***
The issue had been decided--the lives of Kelden and Dameon would end in bloody sacrifice and no amount of begging or bargaining would change this fact. But Dameon wasn't going easy. As the warriors advanced on him, his mace flared up with a magical charge, and he killed the first warrior he could reach with a dynamic blow to the head that sent sparks and bone fragments flying everywhere.
Dameon's eyes smoldered with sorcery, and the Galds hesitated before the enraged former seer. "Come forth and die!" Dameon cried.
But the warriors knew better. They could not overcome a seer with their mind powers, and defeating Dameon in combat would cost them many lives. Instead, they stepped aside and let their shaman confront Dameon. The two sorcerers locked themselves into a struggle of wills–gleaming mace against blinking staff. Dameon grunted, his eyes bloodshot and bulging with concentration. The shaman hummed hypnotically while drool ran from his mouth.
Dameon's powers had weakened over the decades from lack of use, and the shaman was strong. Through Dameon struggled with all of his might, it wasn't long before he was driven to his knees, his mace dropping from his hand.
With a frantic, superhuman effort, Dameon broke the shaman's hold and tried to retrieve the weapon, but the warriors rushed in and struck glancing blows to his head with their clubs. Bellowing in pain and fury, he snatched up the mace and swung it wildly and without time to magically recharge it, making contact in a lucky shot and crushing a Gald's shoulder. The warrior dropped to the ground and lay writhing in agony.
As Dameon raised his mace to swing again, a warrior cried out in delight as she drove her club into the back of Dameon's head with perfect precision, tearing a bloody gash. The other warriors clapped and cheered at her well-placed strike, knowing victory was at hand. The warrior who'd struck the blow danced about, humming and waving her arms in glee. Dameon staggered, his eyes rolling back to reveal their whites and his breath wheezing, and then he collapsed.
Kelden tried to get up so he could flee, but he was too weak. He prayed for someone to help--Theodus, Thayan, or even Credesar. But he had a dreadful feeling that only torture and death awaited him now.
Angered by the slaying of their comrade, the other warriors pummeled Dameon with their fists until his face dripped blood even as he lay unconscious. They might have killed him, had the shaman not ordered them with a motion of his hand to cease administering the beating. They bound Dameon ruthlessly tight with thick rope.
Kelden's hopes--if there were any left--sank even further when a company of warriors entered the Hub carrying the bound forms of Theodus and Thayan. It took two muscular warriors to carry Theodus, who lay limp from the ugly head wound. Thayan was unhurt, but clearly terrified as revealed by his pale face and trembling body. Kelden suspected the two had tried to enter the village, probably to save Kelden's life. Now they would be forced to share his fate.
Dameon regained his senses, and, bellowing curses, he struggled to break the ropes; but they were too stout even for his strength.
"Let the others go!" Kelden yelled as two warriors advanced on him. "I'll be your sacrifice. You don't need them." But he knew they couldn't understand him and wouldn't have listened even if they could.
They dragged Kelden to an iron post stained crimson. The post had a series of rings running up either side of it. The ground beneath reeked of decay. Two warriors carried Kelden up the post and then bound his arms to the rings. He was now about ten feet off the ground. His arms were stretched painfully around the thick pole, and he could feel the muscles in his shoulders tearing.
He knew what was happening to him--but in a numb, desperate way. Every moment that crept by was life, measured by the beating of his heart. Living was all that mattered now--trying to survive another second. His brain refused to acknowledge exactly what was in store for him. He gazed at it indirectly as he fought for survival, but dared not look it in the face. Kelden found himself begging Credesar to come forth, for he was certain the demon was his only chance for survival. He noted the irony of it--wishing a creature that he wanted to destroy would rise up and save him. He sent a mental apology to Credesar, hoping the fiend would forgive him and come to his rescue just this once. But nothing stirred within.
Below, the others were forced to watch, except for Theodus, who remained unconscious and would have fought furiously to save his master if awake. Kelden was to be first, and then, one by one, they would get their turn on the post.
Dameon gazed at the ground, apparently defeated.
"He's given up," Kelden whispered numbly. "This is serious." At the sound of his own babbling, a new surge of panic flooded through him. This was serious. He was about to be slowly taken apart.
The shaman and his priests smiled and sang as they rubbed some ointment on the tips of spears. Meanwhile, the warriors danced in apparent ecstasy. Finally, the shaman raised his spear and made a small cut in Kelden's foot. Hot agony erupted in the tiny wound from whatever pain-inducing poison was on the spear tip, and Kelden screamed. The pain was so wretched he hoped he would pass out. But something kept him fully awake, perhaps an evil side effect of the poison. He would find no instant escape from this torture. At the sound of his screams the Galds erupted into hoots and cheers. Their god would feast well this night.
Kelden could have stopped his own heartbeat and ended things quickly. He had the ability, but for whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to do it. His hatred for the Galds became a taste in his mouth, a heavy bitterness on his tongue. The hatred was beginning to consume him, to drive away the pain. It was a writhing, unnatural force, and he couldn't have controlled it even if he'd wanted to. Suddenly he was able to acknowledge what they were plotting to do to him and his friends. He could stare into the face of it. The Galds would torture them slowly, over hours or even days. Every drop of blood and cry of agony brought joy to their hearts.
As Kelden stared into this reality, his hatred became a destructive force and some sort of portal seemed to open within him. His teeth began to ache for warm blood, and a growl arose in his throat. Chills ran all over his flesh, and goose bumps popped out on his arms. Suddenly he felt prickly, as if covered in hair. His face was twisting in some horrid fashion. Unexpectedly, he threw back his head and let out a booming, inhuman howl. His hatred had mutated him into some abomination, and now all he could think about was tearing into blood and meat and bringing death to everyone around him. He felt the stout ropes begin to snap beneath his sudden and terrible strength. There was no doubt in his mind that soon the village would run red with blood.
"The Arnwolf!" Dameon cried, staring up at him, his eyes wide in amazement. "The Arnwolf has awakened!"
Responding to Kelden's uncontrollable emotions, Credesar was able to rise up inside of Kelden and seize command. Kelden could feel the demon overpower his will, and he didn't fight it, for he believed it was his only chance at survival.
Kelden Delure's world vanished into mist and shadow.
The Curse of Credesar, Part 1 Page 23