by P. G. Thomas
When silence descended on the chaos, Zymse Darpac in his black sashes was standing on the front steps, clapping his hands. “Impressive, but I was expecting SO MUCH MORE!”
Lauren stepped forward, “We know you’re responsible for the trollmares, Midnight Sun, and poisoning Mother’s Forests. Zymse Darpac, I proclaim you evil, not worthy of breathing Sister’s air, not worthy of walking on Mother’s ground. SURRENDER NOW!”
Behind his black veil he smiled, “I always thought the dwarves exaggerated your abilities. So what now, Earth Bitch?”
“We’ll take you into custody, and in Mother’s court, we’ll provide you the opportunity to defend yourself.”
“The same court where you tried my son? If you do that, what happens to your daughters?”
The berries gifted by Tranquil delivered their promise, allowing Lauren to lie without showing her emotions, “I have no daughters.”
“And I have no sons, BECAUSE YOU KILLED THEM!”
Lauren stamped her Core Wood staff into the ground, causing buildings to tremble, and the ground to shake, “THIS ENDS TODAY!”
“AND TOMORROW, YOUR PAIN BEGINS.” Raising a hand, Zymse snapped his fingers, and from inside the house, ten young lads dressed in black came out, taking up positions in front of him.
Lauren called out, “NOW, SISTER, NOW!”
Nobody could see Zymse’s gloating smile. “She came to visit me a while back, so I guess she is not feeling well.”
As the Black Bastards rolled up their sleeves, they began to rub their dark blue feather tattoos.
Lauren pleaded with the sky, “SISTER, NOW, REVOKE YOUR GIFTS!”
Eric and Ryan raced forward, stopping in mid-step, as if they had encountered an unseen force. John called to the magic, trying to turn the bones of the Bastards to ash, but the cold overtook him so quickly that it caused him to black out. Raising her staff, Lauren was about to speak when she felt a hand on her arm. Looking at it in surprise, she saw her wrist snap, dropping the Core Wood staff, and when an intense pain rushed to her brain, everything went black.
*******
Waking, John shook his head to try to both clear his confusion and vision. Feeling the chains on his wrists that suspended him, he could find no footholds for his feet. Scanning the room, he saw several metal barred doors on the right-hand wall, and lying against them, inside of two different cells: Eric and Ryan. As he tried to clear his vision, he scanned the left wall where he saw a peculiar shrine, displaying numerous elf belt buckles and dwarf beards. Unexpectedly, he heard somebody moan. Focusing his eyes on the far end of the room, he saw Lauren strapped to a board leaning against the wall. In front of her, a brazier full of red-hot coals with wooden handles protruding from them.
When a door to the left opened, Zymse Darpac walked in, dressed in his familiar black. “Something is wrong. Champion of the People, Rage Heart? You were both flies on a horse’s ass compared to what the dwarves wrote. Unchosen, maybe you did stop my trollmares, but I think it was her,” and he pointed to Lauren. “Only the Earth Wench came close to my expectations, and you have no idea on the lengths or costs I went to for your welcome.” Then his anger erupted into the room, “THAT PATHETIC SHOW WAS THE BEST YOU COULD MUSTER! ARE THERE OTHERS THAT THE DWARVES ARE PROTECTING? OR IS SOMEBODY LYING TO ME, AND I DO NOT LIKE LIES!”
It was a quiet whisper, “There are no others.”
Zymse turned to Lauren, “The Bastards, they lived up to their legends since their talents are real. Yours bitch, possibly, but it could be that piece of wood that now burns. Are you actors, a diversion for the real legends, or nothing more than exaggerated myths?” Then from the mantel he picked up a Rock Wood club, “While I have heard of this rare wood, how much did they have to drink to create that delusion of a rock monster? I planned for years, worked out the details, and then today? How can only two of four be true?” He turned to John, “Two and a half at most, but even there I have to wonder, as it was you who constructed that— interesting machine—as those students called it, and it worked.” Waiting to see if any would respond, he scanned the group. “I have always considered myself to be an educated man, yet something here screams of treachery, and I do so enjoy screams.” Walking towards Lauren, Zymse pulled a wooden handle from the brazier with the opposite end glowing brightly. He stood in front of her, “Did you enjoy spending time with Imoxes? I am unaware if he ever told you his name, but he liked purple.”
Lauren never flinched, as the smell of the hot metal drifted up to her.
“I know he enjoyed spending time with you. One of his personal guards smuggled his journals back to me, and he boasted greatly about his brands.” When Zymse ripped the shirt from Lauren, her skin was absent of the Darkpaye gifts. Taking a second to inspect her skin, he stepped back, “Mother I suspect?” Ripping the long skirt from her legs, he quickly scanned her calves, “She even removed his name from your bones. Now that is impressive. Maybe I will carve all three names on your large bones, so this time, you will remember my entire family.”
“LEAVE HER ALONE!”
“Shut up, Rageless!” Zymse dragged the hot iron from Lauren’s armpit to her thigh, causing her to scream in great pain. As it began to subside, Zymse grabbed her face, “Tell me the names of your children!”
Lauren’s breathing was fast, labored, “I have none.”
He dragged the hot iron across her abdomen, “You are lying, Earth Wench. I saw the look on your face when the three rolled into that portal. It was the look of a mother whose heart had just shattered.” Then he pressed the hot iron against her naked thigh, “Now tell me their names!”
“I DON’T HAVE ANY!”
Zymse walked the now dimly glowing brand back to the brazier, pushed it deep into the hot coals, removing a second, “So much unblemished skin, and so many hot brands. How many days do you think you can lie to me?” As he ran the hot brand down the inside of her arm, she passed out.
As Ryan glared at Zymse with burning rage in his eyes, the executive command he issued held in place, “ONE DAY YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!”
“PICK ON SOMEBODY YOUR OWN SIZE!” challenged Eric.
Approaching Eric, Zymse dropped the iron into the brazier. “The little one I assume is the Unchosen. Now there is a name to strike fear into an enemy. The Earth Wench is obvious, and since you at least fought with a sword, I guess you are the Champion. In the great play, though I have no idea why they call that pile of steaming dog crap great, it was you who they said fought the middle of my three-born stepsons. He was a bit of a hack when it came to magic, but if it was you, then you know he favored red. While it never mentioned what happened to him, I found him on the streets of the Bright Coast years ago. He was a babbling idiot, his mind gone. I brought him back here, tried to heal him, but all he did was scream. The look in his eyes, sheer horror, and it never left him until I ended his suffering. Because of you, I had to kill my own son, so now you will pay.” When Zymse clapped his hands, eight guards entered the room. Pointing to Eric, he then nodded to one of the boards. Even though he put up a good fight, the guards quickly beat Eric into submission, dragging him to the desired location, chaining him to it. Zymse walked up to Eric, slapping his face until the Champion woke. “In the great play, they say you and your sword were twice the size of a normal dwarf, yet I can clearly see your blue eyes, and where is that great sword of yours?”
“The dwarves don’t know I’m here.”
“If you were smart, you would have asked to borrow it. However, they are most likely preoccupied. To be honest, I never believed it was real. Seriously, a man able to control lightning, it sounds more like dwarf ale gone bad. Remove his clothes.” After the four guards unsheathed their daggers, they immediately began to cut away the clothing. “On this canvas, I can do a masterpiece. It is a shame you are not in better shape.” Zymse walked over to the brazier, withdrawing the largest iron, “Where should we start?” He pressed the iron against Eric’s inner thigh, “It appears you like pain.” He then
dragged it down the thigh, leaving a large red blister.
After Eric had screamed, he spit on Zymse.
The man who favored black looked to his guards, “MUZZLE THIS DOG!”
One guard ran from the room, returning several minutes later with a leather apparatus, which the guards struggled to attach to Eric’s thrashing head.
“Should I have no use for your tongue, I would remove it, but right now, as I am unsure of which of you will tell me what I want to know, we will contain it and your screams.” Zymse pressed a hot iron into Eric’s side, “Seems to be working rather well.” Then he stepped back, “No, I do not think the slow approach will work with you,” and he turned to one of the guards, “Bring in the mutes, the big and little one, and tell the big one to bring his tools.” As he waited, Zymse walked over to John, “You, I will have to be careful with.” He then ripped off John’s shirt, “Little meat to brand and so frail. If I am not cautious, you will perish before you have the chance to talk.”
“You’re a sick bastard!”
“Thank you, but compliments will fail to lessen your pain.”
When the door opened, a muscular bald headed man walked in. Holding a leather bag in one hand, the other pulled a metal chain. Attached to the other end, a collar around the neck of a female elf, naked except for the multitude of brands that covered her body from head to toe.
Zymse pointed to Eric, “Level his table.” He then turned back to John. “Yes, we will be extremely careful with you because of this ‘machine’ of yours, as I need to know how it works.”
“NEVER!” exclaimed John.
“We will talk later.” Zymse walked over to the prone Eric. “What do you call a swordsman who can’t hold a sword? Oh, I am sorry, I forgot that I gagged you. You call him a cripple. Now today’s painful lesson, though I will do my best to ensure that it will last for several, is brought to you by the number twenty-eight. The number of knuckles in your hands.”
Eric felt a metal chisel sever the end of his little finger, causing him to scream into the leather gag.
“Now, I am going to ask you some questions my hefty friend, and should you wish to talk, bang your head on the table.” Eric, feeling another segment of his small finger amputated, screamed again. Zymse looked at the sweating giant, “Do you understand.” When Eric failed to react, the black veil nodded to the bald mute, who removed the last segment. “Do you understand?” Eric slammed his head on the table. “Good, we are making progress already.”
Then the bald mute pulled the chain on the naked elf, pointing to the finger stub. Placing her hand on it, she stopped the bleeding.
“She is really quite an amazing healer. Only Earth Mother that I never killed. Now do you know the names of the Earth Mother’s daughters?” When Eric did not reply in the desired fashion, he felt his warm blood flow around the cold steel, his anguished screams diminished by the leather gag. Zymse grabbed him by the face strap, “He’s really quite good at his talent, and his current record is three years. Can you imagine that kind of agony?” His eyes still closed, Eric felt the chisel hammered into another knuckle and blacked out. Zymse nodded to the mute, who removed the last segment of the second finger, but when Eric did not move, Zymse slapped his face. “Seriously, two fingers, and you pass out from the pain. I have little time for this.” He pointed to the bald mute, then to Ryan, “String him up, and whip him until he passes out. When you are done,” he pointed to John, “Crush the least number of bones in his hand until he blacks out. I will return tomorrow, providing further instructions.”
That night, in the pitch black, most woke at different times, recalling the words that Steve had spoken; ‘You can’t mention the triplets. If you do, he’ll know he owns you. He’ll offer to bring them to you, to tell you about them, but he won’t. The longer you deny them, the more it’ll drive him mad, and then he’ll bring them to you. When that happens, we’ll rush in.’ However, those words did little to lessen the agony, or to chase away the now fresh nightmares.
Being free of pain, John’s magic skin-armor had interpreted his thoughts correctly, mimicking the correct reactions, yet still protecting his body. Creating an image of the room in his mind, he told the magic to find Lauren, Eric, and Ryan, but when only two green dots showed the location of his friends, he wondered if the magic had dispersed from the bracer. Changing the image to the entire fortress with all of the buildings, he added a second vision of the triplets, tasking the magic to find them, but after an hour, he ended the spell to conserve his power.
*******
As a branded slave girl dripped water into the mouths of the four tortured legends, Zymse watched the next morning. He then sent her away when two large bald mutes entered, carrying a long table, that they placed in the middle of the room. Nodding towards Lauren, both mutes went over to the board she hung from, removed the shackles, and restraining her feeble struggles, dragged her to it. When once again secured, Zymse walked over holding two peculiar shoe-shaped metal mechanisms, each having dozens of knobs. “Do you remember these? Well, at least the right one, because it seems you left before they could fit the second. I found the spot where you had spent time with Imoxes, my second born stepson. When the owners rebuilt their house, they discovered and buried all of my son’s possessions, so I made them retrieve them. To punish them, I buried their belongings with them.” Handing the two objects to the mutes, Lauren felt the cold metal embrace her feet.
“YOU’RE A MONSTER, STOP!”
Zymse walked over to Ryan, who had raised himself up behind the barred door, “I am uncertain how you killed Imoxes, but if what happened was even close to that play, I well imagine that he screamed FOR YOU TO STOP! AND DID YOU!” Zymse stepped down on one of Ryan’s hands that clung to the bars, putting all of his weight on it, crushing the bones. Ryan screamed, trying to push the source of his intense pain away, but lacked the strength. Zymse grabbed Ryan by the hair, pulling his head towards his boot, “LICK IT, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF CRAP!”
“NEVER!” shouted Ryan.
“One day you will.” Pushing him to the floor, he walked back to Lauren. “Now, where did we leave off?”
John tried to get Zymse’s attention, knowing he could take the brunt of the black anger, “When Mother arrives, she’ll make you pay for this, all of this!”
Picking up a leather bag, Zymse dumped out the contents. “Hope is like this sack: it can carry food if you find it or even water,” then he turned it inside out, “yet there is nothing inside of it. However, so many cling to this emptiness they call hope,” then he began to walk towards John. “What so few actually understand, is not only can this void provide hope, it can also devour it,” and then he placed the bag on John’s head. Standing in the doorway, a branded slave waited with two black-clad guards, who carried a smoking brazier. He looked at the young girl, “You memorized the pattern from inside his cloak?” After she had nodded, Zymse continued, “Then brand it into his chest, and if you do a good job, your back will remain untouched.” John heard himself scream, as the magic interpreted a correct response, but he never felt the hot irons.
As Zymse stood at the feet of Lauren, the agony from John interrupted his thoughts, and he turned to one of the black-clad guards, “GAG HIM!” When the room was quiet, Zymse turned the first knob on the boot mechanism, causing Lauren to scream when her little toe snapped. “Now, Earth Bitch, the names of your children, please?” When she failed to respond, he turned two more, making her scream even louder. Zymse voice was calm as he smiled behind the black veil. “Now, while you still have your tongue, tell me the names of your children.”
“DAMN YOU TO HELL! I TOLD YOU I DON’T HAVE ANY!”
Turning another knob, as her intense screams began to diminish, his anger flared, “I TOLD YOU I DO NOT LIKE LIES!”
“CURSE YOU, YOU BASTARD, DIE!”
Zymse turned, looking at the slave girl branding John’s chest, but returned his gaze back to Lauren, shaking his head, “Guess we have to try harder but
for now, the names?”
Lauren shook her head, her breathing rapid, as sweat dripped from her temples. “I can’t tell you something I don’t know!”
“Seems like a bit of a snap decision to me,” and when another toe shattered, Zymse walked up to her head. Bending down, he whispered in her ear, so her scream would be unable to drown out his words. “Take longer to think of your next answer.”
“DIE BASTARD, ALL OF YOU DIE!”
After Zymse had looked at the slave girl again, his anger began building, “The big toes, BOTH OF THEM!”
Lauren heard the twin breaks arrive in her ears before the intense pain slammed into her head, and she blacked out.
“Get the healer to wake her up.” Zymse then walked over to the unconscious Eric, looking down at the bloody stumps, he called to the mute. “The pain medication my son used, administer it to all. We need to increase their endurance for their short stay here.”
It was early in the night when Zymse walked towards the door, stopping briefly to examine his guests. Lauren strapped to the table, her feet so distorted and swelled, they had to cut the metal torture devices from them, and on her bare thighs, the portrait brands of two of his stepsons were outlined. The brand on John’s chest of the strange pattern from the cloak was taking shape, and secretly, he was pleased that the young girl showed so much talent. Then he heard the piece of raw meat hanging from the chains moan, looked at the large gashes on the one called Rage Heart, and smiled under his black veil. “Here, feed these to the dogs,” and Zymse handed the guard the severed digits from Eric’s hand. They will talk and tell me what I want to know. They always do!
*******
When John woke in the middle of the night, they had left the bag that covered his head. Calling to the magic to sense his friends, it only showed two once again. Trying to send it into the complex, he was unsure if he provided it with the necessary commands, and after an hour, he fell asleep.