The pillars of creation

"That's the one. Clovis the hawker. He robbed me and left me for dead. I didn't kill him, I measured out justice. I should be rewarded for it. They can't imprison me for administering justice to Clovis-he deserved it for his crimes."

The man in the comer rose up. The other men closed in.

"Clovis was one of us," crooked-teeth said. "He was a friend of ours."

"Really?" Oba said. "Well, I pounded him to a bloody pulp. If I'd have had time, I'd have cut some tender pieces off of him before I mashed his head.»

"Pretty brave, for a big fellow, when it comes to beating a hunched little man who's all alone," one of the men said under his breath.

Another of the men spat at him. Oba's anger sprang to life. He reached for his knife, but found it missing.

"Who took my knife? I want it back. Which one of you thieves stole my knife?"

"The guards took it." Crooked-teeth snickered. "You really are a dumb oaf, aren't you?"

Oba glared up at the man standing in the center of the room, fists at his sides, his crooked teeth making his lips look lumpy. The man's powerful barrel chest rose and fell with each seethed breath. His shaved head made him look to be a troublemaker. He took another step toward Oba.

"That's what you are-a big oaf. Oba the oaf."

The others laughed. Oba simmered as he listened to the voice counseling him. He wanted to cut the tongues out of these men and then go to work on them. Oba preferred doing such things to women, but these men were earning it, too. It would be fun to take his time and watch them squirm, to make them cry, to watch the look in their eyes as death entered their convulsing bodies.

As the men closed in around him, Oba remembered that he didn't have his knife, so he couldn't have the kind of fun he would have liked to. He needed to get his knife back. He was tired of this place. He wanted out.

"Stand up, Oba the oaf," crooked-teeth growled.

A rat scurried across in front of him. Oba slapped a hand down on its tail. The rat tugged and twisted, but couldn't get away. Oba snatched the furry thing up in his other hand. It wriggled, wrenching this way and that, trying to escape, but Oba had a good grip on it.

As he stood, he bit off the rat's head. When he had reached his full height, a good head taller than crooked-teeth, he glared into the eyes of the men around him. The only sound was bones crunching as Oba chewed the rat's head.

The men backed away.

Oba, still chewing, went to the door and peered out the barred opening. He saw two guards standing at the intersection of a nearby hall, talking quietly.

"You there!" he called out. "There has been a mistake! I need to speak with you!"

The two men paused in their conversation. "Oh yeah? What's the mistake?" one asked.

Oba's gaze moved between the two, but it was not just his gaze. The gaze of the thing that was the voice also watched from within him.

"I am brother to Lord Rahl. " Oba knew that he was saying aloud what he had never said to a stranger before, but he felt compelled to do so. He was somewhat surprised to hear himself go on as everyone watched him. "I am falsely imprisoned for measuring out justice to a thief, as is my duty. Lord Rahl will not stand for this false imprisonment. I demand to see my brother." Oba glared at the two guards. "Go get him!»

Both men blinked at what they saw in his eyes. Without further word, they left.

Oba glanced back at the men locked in with him. As he met each man's eyes in turn, he gnawed a hind leg off the limp rat. They moved aside for him to pace as he chewed, little rat bones crunch, crunch, crunching. He looked out the opening again, but saw no one else. Oba sighed. The palace was immense. It might be some time before the guards returned to let him out.

The men in the room with him silently backed out of the way as Oba went back to his spot against the wall opposite the door and sat down. They stood watching him. Oba watched back as he tore another chunk off the rat with the teeth at the side of his mouth.

They were all fascinated by him, he knew. He was almost royalty. Maybe he was royalty; he was a Rahl. They had probably never seen anyone as important as him before, and were in awe.

"You said they don't feed us." He waved what was left of the limp rat at their silent stares. "I'll not starve." He pulled off the tail and discarded it. Animals ate rat tails. He was hardly an animal.

"You're not just an oaf," crooked-teeth said in a quiet voice filled with contempt, "you're a crazy bastard."

Oba exploded across the room and had the man by the throat before anyone could so much as gasp in surprise. Oba lifted the squealing, kicking, crooked-toothed criminal up to where he could glare eye to eye. Then, with a mighty shove, Oba rammed him against the wall. The man went as limp as the rat.