Saerus felt himself being dragged across the stone floor. He opened his eyes and was confused by what he saw. He saw himself dragging himself by his booted right foot. He opened his mouth to say something but something forced it closed.
“Say nothing,” he heard Kharisi command in his head like it was his own thought.
Saerus dropped the foot, and from the sound heard him opening the secret entrance, which had been designed as an escape when the castle had been built. Saerus pick up the foot again and began pulling Kharisi’s body down the hidden stairs. When only his head and shoulders were visible, He slammed the trap door down on his back, sending the duo into darkness.
14: Trapped
“I don’t know if I trust him,” Kiandra said sitting on one of the steps. “Druids are a tricky bunch, changing into animals and god knows what else, and don’t get me started on what they do with the dead.” She spat on the ground for emphasis, then reached into her pocket to pull out tobacco and a pipe.
Petram turned to her, watching her fill the bowl of the pipe, fixating on the way she tamped it down, how she put it between her lips, then lit it. The small quick puffs to get the fire going began to give him some not so wholesome thoughts. While years and distance had separated them, he never forgot her volatility and expertise in matters of intimacy.
Kiandra looked at him, then let out a sigh of false disgust. “I don’t know who you plan on poking with that wee thing,” she said pointing at the rise in his crotch with the stem of her pipe, “But it won’t be me.” Petram looked down, confused for a moment then saw the object of her revulsion and quickly tried to hide it by crossing his legs. “Men, yer all the same, only care about sticking it in something. I bet the goats run when they see you!” Kiandra roared with laughter at that, so much so, tears began streaming from her eyes. “I’d be nervous if I were that druid!” she added and laughed even harder.
Petram looked away, not wanting her to see the tears welling in his eyes. He expected the abuse, what he had not planned on was the realization he was still in love with her. “I’m sorry for every wrong I’ve done ya,” he said, voice so soft, Kiandra barely heard him, and her reply was equally quiet.
“I know, but past is past Petram.” Kiandra looked at him, saw the wetness on his cheek, and in an instant, she threw herself at him, kissing his cheek, holding him tight, while all he could do was try not to suffocate in her ample bosom. They held one another close, both kissing each other with the frantic awkwardness of unflowered youth. Petram rolled over on top of Kiandra grabbing a handful of her tit, as she fumbled to undo his trousers. They rolled over again, then once more before the dais stopped them. Petram let out a grunt as his shoulder hit the stone.
The base moved.
Petram broke from the passion for a moment and pushed at the dais with a free hand.
It moved more, however reluctantly. There was a draft, faint but carrying the scent of old, stale air. “Help with this, would ya? He asked, getting off of her and now pushing with considerable strength. Kiandra said nothing, and kneeled next to Petram, and pushed with all of her considerable might.
The more the dais moved, the better view they had of an opening it had kept hidden.
The rush of air from below grew stronger, enough to blow their hair around and make their clothing flap. Petram peered over the side but could see nothing but inky blackness. Kiandra produced light once again and moved it into the opening where it promptly disappeared, swallowed by the emptiness. “What do you think?” he asked, more to himself than Kiandra, though she replied anyway.
“I think anythin’ that swallows up my light isn’t something I wanna look into.” She turned from the entrance and sat down on the step.
“And what do ya propose we do,”
Kiandra relit her pipe, using up the rest of the tobacco that hadn’t been burned. “Wait for the Druid, let him take a look.”
“And if he doesn’t come back?”
“Then yer going down there,” she said, and Petram was convinced there was a hint of satisfaction in that.
“By the gods, he better, or I’ll have his balls!”
“And what are you going to do with my balls, dwarf?”
Petram and Kiandra both let out a scream, drawing weapons in a reflexive action. Kiandra’s pipe had fallen from her mouth and was smoldering on the top of her boot. Da’Nel pointed at it at the same time she felt the heat. She jumped out of shock for the second time within five seconds and had Petram not been so shaken, he’d have had a good laugh.
“Where in the Queen’s name did you come from?” Petram asked, his heartbeat starting to slow down a bit.
“From over there,” Da’Nel said matter-of-factly, pointing over his shoulder behind him.
“Did you find anything?” Kiandra said, unable to help her glower-filled expression.
“There was nothing, not even the entrance you said you came down.”
Petram’s face reddened, “I don’t like that tone, Druid.”
Da’Nel shrugged, “I’m guessing you don’t like a great many things. Yourself included.” Kiandra laughed at that in spite of herself. “But, it looks like you two have been busy, and even managed to find something useful.”
“It swallowed Kiandra’s globe of light, we couldn’t see anything.”
Da’Nel thought about this for a moment, then smiled. “Well. guess it’s up to me.” Without saying anything else, he transformed into a bat, his creaky, leathery wings stretching out to an impressive length. He flew up then circled over the dais before zooming down into the darkness.
The dwarves looked into the opening, then to one another and then back to the opening. “I don’t like this,” Kiandra said.
Petram seized the moment to be glib, even if he knew it probably wasn’t the right moment. “I’m guessing you don’t like a great many things. Yours....”
“Don’t ya dare finish that if you want to keep those peas you call balls,” Kiandra said, her voice as flat and sharp as a rogue’s stiletto.
Petram swallowed loudly, then became fascinated with the dirt on his boot.
Da’Nel called to them and the duo peered into the chasm. The inky blackness had now turned into a viscous brown sludge, difficult to see into, but better than the total dark. “Climb down on this!” he said, as a thick vine appeared from below.
“Ladies first,” Petram said, bowing comically. Kiandra booted his ass while deep in his bow, with such force he nearly fell into the opening. Only her hand grabbing the back of his pants prevented him from doing so. She pulled him away from the entrance, then got on her haunches, grabbed the vine and began shimmying down. Petram kept his eye on her as she lowered herself until he could see her no more. After taking hold of the vine, he also made his way into the unknown. The vine was strong, firm, and seemed to have all the right places to get a foothold. Still, it was tiring, and with each further step down his arms began to ache. His shoulders felt as if someone was jabbing the joints with hot needles. Petram stopped for a moment, certain he couldn’t go on when he heard the voices of his companions urging him to hurry.
“Just a bit more,” Kiandra said, and the sound of her voice being so close gave him the impetus to finish. When he looked down and saw the ground was only a matter of feet, he threw caution to the wind and let go of the vine jumping down the rest of the way. Petram landed on his backside and gave out a discomforted grunt. Da’Nel held a hand out to help him up, while Kiandra watched, bemused by the scene. As Petram dusted himself off, he looked around and was able to see things all too clearly.
They had landed in a crypt. And, as such things go, it was no ordinary crypt, but one reserved for royalty. Da’Nel lit a torch in a golden sconce. Then moved down a few feet to light another. He kept doing this until they came to a circular room lined with upright coffins. Each lid had the occupant’s face chiseled upon it with great detail. Every line, crack, wrinkle, blemish, mole, and bump was rendered in fine detail.
Da’Nel took th
e torch closest to him and began inspecting each one, giving them all the greatest scrutiny. Petram and Kiandra stood by silent and watched as the Druid made his way around the room.
“Who are they?” Petram asked, just to break the quiet up.
“Who were they you mean.” Da’Nel corrected.
“Ya knew what I meant.”
Da’Nel smiled and nodded. “Well, you probably won’t believe this,” he said, his smile growing, “These are my ancestors,”
“Your ancestors?” Petram asked.
“These are the lost rulers of what was known as the Earthen Elves.”
“Nonsense,” Kiandra said, disbelief coating every modulation of her voice. “They’re the stuff of legends, nothing more.”
Da’Nel’s eyes went dark in an instant, and Petram didn’t like the way it happened so fast. Even the surrounding air changed, becoming choking and unpleasant.
“Do I look like a legend to you?”
“Not in the least.” The sarcasm in her voice was as thick as honey.
Da’Nel ignored the comment and began walking around the room pointing to one coffin or another explaining who they were. “There was a time when all lands were of the Elves. There were no countries, there were no borders. The Elven tribes got along, we had no reason to fight. This lasted an untold amount of time, even now those who remember those days are themselves long gone, returned to earth, never to reappear. It wasn’t until those from across the great waters came to our shores in boats and began to enslave us that we learned how to fight. We had no weapons other than for hunting, and to use them on one another was unthinkable.” Da’Nel stopped, closed his eyes as a wistful smile slowly turned to one of sadness.
“The men came first, cruel and merciless, chaining us to do their bidding. The strongest being slain, and the women being raped. Then the dwarves came and raped the land, stealing its resources and stones. It was for them that Killgarter was built. It may have been planned and used by dwarves, but my ancestors built it stone by stone, pillar by pillar. Not as cruel as a man but their innate strength made the beatings and torture that much more agonizing.”
“Is this what they call The Elvish Scourge?” Petram asked.
Da’Nel nodded. “One of many things, but that’s what most would know it as. And if you know that, you’ll know Wyrig Gildenhall was responsible for the beginning of the end. While it took hundreds of years, and ultimately his torture and death, had it not been for his bravery in starting the resistance, we’d still be enslaved to this day. As it is, we lost all our land, most of our people and nearly all of our traditions. I’m truly the last.” The weariness in his voice was palpable. Though he looked no older than Kharisi, Petram knew he was far older than anyone could guess. Still, while the history lesson was educational, it did nothing to help them get out of there. As if reading his mind, an anxious Kiandra broached that subject.
“Tis all well and good, but unless we find an exit, we’ll be joining them all.”
Da’Nel nodded and walked to the only tomb laid horizontally in the middle of the room, which belonged to Wyrig Gildenhall. “Come you two, some help moving this,” he said.
“Why?” Kiandra asked, causing Da’Nel to roll his eyes in frustration and anger. “If you want to leave, you’ll do as I ask.”
The dwarves complied, and in spite of the age, the lid slid off smoothly, and easily. Almost too easily. Contained within was a shroud wrapped body that stank of mold and spoiled flesh. “You might want to turn away,” Da’Nel warned, though the dwarves had already done so.
Da’Nel began peeling the cloth away, hoping he would find something useful. When he finished, he smiled.
15: Cells
Kharisi lay at the bottom of the ladder until his head stopped spinning. He opened his eyes and looked around, even though he hadn’t planned on doing so. He started to stand on shaky legs also against his will and heard Saerus’ voice again.
“Where are we and what happened? Why am I in your mind?”
“I don’t know, but you need to stop moving me, it’s upsetting.”
Saerus laughed. “How do you think I feel? I’m in your mind with your thoughts. Most of which would make me stiff as new leather, by the way.” Saerus reached into his pants and felt Kharisi’s swollen member. “You too, by the feel.”
Kharisi used his free hand and pulled the other out of his breeches with a mixture of anger, disgust, and perhaps a tiny amount of arousal. “Now isn’t the time for that, we need to get out of here,”
“And do what exactly?”
Kharisi thought about this for a moment and realized Saerus was right. They had to decide what needed to be done. For Saerus that was obvious. To Kharisi, not so much. “Getting me back into my body would be a good start.” He climbed up the ladder and pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Stop a moment, I hear voices,” Saerus said, and Kharisi ceased his ministrations.
“Came in and tried to kill me...” Saerus heard himself say in a voice everyone would know as his own except Saerus. He’d seen Jesters entertain his mother by mimicking others, and as good as they were, there was always something that wasn’t quite right. Maybe the slight hesitation before speaking, consciously making sure you didn’t stray from the vocalizations. “... ran out when I brandished my dagger,” he continued. “Why weren’t you outside the door?”
Kharisi heard the guards hem and haw, unable to give an answer, but he knew. They’d been playing cards in the space beneath the stairs. Though it was cramped, they would still be able to hear everything that went on. Somehow, this had never been found out, and apparently the guards, even now, weren’t keen to make it known.
“Never mind, go talk to the stable boy, he and that traitor were known to mount one another like the deviants they are.”
“I never!” Kharisi muttered.
Saerus laughed, “I can see your memories, you liar! Really, it’s amazing your prick hasn’t rotted off by now.”
“Considering how often it's been in you, that’s only inevitable, and behave while you’re a guest. How did this happen anyway?”
Saerus caused Kharisi’s shoulders to shrug. “The question should be why, not how. How won’t matter if we don’t know why.”
Kharisi started down the ladder again and when he stepped off the last rung, he looked around to get his bearings. While he shouldn’t have been surprised, not considering all he knew about the castle, he was still taken aback to find himself in the sewers.
“Sewers?”
“Do you think your shit and piss evaporates from your stinking chamber pot? It comes down here.” Kharisi felt impatient and the stirrings of anger. Saerus sensed this in his thoughts and tried to calm him the best he knew how.
“Do you remember how you used to come into my room, angry as a bear, swiping at anything in your way, because of a bad day?” Kharisi said nothing and started walking down the corridor to his left. “Do you remember what I used to do?” Kharisi stopped walking and thought for a moment.
“You would hold me and sing softly until I calmed down.”
Saerus began singing the old bedtime song mothers sang to their newborns for generations, Mother Songbird, Father Sparrow. He could feel Kharisi’s body become supple, his mind soothed and emptied of stress. He began swaying like a green budded branch being pushed by a slight breeze.
“You always had a beautiful voice, even after you began manhood, your voice never faltered.” Kharisi’s cheeks burned with Saerus’ embarrassment. “Do you remember what we’d do when you finished?”
“I’m not sure I can lick your arsehole right now if that’s what you mean.”
“No! I meant we’d talk, through the night until the sun greeted us once more. It was the..” Kharisi stopped, told Saerus to hush. “I thought I heard a scream.” He moved slowly in the direction he heard the sound, careful not to make any noise of his own. Saerus also listened and was surprised by how sensitive Kharisi’s hearing was. Must be the e
ars, he thought.
“Rude!”
Saerus said nothing, realizing he’d need to guard his own thoughts as much as Kharisi would guard his. They heard the scream again, a bit louder and more desperate. Saerus urged the elf to hurry and tried to make him run. Kharisi resisted and the tug of war caused him to fall face-first into a puddle laden with ripening waste.
“On the Queen’s tits, I’ll cut both your cocks off and feed them to you if you do that again!”
“I’m sorry, but don’t ever swear on my mother’s tits again, never swear on the dead.”
It was Kharisi’s turn to say nothing, instead content to fume in silence. He stood up wiped some stray muck from his face and continued on.
“It hurts!” a frail, tired voice yelled out. “Please, stop!”
Kharisi crouched low, his footsteps soundless as he approached an opening in the wall. He peered around the corner and saw the stable boy bent over an old barrel, while one of the guards took him from behind. The two were facing away from Kharisi and he used all his stealth skills to sneak up behind the guard. He reached out for the guard's head and before he could get an extra thrust in, Kharisi snapped his neck so fast, he was dead before hitting the ground. The stable boy quickly pulled up his pants and cowered in a corner, tears and thick mucous glazing his face like one of the cook’s morning pastries.
“It’s okay, only me,” Kharisi said in a surprisingly soothing voice.
“Is, is he dead?” the boy asked, pointing a shaky finger at the still corpse.
Kharisi kicked the guard in the groin hard, several times. “Yes, I’d say he’s begging the gods for mercy about now, and if they’re just, they’ll show him none.” He reached out to the boy who instinctively shielded himself from a blow, his look of fear and overwhelming sadness tore at both Kharisi and Saerus. So much so, that Saerus spoke using Kharisi’s body once more.
Errors of the Flesh Page 10