I had a small room for the militia to train in outside, anyway. It may have been upgraded since then.
A small flask bubbled as Balor added a small flake of poison to it. She watched it intently for a moment, then frowned and crossed off the next item on a short list. The quill spun in her fingers for a moment before she added another possibility, followed by a question mark. Balor looked up as the door opened, revealing Taran and one of his followers. The hands wrapped protectively around her belly revealed why they had come, but Balor doubted this was Taran's child. The girl was much younger than him, for one thing, and far more timid than she'd expect of someone who could catch the Admiral's eye.
"I've brought ye a patient, lass," Taran said as he led the girl inside.
"All right, Atir, I just need you to lift your shirt for a second," Balor said reassuringly, producing a small wooden cone from her desk. She held it against Atir's abdomen, listening silently, then nodded. "Taran, can I talk to you in the hall for a moment? Alone," she added, as Atir stood up.
"Is everything ok?" the girl asked anxiously.
"Of course," Balor smiled. "The baby's fine, I just need to update Taran on a stockpile discrepancy."
Balor led the way to one of the unused offices, closing the door with a quiet thump. She sighed, then spun around, backhanding Taran across the cheek. It did little to help her mood that he didn't seem to notice it aside from taking half a step backwards.
"What have you done to that girl?" she demanded. "Because whatever she has inside her isn't a dwarf!"
Taran muttered what Balor assumed was a string of curses, not all of them in dwarven. "Shite, I feared this'd happen."
"'This'?" Balor repeated, glaring at him while massaging her throbbing hand. "Let's start with exactly what you mean by that, because I've never heard of anything like this before."
"I'll give ye th' short version," he began. "I'm sterile. So is Bembul, who's been shaggin' th' lass. There are tales in our faith aboot Atir's condition, an' none of 'em good."
"Somethin' has caused Atir ta grow a sea monster in 'er belly. T'wards th' end o' her pregnancy, the bugger will take o'er her mind fer just long enough ta get her ta water. She'll give birth in th' ocean, an' probably drown fer her troubles. E'en worse, th' monster will grow ta huge fuckin' proportions in just a few years, and possibly come back ta its place o' birth fer some lovely terror an' mayhem." Taran's voice was calm, detached. Balor couldn't help but wonder if these stories were commonplace where he came from or if he'd already seen it happen once before.
"But that's nae even th' worst of it. These are rarely isolated incidents. There are tales o' this happenin' fer six years ta ev'ry newborn in a town. There are tales o' strange fishpeople comin' out o' th' waves ta claim th' creature when th' birth is nigh. All sorts o' unpleasant shite like that."
"Enough with the fisherman's tales, Taran," Balor cut across him, perching on a dusty chair. "How did this thing infect her? Where did it come from? If we know that, we might be able to prevent it."
"I cannae tell ye fer certain what causes it," he sighed. "Could be this haunted ocean, could be a curse on Crownhammers, could even be the will o' th' fuckin' gods fer all I know."
Balor closed her eyes for a moment. "There's a potion that I've used before, when Uzol's cronies didn't want to annoy their spouses. It leaves the mother completely unharmed," she assured him.
"That's nae better. If th' wee monster feels threatened, it'll either take over fer a bit an' run away, or kill her outright an' try ta escape."
"So Atir's life is all but forfeit regardless?" Balor said softly as the emotion fled from her expression. "So be it. We kill her now, before the creature can survive on its own. Every pregnant dwarf will have to be examined for symptoms of this disease as well. With any luck, it'll be an isolated incident." Taran could nearly see Atir morphing from a dwarf into a statistic behind her eyes.
"I told ye, if th' beast feels threatened, it'll try an' break loose. I'm nae sure if ye've e'er dealt with sea monsters afore, but they're as sharp in th' head as any dwarf. Often sharper." He said nothing of killing Atir. He didn't have to. The discomfort was written on his face, plain as day.
"Only thing I can see happenin' is lockin' th' lass in a room near th' end o' her term an' wallin' her in. Sharp or nae, sea monsters cannae survive more than a few days outside th' water. Th' problem would be settin' her up."
Balor stared silently at the sailor before answering. "You realise that if you're wrong, you're condemning her to either being eaten alive or starving before the beast dries out? I'm offering her a painless death; she wouldn't even feel it. Will this creature simply turn on her in an attempt to survive?"
"I've no bleedin' idea. They've never been reported ta eat their own mothers afore, not once they're born. She might live. She might die. I wish we didn't have ta bloody well gamble with th' poor lass's life, but what choice do we have?" Taran screwed his eyes shut and hid his face behind one tanned hand. He looked ancient and tired.
"I want to ask about Bembul..." Balor hesitated.
"He'll follow through. Hate himself fer it, an' be pissed with me fer months, I'll wager, but he'd do it. Even though he's more smitten than he thinks he is. He knows what needs be done."
"No," she said, eyes hard. "I'd never heard of this happening before you arrived. Your followers call you two the Drowned. I want to know if Bembul could be the one who infected her."
"We did nae perform what ye'd call a medical examination," Taran replied, "but we know th' Drowned cannae create life by any means. Crops we plant never sprout, an' our seed ne'er quickens. If it did, Bembul would be a granpappy by now." He decided to add, "An' I'm a bit relieved ta see that Reg's been spillin' it ta you an' not some roaster. Saves me th' effort."
"If it makes you feel any better, he only told me that name," Balor said. "What it actually means... well, he seemed to think you wouldn't want me to know." She paused for a moment, eyeing Taran. When he didn't seem inclined to fill the silence, she sighed. "Well then, all that remains is to make sure no one else is carrying one of these creatures."
"We've gone an' examined Nish - Thob an' Fikod's babby. Looked most ways normal, but we're nae doctors."
"As long as they're dwarf shaped they should be fine if your stories are true," Balor said, standing up. "You seem to know more about this than I do, so I'll leave it in your hands. Tell me if you need any help."
"I suppose I'll see ye around, lass. Thank ye."
They found Atir still sitting in Balor's office, hands still trying to protect a creature that didn't care if she lived or died once it had finished making use of her. Congratulating her on what looked like a healthy baby once again, Balor smiled until the moment the door was closed. Leaning against it, she held her head for a moment. On the desk, her still unidentified poison glimmered in candlelight. She'd been lucky to survive breathing it for as long as she had, and that had been in a ventilated room... Balor pondered backup plans, and wondered how far down the road to damnation she'd travelled, and how much further she was willing to go.
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Topic: Crownhammers, the #1 undead, murderous bird sanctuary in the world (Read 69490 times)