“Sacred Alpha,” the hunt-leader moaned. “Please, show mercy. My pets are like yours! I raised them from cubs-”

The Sacred Alpha waved indifferently toward the manticores.

“Slay them.”

The fanged cat shot forth.

Wurhi had hardly seen it move: a fact made all the more terrible by its great size. The manticores bared their fangs and rushed to defend themselves.

Schrrrrrip!

With a sweep of claw, the tiger tore apart one human-like face, shredding it like parchment. Blood sprayed through deep gashes that exposed bone.

The other monster snarled, jabbing forth its tail, but its massive opponent pounced sideways with impossible grace. Without hesitation it charged, its bulk knocking the manticore from its feet. Mighty jaws swept down.

Schnk.

Those awful fangs pierced through the mane and deep into the manticore’s skull. The beast stiffened.

Crnch.

Its skull crumbled like decayed walnuts beneath an avalanche. Whirling, the fanged cat sprang onto the other manticore as it writhed on the bloody sand. With a single paw, it flipped the hunt-leader’s maimed pet, and sank fangs deep into the beast’s belly.

Its claws came to bear, raking across tawny flesh to split the tough hide as easily as papyrus. Crimson spread in a pool beneath the struggling beast as jaws and claws tore their way deeper until-

Splatter!

-purple-grey entrails wormed onto the sand, steaming in the cold air.

A stunned silence filled the arena, only broken by dying gurgles.

“Well done.” Milos clapped. “You may return, my pet.”

The beast rose, brown fur soaked from its bloody work. Without a second glance at the twitching manticores, it glided back toward the passage it had emerged from

Sniff.

It paused.

Slowly, those sapient eyes drifted over the slaves to settle upon Wurhi the Rat.

Sniff.

Its nostrils flared again.

The Zabyallan backed away with a choked cry.

Snorting, the cat turned and glided back into the darkened passage.

Croom.

With a groan, the gate lowered behind it.

“By…by all the gods.” Crixus murmured.

“I think I near pissed myself.” Merrick collapsed to the ground.

Wurhi thought she would fall senseless.

“The Struggle is finished,” the Sacred Alpha declared. “Punishment has been meted and Lycundar is fed.” Jairus shuddered beside him, his head buried in his hands.

Milos rose and pointed three times.

Once at Crixus.

Once at Merrick.

Once at Wurhi.

“Bring those three to my chambers,” he commanded.

The Zabyallan stared as the cult leader turned and made his way toward the closest passage. All about, glares of rage burned in the eyes of every cultist.

All were directed at the hapless captives below, particularly at a certain little southlander thief.

Wurhi shuddered.

“Kyembe,” she gasped. “Where are you?”