MikeMenace
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This story is a prequel to The Girl, The Tree And The Wager and The Girl, The Witch And The Love Spell.
Olbrad II got tickled in Tales From The Grey Empire - The Emperor's Wife
THE WITCH, THE SOLDIER AND THE MIRACLE
by MikeMenace
The flap of Martha Helssen's tent snaps open, letting in the evening air. Karl Steiner, the Grey Emperor's oldest, most trusted surgeon, bursts in. "Clean that table," he orders unceremoniously.
"Excuse me?" Martha Helssen, witch and Imperial Healer, speaks up from over her studies.
"You have a patient. It's urgent," Karl says as he starts cleaning the table himself, throwing aside maps and scrolls. Martha mutters a curse under her breath and joins him.
Two soldiers march into the tent carrying a stretcher. They set it on the table. The patient is young - twenty, maybe twenty-one. A Sarmetian, by the look of his fair hair and the blue sigil painted on his shoulder plate. His leg lies encased in a rough plaster cast, only the bare foot sticking out.
"The knee is shattered. There is no bone left to set," Karl says, his expression grim. "If your magic can't heal him, we will need to amputate the leg."
The young soldier winces at the surgeon's words. Martha closes her eyes, feeling the life force pulsing beneath the lad's skin. When she opens her eyes, she has to will herself to stay composed.
"There's nothing left for me to do here, Karl. I'm a healer, not a miracle worker," Martha says, barely able to hide her sympathy for the boy under the mask of nonchalance.
“This man threw himself between me and an orc’s mace," she hears a familiar voice booming behind her. Olbrad II, the Grey Emperor, enters the tent. "If not for him, I’d be the one on this stretcher. I will not see him crippled.”
"There's only so much healing magic can do, Your Highness," Martha says, meeting the Emperor's gaze. "No sanctioned spell can heal a bone that's shattered to dust. I cannot..."
“I know what you have studied,” Olbrad interrupts her, “The old texts. Forbidden ones. You have a reputation, Mistress Helssen.”
For a moment, the tent falls silent. Karl nervously backs away from Martha. "I shall not be blackmailed by any man," she hisses finally, "not even the Grey Emperor. You threaten me with the Inquisition because I refuse to do the impossible?"
"I apologize, Mistress Helssen. I did not make myself clear," Olbrad says. "I hereby authorize you to use any means necessary to save the boy's leg, Inquisition be damned."
"You want me to commit heresy..."
"I want you to save his leg." He goes down to one knee before her. "I beg you, Mistress Helssen. Save him."
"Everyone out," she says after a moment, her voice softer now. "And pray the gods turn their eyes away."
Karl heads for the exit and waves for the soldiers to follow him. Olbrad is the last to leave. Martha stops him when he's about to leave the tent.
"Ready a squad of Inquisitors, Your Highness," she says. "If we don't emerge by noon tomorrow, my tent and everything inside it must be purged with Holy Fire."
"Understood. And thank you," the Grey Emperor answers as he leaves Martha alone with her patient.
Lanterns move slightly on their hooks in the evening breeze, their light flickering across vials and tomes stacked in careful order. The young soldier lies on her table, trying for a grin despite the pain.
“So, I’m to be your experiment,” he says in his thick Sarmetian accent.
"No. You're to be my miracle or my damnation," she answers. "What is your name, hero?"
"Thadeus."
"Thadeus..." she repeats absent-mindedly as she browses through the stack of old books. "There it is... Demonic Servants. Now where was that spell..." She flips through the pages until she finds them - the sigils of the Pain Eater. "This one's for healing the arm... This one's for skull fractures..." She flips the page. "There it is."
Thadeus watches her closely. “What is it?”
“A ritual older than the Empire. The Pain Eater is a spirit that restores things to how they were supposed to be. That's how it feeds - by fixing what was broken.” She meets his eyes. “If it possesses an injured body part, it will heal it.”
He swallows nervously. “Can you control this... spirit?”
“I hope so. If not, gods only know what it will do in its quest for order.”
He gives a shaky chuckle. “At least you're being honest.”
"The ritual seems simple enough. I just need to draw a runic pattern on the foot of the injured leg and say an incantation." Martha gathers her tools - a quill made out of a crow feather, a vial of ink, the sketch of the sigil, and a bag of salt. She also brings forth a bowl of soapy water, a small bathing brush, and a towel. "In case I have to redo the runes. Let's hope it's not needed."
His toes wiggle in anticipation. "Ready when you are," he says.
"Don't move," she says as she rolls up her sleeves and kneels by his foot. "This shouldn't take long."
Martha dips the quill in ink and draws the first line of the rune across the heel of Thadeus’s foot. His body tenses, the muscle in his jaw tightening, but he says nothing. She carefully draws another line and another. The young man inhales sharply and lets out a quiet whimper.
"Is there a problem?" she asks.
"No," he hisses through clenched teeth.
She returns to her task. Thadeus's breath becomes strained and erratic. His foot trembles whenever the quill nears his arch.
"Don't move," Martha warns him.
"I'm sorry. I can't help it," he answers.
"I need to be precise here. What is wrong with you, lad?" she scolds him, and she looks up. Martha sees how he's clenching his eyes, how he's biting down on his lower lip, the perspiration on his forehead. "Are you ticklish?" she asks, barely able to hide an amused grin.
"N... No," he blurts out, a blush creeping up on his face.
"So don't move." She dips the quill in ink and tries to draw a circle in the middle of his arch. Thadeus lets out a squeal and his foot jerks to the side to avoid the quill. Martha swears under her breath and takes a look at the sole. "I need to start over," she says. His eyes grow wide when he sees her reach for the bath brush and dip it in the soapy water.
"Wait... I... OH GODS, NOHOHOHOHOHO!" he bursts out in helpless laughter as she starts scrubbing the sole. Martha has to grab his toes to keep his foot from moving. The young man is flailing on the bed, the leg in the cast the only part of his body that remains immobile.
"Not ticklish, eh?" she asks teasingly as she scrubs the last bits of the ink from his arch.
"HAHAHAHAHA! MERCY!" Thadeus begs between cackles. "YOU WRETCHED WITCH!"
"Language. I'm trying to save your leg," Martha scolds him as she puts away the brush. She is grinning in amusement as she carefully wipes his foot dry with the towel. "So heroic, yet so sensitive," she says teasingly.
Thadeus is lying still, his chest moving up and down as he's trying to catch his breath. "No... No more," he says quietly.
"Oh, no, young man. The Emperor wants to see you walk tomorrow, and walk you shall." She grabs his toes and stretches his foot tight. "Do not move, lad. You're a big boy. You can handle a little tickle."
"I'm not a child, AYYY!" he yelps as she starts again, her quill drawing lines upon his heel. She writes the runes slowly, carefully. Thadeus's fists clench and unclench as he faces the torrent of ticklish sensations.
"You should see the faces you're pulling," Martha says with a chuckle. Devilishly slowly, she draws a circle upon his arch. Thadeus lets out a snort and bursts into giggles that sound almost girly. He slams his fists against the table in an attempt to withstand the torturous scratching of the quill. But his foot remains in place.
By the time she's done with the arch, he is a giggling mess, tears rolling down his face. Martha can't help but grin at his predicament. "We're almost done, Thadeus," she says. "Only a couple of minutes of giggling more."
The moment the quill touches the ball of his foot, he almost leaps off the table. "By gods, no!" he exclaims. He is laughing hysterically, his arms flailing, his healthy leg kicking. "YOU'RE EVIL! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"Unbelievably evil. If you make me mess up, I'll have to bring out the brush again. So don't move."
"WRETCHED WITCH!" he cries out desperately before surrendering to the laughter. The scribbling on his foot is maddening. Just when he thinks he can't take much more, she stops.
"You're doing great, Thadeus. We're almost done."
"Almost?" Before he can ask for more details, he feels her pinch his big toe between her thumb and index finger. The quill drags up his big toe, and it's like an electric shock running through his body. "NOT THE TOES!" he blurts out before letting out a howl of hysterical laughter. He jerks his foot free from her grasp and scrunches the toes. The ink smears all over his sole.
"I... I didn't mean to..." he starts pleading when he realizes what awaits him. "Please... I can't take much longer... It tickles too much."
"Will you explain to the Emperor that you lost your leg because you're too ticklish?" she asks as she reaches for the bath brush.
"You don't understand... This is torture..."
"I'm not so sure. A part of you seems to be enjoying my ministrations."
He follows her gaze to his pelvis. The front of his pants is obscenely tented. His cheeks flare up. "It's not what you think... I..." His flustered protest turns into a shriek of laughter as the soapy bath brush starts scrubbing at his toes and the ball of his foot.
"Good thing the orcs don't tickle torture their prisoners, lad. I wouldn't trust you with any military secrets if they did."
Thadeus can only laugh hysterically, unable to form a coherent answer to her playful jeering. The brush attacks his poor sole for what seems like an eternity. When she's done cleaning the botched runes, he can only lie there motionlessly, trying to catch his breath.
"Third time's a charm, eh?" Martha says as she finishes drying his foot.
Thadeus starts laughing the moment the quill touches his heel. It's obvious that all resistance has fled his body through sheer exhaustion. He just lies on the bed and takes it, his frame shaking with each cackle. It's easier to hold his foot now. She quickly finishes the heel.
"PLEEHEEHEEHEEZE! STOP! I'M GONNA DIE!" he blurts out as the quill starts scribbling away all over his arch.
"At least you're gonna die happy," Martha answers, earning a "NOOOO!" from the poor, ticklish soldier. When she draws the runes on the ball of his foot, his toes give a feeble twitch under her palm.
"Oh, no, you don't," she says with a gleam in her eye that seems almost sadistic. "I'm finishing these runes, whether you like it or not."
She grabs his big toe to keep it in place and starts scribbling an ancient pattern all over the soft pad. For a moment he shrieks and screams, but soon his body is overwhelmed by silent laughter, only the shaking of his chest revealing that he is in the clutches of ticklish hysterics. She moves over to the next toe. And another. He is ready to welcome the sweet embrace of death when it all stops.
"Good. Now stay still," she says as she releases his little toe. He nods weakly.
"Morr'kareth. I call upon the one who devours chaos," she speaks. "Torgh'kareth. I call upon the one who devours pain."
The runes on Thadeus's foot start glowing faintly.
"Morr'agareth. Feast upon his pain!"
The runes light up in bright, pink light. Thadeus looks down in confusion. And then he feels a jolt of pain shooting from the sole of his foot up to his hip. And then darkness overwhelms him.
Martha quickly grabs the bag of salt and starts pouring it on the floor, drawing a circle around the table. If the Pain Eater turns against her, it will keep it trapped long enough for the Inquisition to arrive and purge the place. She sits cross-legged within the circle, at the young soldier's feet.
"I know you hear me, demon," she speaks to the glowing runes on Thadeus's sole. "You will restore this lad's leg to health. And once you feed on his pain, you will leave in peace. Or I will make you leave."
***
Thadeus wakes up in the morning to the sight of a weary-eyed Martha cutting away his cast. Light is pouring in from the gap in the tent's flaps.
"Try standing up," Martha says.
He hesitates, then swings his legs over the side of the table. For a moment he expects pain, but there is none. Reluctantly he lowers himself to his feet. He puts weight on one leg, then on the other. The movement is unsteady, but the strength is there. "By gods," he whispers. "It’s healed." He squats slowly and rises.
"The gods had nothing to do with it, I'm afraid."
For a moment he stares at her in confusion. He takes a step and stops abruptly. He looks down. "Why is there so much salt on the floor?" he asks.
"You don't want to know," Martha answers. "Come," she says. "The Grey Emperor wants to see you walk."
THE END
Olbrad II got tickled in Tales From The Grey Empire - The Emperor's Wife
THE WITCH, THE SOLDIER AND THE MIRACLE
by MikeMenace
The flap of Martha Helssen's tent snaps open, letting in the evening air. Karl Steiner, the Grey Emperor's oldest, most trusted surgeon, bursts in. "Clean that table," he orders unceremoniously.
"Excuse me?" Martha Helssen, witch and Imperial Healer, speaks up from over her studies.
"You have a patient. It's urgent," Karl says as he starts cleaning the table himself, throwing aside maps and scrolls. Martha mutters a curse under her breath and joins him.
Two soldiers march into the tent carrying a stretcher. They set it on the table. The patient is young - twenty, maybe twenty-one. A Sarmetian, by the look of his fair hair and the blue sigil painted on his shoulder plate. His leg lies encased in a rough plaster cast, only the bare foot sticking out.
"The knee is shattered. There is no bone left to set," Karl says, his expression grim. "If your magic can't heal him, we will need to amputate the leg."
The young soldier winces at the surgeon's words. Martha closes her eyes, feeling the life force pulsing beneath the lad's skin. When she opens her eyes, she has to will herself to stay composed.
"There's nothing left for me to do here, Karl. I'm a healer, not a miracle worker," Martha says, barely able to hide her sympathy for the boy under the mask of nonchalance.
“This man threw himself between me and an orc’s mace," she hears a familiar voice booming behind her. Olbrad II, the Grey Emperor, enters the tent. "If not for him, I’d be the one on this stretcher. I will not see him crippled.”
"There's only so much healing magic can do, Your Highness," Martha says, meeting the Emperor's gaze. "No sanctioned spell can heal a bone that's shattered to dust. I cannot..."
“I know what you have studied,” Olbrad interrupts her, “The old texts. Forbidden ones. You have a reputation, Mistress Helssen.”
For a moment, the tent falls silent. Karl nervously backs away from Martha. "I shall not be blackmailed by any man," she hisses finally, "not even the Grey Emperor. You threaten me with the Inquisition because I refuse to do the impossible?"
"I apologize, Mistress Helssen. I did not make myself clear," Olbrad says. "I hereby authorize you to use any means necessary to save the boy's leg, Inquisition be damned."
"You want me to commit heresy..."
"I want you to save his leg." He goes down to one knee before her. "I beg you, Mistress Helssen. Save him."
"Everyone out," she says after a moment, her voice softer now. "And pray the gods turn their eyes away."
Karl heads for the exit and waves for the soldiers to follow him. Olbrad is the last to leave. Martha stops him when he's about to leave the tent.
"Ready a squad of Inquisitors, Your Highness," she says. "If we don't emerge by noon tomorrow, my tent and everything inside it must be purged with Holy Fire."
"Understood. And thank you," the Grey Emperor answers as he leaves Martha alone with her patient.
Lanterns move slightly on their hooks in the evening breeze, their light flickering across vials and tomes stacked in careful order. The young soldier lies on her table, trying for a grin despite the pain.
“So, I’m to be your experiment,” he says in his thick Sarmetian accent.
"No. You're to be my miracle or my damnation," she answers. "What is your name, hero?"
"Thadeus."
"Thadeus..." she repeats absent-mindedly as she browses through the stack of old books. "There it is... Demonic Servants. Now where was that spell..." She flips through the pages until she finds them - the sigils of the Pain Eater. "This one's for healing the arm... This one's for skull fractures..." She flips the page. "There it is."
Thadeus watches her closely. “What is it?”
“A ritual older than the Empire. The Pain Eater is a spirit that restores things to how they were supposed to be. That's how it feeds - by fixing what was broken.” She meets his eyes. “If it possesses an injured body part, it will heal it.”
He swallows nervously. “Can you control this... spirit?”
“I hope so. If not, gods only know what it will do in its quest for order.”
He gives a shaky chuckle. “At least you're being honest.”
"The ritual seems simple enough. I just need to draw a runic pattern on the foot of the injured leg and say an incantation." Martha gathers her tools - a quill made out of a crow feather, a vial of ink, the sketch of the sigil, and a bag of salt. She also brings forth a bowl of soapy water, a small bathing brush, and a towel. "In case I have to redo the runes. Let's hope it's not needed."
His toes wiggle in anticipation. "Ready when you are," he says.
"Don't move," she says as she rolls up her sleeves and kneels by his foot. "This shouldn't take long."
Martha dips the quill in ink and draws the first line of the rune across the heel of Thadeus’s foot. His body tenses, the muscle in his jaw tightening, but he says nothing. She carefully draws another line and another. The young man inhales sharply and lets out a quiet whimper.
"Is there a problem?" she asks.
"No," he hisses through clenched teeth.
She returns to her task. Thadeus's breath becomes strained and erratic. His foot trembles whenever the quill nears his arch.
"Don't move," Martha warns him.
"I'm sorry. I can't help it," he answers.
"I need to be precise here. What is wrong with you, lad?" she scolds him, and she looks up. Martha sees how he's clenching his eyes, how he's biting down on his lower lip, the perspiration on his forehead. "Are you ticklish?" she asks, barely able to hide an amused grin.
"N... No," he blurts out, a blush creeping up on his face.
"So don't move." She dips the quill in ink and tries to draw a circle in the middle of his arch. Thadeus lets out a squeal and his foot jerks to the side to avoid the quill. Martha swears under her breath and takes a look at the sole. "I need to start over," she says. His eyes grow wide when he sees her reach for the bath brush and dip it in the soapy water.
"Wait... I... OH GODS, NOHOHOHOHOHO!" he bursts out in helpless laughter as she starts scrubbing the sole. Martha has to grab his toes to keep his foot from moving. The young man is flailing on the bed, the leg in the cast the only part of his body that remains immobile.
"Not ticklish, eh?" she asks teasingly as she scrubs the last bits of the ink from his arch.
"HAHAHAHAHA! MERCY!" Thadeus begs between cackles. "YOU WRETCHED WITCH!"
"Language. I'm trying to save your leg," Martha scolds him as she puts away the brush. She is grinning in amusement as she carefully wipes his foot dry with the towel. "So heroic, yet so sensitive," she says teasingly.
Thadeus is lying still, his chest moving up and down as he's trying to catch his breath. "No... No more," he says quietly.
"Oh, no, young man. The Emperor wants to see you walk tomorrow, and walk you shall." She grabs his toes and stretches his foot tight. "Do not move, lad. You're a big boy. You can handle a little tickle."
"I'm not a child, AYYY!" he yelps as she starts again, her quill drawing lines upon his heel. She writes the runes slowly, carefully. Thadeus's fists clench and unclench as he faces the torrent of ticklish sensations.
"You should see the faces you're pulling," Martha says with a chuckle. Devilishly slowly, she draws a circle upon his arch. Thadeus lets out a snort and bursts into giggles that sound almost girly. He slams his fists against the table in an attempt to withstand the torturous scratching of the quill. But his foot remains in place.
By the time she's done with the arch, he is a giggling mess, tears rolling down his face. Martha can't help but grin at his predicament. "We're almost done, Thadeus," she says. "Only a couple of minutes of giggling more."
The moment the quill touches the ball of his foot, he almost leaps off the table. "By gods, no!" he exclaims. He is laughing hysterically, his arms flailing, his healthy leg kicking. "YOU'RE EVIL! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
"Unbelievably evil. If you make me mess up, I'll have to bring out the brush again. So don't move."
"WRETCHED WITCH!" he cries out desperately before surrendering to the laughter. The scribbling on his foot is maddening. Just when he thinks he can't take much more, she stops.
"You're doing great, Thadeus. We're almost done."
"Almost?" Before he can ask for more details, he feels her pinch his big toe between her thumb and index finger. The quill drags up his big toe, and it's like an electric shock running through his body. "NOT THE TOES!" he blurts out before letting out a howl of hysterical laughter. He jerks his foot free from her grasp and scrunches the toes. The ink smears all over his sole.
"I... I didn't mean to..." he starts pleading when he realizes what awaits him. "Please... I can't take much longer... It tickles too much."
"Will you explain to the Emperor that you lost your leg because you're too ticklish?" she asks as she reaches for the bath brush.
"You don't understand... This is torture..."
"I'm not so sure. A part of you seems to be enjoying my ministrations."
He follows her gaze to his pelvis. The front of his pants is obscenely tented. His cheeks flare up. "It's not what you think... I..." His flustered protest turns into a shriek of laughter as the soapy bath brush starts scrubbing at his toes and the ball of his foot.
"Good thing the orcs don't tickle torture their prisoners, lad. I wouldn't trust you with any military secrets if they did."
Thadeus can only laugh hysterically, unable to form a coherent answer to her playful jeering. The brush attacks his poor sole for what seems like an eternity. When she's done cleaning the botched runes, he can only lie there motionlessly, trying to catch his breath.
"Third time's a charm, eh?" Martha says as she finishes drying his foot.
Thadeus starts laughing the moment the quill touches his heel. It's obvious that all resistance has fled his body through sheer exhaustion. He just lies on the bed and takes it, his frame shaking with each cackle. It's easier to hold his foot now. She quickly finishes the heel.
"PLEEHEEHEEHEEZE! STOP! I'M GONNA DIE!" he blurts out as the quill starts scribbling away all over his arch.
"At least you're gonna die happy," Martha answers, earning a "NOOOO!" from the poor, ticklish soldier. When she draws the runes on the ball of his foot, his toes give a feeble twitch under her palm.
"Oh, no, you don't," she says with a gleam in her eye that seems almost sadistic. "I'm finishing these runes, whether you like it or not."
She grabs his big toe to keep it in place and starts scribbling an ancient pattern all over the soft pad. For a moment he shrieks and screams, but soon his body is overwhelmed by silent laughter, only the shaking of his chest revealing that he is in the clutches of ticklish hysterics. She moves over to the next toe. And another. He is ready to welcome the sweet embrace of death when it all stops.
"Good. Now stay still," she says as she releases his little toe. He nods weakly.
"Morr'kareth. I call upon the one who devours chaos," she speaks. "Torgh'kareth. I call upon the one who devours pain."
The runes on Thadeus's foot start glowing faintly.
"Morr'agareth. Feast upon his pain!"
The runes light up in bright, pink light. Thadeus looks down in confusion. And then he feels a jolt of pain shooting from the sole of his foot up to his hip. And then darkness overwhelms him.
Martha quickly grabs the bag of salt and starts pouring it on the floor, drawing a circle around the table. If the Pain Eater turns against her, it will keep it trapped long enough for the Inquisition to arrive and purge the place. She sits cross-legged within the circle, at the young soldier's feet.
"I know you hear me, demon," she speaks to the glowing runes on Thadeus's sole. "You will restore this lad's leg to health. And once you feed on his pain, you will leave in peace. Or I will make you leave."
***
Thadeus wakes up in the morning to the sight of a weary-eyed Martha cutting away his cast. Light is pouring in from the gap in the tent's flaps.
"Try standing up," Martha says.
He hesitates, then swings his legs over the side of the table. For a moment he expects pain, but there is none. Reluctantly he lowers himself to his feet. He puts weight on one leg, then on the other. The movement is unsteady, but the strength is there. "By gods," he whispers. "It’s healed." He squats slowly and rises.
"The gods had nothing to do with it, I'm afraid."
For a moment he stares at her in confusion. He takes a step and stops abruptly. He looks down. "Why is there so much salt on the floor?" he asks.
"You don't want to know," Martha answers. "Come," she says. "The Grey Emperor wants to see you walk."
THE END
