15th Birthday Collection by Various

Author:Various
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi

Voices

by David Guymer

‘Mighty-great Queek,’ whined the voice. ‘Over-master asked you be wait-still.’

The warlord hissed angrily, writhing in his dilapidated throne like a viper. At last he settled, his legs hanging over the granite armrest, his long serpentine tail coiled like a noose around the tall dwarf-like form of the chair’s high back. Huffing with boredom, he arched his spine, stretching back and down and beyond the throne’s hard edge to collect the sword that lay amidst the shattered bones of conquest strewn about his warren. Idly, he bounced the flat of the blade against his nose.

‘Queek wait-wait,’ he grumbled, kicking his loose footpaws at imaginary foes, watching them bleed. He closed his eyes. He could almost taste the blood, almost hear the screams.

‘Grey seer come soon-soon, for certain-sure,’ reasoned the voice. ‘Best not anger grey-ones. Scary even for Queek, yes?’

‘Is that what they say?’ Queek snarled, his eyelids snapping violently open. ‘Is that what you squeak-talk when you think Queek not listen-hear? Well Queek always listen-hear, and Queek hate-hate grey seers!’

The speaker didn’t answer.

Wise, Queek thought.

Nudging himself upright onto his elbows he glared dead ahead to where, hunched beneath the low ceiling, loomed the near-complete skeleton of a troll. Queek stared at it for a long moment before shaking his head. No, it could not have been that. Boredom and paranoia were obviously making him crazy. The troll had no head, so how could he speak?

Not the troll then, so who? Which of these voices insisted on plaguing him?

His gaze washed over the four walls. From every direction, faces looked upon him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He basked in their chorus of approval, an awed susurrus that was always pleasing to his ears. They hung from great spikes driven into the earthen walls, and for every race that walked, crawled, or bled in this part of the world, there was a fragment of it on these walls. Here hung the tall, reedy skull of an elf, keeping company with a thick-browed orc. Over there, suspended above his entryway on a dozen spikes, mouldered the chitinous claw of a giant scorpion. Every single one of them had fallen by his paw and every one had earned their place on his wall. Still more miscellaneous scraps of bone littered the floor. Queek’s attention span was short, but nothing was thrown away.

His gaze lingered on the elf. Darthurian was his name, a ranger who had thought to delve into Queek’s dominion. Queek grinned, prodding his tongue with his blade until the sharp point summoned a bead of blood. He swallowed it greedily, the metallic taste taking him right back to the moment when it had been Darthurian’s blood welling in his mouth. The elf had been quicker than most – but not as fast as Queek.

‘Elf blood tasty-sweet like honey, yes-yes?’ He tittered as Darthurian glared silently, empty eyes void with rage. He sighed when the elf would still not answer. A pity. Darthurian normally had such a sharp tongue. ‘Too bad you have no little elf-friends,’ he continued.

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