The Brotherhood of Merlin

by Rory D Nelson

Renault takes special notice of that look between the two. So far, there is no tell and his mind is unreadable. He had obviously been coached by Merlin. Did they know something he didn’t or was it just a look meant to comfort? He continues his assault on Domithicus’ mind.

  The officer returns with the ‘Pear of Anguish.’ The object is exactly what Domithicus pictured; a pear-shaped, metallic object with several grooved leaflets on the outside of the device to elicit maximum amount of friction inside the orifice and a circular pinwheel knob at the base. When the pinwheel is turned, the leaflets will extend out to increase the agony of the unlucky recipient. In this case-himself.

  The officer holds out the device to the King, awaiting his orders. Jason holds up his hand, indicating a pause. He approaches Domithicus and speaks in a hushed tone. “As one warrior to another, I’ll extend you this one courtesy. One chance. Tell us where your Brethren are and set watch and warrant, I’ll give you a quick death. A warrior’s death. Or you will experience more pain than you can ever imagine. I’ll not ask again.”

  Domithicus looks at the King, defiantly, with a stone-cold expression of reckless hatred. “Would I inform on my Brethren for a quick death to tell my Maker everything I have sacrificed for and everything I have sworn to uphold is all for naught and shit. Would I tell him to fuck himself when I enter into eternity? For what? You are pathetically stupid. You know nothing of the Brotherhood. There is nothing you can do to deter me from my path. I would never betray my Brothers. It is too late for you and your steed. Do with me as you will, you pathetic, sadistic, God-betraying heathen!” Domithicus laughs in derision. “Have your worst with me cunts!”

  The King nods to the officer and he complies. He forces the device in Domithicus’ rectum, which is difficult with no lubricant. Domithicus instinctively tenses up his sphincter muscles. The pain is simply too much. He cries out sharply. The grooves in the leaflets bite into his skin painfully, causing several minute scratches, emitting a small amount of blood, which produce the necessary lubricant to force the device inside him. Blood continues to seep out in small amounts and he continues his protests.

  The King and his men laugh out raucously as if they are being treated to an accomplished jester. Domithicus writhes like a worm dangling from a hook, thrashing about uncontrollably in his restraints. He tries to relax his sphincter muscles as much as possible. The pain abates at times and it exacerbates exponentially. Every time he thrashes about uncontrollably, his sphincter muscles clench up involuntarily and his pain increases.

  “Private, elongate the leaflets. Turn the knob.”

  “Ai, your Grace.” The private complies and turns the knob out slightly. As soon as he turned the dial, Domithicus writhes uncontrollably and he cries out excruciatingly. He does not try and stifle a cry. It is impossible. On the contrary, he wants to show the soldiers how much agony he is in. If he does not give them enough of a show, they will assume their tactics are not working and they will either devise more heinous tortures or end his life altogether, putting the girl’s life in serious jeopardy. So Domithicus does not hold back and vocalizes every painful nuance.

  Unfortunately, his thoughts turn to the girl. It is exactly the moment Renault has been hoping for - a moment of vulnerability in his mind.

  “Turn the knob a little more!” commands Jason. The private complies. Domithicus believed, mistakenly, he reached the zenith of his pain threshold and there is simply no more pain to endure. He is proven wrong. The pain increases exponentially with every minuscule turn of the knob and he couldn’t have stifled a cry to save his Father’s Name. The device remains there for several minutes, his blood seeping out slightly more. Tears well up in his eyes, but he chokes them back.

  After several excruciating minutes, Jason finally relents “Stop. We can’t have our cully bleed to death, can we? Screw back the dial to its original position and remove it.” The officer complies. He pulls out the device forcefully, eliciting more agonizing moans from Domithicus, much to the delight of the soldiers. The forceful exit causes more abrasions inside his rectum and the blood seeps out more.

  Cammius approaches Domithicus to examine him. He takes care in breathing out his mouth. The smell of acrid feces and fresh crimson is nauseating. He swoons and manages to hold in his most recent meal.

  “How’s he faring?” asks Jason.

  Cammius smiles sheepishly. “He’ll live, your Liege.”

  “Cauterize his wound,” says Jason nonchalantly.

  “Ai, your Grace.”

  The end of the branding iron is ochre red and sizzles menacingly with fiery heat. The hot poker stole hisses in a grotesque, muffled way as it comes into contact with his anus, stopping the blood flow immediately and causing him to writhe uncontrollably. Nothing could have prepared him for the monstrous pain that follows. Every nerve impulse lights up in his body, sending torrents of excruciating pain throughout every fiber. He cannot stifle the effeminate, piercing cries that induce laughter in the men around him.

  His cries continue while the poker splays and mars his skin. His voice begins to grow hoarse from the unnaturally high-pitched squeals. A part of him longs for death.

  The king laughs derisively. “Well men, appears we do have a wench in our midst, so we do.” The soldiers laugh harder at the jest.

  The last vestige of armor protecting his mind finally breaks and his mind is laid bare. Renault gleans every bit of it. He nods to Commaden, who still laughs at Domithicus’ wails.

  Renault approaches the King. “Sire, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your show, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t remind you of the reason for the torture in the first place.”

  The smile runs away from his face and he raises his brow. “Did you get anything?”

  Renault smiles. “Sire, I got everything.”

  Jason lights up like a small child on Christmas morning. “Speak it.”

  “He clings to the girl. She is most precious to him. And to Merlin.”

  “Why is she so important?”

  “Could not ascertain that, Sire. But one thing is certain. Another force lies in wait. That much I gleaned.”

  “Reinforcements?”

  “Ai.”

  “Who? Where? “

  “Could not glean that information, Sire.” He motions to Domithicus with his eyes. “You must-”

  A big smile erupts on Jason’s face.

  Jason walks up to Domithicus in an exaggerated gait and puffs up his chest. “Soldier, bring me that girl.” The soldier complies. Sylvia begins to wail hysterically.

  Domithicus snaps his head up. “Leave her alone you cunts. Don’t touch her!”

  “Oh, I’ll do more than touch her, Sai. How about I break her in. Right in front of you? What would you say to such?”

  “Let her go!” cries Domithicus.

  “I know there’s reinforcements.”

  Domithicus tries to shake his head. His face scrunches up and tears begin to well up in his eyes.”

  “Disrobe her soldier, so I may get my fill. I’ll permit you one as well!”

  “No! Put her down!”

  “I’m going to fuck her and then kill her. And you can watch. What say you?”

  “No! No! Please!” He cries. The tears fall unabated down bloody and soot stained cheeks. “Please!”

  “Then tell me!”

  He shakes his head in helpless frustration. “Get me that knife, soldier!”

  The soldier brandishes his knife and places it across Sylvia’s cheek menacingly.

  “Belkin Ridge!” cries Domithicus. Jason gestures to the soldier to put the knife down.

  “I’m listening,” says Jason.

  “Let her go. I’ll tell you everything.”

  Jason motions to the soldier. The soldier lets her go. She runs back in the corner, puts her hands in her eyes and sobs.

  “Belkin Ridge is in Orachain lands, Domithicus.”

  He nods. “Ai. We knew you would never expect such.”

  “How many?”
/>   “Five hundred strong.”

  “From where?”

  “The Tribe of the Menedes.”

  Jason turns to his nephew and laughs. “Balsy fucking move, soldier. Cutting right through Orachain Lands.” He walks around and rubs his chin in contemplation. “It’s also unexpected. Has a ring of truth to it. I would have expected something akin to Merlin. You ken, Commaden?”

  “Ai. We would never have seen it coming. Not before it was too late. Merlin is no tripe warlord.”

  Jason turns to Renault. “Renault? Look into his mind. Is he telling us the truth?”

  Renault approaches Domithicus and looks into his eyes. Domithicus has trouble meeting his gaze as he feels his talons begin to seep into his mind. His head begins to ache and his mind seems to turn in on itself. It is beyond creepy. He turns away and lays his head down on his chest in defeat. There is nothing left to give.

  Renault turns to Jason. He smiles. “Ai, Sire. That he is. His mind echoes his assertions. Congratulations. Seems there is nothing left to do but to act on that intelligence. Before I take me leave of you, would you like me to put a bullet in his head?

  Jason and Commaden both look at him with a bemused smirk. They give each other a knowing look and shake their heads in bafflement. “Rest assured, Renault, we will act on that information. I’ll send me nephew out with my remaining force save my Proletariat Guard and another two hundred men at my side. When he returns triumphant, we shall celebrate.”

  Jason approaches Renault until he is only a couple feet from him. “As for ye. Ye will remain here until this campaign has concluded.”

  “Your victory is as good as done. There is no further information to glean, Sire.”

  “My victory is as good as done. But there may be unforeseen contingencies. What if there is another we must interrogate? You will remain here.”

  “You have no right to hold me,” says Renault emphatically.

  “I am King. I have every right,” says Jason, with righteous indignation.

  “Guard, see a chamber made up for Renault. Take him there and shackle him to a post, in case he should get any ideas about leaving. You ken?”

  “Ai, Sire.”

  Jason turns to Commaden. He smiles and places his hands on his shoulders in a fatherly gesture. “You are my fortunate talisman, nephew. There is a crater and ablation at Alder Pass, adjacent Belkin Ridge. I ken it will be a good ambush point.”

  Commaden nods. “Ai. It will indeed, Uncle.”

  “The Orachain will say a thankee for the intrusion in their own lands. So, the ambush will serve joint purpose.”

  Commaden smiles devilishly. “Destroy our enemy and win the favor of King Sylvio. That is fortuitous, Sire. We have done well.”

  “See to it and you shall have your share of my spoils.”

  “Ai, Sire.” They both look at Domithicus. A mischievous grin begins to emerge on Commaden’s face. Jason looks at Commaden and a knowing smirk crosses his face as well. “As for him?” asks Commaden. “Perhaps something deserving of one who has caused so much trouble?”

  “Ever seen a man skinned alive?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “When you return, you shall witness it first-hand.”

  Jason puts his arms around Commaden and kisses him on the forehead. “Until then, nephew.”

  Jason glances at Domithicus with condescending scorn. “Take him back to his cell. No less than five men guarding him at all times. Chain him to the post. I’m not taking any chances with him.”

  “Ai, Sire.” The soldier butts Domithicus in the back, knocking him forward.

  “And guard?”

  “Ai?’

  “I want him with his full faculties. If he doesn’t, I’ll have you to blame. And there will be recompense. You ken?”

  “Ai, Sire.”

  The guard deposits Domithicus on the floor of his cell like a sack of rotten potatoes, leaving him in his shackles and cuffs. He takes a chain and wraps it around a post.

  “A bit of an overkill?” asks Ludus, a private.

  “King’s orders.”

  His body is now one big jumble of inflamed pain receptors. Every tiny movement sends a volley of pain coursing through his body, like a snake that continually shoots venom into him. At least three of his ribs are broken, his nose is mashed up and his voice is nasally, his breathing labored. His asshole is on fire as well. He wants nothing more than to scream at the top of his lungs; but he refrains.

  Regardless of his excruciating pain, he smiles hopefully. He has full use of his arms and legs. When and if the time comes, he will escape from these cuffs. He holds one of the clips in his hands and concentrates on the center of himself, pushing the pain to the recess of his brain.

  Chapter 31: Another Act of Subterfuge

  Commander Marcus Battilus asks, “Is everything in its place, Captain?”

  “Ai, Commander. Awaiting your orders. The Gatling gun is obscured deep in the thicket. Four men are positioned at it, ready to initiate the beast.”

  “Well done, Captain.”

  “Ai.”

  “Let them come and we will make quick work of them. The Brethren will perish.”

  (2)

  Germanicus peers through the hyper-oculars at the approaching army. “It is as you have predicted, Merlin. Over three thousand strong. Everything is in its place. May God grant us a little luck.”

  “God doesn’t give luck, Germanicus. He gives opportunities to the righteous who have done their preparations. Very little has been left to chance. “

  Merlin hops up on his mount and loads up his speed shooters, his gifted hands performing the task imperceptibly fast. “Germanicus, take Syrus, Savelle, Ithicus, and Atticus to the tug-a-boom. I have obscured it in the thicket. If the Commander has done his lay work, he may be looking for such a device. Eliminate all who venture too closely. Cotteroy, Jamison, and Atticus will reconvene with me at Mounts Edge where we will initiate the trap.”

  “And where are you going in the meantime?”

  Merlin smiles sheepishly. “I am leaving less to chance.” Merlin clicks Jessibel and they gallop away.

  Germanicus shakes his head in exasperation. His taciturn ways are maddening. But he is the Merlin. It has always been this way.

  Cotteroy, Jamison, and Atticus ride off after Merlin. Germanicus prepares himself for the final showdown. Though he fought in hundreds of battles before, he never ceases to get a case of the ‘jitters.’ His heart trip-hammers in his chest and sweat begins to trickle down his face, pasting his face and getting into his eyes. He wipes it away. With the rise in heart rate and respiration, his mind begins to hyper-focus. Nothing exists for him now except this moment.

  As the battle begins, his heart will inevitably slow down and a calming serenity will wash over him. There is no other high like it anywhere, no drug known to man that can replicate that feeling. A part of him feels guilty at having such feelings of euphoria associated with the battlefield, but he is powerless to stop it. The other Brethren admit, reluctantly so, they too have a ‘rush’ from the battle, but Germanicus is sure they do not enjoy it half as much as he does.

  Merlin, on the other hand, admits he doesn’t enjoy killing, but it is necessary. It is the nature of warfare.

  (3)

  “Commander, we have ascertained some of the aggressors’ position on Briar Hill,” says Captain Eratius.

  The Commander smiles. “Very good, Captain. Send your Lieutenant to lead a small squadron to roust them from their position along the southern corridor. At the same time, lead a larger force from the northern corridor at the edge of the thicket to flank them. You will lead them through the narrow switchback that empties onto a wider path at Mounts Edge. I have positioned a Gatling gun there. Spread the men out and choke up the switchbacks with men. You will force them to escape the only way they can-into the mouth of the beast. And when you have accomplished it, sound the bullhorn and unleash hell.”

  “Ai. Commander.”
>
  (4)

  As part of the plan dictates, Cotteroy, Jamison and Attius allow themselves to be spotted by scouts. So, a small squadron of forty soldiers pursue them through the narrow switchbacks of Mounts Edge. Loud, clamorous, oily beasts make their way through impossibly sharp, hairpin turns. A couple of horses fail to make the turn in time and fly off the precipice of the canyon.

  The geography of the canyon forces the squadron to slow down and spread out through the switchbacks. When the narrow switchbacks eventually funnel and empty into a wide and straight channel, the riders respond by galloping faster.

  Lieutenant Holst spots one of the aggressors. “There men, kill him!” The men fire on the aggressor. Before bullets can find target, the aggressor disappears into a dense thicket off the shoulder of the trail. From a thick patch of Muelberry trees, Merlin emerges with guns blazing. Rather than aim for the riders, he instead aimed for the horses’ legs. With lightning quick ferocity and God-like dexterity, Merlin shatters the front horses’ legs, who whines in agony and topple over, their unsuspecting riders being violently expelled in the process. Many are killed as the beasts crush them to death.

  Because of their close proximity, the riders immediately behind them are unable to stop and collide with the downed horses. The horses lose their footing, topple over in response, and expel their riders through the air.

  “Halt men!” The rest of the squadron who did not fall victim to the trap stop in time and respond to the assault. Unable to get a view inside, they fire into the general direction, hoping to get a lucky shot. Unfortunately, by the time they start firing in retaliation, Merlin escapes. Using his sword to cut through the dense foliage, he makes his way to the back of the squadron to join the other Brethren.

  After witnessing the assault on their fellow soldiers, the men in the back of the squadron become erratic and indecisive. They fire at anything that moves. Their fate however, is sealed. Cotteroy, Jamison and Atticus emerge, firing relentless, piercing rounds.

  Their aim is remarkable and true. In a matter of seconds, they kill nearly a third of the men. Dexterous hands cock the trigger and thumb the hammer, nearly simultaneously, shooting ridiculously fast. No man or beast is spared. Some manage to fire back, but not in time.