He dragged himself along for another foot. His body’s instinct for survival hadn’t given up, even if his mind had. His fingers fastened around something that wasn’t stone. A metal grate. It took a moment for his addled brain to understand what it was—a grill into the sewer beneath the castle.
Murdus, hadn’t forgotten him. The god had given him one last chance to survive.
The flap of the toadoks’ feet echoed from behind.
Goron hooked his fingers around the metal and pulled. The grate rose six inches before it slipped from his numb fingers and clanked back into place. If the toadoks couldn’t see in the darkness, they would know where he was now.
Goron tried the grate again. As he lifted it up, he managed to manoeuvre his foot beneath the edge to prevent it slipping back. He needn’t have worried. This time his fingers did not betray him.
His head swam over the dark hole. Below, he could hear the trickle of water and smell the stench of human waste. The fall might kill him, and if it didn’t, would he have the strength or the control to stay afloat in the stream of sewage?
He had no choice. He tumbled into the hole headfirst, righting his position to something less suicidal as he fell. The best he could do was a belly flop into Wichsault’s waste. He didn’t have the sense to close his mouth, and it filled with the castle’s filth.
The water wasn’t deep, only four feet, and his face touched the bottom. He pushed up to the surface, twisting onto his back with the last of his strength. Then he was floating—caught in a faecal current. The grey world around him was lit up by other grates and latrines.
If someone had told him, before he opened his eyes in the morning, that by day’s end he would be caught in bed with a repulsive demon, then float like a turd through Wichsault’s sewer, he would have thought them insane.
Goron guided himself through the narrow tunnels with the push of a foot or poke of a finger. But with each passing second, control of his body slipped from him. If he continued at the mercy of the water’s current, soon he wouldn’t have the power to stay afloat.
If he wanted to live, he needed to find the strength to clamber up onto the walkway that ran parallel to the stream. He tried to stand, but his legs no longer supported him, and his head sank under the sewage a second time. Gagging, he surfaced and clung to the stone wall. His legs drifted under him as he fought for breath. His arms were too weak to hold on much longer let alone pull him to safety.
This was an even worse death than dying from a tadpole invasion, hardly the stuff of legends. With a soundless battle cry, he hitched up his leg and pushed himself over.
Exhausted, Goron lay in the gloom listening to the drip of water. He didn’t know how long he remained like that but when he tried to stir, he found not even his eyes would move.
Another sound came out of the shadows, the scurry of feet—too faint to be the leathery pads of the toadoks. It grew closer. Out the corner of his eye, Goron spotted a rat stealing towards him. He wanted to shout at it, kick it away, but his body refused to work.
The rat, eyes nervously darting, nose twitching, approached the exposed flesh of his forearm, between his chainmail shirt and bracer, and began to chew. Others, embolden by their comrade’s success, scurried from the shadows eager to share the meal. One chose Goron’s ear and began to gnaw on the cartilage. It was painless but the sound deafening. Another tore at the flesh of his cheek. That didn’t concern him as much as the rat that climbed onto his crotch and started to gnaw at his leather leggings. Oh well, I doubt I was ever going to use that again anyway.
“This is horrible,” Morwen said looking around at all the people huddled together in the keep’s small hall. She’d spent her whole life living within, and never venturing beyond, the castle walls. When she wanted to be alone, though, there was always somewhere to hide. Little nooks in rooms, forgotten corridors, and abandoned halls provided ideal spots for her escape.
“It’s ghastly,” Szat agreed. “There isn’t a bite to be found anywhere. You’d think someone would have had the sense to hide a few snacks at least.” Szat scum-green eyes widened. “You don’t suppose I could starve to death do you?” The demon grabbed a handful of fat from his round belly and cried in anguish, “I’m wasting away.”
Morwen shook her head in exasperation. It was always about food with him. It got tiresome.
An infant’s screams echoed through the hall. Szat sat up straight and searched for the child in the crowd. A bundle of plump flesh and brown curls squirmed in her mother’s arms.
“Don’t even think about it,” Morwen warned.
“I’d never,” the demon huffed.
Morwen wasn’t convinced and decided to put as much distance between the baby and Szat as possible. The crowd parted to give the black-robed warlock space. Morwen found a small alcove that was occupied only by an elderly couple who didn’t look gastronomically tempting. She sat on the cold stone floor and closed her eyes. The thud of toadoks’ fists and weapons upon the heavy, wooden doors reverberated around her. The toadoks wouldn’t get inside that way, but how long would it be until they had the sense to fashion a battering ram?
She closed her mind to the commotion. The first twinges of a headache were starting behind her eyes. She dug her fingers into her scalp trying to massage the pain away. Szat sucked on her hair.
“Morwen.” Someone kicked her leg.
Morwen’s eyes flashed open. It was Jasin; she should have guessed. No one else
