Sark Ore - Tunnel Rat - 5

He came around slowly. Hammers pounded the inside of his skull. Every breath replayed the dull click in his chest. A second, more sonourous, note snapped in his throat. His jaw ached. Probing a molar with his thirst-thickened tongue, he felt the tooth wobble in the gum. To its right was empty space. His tongue tip brushed jagged enamel and exposed root. A flash of pain wracked his body. Biting down the urge to scream, Sark forced his eyes open. Dried blood and debris sealed the left shut. Swollen flesh throbbed its complaint. A lighter crust crumbled as he forced his right open. Light flooded his narrowed eye. The multi stranded specturm, ranging from red to deep ultraviolet, seared his retina. He hissed through clenched teeth, squeezing the eyelid shut and sliding his condary membrane into place.

"He awakes!"

Her throaty voice, filtering from an adjoining room, rattled Sark's skull. Images of swirling blue darkness and whipcrack agony flared in his mind. He seized the memories, dragged himself through mental darkness. Unlit caverns, cool water and fresh air raced back to him. A quartet of assassins burned bright in his minds eye.

"Brig."

His voice was the creak of sawing wood. Its rough edges hardened the venom he had injected into her name. Another memory flashed bright, victory and the nearness of freedom obliterated by arrogance on his part and a vicious blow to his throat. He tried to massage away a phantom ache in his neck. Chains rattled, binding his arm to a thick slab of oiled wood. A quick check proved each of his limbs had been bound in place.

" After your little encounter with the boys, I decided to take some precautions," she called from the adjoining room.

He took in the large chamber. Tapestries, animals and battle scenes stitched into their surface, hung from walls crafted from worked stone blocks. Oil lamps hung on iron hooks, their dancing flames reflected from mirrors hanging on three of the four walls. Weapons had been mounted above each reflective surface, long leather whips and cruelly barbed scourges. A case in the north corner, built from the dried and polished flesh of a giant mushroom, held steel implements of torture , most of which he could not identify. A second cabinet stood on the door's opposite side. Pots, jars and bundles of dried herbs were clearly visible through its leaded glass frontage. Cool sweat broke at the line of his fire-orange hair.

"What do you want with me?

A dark shadow fell across the doorway. Seconds later, a blonde dwarf woman followed. Ice blue eyes stared from a heart-shaped face the silver-white of magnesium. Her mycellium cloth blouse hung off her shoulders. The plunging neckline cleanly displayed her thick neck and broad chest. Its lack of sleeves showing off massive biceps and thick forearms. A broad leather belt, buckled in gold and tooled with swirlng patterns, was cinched at her waist. Wide slits in each side of a floor-length, mossy green skirt revealed her pale legs and pair of black skink leather boots. She paused beside a mirror, gently plucked a whip from above the glass. She tested its length with a single crack.

"I did," she said, her boots clipping against the stone floor as she walked, the whip trailing behind her like an obscene pet.

"Want to see just how long it would take to make you cry out."

Sark tested his bonds, leaning his bodyweight against the chains. Wood and iron held him firm.

"I still do. Breaking you will be delicious."

She stepped close enough for her musky perfume to fill Sark's throat. The stink of sweat, booze and rotting breath that had clung to her in the tunnels was gone. Her blue eyes burned with an infernal intensity. Cherry-red lips split in a smile that would be called pretty on any other woman.

"But that was before I knew who you were. The great Sark Ore, puppet master of Dunnholme's shadows."

Sark locked his stare with hers. Cool amusement met his unflinching hate.

"You want gold, I take it?"

Her girlish laugh was an eternity away from the braying guffaw she'd given in the tunnels.

"Secrets'" she said, tracing a finger across Sark's chest, following the starvation etched ridge in his breast bone and down towards his navel.

Soft lips brushed Sark's ear. Hot breath bathed his face. He felt heat radiating off her, furnace hot. Her hand pressed against his chest, a lover's touch that almost burned.

"I want to know what you know."

The hand on his chest slid downwards. It stopped at the knotted belt of his breech cloth. Strong fingers kneeded his emaciated stomach muscles. Heated breath and the warm, dry tip of her tongue stroked the edge of his ear.

"I want your power."

Sark tried to jerk his head away from her probing tongue. The hand on his gut shifted with serpentine speed. Rough, solid fingers seized his jaw. Her formidable grip pinned his head in place.

"If I had any power, do you think I'd be digging holes and starving to death?"

The dwarf woman purred, nuzzled her mouth against Sark's throat. She kissed her way back to his ear. A bead of sweat trickled from his temple. She wicked it away with a stroke of her tongue.

"Who knows what the great Sark Ore would do for power and wealth? Did you not purchase a score of orphans and sacrice them Topside as I sacrificed a hundred to ensure you'd survive capture?"

Anger fuelling his depleted strength, Sark twisted his head free from her savage grip.

"You're mad," he snapped

"That cadaver brew you swallow has rotted your mind."

Her caressing lips lifted from his skin. Sharp, biting teeth replaced them. Burning agony lanced through Sark's lobe. The sensation of grinding, tearing skin slithered through his flesh. His body tensed. Veins stood proud on depleted muscles. Fighting the urge to bellow his rage, to give in to her whims, he flexed the muscles in his neck. He whipped his head to the side, felt his lobe sunder. Hot blood poured from the wound, painting his grey skin a rich, deep red.

"You are insane," he bellowed, ichor slithering across his sweat-lathered body.

Brig pressed her lips against his bloodied neck. With a sigh, she took a step back. Her vivid eyes flashed in the lamplight. Sark's blood covered her chin, flooded her neck and the valley of her breasts. Stark red stained her pale blouse.

"Madness is for the weak," she grinned.

"I have been chosen by the gods of earth and fire."