The Order of the Trident (Eldarlands Book 1)

by Samuel Rikard

  Krenin stumbled backward, feeling the obstacle behind his leg. Ripping his blade free, he twisted, disengaging.

  “Cease battle!” The voice echoed over the chatter of the audience, reaching both the combatants.

  They lowered their weapons, glancing toward the bailey. Kane hurried down the steps toward them.

  The armored warrior stepped into the courtyard, rushing past the audience. He stepped into the arena, stopping between the two warriors. “We're needed. An urgent meeting has been requested between Remle, Aldur, and the other lords.”

  “We're all needed for that? Don't you and Ravion usually handle that kind of stuff?”

  Kane spoke in a hushed tone as to not rile the listeners. “Typically, yes. But this is different. This time, we prepare for war!”

  Chapter XVI

  Pain and Gain

  The dank cavern room was illuminated with several candles, flickering off the roughly chiseled walls. The air was cool and filled with an earthy scent.

  Nezial reached across the table, securing a bucket of water. Moss was growing along the wooden slabs and a thin layer of film rested atop the stagnant liquid. “I hate when they pass out, it takes all the fun out of their punishment.” he spoke aloud, to no one in particular. He turned the bucket over, pouring the slimy contents onto his guest's head. “I hope you didn't expect me to kill you. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”

  Highlord Kashus's eyes shot open, feeling the cold water splash over his body. Blinded by the multiple lights, he blinked several times, letting them adjust. He attempted to sit up but found himself unable to rise. His vision cleared, revealing the large mirror mounted to the ceiling above him. He laid upon a stone slab, secured at each joint by a thick leather strap. His eyes darted between the mirror and what little he could see in his peripherals. Fear rose in his gut at the sight of the dreualfar commander, that cruel smile across his face. Attempting to fight his restraints, the memories of days past rushed back to him. He recalled watching his body get torn open again and again, mutilated to the point of nonrecognition. His torturer thus far had only used his vile magics to punish him, pulling at his insides, burning him beneath the flesh, twisting his soul until he felt pleasure. But each morning he awoke, restored to experience it all again. Never in his life had he experienced anything like it and it was only going to get worse. Swallowing the memories, he turned his head as far as the straps would allow, attempting to stare at the commander. “Let's get this over with.” His voice was weak but defiant.

  Nezial examined him, making sure the straps were tight. “As soon as I make sure you're secure. It'd be a shame if you flinched and forced me to cut too deep. That'd be no fun at all.” His wicked smile burned into the man's soul.

  He straightened his head and stared into the mirror, awaiting the pain that was sure to follow. Why they'd gone through the trouble of installing the speculum was an unknown mystery. Best he could figure, its sole purpose was to display the horror that was going to befall to him.

  Nezial leaned over the slab, obstructing the man's view. Grabbing hold of a small wooden table loaded with various instruments, he drug it closer to him, pressing all of his weight into the human's midsection.

  Kashus had trouble breathing with the unexpected weight crushing him. He tensed his stomach muscles, hoping it would offer some resistance.

  The dreualfar wiggled it the last several inches, looking up to see if the table was visible in the mirror. “Can you see that alright? I'd hate for you to miss the show.”

  “Could you move it a few inches to the right? I can only see half of the saw.” He weakly chuckled at his rebellion, feeling the pain from the previous days ache back to the surface.

  “Absolutely.” Nezial dug his elbows into the man, shifting the table slightly. “It that better?”

  Kashus groaned in pain, closing his eyes to block it out as best he could.

  Smiling at his defeat, he stood, grabbing an iron instrument. It resembled a pair of shears with narrow flat metal pads on each end. He opened and closed them, revealing the small spikes inside the pads. “Hold still. This may hurt a bit.” He secured the Highlord's arm, pressing his hand against the slab, forcing it open. Carefully, he inserted the sharp tip under the edge of his fingernail and pressed gently, separating the soft skin from the nail. The gray metal glided easily, seating near the root. He squeezed the handles, locking the pads both under and above the nail.

  Kashus couldn't see much of what was happening, but he could feel the cold metal inside his finger. It took every ounce of will to keep from crying out in pain and anger.

  The dreualfar commander glanced at his prisoner's face, smiling his wicked smile. “Are you ready?” Refusing to wait for a response, he rolled the tool backward toward the secured wrist. The nail flexed briefly and then split from the finger, ripping away with several strands of white nerve endings. He pulled the detached nail away, hearing the last bits of skin pop in defeat.

  Kashus lost his battle, screaming the pain away. It was nearly unbearable, as if the center of his finger was being torn out.

  The first nail free, Nezial held it over a glass jar, resting on the table. Opening the bills, the small piece dropped free, landing in the bottom. Wasting no time, he secured another nail and promptly removed it.

  Kashus watched curled bits of him bounce into the bottom of the jar. The salty tears burned his eyes, adding to his pain. His fingers and toes bled from the torn roots, throbbing with each racing heartbeat.

  Nezial dropped the last toenail into the glass jar. “See, that wasn't so bad.” He patted the man atop his head, glancing at his table. “What should we do now? Oh, I know.” He reached over, grabbing a small razor with a leather wrapped handle. The leather was blood stained and blade slightly rusted but remained extremely sharp. He grabbed the man's wrist once again, stabilizing it.

  “Let me guess. This is going to hurt?” Kashus cried through the words, trying to find his resolve.

  “Extremely. But worry not. You won't die.” Watching the man's eyes, he pressed the tip of the sharpened instrument into the side of his finger, feeling it hit the bone beneath. Carefully, he drug it down to the tip. The skin split, revealing meat and bone the length of the finger. Repeating the process on the other side, he wrapped around, joining the two.

  Kashus cried out, unable to escape the scalpel. He closed his eyes, hoping he could retreat into his mind.

  Nezial laid the blade back on the table and picked up the bills he'd used before. Clicking them together, he glanced at the Highlord's face, disappointed that he was missing the show. “Open your eyes! I didn't go through the trouble of lighting this room and giving you a mirror if I didn't want you to watch.”

  Kashus grimaced, but slowly looked upon his captor. Finding his rapidly fading spark of rebellion, he weakly spoke. “My apologies. Boredom was luring me into slumber.” It hurt, cracking a smile, but it was worth it. If he could anger the dreualfar, perhaps he could die quicker.

  “Oh? We'll take care of that.” He jabbed needle like jaws into the tip of the wound, closing it on the meat and flesh. He pulled slowly, careful to prevent tearing the flesh and to invoke the most pain possible. Nezial peeled the finger like a banana. Once he'd finished with each finger, he moved onto the hands, and finally the arms, using the loose meat and skin to pull the rest.

  Kashus's arms and legs were little more than bloody sinew and torn muscle, displayed in the mirror of torture. He was horrified by his visage, gripped in agony but unable to look away.

  Nezial laid the pliers down and grabbed a pair of long nosed tongs and a wooden plank with notches cut out of each end. Lying them on the stone slab, he looked down at the tormented soul before him, content that he hadn't looked away. “Now, let me ask you again. Where is it?”

  Kashus coughed, feeling his body jolt with the instinctive action. Pain shot through him, crippling him further. “I'll never say.”

  Nezial sighed heavily. It wasn't nearly as fun
anymore. “I have things to do. Yet you continue to defy me. Very well. Your tune will change very soon. Mark my words.” He grabbed the blood soaked scalpel and cut a small slit in the Highlord's lower abdomen. Spreading the hole, he reached in with the tongs and secured a small section of intestine. The rubbery hose was slick, coated in a clear, thin fluid. He slid the plank under the squishy cord, setting it in the deep notch. “Are you sure you won't tell me?”

  Kashus glared at the mirror, refusing to answer the question.

  “As you wish.” Nezial twisted the plank, coiling the intestine around it, pulling the bowels out further with each wrap.

  Screams echoed through the underground cavern, calling all of the dreualfar within earshot to investigate the source of the disturbance.

  Nezial didn’t mind, it showed his people what he was capable of, kept them inline and ready to obey his commands.

  Overflowing with torment and tears, Kashus closed his eyes hoping to block out as much pain as possible.

  Nezial felt his anger rise, realizing his toy's retreat. He laid the plank down, letting the coiled hose stick together with the lack of pressure. “I told you to watch the show!” He snatched up the razor and flat tipped bills. Shaking his head, he circled the altar, stopping above the Highlord's head. “You're being disrespectful!” he screamed, losing all composure and slamming his fist down beside Kashus's head, knocking one of the ceramic jars to the floor.

  It shattered, sending bloody chunks of skin, tendon and ceramic in all directions.

  He straightened himself, regaining his calm. “Although, truth be told, I’d hoped you'd look away.” His vile smile returning, he leaned over the subdued man, slipping the flat pad under his eyelid. Squeezing the handles, he pulled, stretching the thin layer of skin away from the eye. Carefully he drug the razor over the stretched lid, severing it.

  Kashus tried to turn his head, a feeble attempt to protect his face but the straps prevented it. He screamed, feeling the protective layer leave his eyes vulnerable to the cold air and dust of the underground. He could already feel them drying out from lack of moisture, the steaming blood doing little to sooth his discomfort.

  Nezial laid the tools to rest where they had been sitting, tossing the two pieces of severed skin on the table with them. “Now that I have your attention, may we proceed?”

  His eyes burning from the blood and tears polling into them. He couldn't even escape to the shadows of his mind any longer. Everything had been taken from him. Everything but his one secret. No, I'll not tell him! “Go to hell!”

  His lips tightened, wrapping around into his familiar smile. “We're already there.” He returned to his position at the man's side and finished wrapping his intestines around the slotted plank. They slid through the small slit with ease, leaving a trail of film to run down the wound. Nezial wrapped several times, filling the slotted plank and over lapping them a few times. He didn't want to get too zealous. They could result in a tear or rupture and that would rob him of his fun. No, this was going to take as long as he could make it.

  The pungent odor of innards began to fill the room. There were no flies or other insects so deep in the underground to risk infection, but the exposure to the dank air was quickly drying him out, turning the pinkish cords to a yellow-brown.

  “You should have answered me. This next part is going to be rather painful.” Nezial picked up a medium sized hammer with a polished, flat head and a wide piece of iron, equally flat, with a forged handle on the back side. He placed the dolly on the bottom side of Kashus's foot, ensuring the mutilated toes were pressed firmly against the cold steel. He lifted the hammer and brought it down in a single, fluid motion.

  A sticky red and white paste shot from between the two pieces of hardened metal, ringing out from the impact.

  The Highlord screamed, feeling the already sensitive appendage explode. He glanced down at the now missing nub. Shredded strands of meat were all that remained. He sucked air in between his clinched teeth, watching the dreualfar reset the dolly against his foot.

  One by one, Nezial crushed his toes, turning them into a soupy paste. He laid the bloody tools down and bent over, grabbing the sides of a large sack off the bottom rack of his table. With a groan, he lifted the burlap, setting it to rest on the edge of the stone slab. He opened the top and reached in, scooping a large amount of the loose grain into his hand. “I don't want your wounds to get infected. This will help. Though I fear you'll experience some minor discomfort.” Eyes full of pleasure, he slowly poured the large grains of salt over the restrained captive's limbs. It began to melt, sticking to the bloody appendages. Grabbing another scoop, he gently rubbed it into the missing toes and flayed skin. Working his way up, he massaged it in, letting the salt burn its way into his guest. Reaching his face, he paid special attention to his lidless eyes, careful to keep the sticky mixture out of his eyes. It wouldn't serve to have the man blinded so soon.

  Kashus screamed, feeling the salt burn into his mutilated form. It absorbed much of the blood, allowing it to somewhat dissolve and travel deeper into the wounds, drying him out much quicker than before. Even the few grains spilled on his stomach burned. If only there were someway to end it all. He bucked as hard as he could, feeling the damaged sections of his body tear open with the movement. His was painful, but worth it. He watched the coil of his innards fall from his midsection and hit the slab. If he could knock it off, perhaps the weight would damage them and he could die. His hopes dissolved, like the salt in his wounds. The blackened arm shot out, catching the roll, carefully returning it to is proper place.

  “Now be careful, Kashus. Such an accident could rob me of my fun. And we can't have that.” He snapped his fingers, letting his magic do it's job.

  A thick leather strap shot up from beneath the table, wrapping around Kashus at the waist. It tightened, cutting into his hips, preventing even the slightest movement.

  “We're done for the day. Rest well and think about your choices. Tomorrow we'll try something new.” Nezial walked out of the chamber, leaving the tools where they laid.

  Kashus watched two other dreualfar rush into the chamber. They were much cleaner than he expected. As if they'd just bathed. Probably an order from his captor.

  They carefully cleaned his wounds, leaving as much salt in them as possible. Uncoiling his intestines, they tucked them back into the hole and stitched the wound closed with a dull needle and waxed sinew. They bandaged him, ensuring the blood loss wouldn't release him from bondage any time soon. One of the dreualfar pried his mouth open, while the other poured a milky substance from a tiny glass vial. It tasted of chalk and had the texture of syrup. Massaging his throat, the ensured he swallowed it.

  The two dreualfar wiped the tools off, returning them to the table. Grabbing their supplies, they disappeared out the door, leaving him to his solitude.

  ***

  Screams echoed through the underground corridors. The flicker of candle light danced on the cavern wall, opposite of the opening.

  The searing pain tore through his senses. The fresh skin he'd grown over night was raw from the torn off bandages and covered in hundreds of blisters and welts. His wounds were sealed, but the fresh burns went deeper than flesh. The muscles beneath were stiff, cooked like a well done steak.

  Nezial brought the wood handled brush down the man's chest, thousands of sharp wires comprising the bristles, cutting into him. They tore through the soft skin, leaving a trail of thin, bleeding lines.

  The raw skin was the least of his concerns. He could feel an added pressure in his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he'd relieved himself and his intestines were tangled and knotted inside. He cramped, unable to curl up from the pain. It wouldn't be long until his death resulted from his clustered bowels.

  One full day he suffered through the burns, until the dreualfar commander left him for the evening. The following day he found himself covered in ice, freezing what was left of his senses. His body was little more than a wasted m
ass of bone and desecrated tissue, his mind being the one thing that remained intact, but that wouldn’t last much longer in this infernal place.

  Kashus laid strapped to the table, his face blue from the icy spells and frozen water he was being exposed to. After the other forms of torture, the ice seemed to kill his senses, bringing a slight amount of comfort, but even that was beginning to give way to pain.

  Nezial took a step toward him, the sadistic smile ever present on his face. The dreualfar commander let out a howl of pain, falling over the wounded Highlord.

  Kashus was shocked to see three arrows sticking from the now dead commander's back. The thick leather straps that held him in place prevented seeing who fired the shots, but if they killed the commander, perhaps they would free him.

  The sounds of battle erupted in the dark passageway outside the torture room. Sword rang against sword, announcing the unseen battle.

  He looked into the mirror, trying to get a view of who stood in the room with him.

  Three men approached, their features hidden by shadow, unseen by the flickering of the candle lit room.

  “Lord Kashus, your wife hired us to rescue you.” the large man in the center announced. “Our men have the remaining Dreu on the run. Let’s get you out of here before we lose this opportunity.”

  The man on the right placed his hand on Kashus's chest. A faint green light sparked to life, widening and soaking into his body. Kashus felt the warmth flow through him. His skin itched, growing before his eyes. The burns faded, disappearing from view. The open wounds pulled closed, strands of skin jumping from one side to the other, pulling them further. He felt the crushed toes, reform. It was painful, feeling the bone sprout out through the healing ends, but it meant he would be able to walk again. Looking in the mirror, skin wrapped around them and they return to their rightful place, solidifying the renewed bone and muscle. He wiggled them, unsure if he was dreaming. To his surprise, they responded to his request. His stomach churned, but it wasn't in a sickly manner. He could feel his insides moving, getting reoriented to their proper location. Within moments he was whole again.