The Lord of the Mutants, part 2

Elysia noticed that all the patrons were looking at the innkeeper strangely, as if he had spoken at the wrong time, or said something they had never expected him to say. But she dismissed that thought. Maybe they were just scared. Who wouldn't be with a servant of the Dark Powers housed in the castle that overlooked the town?

“He is wicked like a dragon with a toothache. Isn't that right, Helmut?"

The peasant the innkeeper had just spoken to froze in place like a rat staring at a snake.

"Isn't that right, Helmut?" the innkeeper repeated.

"It's not so bad," replied the farmer. "Considering how evil warlocks are."

"Why don't you storm the castle?" Frey asked, and Elysia thought that if the dark hero couldn't guess the answer from the beaten-dog looks of those louts he was more stupid than he looked.

"Because the monster is there, sir" replied the farmer at the same time that he dragged his feet and looked at the floor again.

"The monster?" Frey asked with more than a hint of professional interest. "A big monster, I guess."

“Huge, sir. Twice the size of a man and covered in all sorts of hideous mu…, mu…, mu…”

"Mutations?" Elysia suggested.

"Yes ma'am, one of those things."

"Why don't you ask Bergheim for help?" she wanted to know Elysia. “Adventurers would be interested in facing such threats.”

The peasant gave him a look of incomprehension.

“We don't know where Bergheim is, ma'am. None of us has ever been more than half a league from Blutdorf. Who will take care of the wives if we leave the village?”

"And then there are the mutants," chimed in another patron. "The forest is full of them, and they all serve the witcher."

"Also the mutants?" Frey seemed almost cheerful. "I think we're going to visit the castle, Elysia."

"I was afraid of that," Elysia sighed.

"You don't want to say that you want to attack the sorcerer and his monster" said one of the villagers.

"With your help, we will soon rid Blutdorf of that scourge," Elysia answered dryly as she ignored the terrible look Frey gave her.

"No, ma'am, we can't help you."

"Why not? Are you unworthy cowards?

It was a stupid question, but the catgirl thought she had to ask it. It wasn't that she blamed the townspeople for her attitude, as under normal circumstances she would have been less than willing to confront a Warlock and his monstrous pet.

"No, ma'am," replied the man. "It's just that he has our children up there...He's holding them hostage!"

“To your children?”

“Yes ma'am, every last one of them. Him and his monster came down here and took them away. And there was no way to resist then either. When Great Norri tried, the monster tore off his arms and forced him to eat them; it was horrible."

Elysia didn't like the gleam that had appeared in the dark hero's eyes at all.

Frey's enthusiasm to reach the castle and fight the monster radiated throughout the room like the heat of a huge bonfire. The catgirl didn't feel so sure, and she shared the townspeople's lack of enthusiasm for direct confrontation.

“No doubt you will want to free your children,” Elysia commented.

"Yes, but we don't want them to be killed, and the warlock will hand them over to the monster if we give him any trouble."

Elysia looked at Frey, and Frey jerked a thumb meaningfully at the crags where the castle stood.

Elysia realized that he was eager to be on his way, hostages or not, and with a sinking feeling she realized that there would be no way out of this situation. Sooner or later, Ella and Frey would end up paying a visit to the castle. Desperate, she searched for a way to postpone the inevitable.

"This requires a plan," she said. "Innkeeper, pour us some more of that fine ale."

The man smiled and began to pour two mugs while Elysia noticed that Frey was looking at her suspiciously; she then realized that she was not showing the proper enthusiasm for the situation. The innkeeper returned and placed two more mugs of ale before them as he grinned excitedly.

“One for the road,” Elysia said, raising the pitcher, and she took a sip that tasted even worse than the ones she had previously taken. Because of the taste, she wasn't too sure, but she thought the beer had a slight chemical aftertaste. Whatever it was, a few more sips left her dizzy and nauseous. She noticed that Frey had finished his and was ordering another, that the innkeeper was bringing it to her and Frey was gulping it down. Then her eyes widened, she clutched her throat, and then she fell like a felled tree.

It took Elysia a moment to understand what had happened, and she stumbled forward to examine her companion. Her feet felt like lead, her head was spinning, and nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She knew something was wrong there, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was something she had to do with beer. She had never seen Frey fall before, no matter how much she drank, and she herself had never felt so bad, not after drinking a few pitchers.

She turned to look at the innkeeper, the man's silhouette rippling as if she were looking at him through frosted glass. She pointed an accusing finger at him.

“You drugged… I mean drugged… no, I mean you drank our drugs,” she said, and she fell to her knees.

“Thank you for that, Mammon. She thought they would never fall. I've put enough on the big guy to knock down two horses.

Elysia fumbled for the sword, but her fingers were numb and she slumped back into darkness.

“And it costs me a gold coin a pinch,” the innkeeper muttered. His sulky voice was the last thing Elysia heard before she slipped into unconsciousness. "Mr. Roger, however, will pay me well for two such fine specimens."

♦ ♦ ♦

"Wake up, Elysia!"

Her deep voice thundered somewhere near Elysia's ear, and she tried to ignore it in the hope that it would leave her and allow her to return to her dream.

"Wake up, Elysia, or I swear I'll go there and strangle you with these very chains!"

Then there was a note of menace in her voice that convinced Elysia that she had better pay attention to him. She opened her eyes…and she wished she hadn't.

Even the dim light from the single swaying torch that illuminated her cell was too bright, and her faint glow hurt his eyes. In a way, it was the right thing to do because she made them match the rest of her body. Her pulse was pounding inside her skull, like a hammered gong, and she felt as if someone had used her head for kick practice. Her mouth was dry as a desert and her tongue felt as if someone had rubbed it with sandpaper.

"I have the worst hangover of my life," she muttered as she licked her lips nervously.

“It's not a hangover. Us…"

"They drugged us, I know."

Elysia realized that she was standing and that she had her hands raised above her head and something heavy strapped to her ankles. She tried to lean over to see what it was, but she found that she couldn't move. She looked up to see that she was hanging in shackles with chains attached to a large iron hoop attached to the wall above her. This was confirmed by her as she looked across the room and saw that Frey was being held by the same system.

Frey hung from the chains like a beef in the butcher's shop. As expected he didn't have his powerful armor with him. But even if she Frey possessed an imposing appearance.

She looked around the cell; they were in a large room, paved with heavy slabs of stone, on the walls of which were a dozen sets of similar chains and shackles; from the farthest one hung a strangely deformed skeleton. Against the wall to the left stood a workbench littered with stills and charcoal burners, as well as other alchemist's instruments. In the center of the room, there was a huge pentagram drawn in chalk and surrounded by peculiar hieroglyphics. At each of the five-pointed star crossings, a beast-man skull appeared, supporting an unlit candle made of wax.

To the right of the cell, a stone staircase led up to a solid door, in which there was a small round window through which a few rays of sunlight filtered into the inner darkness; Near the foot of the stairs Elysia saw her sword, Frey's armor, and Frey's greatsword. She then experienced a brief sense of hope. Whoever she'd disarmed them hadn't been very thorough in searching her, for she could still feel the weight of the throwing dagger she carried concealed in her forearm sheath. Of course, there was no way she could use it with her arms in shackles, but somehow it was comforting to know that she had it.

The air was stale and fetid. In the distance, Felix thought he heard screams, songs, and bestial roars, like a combination of the noises of a hospital for the insane and a zoo. Nothing in the situation in which they found themselves reassured him.

"Why did the innkeeper drug us?" Elysia asked.

“He was in cahoots with the sorcerer; it's obvious."

"Or I was afraid of him." If she could, the catgirl would have shrugged. "Anyway, I wonder why we're still alive."

A high-pitched snigger answered the question. The heavy door creaked open, and two figures blocked the light. There was a brief flash as someone struck a match, and then a lantern was lit and catgirl could see the source of the mocking laughter.

"Good question, Elysia, and it will be my great pleasure to answer you."

"There's something very familiar about that voice." Elysia thought. She was sharp, nasal, and deeply unpleasant, and she had heard it before.

She narrowed her eyes, looking towards the stairs, and distinguished the owner of that voice, which was as unpleasant as herself. He was a tall, skinny man, dressed in gray robes, faded, battered, and patched at sleeves and elbows. Around his gaunt neck hung a chain with a huge amulet. His long, slender fingers were covered in rune-engraved rings, and topped with long, blackened nails. A great upturned collar framed his pale, sweaty face, and a silver-trimmed skullcap crowned his head.

Behind the man was a hulking creature that towered over the man by half a body in height and weighed four times his weight. Perhaps once he had been a human being, but then he was the size of an ogre. Large patches of hair had fallen out, and her head and his skin were covered in huge pustules. The features of his face were misshapen and monstrous, his teeth like millstones. He had arms even more muscular than Frey's and thicker than Elysia's thighs, and hands the size of banquet trays. The callused, sausage-sized fingers seemed poised to crack a stone, and Elysia found herself unable to meet the thing's eyes, so she turned her attention back to the human.

He had a sharp, lined face; Madness gleamed in his palest blue eyes, only half concealed by the steel-rimmed glasses. His nose was long, thin, and topped by a very large wart, and snot hung from it. The man laughed again, sniffed the mucus back into his nostrils, and wiped away with a sleeve. Then, his dignity restored, he threw back his head and walked determinedly down the stairs. But this effect of impressive sorcerous dignity was somewhat spoiled when he nearly stepped on the edge of his robe and fell headlong.

It was this last detail that triggered Elysia's memory and brought back the memory of her.