Chicken Stroll
Chicken Stroll
Grat shook his head as he carried off the odd-looking rooster. “Figures that I'm the one what has to do all the work 'round here,” he muttered. “Fix me a chicken dinner for a customer, she says! One of the human ones. And who gets to fix the chicken? Me, that's who. And do I get any help whatsoever? No, 'course not, 'cause somebody is scared to death of 'magic chickens'. All that screaming and hollering - the man is nuts! Magic chickens...and they call us half-orcs stupid...”
He shook his head once again, and carried the box into the kitchen. Emeral Fress was sitting at the kitchen table, leaning her head against her hand.
“Grat,” she acknowledged. “Did you get one?”
“Er...yes, Mistress. A nice and plump one.”
“Good,” the mage said, yawning. “The customer wanted a super-sized Chicken Combo. Chop the head off, then cook. Oh, and this time, fry it properly. I don't want my products to give customers diarrhoea.”
“Right,” the half-orc said, and he crossed the room to the worn wooden counter where he picked up a large meat cleaver. Having weighed it a little in his large, green hands, he put it down on the kitchen table, preparing to get the rooster out of the box. The rough wooden table had quite a few grooves and scratches already, from the same cleaver, but there were no lingering brown spots. Emeral was, after all, meticulous about hygiene. Grat swiftly lifted the box, grabbed the confused rooster and hauled it out, then immobilized it on the table with a firm grip, despite its protesting angry squawks. He raised the meatcleaver, taking careful aim at the overly long, scruffy neck of the bird. It rolled its eye towards him, and tried to flap its wings, squawking even louder. “Don't worry,” he told it. “Just a second, and it will all be over...” The cleaver came down with a long, drawn out whoosh. The chicken went limp, focusing entirely on the sharp edge.
“Wait.” Emeral said quietly. Grat quickly moved his arm sideways so that the cleaver thumped down harmlessly into the wooden surface and then massaged his arm ruefully. “Would you honestly give one of my loyal customers that thing?”
“What's wrong with it?”
Emeral leaned closer to the rooster, which lay frozen on the table, apparently unable to move. With thin fingers, she grabbed hold of its beak and moved its limp head this way and that. “Hmm. Do you know this one's history?”
“It's a pretty new one, but seems to have fit in quickly. It's one of the ones you sent us to go and capture, the warrior and the assassin.”
“Oh, them.” Emeral pursed her lips in thought. “I think the curse has reacted oddly with this one's blood. I have never cast it on a non-human before. Take it to my lab- it looks interesting. Maybe, even, profitable.”
“You never know your luck, eh?”
“Just take it, Grat.”
“Yes, mistress.” Emeral swept out. Grat looked at the chicken in puzzlement. It had been kicking up a right stink in the usual way when he had been carrying it, but once he'd laid it on the table and got out the axe, it had gone still. Terror? If it was once a warrior, that would be really strange. Who'd heard of a cowardly warrior? It was still lying limply under his hands, its eyes bright and staring. Grat shrugged, and dragged it off to Emeral's lab.
***
Panic. Stark-staring terror.
Not feelings Andorel was very used to dealing with, but being on that table with the cleaver coming down towards him had brought back memories of Irenicus' dungeon. He'd worked hard to forget it all, but it had come back in the blink of an eye and now he felt a horrible, sickening fear that made it impossible to move. Come on, move! Don't just lie there. Get out of here!
As Grat picked him up from the table again, part of him stayed there, and the masked mage leant over him again, a piece of sharpened iron in his hand, calmly inflicting as much pain as he could. The doorway Grat carried him through became a slime-covered stone archway, and the distant birdsong was the clanking of chains swinging in fetid drafts. The half-orc threw the large rooster into a metal cage, and walked off, whistling idly. Andorel huddled pathetically against the bars, eyes closed.
Tyr help me!
***
“Andorel!” Dekaras froze in his tracks as the waves of roiling panic hit him, and had to make a serious effort not to let it overcome him. For the most part, the soulbond was a relatively quiet affair. Oh, he'd pick up odd bits and pieces of emotion across it, but that couldn't be compared to this. You might as well compare a peaceful, tasty earthworm No, not tasty, not tasty at all! To a rampaging sea serpent. Whatever had happened to Andorel, he was utterly terrified, paralyzed with panic and in fear for his life. Dekaras couldn't make out any details though, it was all a confused blur of mortal fear.
“Teacher Dekaras!” Edwin's hysterical voice sounded very far away, it was almost inaudible.
“What's wrong?!” Nalia's voice too, she must have just come back from...taking care of business...but he couldn't make out the words.
Andorel's wild panic was rampaging through his mind, threatening to flatten him beneath it, and now there were brief flashes, disjointed images that painted a very disturbing picture. Rough, green hands pinning him down. A flat wooden surface - a table? And high above, something glittering, something sharp and deadly... “A cleaver!” he hissed. “They're going to butcher him!”
“What?! Where?” Nalia squawked, making a little frightened leap into the air. “Andorel? How do you...”
“Well, it could be far worse,” Edwin suggested. “After all, it could be one of the rest of us, and...” He fell instantly silent as Dekaras glared at him. “Um...that is...too bad for him, and all that. But how do you know?”
Dekaras ignored him, focusing inwards instead. The terrible, paralyzing fear was still present, but in a way that was a good thing. At least it meant Andorel was still alive, so for whatever reason the would-be butcher must have stayed his hand. He tried to get through to the ex-half-orc again, but all he could sense was that mind-numbing panic, although there seemed to be no immediate danger. This was no good, and once again that awful feeling of helplessness crept in on him. In his normal body, he would have been easily able to reach Andorel and get him free, but not now. But perhaps there was something else he could do? He reached across the soulbond again, willing Andorel to sense his presence. Calm yourself, Andorel. Calm yourself, and think. There were ways you could help that along, meditation, breathing exercises, letting your muscles tense and relax in certain preordained patterns. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. You are calm, in control of yourself.
He closed his eyes, concentrating entirely on the glimmer of Andorel's consciousness, passing his own sense of self along the bond. Calm. In control. Feel it, know it. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, he felt a muddled and confused response. Confused, yes, but Andorel at least seemed aware of his presence, and of what was going on. Finally, the weary assassin thought. And now, to get him out of there before something worse happens.
***
Emeral carefully widened the metal calipers, twisting the screw slowly and purposefully until the two points were an acceptable distance apart, then approached the scruffy rooster in the cage. At first, it had huddled in the corner of the cage, eyes closed in terror, but now its eyes were open again, and it looked around itself nervously, chest heaving. A typical avian response. Thom really does talk nonsense. Emeral thought to herself, smiling wryly. Even Grat, otherwise entirely sensible, seemed to think that the chickens kept some aspect of humanity. A stupid idea, of course. There was no way the complexity of human thought could be contained within such a tiny skull. As she approached the caged chicken, it opened its beak threateningly, but Emeral ignored the show of aggression and deftly grabbed the bird's head.
Hmm. It really was an odd looking creature. Emeral wasn't even sure it was truly a chicken, but instead some sort of chicken-orc hybrid, if such a thing was possible. She carefully placed the calipers over the bird's head, and wrote down a few measurements, ignoring the chicken's constant panicked writhing. She put the chicken back into the cage, and strolled over to the other wall of her lab, which had a series of racks mounted upon it. Her finger thoughtfully tapped a carved wooden 'V', and then she removed a small object from the rack beneath. For a moment, she looked at it, then placed it back on the rack again. She then walked to the left, and found another rack, this one labelled 'A', and again, removed something from the rack. This was the one, undoubtedly. The facts all fitted. One way to make sure... The chicken watched her warily as she held the small talisman constructed of coarse, brown hair, feathers, and tiny honeycombed bones and brought it close to its beak in the cage. She whispered a Word, under her breath, it it glowed briefly, illuminating the chicken's wide-eyed face.
“Yes,” She said to herself, “That explains it. But what to do with this one?” She tapped the talisman again, and then called out of the lab. “Thom! Take this one back to the enclosure. Keep a close eye on it in future. We shall find a use for it- perhaps sell it as an unusual pet.”
Thom looked at the large rooster warily. “I'm...I'm not picking that one up. It's dangerous- it can cast spells.” Emeral gave him a withering look, but it had no effect. She rolled her eyes, and thrust one hand out sideways. A spark of light hit the rooster, which gave a startled squawk, and then keeled over, fast asleep.
“Now will you pick it up?”
“Yes, Mistress.” Thom grabbed the cage and ran out of the room, legs pounding in an effort to get rid of the chicken as fast as possible.
“Idiot.” Emeral spat after him, then barked with sudden laughter. Of course! Roosters could be pets...so why not that too? The black one would be perfect.
