The 9th Fortress

Taking it in both hands, I remembered how Kat held off bogs in the wood — that is how I wanted to fight — a blur of man and steel. With training from Bludgeon, I wondered if it was possible.

'Can I really learn to sword fight?' I asked him, excited. 'Hardly Zorro, am I?'

'I don't know who that is,' he said. 'Don't care to find out neither!'

'Well, can I have another sword master? If this weapon has taken forty-seven lives then it shows. It's rusty, see?'

Bludgeon grinned, inspecting the rust caked over my blade. He left me now to choose another sword from the wall. Once he made his choice, Bludgeon left his spear leaning against a wall then re-joined me on the carpet. 'Rusty, eh?' he said, picking his nose. 'What a coincidence… so am I.'

With a swiping flash, Bludgeon swung his new sword through my old one, cutting the steel in two. Flabbergasted, I held the hilt of the broken thing whilst Bludgeon thoughtfully ate whatever he found up his nose. 'Too advanced for the speck, me thinks. Yes. Too advanced!'

He threw his sword lazily to the floor. I did the same and waited for the next lesson — a lesson I would never forget.

'Now!' he exclaimed. 'There is a good way of punching a man… and there is a bad way.'

CRUNCH!

Bludgeon's fist unrepentantly smashed across my face, those beefing shoulders and chunky biceps powering a locomotive blow. There followed a queasy crack as I dropped to the rug.

'That is a good way,' he added, pleased with himself. 'Done incorrectly, you’re likely to break your wrist, your fingers, knuckles. Bloody excruciating let me tell you!'

My eyes filled with tears and a hot liquid dripped and grew under my nose, becoming one with the shaggy red of the rug. I made a confused cup with my palms and a pool of blood collected inside.

'You, you broke my mose!'

'I know!' he laughed. 'Haven't you been paying attention?! Oh dear, there's some bone protruding from your face. That is disgusting speck! How can I eat with that in mind?'

Locking hands behind his back, Bludgeon strolled around my messy heap. 'Clean yourself up! Time to get sharper! Faster! Fitter! I want twenty miles around this area some time today. Twice a day, everyday — respectable pace you hear?! Endurance speck — endurance! Test tonight — have those books memorized. I will expect my bath in seventeen minutes time. Seventeen!'

The master then retrieved his spear and left me holding my bloated face. I wanted to cry… and did.

11. Godsend

I sat at the dining table, engrossed in this latest book. Despite Bludgeon's assurances that maggots were a good source of energy and protein, my breakfast bowl of those creamy worms remained uneaten. There was a permanent scar cross the bridge of my nose and both my eyes were now as black as Kat's, at least, as I last remembered them.

I hadn't seen the master today but wasn't worried. I didn't care; it was nice not to be smothered for a change, ushered on or poked at. I'd a fair idea of his whereabouts anyway — lost in a stash of his own moonshine, the old horse could drown in it as far as I was concerned.

This book, entitled: Predators of the Under Realms, was full of information regarding monsters found in the Distinct Earth, and the Hell below it. Written in charcoal, there was no apparent author and many missing pages, but of the hundred books I had read here, this was my favourite. There were around fifty chapters, each describing a creature from the darkest reaches of ones imagination, plus the Achilles- heel for vanquishing it. For instance, did you know that if you whistle to a Sparry Barrack (or hairy green fish to me), it will turn to an instant pool of phantasmal slime? Did you also know that if you clapped your hands five times, no more and no less, to the killer Karakas Beetle it will shrink to the size of an edible peanut?

The black angels of chapter five intrigued me; ghostly couriers who drag sentenced souls from the Waiting Plain to their intended dooms. These transit angels did not discriminate, they simply delivered.

Arriving at chapter seventeen, it described a dinosaur race called the Dreadknot. A sketch of the creature was included — weird shapes and scribbles mostly, similar to those cards psychologists hold up to ask what prays on your mind. Below that vague image however was a chilling, and perfectly discernible quote — 'Part dark, part day — the inescapable nightmare…'

The immortal chapter sucked me in like none before. The under realms contained a rare handful of these indestructible beings — the invincible predators. Amongst them was a flesh eater called the Scurge, and a pack of flying mammals who could manipulate the weather itself; most interestingly, the immortal chapter did not include Bludgeon, or even the wizard Scarfell. They were not invincible, just very old and tired.

This was the first time I felt safe in the Distinct Earth; not at ease, simply… safe. None of the horrors described in this book could ever reach me down here; the sound of occasionally colliding walls upstairs reassured me of that. There was only one horror I had to worry about now — the one I called master.

Kat was right about Bludgeon, the king demanded too much from my mind and body; there was no satisfying him and his moods were growing worse by the day. It was as if he never got used to my face, the sight of it was always a nasty surprise to him.

'What are you doing?' he asked.

My stomach leapt and I was annoyed by that reaction; after all, Bludgeon was always watching. I peeked up from the book while he strode out of the darkness. 'I am reading, sir. Number six today.'

Bludgeon continued forward, scratching his nails over the wooden table. 'Reading at the dinner table?' he asked. 'I have a library for reading and a dinner hall for eating. This is the dinner hall!'

Clearly drunk, he was also nursing a bleeding lump on his forehead. 'What happened master? You're bleeding!'

'What of it?' he complained. 'Well?'

I shook my head, squeezed the pages of the book and hoped he would go away. In his right hand, Bludgeon held a golden goblet of wine, which soaked his beard through. 'Who are you to read my work?' he hissed. 'Did I say you could touch that book with your greasy fingers? That book?'

'It was on the schedule, master. Did you write this? It's…amazing!'

I wasn't kidding, but Bludgeon couldn't give a shit. He opened his mouth and a lingering burp left it. The master was cruising for a fight, so I became extremely cautious. My every word and expression would be considered; I would not rise to any bait or stoke his fire. Discipline Danny! Discipline!

'You asked me to read,' I said, sheepishly; 'that the library was open to me… With cooking, cleaning and laps, this is the only chance I get to do so in the day.'

An unusual thing suddenly caught my eye — the master no longer held his spear. His stalwart support was gone. 'Master…where is your weapon?'

This simple question provoked a violent reaction. Bludgeon threw his golden goblet at me, and I watched it turn in flight before thumping off my head. Disorientated, I dabbed fingers at the new gash pumping hot above my left eyebrow.

'You spilled my wine!' Bludgeon exclaimed. 'Do think it amusing to spill someone's drink! Does this bring pleasure to you boy? Well, answer me!'

I wiped my face with the tarpaulin coat, and weeks and months of patience, discipline, and restraint were found wanting. Hurtling at pace, I returned the goblet, and it smacked my master full in the jaw.

Briefly, Bludgeon leant dizzily to one side but remained on all fours. Seemingly ready to burp again, he spat out three of his teeth to the table… He examined these crooked objects with great confusion, and when his brain eventually told him what they were, he roared like the animal he was, sending a snow of crystal down onto our heads. Then, like a great ape, he bashed his fists against his chest and charged for me. Ignoring the stones piercing my bare feet and arms shredding off the walls, I moved fast, fast, fast — purest survival driving me from that pursuing monster.

'Get back here!' he howled, too livid to think of a swear word.

I reached my cell and slammed the door shut. The gust blew out the never-ending torch light, so working in