In Service Of The King (Book 2)

by Steven Styles

  As he stood motionless and waiting, other sounds reached his ears. Between the bustle of the next cavern and the splashing of the priestly washings, Joseph detected a low, mumbling sound, somewhere close by. As his eyes adjusted further to the low light he finally spied the shape of a man—sitting on the floor—hidden in the shadows behind the priest and his attar. The seated figure swayed back and forth, staring at a wall and chanting. At least, it appeared to be a man; his skin was covered in a strange gray paint, like charcoal mixed with clay. The figure’s matted hair stuck up wildly from his head, festooned with rodent and bird skulls. He sat cross-legged—with his arms straight out in front of him—never ceasing the mumbling, nor his swaying.

  Joseph watched intently as the figure moved back and forth; the man appeared to have no color in his eyes, just white voids betwixt the wide-open lids. The sight of him made Joseph uneasy.

  Focusing back on the silent priest, he waited for the man to finish his washing. Carefully inspecting each fingernail, the priest finally wiped his thin, pale hands on a richly embroidered linen cloth. Clasping his hands together, the priest turned his head slowly and fixed his eyes on Joseph. Joseph matched his gaze evenly; the priest smiled, his eyes narrowing.

  “Joseph of Rishown,” the priest said, his voice penetrating the silence. “The servants tell me you are a lunatic peasant.” Joseph did not answer him, but gave a single nod. The priest held up his thin hand, beckoning the prisoner to follow him. “I am Bishop G’azal. I give all our new workers a tour of our home. It is my privilege to do so. I’ll show you to your place.” G’azal walked past the swaying, gray man on the floor, toward the far archway. “Come, Joseph,” he said, reassuringly, beckoning again.

  Stepping forward, Joseph kept one eye on the sitting figure by the attar. As he passed by the mumbling man, the figure swayed harder, saying:

  “Joseph! Rishown! Joseph!” The figure’s voice sounded throttled, as if he were in agony. He resumed his mumblings as Joseph walked away, towards the priest.

  G’azal’s hand stretched out, as if to guide him. Joseph stood next to the bishop, looking down at the shorter man with a fearless gaze.

  “Are you here to bless me, Priest?” Joseph asked. “If so, then do so. If not, lead me to the Magistrate where I may plead on my own behalf, according to the King’s law.” G’azal tilted his head slightly to one side.

  “Of which law do you speak?” he asked, still smiling. Joseph scrutinized the priest evenly.

  “Here is one law: ye shall have no other gods before Me…” he said, firmly.

  At this, the painted chanter on the floor some feet away screeched and howled; it seemed like howls filled the cavern like an entire pack of wolves was present.

  “Silence!” the priest ordered, holding up one hand. The howling stopped immediately.

  G’azal turned to Joseph, no longer smiling.

  “You have upset my friend,” he admonished softly. “We do not make judgments here, Joseph of Rishown. Come with me.” The priest walked towards the far archway and stepped through, robes lifted carefully off the floor. Following after him, Joseph entered a short passage. The noise and voices grew louder as he approached a huge double-door cut into the rock, shaped at a sharp incline to a point at their top.

  Beyond the doors lay a vast cavern, far greater than any Joseph had ever witnessed. The ceiling disappeared into thick darkness overhead; Joseph could not tell how high the cavern went. In the midst of the open space stood an enormous, wood-structure,likened to a building without walls. Blazing torches lit up its massive sides and levels, each with their own flurry of activity. Dozens of ramps allowed hundreds of workers to move barrels and wheeled boxes up and own the different levels. On the ‘floor’ of the cave—both under and around the structure—sat forges… dozens of them. At each, smiths could be seen, pumping bellows or hammering. On one side a few made weapons, but most fed fires under large smelting cauldrons. Sparks flew out in clouds at each pump of the many bellows, lighting the rock sides of the cavern with flashes of light.

  “Here, everyone has a place,” G’azal said, above the noise. As he strolled, he spread out one hand toward the structure. “We take in the criminally inclined and teach the simple, spiritual pleasures of work.” Joseph walked warily alongside G’azal. He noted several armed men in positions around the structure-all dressed in the crimson uniform of priestly guards; a few of these watched him keenly, but most kept an eye on the workers, stepping in now and then to hurry things along.

  Near one corner of the structure the bishop moved past a thin worker. The man took ore from within an open wine barrel on the ground, and placed it—piece by piece—into a wheeled cart. The sight of his skinny arms and sunken eyes made a wave of anger wash over Joseph. Briefly, the man’s eyes met his. Misery, itself, seemed to look out of his gaze. Pointing to the man Joseph halted his steps.

  “You say there is no judgment here, priest,” he said. “Yet, this man is starving.”

  Bishop G’azal looked sideways at Joseph, not acknowledging the prisoner at all.

  “Some do not accept our ways,” he said, simply. “To thrive here, you must.” With one hand, he beckoned to some one on the other side of the structure.

  After a minute or so, a servant—robed in crimson linen and fine sandals—approached the bishop. He bore a gold platter, loosely covered by a silken cloth.

  “My lord… your supper,” the servant said. He knelt reverently upon the ground, holding the platter up high. The Bishop took away the cloth, revealing a bit of steaming, pale meat in some kind of brown sauce. A few curling, green leaves decorated the dish. Taking up a small golden knife, G’azal sliced off a piece of the meat and chewed it meditatively. Smiling, he looked at Joseph.

  “Please have some,” he offered. “You’ll find nothing finer, I’m sure.”

  Out of the corner of his eyes, Joseph caught the figure of the thin prisoner, working behind the priest. The man stood from his work, his hollow eyes fixed on him. Very slightly, the worker shook his head; the miserable gaze took on a tinge of horror. Looking at the plate again Joseph took a step backward, fighting the urge to gag.

  G’azal chewed slowly, studying the new prisoner’s expression with interest.

  “Some aspire to rise to the top of this great building,” he remarked, gesturing towards the structure. “They want the fresher air of life and the sweet reward of work. Others, however,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the thin worker, “… are satisfied with pig’s gruel. You have that same choice before you. The choice of what to make of yourself, here, with us.”

  He waved the plate away and began walking forward again. “Now, about your resting place… follow me.” Moving around the structure and skirting the forges, G’azal led Joseph to the other side of the huge cavern. The weazoned worker looked after them for a moment before resuming his work.

  The bishop threaded his way easily around the cavern, to a small door in the rock wall. Another servant opened the door and G’azal stepped through into a long, narrow passageway with a low-slung ceiling. Stepping through the door after the priest, Joseph was obliged to hunch over a little, in order walk freely in the passage. The passage appeared to have been recently cut, and with some haste; the rough-hewn stone of the walls had not yet been smoothed. Stepping over a small stack of planed lumber, Joseph followed the priest past rough-cut doorways; some were fitted with wooden doors, other with stone. Each doorway bore a different symbol over it, cut into the rock and stained with ink.

  G’azal stopped in front of the last door, at the very end of the passage.

  “Here we are,” he said, slowly turning to look at Joseph. The symbol over this door looked familiar; it was the same Joseph had seen before entering the spiral stair. Calling his servant, G’azal had the young man open the door. Joseph saw the servant hold a cloth up to his nose as he grasped the door handle. Inwardly he prepared himself for whatever lay behind the door, whether beast or torture chamber.

 
A wave of hideous stench washed over him as the door opened, like the smell of a thousand corpses rotting in the sun. Forcing the bile rising in his throat down again, Joseph dared look through the door. A small ledge could be seen, ending at a cage,suspended by thick chains from the ceiling. Below the cage, the entire room dropped away twenty feet down, into a wide pit of some dark, black liquid. Skeletal remains could be seen, partially sticking out of the liquid, as well as decaying corpses. These were not animals.

  Overcome by the sight and smell. Joseph leaned against the passage wall and vomited onto the floor at his feet.

  “This is a very sacred place,” the Bishop said, watching Joseph curiously. He seemed unaffected by the room or its contents. “All our new workers are privileged to spend their first night here. But…” He looked back, down the passage. “Before you sleep, there is something else I want you to see.” He beckoned for Joseph to follow him, his face brightening. Wiping his mouth on the back of his arm, Joseph moved after the priest, a growing hatred for this entire underground realm blossoming in his mind. As he stepped forward he ran back over the rooms and caverns, mentally tallying the servants and number of guards he’d seen.

  The bishop walked up to one of the stone door, nearer to the entrance of the horrifying passage. Its symbol resembled a crude drawing of a lion, such as child might draw in the dirt. The servant grasped an iron ring in the door and dragged the heavy door open with difficulty. G’azal stepped through the door and ushered Joseph inside. Wide and low, the room held no furnishing nor other doors. Its stone walls were finished, however, and carved out from the rock to form a round room. The smooth floor featured a yawing pit in its center. A long, wooden board—just wide enough to stand upon— spanned the ominous opening. Two guards stood by the edge of the pit. A prisoner stood on the board, a rope tied about his waist; the rope went up through a metal hook embedded in the ceiling, the other end held by one of the guards.

  Suddenly, a deep roar reverberated through the room, joined by another. Eyes wide, Joseph realized the pit was home to great and ferocious beasts, the like of which had not been seen in the kingdom for generations. In his mind’s eyes he saw himself, sitting by his father’s chair on cold winter’s nights as a young lad, listening to tales of the Black Bane, the fearsome lion-like beasts that had once roamed their island. Outlying villages lived in constant fear of the creatures that preyed upon livestock and folk alike. The king’s great-grandfather had led great warriors to slay the beasts over many months, to ensure the safety of his people. Despite his best tactics, traps and maneuvers, many of his best knights were killed in the endeavor, but the bane was defeated. The monarch slew the last of hem, himself, taking as part of his royal crest the roaring black lion, lest the nation forget the blood spilled or their safety. Neither lion, nor wolf the beast were thought of as unnatural and bloodthirsty.

  “Black bane…” Joseph said, to himself.

  The priest heard his words and turned towards his new prisoner with narrowed eyes.

  “An ugly name,” G’azal sneered. “Myths propagated by ignorant peasants. These glorious creatures were nearly hunted to extinction by the short-sighted nobles of our land, just so farmers and lumbermen could breed a little faster.” He stepped closer to the pit, good humor overtaking his face once more. “I found this pair of fine animals in the Easterly land of Weymin. They were show-creatures, baited and caged, but one day I will set them free again.”

  Keeping his expression neutral, Joseph indicated the prisoner—standing on the board above the pit—with his shackled hands.

  “They are fed on peasants?” he asked. G’azal smiled.

  “Indeed. I am fond of irony.. it is a weakness of mine.” The bishop chuckled to himself. Joseph fought to keep his revulsion from showing. “This man has finally completed the long journey of his own existence,” the Bishop continued. He clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke. “He will be offered to the king of beasts, but he does not go unwillingly.”

  The dangling prisoner caught sight of the priest and called out to him in a voice of gladness.

  “Master! Your great wisdom and counsel led me here! I am honored you have come to see me! Bless you!” The prisoner waved and smiled at G’azal, who nodded sagely.

  “Farewell, Finch,” replied the Bishop.

  Hearing the name, Joseph stared at the condemned individual. The man called Finch wore elated expression but his eyes seemed to stare at nothing in particular. The guard with the rope began lowering the unfortunate man into the pit, while the other guard pulled the board away from under him. Joseph looked quickly over at G’azal. The priest seemed to be enjoying himself; he rose up on his toes to get a better view. Closing his eyes at the first scream, Joseph clenched his teeth and wished himself deaf.

  “My God,” he prayed silently. “Let not my enemies triumph over me.”

  He forced his eyes open in spite of the screams. All others in the room were distracted by the show in the pit. Joseph saw one of the guards struggling with drawing the long board towards him. Walking closer to the pit—as if interested—Joseph stumbled forward, falling on purpose against the guard with the board. Gasping, the man let it fall, the free end hitting the ground of the pit. Bishop G’azal sprang forward, his placid glee instantly replaced by panic.

  “Get it up you fool!” he yelled. “Pull it up!” He clutched at the board, himself, straining backward. Joseph slowly backed away from the edge of the pit towards the door.

  The roaring stopped. Two, gigantic black paws thumped onto the end of the board, its long claws digging into the wood.

  “Get it up!” G’azal screamed. All color drained away from his face.

  Joseph ran. Leaping outside the outside the doorway, he threw himself back against the stone door, forcing it closed with an enormous effort. He leaned back against the door, planting his feet on the stone corridor wall opposite, and braced himself. Catching his breath Joseph waited, his back firmly wedged against the stone door. The yelling inside was muted, but still discernible. Pounding sounded out on the door, and frantic attempts to push it open. Joseph stiffened his legs, pushing back with all his might. Screams of panic and fear rang out. Answering growls reverberated through the rock. The screams grew in volume,hands and nails scrabbling at the door. A thin stream of blood began trickling out from under the stone.

  Eventually the screams died away. Joseph calmed his breathing and looked around him. The pile of planed lumber he’d stepped over earlier stood mere yards away. Stepping around the blood, Joseph launched towards the wood and grabbed a thick piece. Darting back to the door he wedged it between the stone door and corridor wall. Ducking under it, Joseph listened for any sounds of coming footsteps. The main cavern’s noise and activity had masked all sounds of the horrors in the passage.

  Quickly, Joseph glanced at each of the symbols above the other doors, searching for anything indicating a way out. One door bore the image of a large snake; he left it untouched. Only one door had no symbol at all; it stood next to the death camber at the end. Joseph opened the door just enough to peer inside. A small room lay beyond. Two priests’ guards sat at a table int he middle of the space, playing cards. Weapons and implements of torture hung on the walls the way a rich man would display paintings.

  “Where is the exit passage?” Joseph asked.

  The two men looked up from their game at the door.

  “The main entrance and the second shaft… Hey! You’re not allowed in here!” The larger guard stood up as he spoke, sending his chair over backwards. The other threw down his cards and reached for his sword. Joseph turned and fled back down the corridor, toward the cavern. The two guards banged on the other doors they passed—loudly calling out.

  “Prisoner escape! Call the Bishop!” More guards emerged from the doors and darted down the passage, weapons in hand.

  Sprinting past the lion’s door, Joseph dodged under the brace and turned back. With a grunt, he dislodged the lumber and grasped the door’s iron ha
ndle tightly. Pulling back with all his might, he did not stop wrenching it back the door swung out into the passage wall. With a final heave Joseph leaned back, wedging the door firmly into the rock wall. On the other side of the door, he heard the footfalls of the approaching guards.

  “He went into the lion room!” one man called out. “There’s no way out! He’s trapped…”

  A low growl rang out from within the room. The menacing sound carried out into the passageway. Joseph’s pursuers stopped cold. In a half-second they’d rushed back the way they’d come, crying out in panic, the beasts hot on their heels. Joseph let go the door and turned to exit the terrible passageway. Stepping through the door he straightened up, standing in the great cavern once more.

  AS THE Shamar reached the dark courtyard of Hoggen Keep, Tyrus, Dunner and Hezekiah watched the cart speed away.

  “I’m no runner,” Dunner said, disgustedly. “I’m thinkin’ there be another way to find out if Joseph’s in that cart.”

  Tyrus turned on his heel and strode purposefully to the keep entrance, throwing back his cloak; the others followed him. The large knocker thudded deeply against the wooden door of the keep. Moments later a young guard opened the small peephole in the door.

  “Who goes there?” he said, uncertainly. Tyrus held up his Shamar ring in the keep’s torchlight.

  “By the authority of the King, who went away from this place in that cart?” Tyrus’ voice held no friendliness, and the youth closed the peephole immediately.