“If you do not stand up for the Vibría in this matter, you will lose our loyalty.” Lady Vatusia’s voice lowers to the softest growl as she speaks. “We are an old race with a long memory; we will not be used as bargaining chips while you play with our lives!” The lady’s body elongates, her hair rising up around her head until it becomes an oversized hood. Scales etch into her skin as her arms and legs fuse together. Soon, Lady Vatusia is gone—only an oversized cobra remains.
Alaric smiles to himself as he watches her slither up the side of his tub. Although he knows she intends to be seen as a threat, Alaric struggles to stifle a laugh. “A viper—even one was beautiful as you, my lady—can lose its head just like a common garden snake. Your threats mean little to me.”
Still, a new idea occurs to Alaric as he considers the lady’s serpentine form, I’ve only ever sent spies who were born here in Déchets into that wretched land. What if I sent someone who can blend into the ways of Cassè because they’ve lived there? He or she would be like this beautiful lady, a snake hiding in plain sight. My enemies wouldn’t feel the bite until it was too late!
“My lady, you’ve given me a wonderful plan. Emeric!” The king hollers as his mind ruminates, stopping only when the red face of his brainless lordship appears at the door. “Escort the lady back to her quarters, and offer her whatever gold or jewels she wants from my vaults. Then bring my captain of the guards to me.”
“I don’t want money! I want justice!” Lady Vatusia hisses as she shifts back into her human skin.
“You will have it, my lady, “Alaric whispers with a sly smile. “Just as I will finally have Cassè, all because of you.”
***
The next day, Wolf disappears from the House of Vultures. Once again, he leaves Cyrus strapped to the chair in the living room. A black ooze puddles in the floor around him, the only remnants of Wolf’s secret weapon. Without the conscious mind of the shape shifter, it cannot take a humanoid shape, Suryc whispers to soothe Cyrus’s terrors as he watches the dark matter carefully, terrified it will suddenly rise up once more. You have nothing more to fear from it.
“What was it?” Cyrus asks, barely able to force his lungs to draw breath from the depths of his anxiety. “What kind of monster did I face?”
It is the enemy of Ddraigs, the antagonistic, demon creature that resides in Déchets, Suryc answers with a shudder that ripples through Cyrus’s raw mind. The existence of the Vibría is part of why our land divided all those centuries ago. Vibría and Ddraigs are mortal enemies; one cannot exist where the other dwells without conflict, ruination, and death.
Cyrus ceases any further conversation with Suryc, drifting into a fitful sleep. His fragile mind relives the tortures, recalling every detail in horrifying clarity. Cyrus wakes as evening falls, a scream pouring from his body in agonizing waves. Only the sight of the puddle on the floor brings him any measure of comfort. What will I do when I leave this place? Cyrus wonders as he stares deeper into the blackness of the Vibria’s quivering ichor. What will I do when I no longer have this stain on the floor to remind me that the monster is dead? Will that be the moment when I finally lose hold of reality?
As the last rays of sunlight fade into night, Wolf returns to the House of Vultures. Standing in the kitchen, he brandishes a knife over an open flame in the fire pit. Jackal and Fox sit at the table, watching intently as Wolf hovers over their roasted supper.
“Well?” Jackal finally asks as the seconds drag by. “Are we going to eat or just watch you stare at our food, oh fearless leader?”
Wolf slams the knife tip hard into the wooden platter. “Get what you want and eat with the rest of the pack if you are so hungry!”
Jackal raises his hands in surrender, a pained look in his eyes. “Easy, I was only joking.” With wordless prodding from Fox, Jackal reaches for a bowl, grabs a few slices of charred game meat, and disappears out the door before Wolf can growl another threat.
“Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?” Fox rises and reaches for his own plate.
“Shut up, Fox,” Wolf growls, plopping hard into a rickety chair. “Eat fast, then get the troops ready. We are travelling tomorrow.”
“Where to?” Fox asks, eyeing his disheveled leader in cool, almost clinical assessment. Taking notes of the severe bags under Wolf’s eyes, and the way his jaw clenches and twitches at every miniscule sound, he gently counsels, “You don’t look well, old friend. I think you need to take a couple of days and get some rest. You’re not prepared for a long journey.”
“We travel to the House of Piranhas. Our trip should take no more than a week if the battle is easy. When we are back here, I will sleep in peace,” Wolf replies, wiping his bleary eyes as he forks the game meat on his plate, wishing he had an appetite.
“Battle?” Fox frowns at the word. “We have no argument with the Piranhas. If you’re trying to build a master house like Mynah suggested, it is a fool’s errand.”
“We will succeed,” Wolf whispers, his eyes glittering with rage and madness. “She foretold that we would.”
“Are you sure that it is wise to follow this path?” Fox asks, keeping his voice
