by Dante King
“There we go,” he spoke in a strange, human-like voice for an orc. “Now we’re ready to begin.”
Ben couldn’t tell what the orc was doing, but considering he couldn’t see Arabeth anywhere, he could only guess it involved her.
And Ben wasn’t about to let it happen.
“Hey!” he shouted, his voice booming in the stone room.
The orc turned slowly, and Ben saw his horrible face in the orange torchlight. Orcs had never been known for their beauty, but the jailer was ugly. His face was deformed, covered in warts, one eye so engulfed that Ben couldn’t see it. His mouth was made up of fat, plump lips, and his nose was gone—only two holes remained.
“Do we have another guest?” he asked.
Behind him, Ben saw Arabeth. She was still in a dazed state, her eyes half-open and her head slumped. On the table next to her was a green potion—a potion Ben recognized as the same sort of rejuvenation potion that he’d been given during the fights.
Ben first tried to appeal to his rationality—if he even had any.
“The One is dead,” Ben said. “Whatever you’re planning on doing to her, there’s no need for it. Let her go and surrender.”
The jailer only smiled, letting out a wheeze of a laugh.
“You think this is about following orders?” he asked. “No, this is about fun.”
“And what about the other orcs out there?” Ben asked. “The ones that you killed—was it fun for them?”
He waved his hand. “They never had the taste for what happens down here. And truthfully, I had no need for them. They left the moment they could. So, I had a little fun with them as they tried to flee. I’m very, very good at killing, you see. I can do it quickly, or I can do it slowly. With them it was fast. With her, it will be nice and slow.”
He narrowed his one good eye at Ben.
“But first, I need to take care of you. You’re the one who defeated the ruler of this tower, yes? And I’m guessing, by the mere fact of you being here with a sword in hand, you want to stop me. Well, I’m not going to let that happen. I’ll get rid of you, and then no one will be left to stand in the way of me and my fun.”
He reached into the darkness, picking up a strange tool that at first seemed like a half-sized spear. As Ben got a better look at it, he saw that the end wasn’t a simple point, but a razor-sharp, curved hook.
“This is one of my favorite toys,” he said. “The one I have the most fun with. I call it the flayer.” He placed his green fingertip on the inner hook, dragging it across and drawing blood. “This part is sharp enough to slice flesh off and leave the muscle exposed underneath. Then I take the muscle and whatever’s left. The end is a point, perfect for piercing whatever I want. Now, come here—I want to show you what I can do.”
With that, he lifted the flayer and rushed toward Ben, a guttural growl sounding from his throat as he closed the distance. Despite his deformities, he moved fast and was on top of Ben with surprising speed.
Ben dove out of the way, the jailer reaching for him but grabbing only air. Before Ben could turn and prepare for his first attack, the jailer swung his flayer toward Ben, who rolled away at the last moment.
The jailer looked Ben over, smiling his hideous smile.
“See? My tool works without you even knowing.”
Ben was confused at first, then he looked down at his hand and saw that a slice of flesh had been cleaved off. Nothing but red remained at the top of his hand. The flayer had cut him so cleanly that he hadn’t even felt it.
“I can make it painless, or I can make it hurt as much as I want. You’ll experience both—and everything in between. So, you might as well get it over with now. Accept it, human.”
Ben stuck out his sword to parry another strike from the jailer, but the orc moved quickly, not wasting any time swinging the weapon hook-down at Ben’s leg. Ben managed to roll out of the way just in time, the hook hitting the stone floor with a ping. When he was clear, he stabbed his blade forward toward the jailer, who used his hook to grab the end of the blade, and then, with a quick twist of his arm, yanked the hilt from Ben’s hand. The blade flew across the room and into the darkness.
“A nice try,” the jailer said, “but this is my world. I know the darkness, and I know blades. You made quite the mistake in coming here.”
Ben didn’t have his weapon, but he had his magic.
And more than that, he had Arabeth.
Ben put distance between himself and the jailer, standing at the far end of a stretching table covered in dried blood and bits of rotted gore. The jailer moved quickly, cutting the distance between them.
Ben tapped into Siphon, finding the jailer’s cord of strength and pulling some away. Then he sent it to Arabeth.
The jailer paused for a moment, as if trying to figure out what was happening. Ben watched as Arabeth opened her eyes, shaking her head and coming back to the moment.
“Arabeth!” Ben shouted. “Drink that!”
Her eyes flashed with the bit of strength she’d been gifted. She set her gaze on the bottle for a moment before picking it up and gulping it down. The effect was instant, the cocky smirk that Ben had seen in the arena returning to her face as she sprang from her chair.
“I… I remember this place,” Arabeth said as she looked around. “You were going to torture me!”
“I still am going to torture you,” the jailer said, not a trace of fear to his voice. “That you’re awake sooner than I’d hoped is of no concern at all.”
She turned her head, her eyes landing on the iron maiden.
“Too much to do,” she said. “I don’t have time to get tortured. Ben! Toss him in my direction, would you?”
She swirled the air in front of her, creating a mini cyclone. Ben did as she asked, firing a blast of Force Wave off the wall, the ricochet hitting the jailer and sending him flying across the room toward Arabeth.
“W-what are you doing?” the jailer called.
“Giving you a fitting punishment!” As soon as he was near, Arabeth caught him in her gust and sent him sailing into the iron maiden, impaling him on the spikes within. His eyes were wide with panic as Arabeth cast another gust of wind and sealed the thing shut with a clang.
“There,” she said with a pleased smile. “That’ll be a good place to keep him for the time being.” She hurried over to Ben, looking him up and down as if she weren’t sure it was actually him. “Hell of a place for a reunion. And… thank you for you saving me a second time.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Ben replied. “How are you feeling?”
She stretched her long, slender limbs and shook her head so that her sand-colored hair tossed about.
“Pretty good considering I was about two minutes away from getting tortured to death.”
“Good,” Ben said, “because your father’s leading the revolt outside. I promised him that I’d come save you.”
Her eyes flashed, and Ben realized the enormity of what he’d just told her.
“Wait, what? The revolt’s happening? That means… The One is dead?”
“I’ll fill you in on the way out, but right now, I need to find a key so I can free my friends.”
She scrunched her forehead. “A key… Oh!” She spotted the flayer on the ground and rushed over to pick it up. “This is it! I remember, barely, when that freak took me out of my cell and brought me here. He stuck the hook into the lock and that did the trick.”
Ben wasted no time hurrying over to the flayer and grabbing it from the ground. It was surprisingly light, and even in the darkness of the torture room, he could see that the end was sharper than about any blade he’d ever held.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got a battle to win.”
Together, they hurried out of the disgusting room and down the hall to the cells. Ben freed his friends, introducing them to Arabeth and explaining to her what had happened during the time since he’d bested her in battle. They took the elevator up to the main floor, and this time Ben
was ready to join the revolt.
The group hurried through the entry hall of the tower, stepping out into the air of battle. The bodies of orcs were scattered everywhere, a few beastkin, monsterkin, and elementalkin among them. Groups of slaves—former slaves—fought with orcs among the woods, using their magic and animal powers to bring the monsters down. In the middle distance, the enormous, elephant-like beasts that The One had employed as labor were running amok, stomping through the trees and raising themselves up on their back legs to let out mighty roars.
“What’s the plan, boss?” Arabeth asked.
“Find your father! And kill any orc that’s still standing and refuses to surrender!”
There was nothing else to be said. Ben led his group through the woods, making their way to the first slave camp they found. The scene was one of battle and revolution, the orcs of the camp slain, the wizard who’d been in charge of them dead on the dirt, his fine robes soaked with blood.
They continued along the path, the mining and logging camps aflame. The group encountered a handful of orcs, but all were in the process of fleeing. A few soldiers from The One’s Black Army were dead on the ground. The next camp they reached was familiar—the one they’d been brought to when they’d first arrived at the tower.
Now they were there as conquerors.
Ben spotted a group of kin standing in a half-circle around something he couldn’t quite make out. The sounds of battle had quieted over the trip to the camp, and Ben sensed the revolt was nearly won.
Ben approached the group, eyes turning to him as they realized that the new leader of the tower had arrived. They spread apart, allowing Ben and his entourage to enter. He spotted Graven in the center of the group, two mages on their knees in front of him, their hands behind their backs. Ben recognized Victor, the mage who’d run the camp.
All eyes were on Ben as he approached—almost all of them. When Graven saw Arabeth, a smile spread across his face that was like nothing Ben had seen before.
“Dad!” Arabeth threw her arms open and rushed to her father, the two embracing. Ben couldn’t help but smile, feeling honored to have taken part in their reunion.
When the hug was over, Graven turned his attention to Ben and regarded him with a warm grin.
“You saved my daughter—just as I’d hoped. You killed The One and freed our people.”
“What about the battle?” Ben asked.
“It’s nearly over,” Graven replied. “Just as I’d hoped, all we needed was communication for our superior numbers to easily overwhelm The One’s forces. Most of the orcs and goblins fled, and the mages and wizards were no match for our skills. The ones you’re looking at here are those who were smart enough to surrender.”
“It’s you!” Victor shouted, eagerness in his eyes. “You’re the one I sent to the arena! I’m the reason you’re still standing! Let me go—I’ll make it worth your while!”
The other mages simply glared at him.
“You’re a fool,” growled the one on the right, a fair-skinned, red-haired mage with a matching beard. “You think you’ve won? Wait until the Black Army returns—they’ll make you pay for what you’ve done.”
Victor grinned. “Not if I tell you their tactics and show you their movements.”
The eyes of the red-haired wizard flashed with anger. “You… you wouldn’t do that!”
“Anything to get out of this with my head still attached to my shoulders.”
Ben raised his palm. “Enough. I want these two in the dungeon within the hour. I’ll decide what to do with them and the jailer when I’m ready.”
Graven nodded toward some of the kin. A small group of ten stood at the ready.
“Take them to the dungeon,” Graven said. “Five of you go with one, five go with the other. Separate them, and make sure they’re secured with null-locks.”
The monsterkin went to it, leading the mages out of the camp. When they were gone, Ben turned and took in the scene. The camp was an even bigger mess than when he first arrived, half the buildings either ruined or burning.
“Graven,” he said. “How many kin are around the tower?”
Graven glanced aside, thinking. “A good two thousand, I would say.”
“We’re going to need to find lodgings for them. The tower is secured and in my hands. Right now, I want our forces to gather inside. I’m going to need a better view of our situation before I issue further commands.”
“A good idea,” Graven said. “The revolt is won, but the battle for the region will take much, much more. We need to regroup and reassess, determine what our standing is.”
Ben was pleased with every word out of Graven’s mouth, and was already sizing him up as a lieutenant, someone he could trust with managing affairs while Ben wasn’t at the tower. He’d already pulled off a revolt, after all.
Ben stepped into the middle of the group and raised his voice. “Spread the word—we’re regrouping at the tower. There, we’ll rest and replenish ourselves for the next stage of our battle. But rest assured—your freedom has already been won!”
Cheers sounded from the group, and Ben couldn’t help but grin. He was ready to lead.
Chapter 21
Ben stepped back into the grand hall of the northern tower like a conquering hero. He had two towers to his name, and already his thoughts were on his next conquest, but he knew he shouldn’t get too far ahead of himself—the region was far from secure.
He stood in the room alone, taking in the sight of the banquet hall. The place was a total mess, just as he’d seen it on the way out. Plates and cups were everywhere, food strewn on the floor in just about every spot it could’ve been.
Not going to be a banquet hall for long, he thought. The One might have run the place by his commands alone, but I’m going to want the help of my trusted advisors.
He cleared his throat, preparing to give a command.
“Tower,” he said, “summon Graven, Melody, Lexi, Shrike, Zito, and Imogen to the banquet hall.”
Once the command was issued, he began doing what he could to clear off the table. He knew that he could have called the monsterkin staff into the room and had them do it, but he decided they deserved at least one night of relaxation and celebration after the battle outside.
“The new leader of the tower cleaning up his dining hall! Now, that’s something!”
Ben turned to see Zito standing at the entrance to the room. Ben couldn’t help but grin hard at the sight of his blademaster. The old man approached him and gave Ben a powerful hug, slapping him on the back hard enough for his eyes to go wide from the impact.
“Good to see you, lad!” he said, clamping his hands down onto Ben’s shoulders and looking him up and down. Zito had some cuts and scrapes here and there, and his clothes were dirty and tattered, but other than that, he looked no worse for wear.
“What happened with you in the mines?” Ben asked. “You looked like you weren’t having any trouble at all in there.”
“Well, trust me—it was no picnic. Me and most of the other codgers were down there, The One squeezing what work out of us he could before we dropped. It wasn’t long before one of Graven’s men found me, told me about the revolt. So, I bided my time, got to some of the other old farts in there. Most of them were former warriors and retired mages, believe it or not. They were pretty beaten down, but all they needed was a little guidance. That’s where I came in. Once we got word that the revolt was underway, I didn’t waste any time leading them into battle. They did alright for themselves!”
“I want to know more,” Ben said with a smile, “but some other time. Right now, I want to thank you for your hard work, Zito.”
“Hey, it’s my pleasure, lad! And something tells me that the work is only just beginning!”
“You’re right about that.”
Melody and the rest entered the room and looked around.
“Quite a mess,” she said, “but we can clean it up.”
“Don’t even worry abou
t that right now,” Ben said as he dropped into one of the open seats. “We’ve got much, much bigger things to worry about than the cleanliness of the meeting room. Please, all of you have a seat and let’s figure out our next steps.”
The group did as he asked, finding open chairs and cleaning away the food or drink in front of them. Zito helped himself to a bottle of wine, bringing it to his mouth, taking a long pull and letting out an ahhh when he was done.
“That’s what I needed,” he said.
Graven placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “The former slaves have set up a perimeter around the tower and scouts have been posted at the camps. I’ve ordered round-the-clock lookouts three hundred and sixty degrees around the tower. We’ve got good reason to think a Black Army counterattack might happen, but with all that surveillance, we’ll know about it well before it does.”
Ben nodded. “Good. Starting tomorrow, we’ll root out what remains of the slavers from the forests around the tower.”
“And what about those huge monsters?” Melody asked. “That The One was using to tear out trees?”
“We managed to calm them down,” Graven said. “We’re going to need to figure out what to do with them—they eat a lot, and if we don’t assign teams to look out for them, they’ll start running amok. Might even start eating kins for snacks if they get too hungry. Otherwise we could send them off to fend for themselves. That’d mean we wouldn’t have to worry about them, but I’ve got no doubts we could find a use for them later.”
Ben nodded, running his hand through his hair. Not two hours ago he was in the fight of his life with The One, learning his secret. It was giving him a wild case of whiplash to go from that to leading a revolt to now administering his new holding. He knew it was necessary work—one didn’t get to be the Forgotten Ruler taking breaks.
“If they’re calm now, then we can table the issue for tomorrow,” Ben said. “And—”
Before he could finish, words appeared in front of him.
NORTHERN TOWER HAS BEEN LINKED WITH SOUTHERN TOWER.