Page 11 of The Howling
“And not while they use creatures like the Barghest to further their aims,” Lilburn says darkly. “He was the war. Until the Reaper took him back.”
REAVELY
Ismell the Faerie Lord before I see him. The sickly scent of his magic crackles in my nostrils. I move to the rear of my cage. I don’t want to see another Faerie as long as I live.
“Barghest. Show yourself,” one of his pathetic lackeys calls out.
I huff into the straw I’m lying in. No one but a Faerie would want to see me.
“You’re going to want to hear what I have to say, Reavely,” Lord Guyzance says.
“I can hear well enough where I am,” I growl.
I feel the pull of the magic. But magic doesn’t work on damned creatures like me.
It does, however, work on the straw, pulling the stuff from under me. I rise with a snarl, throwing myself at the bars with all the force I can muster.
They shudder against my onslaught, but they don’t budge…enough.
Of course, the Faerie are standing away from the iron. The look of distaste on the faces of Lord Guyzance’s courtiers at their surroundings is almost worth my loss of dignity after having mybed pulled from under me. One of them, an individual I know as Lord Soulis, hangs back from gaggle.
Doesn’t stop me releasing a number of snarls first in the hope it unnerves them.
“Keeping me here is only going to make your demise all the more painful,” I rasp.
Lord Guyzance laughs, looking down at his hand which is adorned with a jewelled ring on every single finger. Each one will contain some sort of magic and some sort of power. Not that an old Faerie like Guyzance needs any enhancements.
But I know him. I know his intentions. I know what he wants. The same as any Faerie. He wants power and by capturing creatures such as myself, or attempting to get them on his side like he did with the Lambton Wyrm, which failed because the Wyrm is a contrary creature who has no loyalty, he thinks he can get it.
“I have my own arrangements with your master,” Guyzance says. “I have no fear of death.”
“I have no master,” I respond, knowing it is not entirely the truth.
“And yet, here you are.”
I slam my shoulder against the cage once again, making the iron rattle. I see one of the courtiers flinch, his translucent wings fluttering for a long second, and it fills my black heart with enjoyment.
“I won’t be here for long,” I say. “You couldn’t hold me last time.”
“You had help.” Lord Guyzance looks around him. “But where are your friends now?”
I release a low growl. I don’t expect to see the Wyrm or the Brag again. As for the Bluecap, the assassin could still be here for all I know, but he didn’t release me last time, and he won’t offer any assistance unless there’s something in it for him.
“I have no friends.”
“So true.” Guyzance shakes his head. “Which is why you’ll want to hear my proposal, if you ever want to see the moon again.”
I fix my eyes on his.
“Or if you ever want to be free to run.”
I release the catch on my trousers and move to the corner of my cage where I release a long stream of piss. I maintain eye contact as the liquid streams out of me. Behind him, the expressions on the faces of his courtiers say it all. Disgust, anger, and disgust again. One of them, a hot head younger Faerie, moves towards me with a snarl.
As if, somehow, he can get past the iron.
Lord Guyzance puts out his bejewelled hand and stops him before the others pull him back. I give myself a shake and put my prick back.
“You were saying?” I raise my eyebrows. “This is my territory now. I do what I like, and when the Reaper needs me, he will come. No bars will stop him.”
