T Lain: The Living Dead

“Hound-Eye, I’ve got to clean this, or you’re going to die,” Devis said loudly into the moaning halfling’s one-eyed face.

“Gonna,” the halfling huffed, “kill you.”

“I know, pal,” said Devis. “Sit up. This’ll help.”

Mialee supported the halfling’s head as the bard poured clear liquor across Hound-Eye’s paling lips. The halfling swallowed weakly.

“Better,” he croaked. “Still gonna kill you.”

“Later, Hound-Eye. Mialee, take one of these rags and stuff it in his mouth.”

“What?” the elf woman asked incredulously.

“He needs something to bite on,” the bard explained. “This is going to sting a little.” Without another word, Devis jerked Hound-Eye’s blood-soaked bandage from the stump.

Mialee’s ears rang as the halfling screamed through the alcohol-soaked rag stuffed between his lips. Blood oozed from the meaty end of the ankle around a jagged sliver of bone.

“Hound-Eye, get ready!” Devis shouted. He upended the liquor bottle over Hound-Eye’s ankle and emptied it over the torn flesh and shattered bone.

Mialee nodded as the bard gently packed the liquor-soaked bar rags around Hound-Eye’s wound. She hoped Devis knew what he was doing. The halfling’s screams would deafen her soon.

A voice invaded her thoughts. Can’t a bird get a minute of sleep around here? What —? The rest of the message was an incomprehensible sensation of confusion in Mialee’s brain.

Not now, Biksel. I’m fine.

The halfling went limp and drew steady, wheezing breaths around the rag between his teeth.

“Mialee, hold this.”

Devis indicated the rags bunched around the stump, and Mialee rested the halfling’s head and shifted her hands to the bandages. Tiny red dots showed on the white towels where blood was already soaking through, but red was better than green, Mialee guessed. Devis produced a length of silk rope from a coil on his belt and wound it tightly several times around the entire bundle. He produced a jackknife from somewhere and cut the rope from the coil at his belt. His fingers flew as he tied the tourniquet off with a complicated knot, then sat back, breathing hard.

Mialee heard heavy footsteps thumping the floorboards. Gurgitt was back. Mialee heard the man emit a low groan as he took in the damage.

“Gurgitt,” she called as she climbed to her feet, careful not to slip in ghoul innards. “I’ll take that wine now.”

“That old man had better show up soon. You know—” Mialee waved a wobbly index finger in Devis’ face—“I’m going to kill him.”

Mialee slumped over her wine glass. Two empty bottles of Gurgitt’s finest sat on the bar before her, next to four or five empty ale glasses. Devis was having trouble keeping track.

The elf woman had claimed to have no head for wine, but the girl could drink.

“Kill. Him. If he’s not dead,” she added with the glass-eyed emphasis of the truly holy or the truly drunk.

Devis nodded dimly at her oath, but his eyes were on Gurgitt. The barkeeper was pushing his considerable bulk through the crowd gathered around the fallen ghoul, clutching a smelly stable blanket in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other.

The crowd stood back as Gurgitt grunted and snarled his way through the necessary deed of dismembering the creature. Though its head was all but gone, most people in Dogmar would never bury an intact ghoul corpse for fear of having to deal with it again.

Hound-Eye would survive, thanks to the bard and the wizard. Devis was relieved. He’d never intended to get the little guy mutilated with his scheme. Not that Devis expected the halfling to run headfirst into a ghoul when he left the tavern. When the bard slipped him a gold piece to filch the wizard girl’s purse—so that he, Devis, could stop the crime, of course—he had every intention of buying Hound-Eye an ale or two to make up for it. They’d always gotten along well, and had helped each other out of tight spots.

The burly barkeep knelt and rolled the ruined creature’s limbs and carcass onto the canvas with a look of disgust. Someone from the crowd told the big man not to let his wife get hold of the pieces, and Gurgitt stood abruptly, the messy bundle over one shoulder.

“I know where everything is, and how much money’s in the cashbox, y’bastards,” he growled to the assembly. “Devis will tell me if any of you try anything.”

With that, the big man marched out into the rainy night through the ruined entrance to his tavern. Every pair of eyes in the Silver Goblet fell on Devis, including Mialee’s.

“You a security guard, now, Dewy-Boy?” a black-bearded gnome squeaked from the crowd. The gnome’s hand strayed to the hilt of a long knife.

Devis gulped. He heard Mialee snigger.

“You look like you could use some air,” Devis said, turning to her so quickly he nearly lost his balance and fell from his stool. “Would you like to go for a walk?”

Without waiting for her to reply, he slid to the floor and offered her his arm. He wobbled unsteadily and flashed a lopsided grin that no woman could resist—he hoped.

“Devish,” Mialee smiled, “I’d love to.”

Devis thought he heard a voice shout “You’re drunk!” in his mind, but decided he must be imagining it. After all, he was drunk.

The rest of their walk took them as far as the steps leading up to Mialee’s room.

Well, that took long enough, Biksel announced inside Mialee’s head as the bard snored softly next to the elf woman.

Go to blazes, Biksel.

Mialee couldn’t sleep.

Literally. Elves did not sleep. Her people had no physical need for an unconscious state that stole a third of one’s waking life. An elf could tire, but they banished simple fatigue with meditation and inactivity.

Mialee desperately wished she could sleep. Her head pounded, the painful reminder of earlier excesses. Devis had no such trouble. Mialee felt his warm body next to hers and listened as the bard snored softly. He slept, of course. He had human blood. She hated him for his infuriatingly satisfied dozing.

A loud crash erupted from the foot of the bed as the door was flung open.

Mialee blinked and leaned up to see what fresh hell had entered her life now.

She had to be hallucinating. A trio of dwarves stood in the doorway. The biggest one held a heavy axe over one shoulder and wore a blue leather sash that looked like a badge of official position.

“Devis! Looks like you picked the wrong place to hide out tonight.”

That was a real dwarf, all right, no hallucination. Beside her, Mialee felt Devis struggle to rise to a standing position on the bed. He failed, but was wildly successful at tangling himself in the sheets and rolling headfirst off the mattress and onto the floor, taking all of the blankets with him. Mialee had more luck without the burden of covers, and rose naked on wobbly knees and uneven mattress to face the dwarves. She strove to calm her mind and think of some spell that could get her out of this ridiculous situation.

“Muhn, I was just about to come see you,” Devis said from the floor. He finally freed himself from the bedclothes and stood. He wasn’t wearing anything either. “You wouldn’t happen to be holding a private card game tonight, would you?”

The dwarf cackled, and the other two joined in the laughter. “You’ve fleeced me too many times, bard. No more games. I’d take the shirt off your back, but under the circumstances, I’ll settle for you.”

Mialee saw the two dwarves who had not yet spoken advance on either side, their axes raised menacingly. The blue-sashed dwarf veered to intercept Devis, axe clutched in both gauntleted hands.