by A J Dalton
‘Take me there!’ she whispered with glistening eyes.
Never before had she made a sound as he played. He missed a note and the fabric began to shear and tear. The flaw was too great, the melody was spoilt. In despair, he stopped playing. He paused, as was his custom, and then looked across the room at her.
‘My lady!’ he sighed with regret.
‘Take me there!’ she said more clearly.
‘It’s not possible. We could never leave here.’
‘Do you love me?’
No! That way lay madness and death. It was the forbidden question. It would destroy everything.
‘Please!’ he all but sobbed. ‘You must not!’
‘Do this for me!’ she pleaded, clawing at his heart. ‘I know you love me!’
The greater lute fell from his hand. He abandoned it and let it clatter to the ground. Its neck broke under its own weight and it lay as a broken thing. He stared at it, not really seeing it.
‘Where would we go?’ he heard himself say as if pronouncing his own doom. Madness.
‘We could go to Accritania. I am not really known there. Or somewhere in the countryside in Dur Memnos. Deep in a forest where he could never find us. We would be happy, even if only for a short time.’
And death. But he could not deny her her dream. ‘When would we go?’
‘Now. We will take the back gate. I can confuse the guards for a while. We’ll take two horses.’
Suddenly she was in his arms, overwhelming his senses and his rational thought. She took his hand and led his towards the door. He followed her as if in a dream. He moved down the corridors on wooden legs. Had he become an automaton, or was he in some fugue state? Was this what it was like to be one of the dead? Was she using magic on him?
‘Quickly!’ he urged, suddenly experiencing a shocking clarity around what they were doing. He overtook her and became the one in the pair who pulled the other along by the hand.
‘Yes, Lucius!’ she panted.
They got to the gate at the back of the palace and he slowed nervously as he saw the giant, hulking guard to each side of the exit.
‘Don’t worry!’ she breathed. ‘I gave them life and still command them. They cannot see us.’
They unbolted the gate and stepped into a large courtyard, on the other side of which was the stable block. Shadows filled the edges and corners of the courtyard and refused to be bridled by the moonlight. He didn’t know if it was his imagination, but the darkness seemed to be getting thicker and taking on monstrous forms. Madness and death were gathering round!
He dashed across the courtyard with the sorceress in tow. The stable door was open and a single lantern shone dimly from within.
‘We’re going to make it! We’re really free,’ she sang quietly.
Who would have a lantern out here at this time of night? Was it just the stable-hand’s night-light? He carefully put his head past the entrance.
‘Do come in!’ called a spidery voice.
‘No!’ the white sorceress whispered to Lucius dragging on his arm, trying to pull him back into the courtyard.
Lucius looked back at her, blinking. ‘But this is the only way!’ He moved further into the stable.
The Chamberlain came skittering out of the dark and had his face twisting in closely to Lucius’s own before the musician had a chance to leap back. ‘Luciusss, is it, hmm? What music was it you were going to play here, hmm? Do you play the organ now? Or were you thinking to play a mare, hmm? Witch, step forwards!’
The white sorceress looked out timidly from behind Lucius’s arm. ‘G-good evening, Chamberlain! How do you fare?’
The Chamberlain smiled, but the smile did not touch his eyes. ‘Not well, mistress, for there are traitors at large, those who would challenge the will of the King.’
The white sorceress shook her head in denial. How had the Chamberlain known, Lucius wondered dully.
‘Take them!’ the King’s retainer ordered of the shadows. ‘Take the musician to the dungeons.’
Bear-like guards stepped out of the dark behind the Chamberlain and laid heavy hand on Lucius. The white sorceress raised warding hands, but the guards ignored her and laid their sullied paws on her. The Chamberlain tittered.
‘They are not of your making, witch! You cannot command them as you would your pet musician.’
‘Do not do this!’ the sorceress cried, tears spilling from her eyes. ‘Have pity!’
The Chamberlain sneered. ‘You only had your life here because of the King’s pity and mercy. And this is how you repay Him! You are no longer deserving! Take them away!’
***
Lucius hung by his wrists chained to the wall. The pain in his wrists and shoulders was excruciating, and he had only been like this for a matter of minutes. It would not be long before the slow weight of his body tore his shoulder muscles and dislocated his joints. He wondered if it would hurt more once that had happened or whether his limbs would go mercifully numb.
Still, the pain kept him distracted from the grisly sight to each side of him, and the semi-darkness partially hid the chained, dripping cadavers too. The arm of one had become completely detached at the shoulder, causing the body to hang off-centre and bump against Lucius from time to time. The other one had died with its eyes open. The soft tissue of the eyeballs had liquefied and dribbled down its face. Now there were only two dark cavities staring back at him. Lucius was sure that if he peered closely enough, he would be able to see what was left of the brain inside the skull. But Lucius was just as happy keeping his eyes shut instead.
There came the sound of light footsteps. The animal fear he felt rising in his gorge told him exactly who approached. He couldn’t control his trembling.
The footsteps stopped and Lucius looked into the terrible face of King Voltar leaning in towards his from only a hand span away. The eyes were darker than the echoing chamber around them and more cavernous than those of the nearby corpse. Lucius dared not look into them any longer, and dropped his gaze in shame and misery. His lip quivered as he felt obliged to attempt some explanation of the temporary insanity that had gripped him and brought him here.
‘Be silent!’ the King screamed, making the room ring and flecking Lucius’s face with spittle. The musician flinched as if his skin had been splashed with acid. ‘You dare, you snivelling wretch! You conspire against me?’
Lucius closed his eyes, realising that his actions and his crime were indefensible. There was nothing he could say or do to justify himself, make any sort of credible appeal or offer any sort of reparation.
‘Look at me!’
‘I cannot, my lord!’
‘Do you still defy me?’ Voltar asked in a low, menacing voice. ‘You will obey me this instant!’
Eyelids fluttering, Lucius raised his head. A blade cut into his left eyeball and he screamed in shock and agony. He banged his head against the stone wall and tried to arch his body away from the King. He could not longer see from his left eye and sticky fluids burned down his cheek.
The blade was at his other eye now.
‘Do not move!’
Lucius stilled and stifled his whimpering as best he could. The sharp tip of the blade moved closer to his right eye. He wanted to beg, but knew he was unworthy and that the King should not have to suffer his ears being offended by Lucius’s whining.
The tip made contact with the lens of his eye. Lucius stopped breathing and kept preternaturally still.
‘You see,’ the King explained gently, ‘it was your eyes that first transgressed. They beheld a beautiful object and passed on their desire to your heart, isn’t that right?’
Lucius couldn’t nod because he didn’t want to lose his right eye. He was having trouble not blinking as well. Tears ran from the corner of his eye. ‘Yes, my lord!’ he moaned.
‘You will claim it as love, for that is the way of small, self-deluding men, but it is nothing more than jealousy, selfishness and the desire to possess things of perceived value. Ev
en the pathetic and lowly seek to horde possessions to increase their sense of worth and adequacy. You have been seduced by your own weakness. You make me sick! And in your selfishness you didn’t care if your weakness puts others in jeopardy – just so long as you got to grab pretty things and hold them to yourself. You are a greedy, grubby, grasping pig who is too base to learn anything!’
The King was working himself into a rage again. ‘Yes, my lord!’
‘Yes, my lord!’ the King whined back at him, and removed the blade. ‘You know I’m right. You know it’s the truth. You deserve the most dreadful of punishments. You will keep that eye so that you can see the horrors that will be visited upon you. Your guts will be sliced from you and held up for you to see. Then, I will make you eat them. You will consume yourself just as you allowed your crime to consume you. It is fitting. And do not think you can escape your punishment through death, for I will resurrect you so that you can be punished and killed again and again. Just as you sought to take parts of my life from me, I shall now take yours. I will murder and torture you for the rest of eternity. Torture, death, life again, more torture, more death, forever and ever! Isn’t it glorious and fitting?’ the monarch laughed with satisfaction.
It was more than Lucius could imagine. It was beyond the compass of his reason. He was prostrate and abject before its impossible and hellish dimensions. Infinitely insignificant, expunged from existence and history, undone. There was no he. Just nothing, only nothing.
***
‘I told you I could smell meat in here! Look, there are three carcasses hung up there,’ whispered a voice in the darkness.
‘Whoever hung them up will surely notice if that much food goes missing,’ drooled a companion voice.
‘Maybe not. Two of the carcasses have been there a long time. They’re just going to go to waste,’ the voice of the darkness sniffed.
Lucius didn’t know how long he’d been hanging there in the dungeon. He had no way of judging time. His mind had drifted away and his sanity become frayed. He’d seen shapes and colours in the darkness, but knew they couldn’t be real. And now he imagined he could hear the thoughts of rats as they scampered and twitched around the chamber. Clearly, they had found a way up from the catacombs and into this place, attracted by the scent of blood, humours and rotting meat. His throat was too parched for him to be able to make any noise to frighten them away. And not having eaten in all the days – or was it months? – he’d been here, he didn’t have the strength to kick out at them. They would jump onto him with their sharp, little claws and begin to gnaw on his feet, his legs, his face. They would go for his vulnerable, ruined eye and eat into his skull. He had just about enough sense of self to stir at the dreadful thought.
‘Wait! The third one, the fresh one, is still alive!’ the dark voice cautioned.
‘Not for much longer judging by the state of him. It would be a kindness to put him out of his misery. And his flesh will help keep others alive.’
‘There’s no need, since we have the other two here. Besides, you know the agreement with the Wardens. Has to be proper dead. The owner of this place will not be happy to find this one gone.’
‘But the owner might just think he escaped on his own. Meanwhile, we’ll have eaten all the evidence.’
‘Stop it! You’re just trying to talk yourself into it. The Wardens will know. They always know. They’ll smell the meat of this one on your breath. And Trajan always manages to find out which of the outdwellers has disobeyed his word. Those who disobey the word of the old one do not tend to survive too long.’
‘Huh! I’m not scared of Trajan… but there might be something in what you say,’ conceded the companion. ‘How about we just take one of his legs then? He won’t be needing it.’
The dark voice sighed angrily. ‘No! The shock will kill him. Stop trying to find a way round it. We’re leaving the third one.’
No, they mustn’t leave him to this slow, eternal death. ‘Free me!’ his chest rattled.
‘Did you hear that?’ the companion asked softly.
‘Yes.’
‘Well?’
‘I’m thinking.’
The companion kept quiet for some time, but couldn’t help fidgeting. ‘We shouldn’t stay here too long. The fire will be in the sky soon.’
‘Okay. Take him down.’
‘What! But you said the owner – ’
‘I know what I said, but this is different. He’s asked for our help. We’ll take him to Trajan and let him decide what to do.’
‘Let’s leave him, ask Trajan and then come back if we need to. Besides, we can’t haul the two carcasses and help the third one.’
‘It might be too late if we come back later. And the unnamed god of strangers won’t be happy with us if we ignore the plea of this one. We’ll leave one of the carcasses and maybe come back for that.’
‘I don’t get you!’ complained the companion. ‘But let’s just do it and get out of here. I’m having your share of the meat if there’s not enough to go round today, be sure of that.’
‘You think with your stomach too much, Dijin. Just pull the pin out of those manacles and get him down. I’ll catch him as he falls.’
***
Young Strap chewed methodically on a piece of dried goat meat that someone had considerately put in his saddle bags back at the Only Inn. It wasn’t the most appetising of meals, yet it had a strong, if not entirely moreish, flavour and kept his stomach quiet.
The colt stepped lightly along the road, apparently untroubled by the snow that had drifted across the way forwards in places. He was a smart horse and didn’t need prompts from his rider either to keep going forwards or to keep to the road.
They’d been travelling for a whole day and hadn’t met a soul. The landscape was beginning to seem bleak to the young Guardian. Dramatic, yes, but definitely bleak. Many of the trees were skeletal, and the wind was as cold as death’s own breath. He’d just about managed to get a fire lit the night before, but the flame had been small and weak, barely generating more heat than ghostfire. His teeth had chattered till his jaw ached, and the cold had kept him awake most of the night.
Tired as he’d been, it had still been a relief when the sun had risen. It hadn’t warmed him at all, but it had been excuse enough for him to rise and put an end to the torture of trying, and failing, to sleep. The colt had been keen to get going too, perhaps instinctively understanding that the movement of travel would serve to warm them both up.
And so they rode through the still and quiet landscape. Even though they had moved out of the foothills of the Needle Mountains, and the snow was thinner on the ground, there was still no sight nor sound of any wildlife. It was eerily quiet, as if everything were dead or there was a giant predator on the prowl that every other creature was trying to hide from. It was oppressive and beginning to grate on Young Strap’s nerves. Even the sound of the colt’s hooves was somehow subdued or deadened by the strange atmosphere. Young Strap had the irrational urge to shout, but settled for clearing his throat loudly. Then he decided to speak to the colt:
‘Well, boy, this is a strange pass, is it not? It seems that there’s no one left in Accritania. How can you be at war with a country that hasn’t got any people left, eh? You can’t. You turn up on the battlefield in your nice, new, shiny armour, only to find there’s no enemy. Not playing fair, is it, really? I mean, what chance have you got of winning when the enemy doesn’t even turn up? Hardly sporting of them, is it? It’s sneaky, in fact, devious and cunning. Typical of the Accritanians really. It’s their latest trick, I bet. They’re just trying to lull us into a false sense of security, trying to make us lazy and complacent. Phew! They’re more dangerous than we thought. What chance do we have against an enemy like that? Maybe we should just surrender now to save ourselves a lot of pain and bother. Yes, we should surrender… except there’s no one around to surrender to. I bet they’re doing that deliberately as well. They clearly want us to suffer as much as possible, fo
r as long as possible. There’s no reasoning with or surrendering to such people. They’re a twisted and merciless enemy. There’s no point in trying to surrender. The only hope is to carry on fighting them. You’ve talked me into it, boy! We must keep fighting the enemy. Thanks for that, boy, because I was seriously thinking about giving up just then. You saved me from making a serious mistake. Perhaps you’ve just saved my life. I owe you everything. Whatever’s mine is yours. Come on! Name it. Anything!’
The colt snorted.
‘Now, don’t be modest. Just name it. Really!’
The colt began to dance sideways.
‘Woah! It’s alright. I’m not going to insist if you don’t want.’
Then it began to roll its eyes and jerk at its reins. Too late, Young Strap realised that something was seriously wrong. A large shadow leapt at them from behind and slashed at the colt’s side. The horse tried to twist away sharply, but couldn’t keep its feet. Young Strap threw himself from the saddle for fear of being trapped under his struggling mount. He landed in a flurry of snow, desperately trying to get to his blade while making sense of the disjointed images that had flashed before him. A long paw. Wolf? Sharp teeth. A hoof. And now there was a strong smell of musk. He hadn’t scented it before, so clearly the thing had been keeping downwind of them and stalking them! What creature stalked a man on a horse? Surely not a lone wolf, even a starving one.
His hand found the hilt of his blade but suddenly a heavy, human-like paw slashed across his vision and his eyes began to fill with blood. He couldn’t see and tried to roll clear. But his bow had landed near him and he got tangled with it. He flailed with his free arm to try and ward away whatever was attacking him, but he only made contact with air.
Something stamped on his leg and he cried out. The leg wasn’t broken, but another blow like that and it would be. He pulled both legs up to his chest and rolled over once more. Something raked his back and he had to resist the instinct to arch backwards and protect it. He dared not open up and expose himself. Argghh! Another blow landed. Whatever it was had definitely penetrated his leather armour and cut deeply, if the burning pain was anything to go by.