Citadel

by Martin Ash

  ‘When I first mentioned my business in Dhaout I had no idea you were so closely connected with Feikermun. But if you are able now to use your influence to gain me an audience with him I would be placed firmly in your debt.’

  Wirm scratched his cheek, his gaze intent. I sensed he could barely contain his curiosity. ‘If I were able to indicate in some way to His Excellency the nature of your business it might greatly facilitate matters.’

  ‘With great respect, Master Wirm, I am able to reveal that only to Feikermun himself. My master’s orders. You understand. But I wholeheartedly believe it is something in which His Excellency will have more than a passing interest.’

  Wirm compressed his lips; his stare went right through me. ‘Very well. I will see what I can do.’

  We rode on towards Feikermun’s palace. It lay at the end of the street, a three-level edifice of ancient grey stone set behind a high fortified wall. Three squat towers rose from the main building. The inspection procedure at the main gate was thorough. Though Wirm was recognized as a personage of some distinction, and accorded due respect, he was not considered above suspicion. We were permitted through into a closed yard within the gate, which was barred shut at our backs; then obliged to wait while more soldiers inspected the wagons.

  I watched these men: they were Feikermun’s notorious beasts. Their devotion to their master, their love of fighting and their lack of compassion were well known.

  Eventually a second gate was opened and we passed through into the outer ward. From there we were escorted to a service yard where the wagons were to be unloaded.

  ‘I am to go within, hopefully to speak with The Excellency, if he can spare the time,’ said Wirm. ‘You may accompany me if you wish. I can guarantee nothing, but if an opportunity arises I shall put your name forward.’

  A sloppily dressed steward had emerged to greet Wirm, and with him leading the way we entered the palace. We passed through dingy corridors to arrive at last in a bare antechamber where a pair of silent sentries stood before a double door. The steward asked us to wait and stepped through the door. We seated ourselves on a wooden bench to one side. Wirm seemed slightly ill at ease and made no attempt to engage me in further conversation, which suited me, for I felt little inclination to speak. Presently the steward returned and called Wirm through, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  It was an hour, perhaps longer, that I waited there. The sentries remained motionless beside the double door. I was a touch nervous, intimidated by their scowling presence, but tired too after the long journey. This, combined with boredom and the close, stuffy air in the chamber, served to subdue my senses. I dozed, woke, dozed. At last I heard footsteps beyond the double door. The steward appeared and fixed me with an impersonal gaze. ‘You are Master Linias Cormer?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Please come with me.’

  I was led along more passages. The character of the place began to alter now. Previously I had noted a rather austere and neglected air to the building. Stone was crumbling, paint and mortar flaking; the floors were unscrubbed and there were noticeable odours of mould and decay. The area in which I now found myself was, by contrast, well tended. The ceilings were, in the main, high and vaulted, painted in bright and often lurid colours. The walls, too, bore brightly coloured scenes, or were hung with framed paintings or rich tapestries. Splendid rugs eased the hardness of the floor, and the flagstones or terracotta pantiles beneath them, where visible, were clean and highly polished.

  I took note of some of the pictures decorating the walls. They depicted scenes of battle, of unmitigated savagery rendered in spectacular detail; elsewhere were scenes of celebration, of gruesome tortures wreaked upon helpless souls, and of mass orgiastic feasts. A faint, sweet, rather cloying smell hung in the air, which grew stronger the further we walked. From somewhere ahead I could hear the strains of harsh, rather dissonant music, and somebody - more than one person - was shouting.

  The steward arrived before another tall double door, this one plated in figured gold and again guarded by a pair of sentries. He opened it and ushered me through. I stepped into a scene unlike anything I had anticipated.

  I was in a large, high-ceilinged hall. A banquet of sorts was in full flow. There were perhaps sixty people present, at tables or upon couches, or in many cases sprawled upon rugs and cushions on the floor. Most were in various states of undress, some entirely unclothed. Several were engaged in sexual activity, in twos, threes and fours, urged on enthusiastically by those who watched. All were plainly in conditions of high intoxication and excitement. To one side a group of naked men and women were clamped or fettered to frames of iron and wood. Others took liberties with them; several bore bloody marks of violence upon their bodies.

  The air was thick and smoky, heavy with the mingled odours of food, sweat, semen and incense or smouldering herbs. Tables were piled high with food and drink. A quintet of musicians occupied a low balcony at one end of the hall. They played frantically upon horns, pipes and a drum, and theirs was the sound I had heard from outside. But to call it music is an exaggeration. It was formless, tuneless, a mad cacophony. The musicians appeared as drunk as everyone else present, and while playing their instruments were also engaging in sexual acts with one another and with members of their audience who scrambled up to join them on their balcony. The noise of their instruments augmented the cries, moans and encouragements of the revellers.

  Several small langurs leapt and chattered in the midst of this. They picked at scraps of fruit, squabbled with one another, scrambled nimbly over furniture and writhing bodies, scaled the walls and chased each other along the overhead beams. There were birds, too: red thrushes and other smaller avians flying back and forth. Three peacocks strutted about, seemingly indifferent to the activities around them, while a fourth roosted on a high beam. At one end of the hall a pair of jet-black panthers were on lengths of chain attached to iron rings set in the wall. One rested on its haunches, eyeing the carnage, while its companion paced to and fro at the end of its chain, its head low.

  Armed guards - more of Feikermun’s beasts - were ranged around the perimeter of the hall. They leaned upon their pikestaffs and leered lasciviously at the sights before them, occasionally stepping forward to prod or poke at human flesh with the butts of their weapons, none too gently. I noted Wirm lounging at the main table, semi-clothed, his feet up. He was feeding on a leg of roast fowl, which he held in one hand; with the other he fondled the buttocks and genitalia of a young woman who was bent naked beside him. Upon the long wooden table before him were two young men of athletic build whose pale skins, streaked with spilt drinks and foods, gleamed with sweat as they disported themselves amorously among the comestibles.

  In the middle of all this depravity stood a fearsome figure. He was naked, squat and lowslung and incredibly muscular, with a huge hirsute belly. His body was painted from head to toe in bizarre motifs, serpentine forms or flame-like tongues, rendered in a clash of brilliant colours. His thick lips were deep blue, his beard green and grey, his eyes encircled in white dashed with purple and red. His hair was long and wild and dyed in numerous hues. He grasped huge swollen genitals, which were stained blood-red and veined in black. He looked like a devil.

  Feikermun of Selph. I had met him only once before and at that time he had been clothed and devoid, as far as I could tell, of body art. But he was unmistakable even so. With him were four beautiful, ebony-skinned servant or slave girls aged between perhaps fourteen and eighteen years. Each was naked but for a golden cincture at the waist and a series of four or five pieces of coloured linen bound around each arm. Feikermun was stamping erratically to the mad music, fondling himself, throwing back his head and shaking it wildly. He laughed loudly and unrestrainedly, roaring threats, cajolements and jeers of encouragement at those who performed for and all around him.

  He emanated a disturbing aura. It was almost tangible. I experienced a familiar prickling beneath the surface of my skin. There was magic h
ere, of an unwholesome kind. Its exact nature I could not determine but I was sure it radiated from Feikermun, and I had not sensed it when I had met him before.

  Feikermun lunged forward as I stood there, my mouth agape, and waded among the bodies squirming on the cushions. He slapped, punched, pinched, pulled hair, laughing all the while. A red thrush flew past his head and he lashed out, forcing it to modify its path. Scooping up a flagon of wine he took a deep draught, then poured the remaining contents over the copulating bodies around his feet. He danced and tittered and tossed the empty flagon aside.

  ‘Come on! Come on! More! Don’t stop. No one dare stop! That’s it! More for Feikermun! Rut, curse you! Rut!’

  He straddled the nearest couple, settling his full weight upon the back of the man, who was uppermost. He began beating the man’s buttocks hard, then reached down and grasped him by the chin and hauled him off the woman beneath. Feikermun thrust him aside and fell upon the woman. Gripping his erect red member he slid between her thighs and began to couple frantically, his eyes wild, feasting all the time on the carnage around him.

  During the first moments after I entered the hall I stood in a daze just inside the doorway, taking this all in. Gathering my senses, I was not sure what to do with myself. My instinct was to withdraw quietly; I had no liking for what I saw. But that would lose me the opportunity to meet with Feikermun, perhaps indefinitely. Worse, he might consider my departure an insult. He gave no sign of being aware of my presence, but I could hardly bank on that. I had been invited to the hall, after all. Somebody - almost certainly Feikermun - must have sanctioned my invitation.

  To insult Feikermun was to dice with death, so I remained as I was, hoping I might be invisible. Then I noticed that Wirm was beckoning to me. I made my way across the hall to join him, stepping carefully between the writhing flesh and taking pains to avoid passing close to the painted demon.

  ‘Here, sir, be seated. Delight in the spectacle. Do you desire a woman, a man? Both? What about Ollen here? She is a vision of pulchritude, is she not? And her charms are more than ample for us both.’

  The woman Wirm was fondling turned her head to smile at me. Her eyes were glassy and vacant; she was plainly drugged. I assumed just about everyone else here to be likewise. I shook my head. ‘Thank you, but for the moment I think I will refrain.’

  ‘It is your choice.’ Wirm was amused. I imagined he had been in this position before and derived pleasure from my discomfiture.

  It seemed an age that I sat there witnessing debauchery. The most humiliating and painful indignities were served upon certain members of the assemblage, most particularly those confined upon the frames, to the extent that in one or two cases I wondered whether they could hope to survive beyond the day. And Feikermun had now taken up a multi-tongued lash set with tiny metal shards at its tips, and was again moving among the bodies, this time letting fly with brutal relish, drawing blood and cries of pain.

  But worse was to come. Feikermun paused to take stock, and his eyes, travelling the hall, alighted on me. I felt myself stiffen as he straightened, his brow creasing, then lurched abruptly towards me. The four dark-skinned girls followed. He climbed up on the table in front of me and sank to one knee, crushing a pewter platter of stuffed woodcock.

  ‘Ah, you are Wirm’s conquest!’

  His voice was a roar, almost ear-splitting.

  ‘I have travelled here with Master Wirm, if that is what you mean, Lord Feikermun. I thank you for receiving me.’

  Feikermun swept wide an arm. ‘Do you enjoy the sport?’

  ‘It is, umm, an extraordinary spectacle.’

  ‘Extraordinary?’ Feikermun’s mad, bloodshot grey eyes bulged. ‘Yes! Extraordinary! It is! It is!’

  He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter, his whole

  body shaking. I could hear fluids slopping inside his great paunch.

  The two young men who had been copulating on the table were resting now. One was on his back, his eyes closed, his arms stretched above his head, a languorous smile upon his face. The other leaned on one elbow, eating a nectarine and listening with a smile of lazy rapture to our exchange. Feikermun swung around to face them. ‘D’you hear? Extraordinary! Ha-haa! Haw!’

  He raised a huge bunched fist and brought it down hard into the belly of the young man on his back. The man jerked up in sudden shock and pain, and doubled over, a great whoosh of air escaping his lips. Goblets and plates of food flew from the table. Feikermun leapt to his feet. He struck out with the handle of his lash, knocking the nectarine from the hands of the second man.

  ‘Get to it, bastards! Enjoy! Enjoy! Be extraordinary! Rut, curse you, or Lord Feikermun will eat your balls!’

  I winced as he let fly with a sudden kick. But the second man rolled adroitly, avoiding the blow. He grabbed his partner, who was still curled up and gasping with pain, and dragged him from the table. His earlier bliss was supplanted by an expression of stark fear as he leapt upon the winded man and began to simulate the motions of sex, his eyes on Feikermun overhead.

  Feikermun turned scowling back to me. ‘They don’t understand. Feikermun gives them everything they desire, and still they’re ungrateful.’

  He squatted, massaging his testicles. In the relatively short time that I had been there he had coupled three times, yet his penis was fully erect. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded fiercely.

  ‘My name is Cormer. Linias Cormer, of Chol.’

  ‘Chol. Ah, yes. Did Wirm say you had business with Feikermun?’

  ‘If you would be so good as to allow me a short audience, Your Excellency, I believe I have something which will interest you.’

  ‘Speak! Speak! Feikermun is before you!’

  ‘With great respect, Your Excellency, I feel that my proposition would be better couched in private.’

  Feikermun drew back. ‘Do you menace me?’

  ‘My lord, I assure you I do not.’

  His voice became a low growl. ‘Be aware, Feikermun will not be menaced.’

  Into my mind sprang an image of hanging dogs. I began to mutter a further assurance, but Feikermun leaned backwards and reached down over the edge of the table. He grasped the uppermost of the two young men by his hair and dragged him to his feet. His victim stood mute and taut.

  ‘Observe,’ said Feikermun to me.

  He swivelled around and jumped down from the table. Still holding the youth by the hair, he crossed the hall, kicking aside a peacock which passed in his way, to where the two panthers were chained. With a thrust of his mighty arm he shoved the youth forward. The two cats at first drew back.

  ‘Down,’ ordered Feikermun, and the young fellow dropped obediently to his knees.

  The cats were on him an instant later, tentative and almost gentle at first, licking, testing, teasing with claws and teeth, drawing the first blood. He curled forward, endeavouring to cover his head, and tried to crawl away.

  Feikermun stood, feet apart, watching.

  ‘Stay!’ he commanded, and to my horror the young man grew still, his eyes upon his master, his face contorted with fear and pain, while the two cats continued to almost lovingly maul his flesh. Feikermun turned back to me. ‘See! Feikermun’s people love him. They think him magnificent! They will do anything for him. Anything!’

  The man’s buttocks, shoulders and back were deeply lacerated now, his blood flowing freely to the floor. The panthers’ motions were becoming more determined as their lust for his flesh grew. He lay forward on his belly, covering himself as best he could, crying with pain and terror, but made no effort to crawl away until Feikermun at last screamed, ‘You may go! It is Feikermun’s word!’

  Now the man began to drag himself towards freedom. The cats growled, trying to prevent him. One climbed upon his back. His body was flayed meat now, and I sensed he had little strength left. Feikermun, with great bellows of laughter, strode forward and began striking savagely at the panthers with his lash. They drew back, spitting and yowling. The young man craw
led beyond the reach of their chains and lay still. Feikermun walked over to him. ‘You did well.’

  He lowered himself on to all fours over the poor wretch, his eyes on the blood that streamed from his wounds. Then he inclined his head and slowly began to lick his victim’s flank, his shoulder, his neck. He raised his head, stretching his mouth wide and spreading his arms, clenching his fists in transport. ‘The blood! Oh, the blood!’

  Feikermun slowly stood. ‘Take him away.’

  He swaggered back towards me. ‘You see? Feikermun will not be menaced.’

  I nodded. ‘I assure you, Lord Feikermun, I come with only goodwill.’

  ‘You do not look like a fool. Now, your business— But wait...’ He paused. His eyes rolled upwards and his jaw dropped open. I could see his tongue swaying from side to side in the red cavern of his mouth. It slipped forth and he licked his bloodstained lips.

  ‘Feikermun thirsts!’ he yelled, climbing on to the table again. Two male attendants rushed forward carrying a gleaming silver two-handled bowl and a ceremonial knife. One of the four dark-skinned slave girls dropped to her knees on the floor before Feikermun. She bared her arm and an attendant removed one of the coloured sashes that bound it. I noted several small wounds along the veins of her inner forearm. The silver bowl was placed beneath her outstretched arm and the attendant drew the shining blade across her flesh. Her blood, dark and rich, coursed forth and spilled into the bowl.