The Gift of Volkeye Read Free Page B

one of his underlings was showering the chamber in blood.
    The tentacle, whipping violently about, had accidentally split the minion from his neck all the way down the middle, nearly severing him. Clearly the beast, as well as others, was ornery from hunger.
    “My god, throw the corpse to that hungry thing!” Murlach shouted irritably.
    The underlings obeyed, gladly offering up some flesh and bone that did not belong to any of them. Though crowded and blind from having blood sprayed in their eyes, they managed to hoist him above and roll the corpse over the tops of their heads to the end of the cell. When the sound finally came, they were happy to hear the body being dismembered and fed upon, knowing that this would tide the beast over so it wouldn’t go after any of them. This, however, didn’t mean they didn’t have other creatures to worry about, but they were happy to have one of the worst sated for the time being.
    Meanwhile, Murlach was both furious at the beast and his own foolishness, knowing he had been stupid to sit some of his more civilized minions in a cell with these savage creatures. Had he arrived later, his subjects might have already been ripped limb from limb.
    “You don’t throw temper tantrums! We’ll see about this!” he said, waving his fist in anger.
    Though they were crowded and could hardly breathe, some of the others managed to scramble forward as to inquire about Murlach’s orders (and to hopefully get dibs on some of the delicacies he was to dish out!).
    There was a deep voice, followed by a gust of horrid breath on Murlach’s left. It said, “What do you need, my Lord?”
    “A select group of you will…”
    Murlach wasn’t able to finish, because a chorus of noise from heavy taloned feet, racing towards him, suddenly assaulted his ears. The beasts, delivering some serious injuries as they broke through the crowd, began circling Murlach, snapping at the open air around the crimson red, soggy bag. Saliva flung about, forming small pools on the dirty stone floor.
    Murlach was unimpressed with the creatures which towered above him, standing six to eight feet in height, each weighing about a ton. This strange breed of his had a lion’s body and mane, but a dog’s face, and birdlike feet with razor sharp talons. In the same manner as the tentacled creature, these—the Karnovs—were also a vicious species. The biggest difference with them, however, was that (whilst being worrisome killers) they were also intelligent. Though they couldn’t speak it themselves, they did comprehend the human tongue and obeyed Murlach and Phyllamon’s every command within their presence.
    What made the Karnovs so dangerous were their tempers. It had been many a day that Murlach had come to feed them, only to find that they’d devoured several of their cellmates for some reason or another. In Murlach’s opinion, to say that the Karnovs were unpredictable would have been an understatement. Still, for all of their ferociousness, the beasts obeyed him.
    “Down!” he said, snapping his fingers.
    The Karnovs went to their knees. Everyone was silenced at his level of command with them. No matter how often they saw Murlach exercise his control, they were awestricken with it every time. Most of them never dared look the Karnovs directly in the eye, lest they be ripped to pieces.
    Murlach dug in the sack and pulled out a limbless, slimy torso. It, having been from a servant who was immensely obese, would provide a hearty meal. He pushed the torso in the center of the Karnovs and grinned as they tore into it. Flecks of spittle and body juices landed on Murlach’s jacket, as he turned to exit the cell with the others following him.
    Those who followed, a bit over two-dozen, were allowed to pass Murlach as he turned around and dug in the bag again. He pulled out random body parts and began hurling them across the cell, rolling his eyes as his minions attacked each other in attempts to secure their meals. A few,