Jay Eight-Legs: Leg the Third

“Arr, an Ochtarrr ye be, eh? An’ that light blue be meaning yes? Ye’r a savvy one an’ no mistake, Eight-Legs!”

They chattered amiably, one of them in words, the other in colour, as Gib cut his way further through the jungle. Jay wanted to talk to him about the lizard trinket in his bag, but there was no way of getting through complicated thoughts like that to such a brute.

A nice brute, but whatever he is can’t be compared to the elves. There’s just nothing attuned about him at all.

Still, Jay was feeling much better, like a whole mollusc again, and the ethersea didn’t seem to be dropping.

Perhaps we do have a chance…

“Well, they be callin’ me gibber for something awful nasty I done back in — ”

The sound of steel on steel interrupted them. Gib’s blunderbuss, long since reloaded, went to his hip. Jay wrapped one tentacle around a pistol and another around the knife. Prepared, they peeped out through the trees.

In a few yards, the jungle abruptly opened into a glade, though you could hardly tell until you were on top of it. The ground wasn’t exactly clear, with a mighty fallen tree cutting through and young, sprouting plants wherever the sun beams met the floor. For all that, it was evidently still enough space to fight a battle. A pirate human was impaled on the fallen tree by a cutlass.

Fresh blood.

Standing atop it was a very peculiar elf. Being naked from the waist-up, the most striking feature was the expanse of skin, as bright a white as any thrall despite the beating rays. Yet this was no thrall. You could see that from the quality of the strange, backwards-curving sabre he held in one hand, and even more clearly by the angular rune scarred into his face and cheeks. He shook a mane of surf-pale hair and bowed mockingly.

“Arr, what be all this, then?”

Gib had more confidence than Jay.

The figure shrugged, nonchalant.

“One might ask the same of you.”

“I be Gib the Gibber an’ this be Jay Eight-Legs an’ neither of us be inclined to give fancy answers.”

Their new acquaintance smiled a broad, sharp smile.

“Very well, let it never be said that the Warlock does not understand a quid pro quo.”

Gib raised his bushy eyebrows. “Ye got no other name than that?”

“Indeed not, my most corpulent friend. My story is one of woe and happenstance most strange, dear Gib, but I will not bore you with it. Instead, let us dance the blade dance, and each pray that it is not himself but the other that ends up thus.”

‘The Warlock’ tapped the impaled human with a foot.

“Seriously? We’re just be goin’ ta fightin’, like that?”

“Regretfully. It is nothing personal, you understand, I just need to eat your souls. So much more… ah… tantalising that this one’s.”

What is it with elves and harvesting souls?

Gib scoffed. “Arr, I’ll blow ye to bits if you want, but I’d rather walk on by.”

“I can only wish I had the humble, carefree existence of the Ogor. I envy it, I really do, but no. My fate is such that I shall be swallowed by the Dark Prince and I have every intention of delaying that day with fine souls such as yours, dear sir.”

Oh, an Ogor. Right.

“Well, get ta fuck, then.”

Gib fired.

The Warlock leapt, high in the air, letting the spray from the blunderbuss thud uselessly into the greenery.

Gib said something even Jay knew was very crude.

He had just enough time to draw a cutlass before the elf was on him. Gib managed to block the first strike, so Jay shot forwards, trying to distract and blind. Their enemy was too quick, however, and he jumped backwards, landing gracefully on one foot. Gib charged at him, growling, and lashed out with the cutlass. Jay lashed at the same time. The Warlock parried one and skirted to the side, avoiding the other.

“A commendable effort, I concede.”

His blade darted in at them. Ochtar and Ogor both moved to block, but it slid underneath and pricked Gib’s side. He grunted and tried to turn to face the elf. That let the Warlock stay under their guard and slice along the flank. All this did was spill the pouch contents.

If he stays up close, we’re dead, thought Jay, in a moment of clarity, and without wasting a second lashed out with all eight tentacles. The Warlock easily blocked the knife but Jay got in a satisfying wet shove that sent him staggering backwards.

Gib retreated too, now bleeding lightly and breathing heavily. He propped himself up against the wall and reached for the other pistol.

But the Warlock wasn’t pressing his advantage. He was eyeing the spilled treasure on the ground. One lightning movement later and he had the golden artefact in his hand.

“Ah…”

Jay and Gib looked at each other, still keeping one eye on the elf.

“Gentlemen, this has been a pleasure.”

“What?”

“Thank you for delivering this into my hands. I am familiar enough with this island’s uninvited guests to know what this means.”

Gib levelled the pistol. “So, yer not going to eat us souls now?”

The Warlock smiled with one corner of his mouth. “Play the objectives, gentlemen.”

He shot off into the trees and in a split moment had completely disappeared from view.

Jay spun back to Gib. His friend was wounded.

Let it never be said that Jay Eight-Legs does not understand a quid pro quo.