The Hag of Calix

  * * * *

  Stet-Arnak pushed and clawed in blind panic trying to get through the confused mass of hacking, screaming swordsmen. The wet robes clung to his fat legs in the waist-deep water and before he could escape he felt a tentacle slide across his back and twist about his left arm. He had no weapon, only a torch in his right hand. The tentacle tightened its grip and pulled him deeper into the pool. A white-faced warrior was struggling to get past him. "Cut it off me! Use your sword! Cut it off me!" he cursed at the blank, terror-stricken face. The swordsman was intent on his own survival. Stet Arnak pushed his torch at the man's eyes, causing him to reel back. "Cut this off me, idiot!"

  The warrior raised his blade as if to cut down the priest. Then comprehending the problem he swung on the tentacle. The sword slashed the appendage but failed to sever it. The tentacle recoiled from the blow, releasing the priest. But as it snapped back, writhing, it whipped the blade from the warrior's grip and coiled about his neck. Stet-Arnak ignored the choked pleas of the man. He turned and fought his way to safety.

  He fled through the tunnel, out of the cave, and down the slide. He scrambled headlong through the loose rocks that tumbled about him until he reached the floor of the forested valley. There he collapsed on the grass with burning lungs and pumping heart.

  Only half the troop survived. The captain had perished, fighting bravely even as he was drawn into the disgusting maw of the creature. Stet-Arnak took command of the shaken remnant and started them on the road back to their capital, Dagraskal.

  As they moved off down the valley he turned and shook a flabby fist at the cliffs of Calix. "A curse on this place!" His jowls trembled. "May the gods of Arnak rekindle the ancient fires of Calix and melt the hag queen's bones with molten rock!"

  The troop pushed on until dark but instead of making camp or continuing on toward Dagraskal, Stet Arnak led them along an alternate path that followed the coast, intersecting the Dagran port of Seaskal.

  In the middle of the night they clattered into the twisting streets of Marskal, the fishing village. They made their way to the inn through rows of rude houses with latticed balconies and shuttered windows. A torch sputtered from its holder over the arched entry of the inn's courtyard. Stet-Arnak rousted out the innkeeper and commandeered quarters for his grumbling soldiers.

  "The foul odor of your village is overwhelming," the priest complained. "It would offend a sewer man of Dagraskal."

  "It is the whale, your Excellency." The man groveled before the priest and wiped his rheumy nose with the back of a dirty hand. "I am fortunate to have a stuffed-up head." He led the troop to their billet. He had a nutcracker face--his long nose almost meeting his chin over a puckered and toothless mouth, and he talked steadily as he shuffled about the courtyard. "...first luck they've had bringing in a whale for some months. Oh, there'll be plenty of oil for the king's lamps now. But it does stink up the town when the rendering fires are going." He showed the priest to a private room off the second floor balcony. "Sleep well honored Dag. Pull this cord if you need anything." He gave the priest an owly wink and turned to leave.

  "One moment," Stet-Arnak stopped him. "Do you know a citizen here named Carp-face the Netmender?"

  "Oh, yes, lordship, I know the man. Do you wish me to fetch him?"

  "Not tonight, fool. I will see him in the morning. Now, before you retire, prepare food for me and my men. We have traveled hard and our stomachs are empty."

  The innkeeper glanced at the priest's fat belly, then scurried off to comply.

  In the morning the net mender was brought to the door of Stet-Arnak's room. The man's bald pate glistened with sweat and he wrung his cap in nervous agitation.

  "You are the one they call Carp-face?" the priest asked.

  The man swallowed hard and found his voice. "Yes, Lordship."

  "I have a communication from one of my search units stating that you gave them information regarding a runaway temple maiden--the fugitive known as Chessa or Pigeon."

  "Yes, Lordship, I think I saw her."

  "Tell me what you saw."

  "I found a boy sleeping in my nets, and when I kicked him, he squealed like a girl. His cap came off and he, ah she, had a girl's head of hair... yellow hair."

  "Then you deduced this person whom you first thought was a boy was in fact a girl?"

  "How's that, Excellency?"

  "Never mind. Continue. What happened?"

  "She ran, Excellency. Took off like a rabbit. I thought nothing of it until the soldiers questioned me. Then I told them everything I knew about her."

  "You should have reported it immediately. I could have you punished for aiding this fugitive by your delinquent behavior."

  The net mender's long white fingers pulled and worried his cap. "But Lordship, I knew not that there was a search for..."

  "Begone! But next time take notice of the postings in the village square. A good citizen tries to aid his government in these criminal matters."

  Carp-face gave several quick bows as he backed toward the door.

  "Wait! When did you find the girl in your nets?"

  "It was the day of the highest tide, Lordship."

  "Idiot! I know nothing of your tides." He banged the table rattling the empty breakfast dishes. "How many days have gone by?"