Chapter 2 - Time to Run

With surprising speed, the gnoll lunged forward and grabbed Malfus by the collar, then with surprising strength, lifted him right off the ground with a single hand. Malfus didn’t realize how much taller gnolls were than humans until he was up this close to one staring down its hyena-like snout. It stared back with angry, feral eyes that showed fury and intelligence in equal measures, as well as… hunger.

Malfus’s first instinct as a trained mage was to react with magic, but before he could even begin to draw from his mental repertoire of spells, icy fingers stabbed into his mind with lancing, blinding pain. Gods damn this arcanull! Once his vision returned, he saw the gnoll had a knife drawn, a gleaming point just inches away from his eye. The gnoll shook him and barked something in a strange guttural language, pulling him close enough that he could see its yellow teeth and spit foaming at the corners of its mouth. He could smell the gnoll’s hot, sour breath and its musky body odor, acidic, like urine… or maybe that was him. It was him. Malfus looked down at his soiled robes. The gnoll noticed too, seeming none too pleased as it barked again in what Malfus could only interpret as anger. It snapped its teeth in his face, less than an inch from his nose.

Malfus realized there were vast holes in his knowledge of the gnoll species as a whole, especially their dietary habits. Is it going to eat me right here? Bite my face off before devouring the rest of me? Perhaps pissing myself was a good idea, after all.

Even though Malfus thought he would have welcomed death many times over while imprisoned by the insufferable Inquisitor, now that death was here, staring him in the face with its sharp, snapping teeth, he experienced a sudden change of heart. However he may have felt earlier, Malfus was at this moment, decidedly not ready to die. He was ready to walk back the way they came and start this journey all over, without complaining, without sarcasm, without even his boots, anything… if he just got to survive this.

It looked like this was not to be the case, however. Malfus gasped for air as the gnoll’s hand tightened around his windpipe. It pushed the knife against his neck until Malfus could feel it bite into his flesh. He was at least grateful the knife was sharp and well kept, so the gnoll wouldn’t be sawing through his neck. He was grateful most of all that it seemed like the gnoll would not be biting his face off or eating him alive. Malfus closed his eyes as he felt the knife press harder into his neck. No! No, you kobold-hearted chicken! Open your damn eyes, face your fears for once in your life! Face them in your death at least, you coward.

Malfus forced his eyes open. The gnoll was still there in the same position, knife against his neck, hand around his throat. It seemed to be waiting for Malfus to do something. Maybe it was hoping Malfus would beg and scream more, or soil himself again. Unsure of what to do as he stared at the gnoll in this most intimate of moments, Malfus spit a mouthful blood in its face.

The gnoll’s eyes went wide in anger and it looked like it might be reconsidering biting Malfus’s face off. Before it could, the gnoll hesitated for a second and then made a strange, confused expression, right before a silver blade erupted from underneath its snout, shooting up right between its eyes. It let out a noise that was somewhere between a gurgle and a disappointed hiss as it crumpled to the ground. Malfus fell with it, but for once today luck was on his side and he managed to land on his feet, right next to the Inquisitor.

He looked tired now and was covered in splatters of blood. Malfus wasn’t entirely sure it all belonged to the gnolls. The Inquisitor’s hat was crumpled, and the red feather was missing, his cloak was gone entirely, and his black leather armor was torn. He was breathing heavily and looked like he was favoring his right leg. It was perhaps the weakest and most vulnerable Malfus had ever seen the Inquisitor, perhaps the only time he had ever seemed vulnerable at all. Now is your chance! Overpower him now! Stab him and get the keys to these damn chains, get what is yours, and get freedom.

The Inquisitor met Malfus’s stare without saying a word, just looked at him with a gaze that cut right through him to the bone. A look that said: Try me. Try me, you pathetic worm. I won’t kill you, just injure you enough to make the journey that much more miserable for you.

Malfus coughed. “Guess you’ll need a new rope.” He offered up meekly, holding his arms out, the frayed edge of it dangled uselessly a few inches from his wrists.

Malfus heard a distant howl come from behind him and looked over to see another gnoll on top of the hill. Malfus wondered why it howled, if it was mourning the death of its comrades, or perhaps as a threat or curse to the two of them. His question was answered a few seconds later after there was another matching howl, and then another from a different direction, followed by several more, too distant and too numerous to count, blending into a single mournful note of impending doom.

Malfus gritted his teeth, realizing his face was drenched in cold sweat. He raised his arms so he could wipe his face on his filthy sleeve, then glared at the Inquisitor. Now you’ve done it, you idiot. Led us right into bloody gnoll country with only one bloody horse. You could have just left me in Monrovia, left me to my work instead of leading us both on a suicide mission just to get me killed, anyway.

The Inquisitor reached out blindingly fast, Malfus jumped, but his reflexes were an oafish afterthought compared to the Inquisitor’s. The Inquisitor grabbed tight to Malfus’s collar, pulling him as close as the gnoll did. Malfus hoped he couldn’t smell his urine-soaked robes over the blood and stench of combat. The Inquisitor lifted two fingers to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle, right in Malfus’s ear. Malfus reeled, trying to pull away, but the Inquisitor held on tight.

“What are you do- Gaaaaahhhhkkkk!” Malfus’s question got stuck halfway in his throat. The sky flashed briefly overhead as he was lifted backwards off his feet by the collar. Pain wracked his cracked ribs and stole his breath as he landed hard on the horse’s flank behind the saddle.

“Hold on!” Was all Malfus heard the Inquisitor yell before the horse took off in a jarring gallop. Malfus wanted to call out, wanted to scream out in pain, wanted to curse all the gods, and desperately wanted to say something dripping with sarcasm, but air just hissed through his teeth. Malfus tried to cushion his aching side from the bouncing, but succeeded in neither with his bound hands and struggled just to hold on.

Malfus tried to concentrate instead, tried to remember some scraps of his training from the magic academy, to shut out the pain that pounded into his side with the horse’s every stride. It didn’t seem to help. All he could feel was the burning pain hammering into him. He felt like a cherry-red-hot piece of metal in the piercing grip of blacksmith’s tongs, pressed against an iron-hard anvil and being hammered upon. The more he tried to concentrate, the more focused the pain became. No, this won’t work. Something else, think of something else.

Malfus looked up at the sky instead. It was getting darker now. It’s amazing how quickly darkness comes once the sun begins to crest behind the horizon. Minutes ago, an orange fiery sky, now a sneering maroon bruise with twinkling stars glimmering under the full moon. Malfus felt the wind from the trees whip at his hair they passed so close to them. He pulled his head and feet in tighter to the horse, sending aching pain down the side of his body. Better than dashing my head to pieces against a tree, I suppose.

The whistle of an arrow, a sound that Malfus was starting to become increasingly familiar with, came from close by overhead, followed by more chittering laughter.

“Hyah!” The Inquisitor kicked his horse into a harder gallop.

Malfus heard several more arrows all around them. He tried to squeeze his exposed sides up closer against the horse’s flanks, unsure if darkness and the inability to move made being shot at by arrows any better or worse than when he could see them. He decided it probably didn’t matter, since he was too slow and clumsy to have any chance of dodging one, anyway. All Malfus had to rely on was dumb luck.

Taunting hyena laughter haunted the air and echoed through the trees in a mocking chorus that came from all sides now. The fear induced by the maddening noise was made worse by the night’s darkness and the uncountable numbers it hid. Malfus might have soiled himself again if his bladder had anything left.

Where are we going? What’s the plan here? Malfus wanted to ask, but his side hurt so badly all he could muster was a wheezing cough. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take. He thought about just rolling off right onto the ground. Surely, the soft earth and mud would be much more comforting than the jarring hindquarters of this galloping nightmare.

He wasn’t even aware of his ribs anymore, just the pain itself. It came in nauseating waves, each one threatening to release a tide of vomit. Malfus wondered if some sort of confession would be tortured out of him when he got to wherever the Inquisitor was taking him. Surely, whatever they had to offer couldn’t be much worse than this. Malfus’s head was spinning, and he was certain he had just blacked out for a few seconds. He started to see glimmering, golden globes of light swirling around in front of them. He blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision, but the lights were still there in a steady line. Not a hallucination, some sort of torch-lit wall, a sign of civilization out here in the Farlands at last. Salvation. Malfus’s head was still reeling, and he felt like he was starting to black out again. He thought he could hear a muffled voice call out from far away.

“Hold on! Just a little bit farther!”