A Dark Tyranny

by C. M. Pendleton

  Nylah paused. She looked at Finn with tears in her eyes.

  “I understand,” whispered Nylah. She looked down and then back into his eyes. She leaned into his arms and kissed him. Finn felt her lips softly press into his. He felt her tongue gently caress his open mouth.

  Finn wanted that moment to last forever. It was the one moment he was not a slave.

  “You have my heart,” Nylah whispered.

  “More reason you must live,” Finn said. He felt her arms around him. He smelled her hair. Her skin was soft. Finn's heart ached.

  “We have to go,” Finn said. He felt anger building inside him with the thought of not feeling her lips again or feeling her touch.

  They moved to the outlying edge of the captives. One more step and they would be away from the pack.

  “The forest there … do you see it?” asked Finn.

  “I do.”

  Finn paused.

  “This isn’t fair,” whispered Nylah.

  Finn had no words. He pulled her to him and kissed her one last time. Nylah’s arms wrapped tightly around him. He felt her breasts against his chest. Her breath was warm against his face. Finn pulled her from him.

  “You have to run.”

  “Ok.”

  “Ready. Go! Now!”

  Nylah began to run, but she fell immediately to the ground. Her ankle seared with pain. She had been tripped. She could taste dirt in her mouth. Blood dripped from her bottom lip.

  “Where are you going, ma lady?” said the rapist prisoner from days earlier. He looked gaunter and his clothes were dirtier. He stared at Nylah laughing.

  “You bastard!” Finn screamed.

  He tackled the man, knocking him to the ground. The man was caught off guard. He had not expected Finn to be so brazen.

  “Nylah run!” yelled Finn.

  Nylah got to her feet. Her ankle wanted to buckle. It burned. She began to run the best she could. The trees were so far away. She could hear Finn yelling behind her. She kept hearing his voice in her head.

  Run. Don’t look back. Run as fast as you can.

  She ran.

  Finn felt his fists begin to ache, as he pummeled the man below him. Anger burned within him. Finn felt a slaver’s foot slam against his face knocking him to the ground. He was momentarily jarred from the impact. Another blow landed in his stomach. He felt his breath shoot out. He gasped for air. Nylah was yelling in the distance. Finn tried to stand and look for her.

  Run.

  He felt the bluntness of a club rack against his back. He fell to one knee. Blood had begun to pool in his mouth. His vision was blurry. The captives moved into groups to isolate themselves from Finn and the bloodied prisoner on the ground beside him. They wanted to stay unnoticed. This allowed Finn to catch a quick glimpse of Nylah. She was being carried by a large gorgon. The beast was bringing her back to the group. Nylah tried to pull away from him but instead just flung in his arms like a ragdoll.

  No!

  Two slavers now stood over Finn. One had four faces hanging around his neck like a gruesome necklace. His teeth had almost rotted out. The other hid behind a mask of skin. He was enormous. His arms bulged causing them to stick out from his wide chest. His belly protruded heavily from a belt made of scalped hair. Finn saw that he had dull green eyes. The smaller one with the necklace of faces followed Finn’s eyes to Nylah.

  “A nice morsel we have over here, eh?” he said. His voice was high and his lack of teeth made his words smack together.

  “No,” Finn whispered to himself.

  The small slaver kicked Finn to the ground.

  “Let’s see what’s here … you there,” he said motioning to the gorgon carrying Nylah. The two slavers began to walk towards the gorgon.

  Panic seared through Finn. Fear and anger brought him back to his feet. He shot like lighting towards the slaver. He slammed into the back of the small slaver causing him to crash to the ground. The slaver coughed, as the wind was knocked from him. Finn grabbed both sides of his face and began pounding his head into the hard earth. The slaver was wide eyed with a look of fear and bewilderment. He was completely taken off guard by Finn’s attack. Blood started to trickle from both his ears and nose. The necklace of faces tore off, as a cracking sound came from the man’s skull.

  Finn felt a much harder kick against the back of his head. He fell from the man instantly. He ears rang; he had trouble focusing. He barely made out the masked slaver. He towered above Finn. The slaver stooped down grasping Finn with both hands. He picked him up. One hand had Finn by the shoulder and the other by his neck. Finn dangled in his grasp. Finn kicked at the man but it did no good. The slaver was a mass of muscle. Finn felt his shirt tear open. He could feel his life slipping to blackness. He struggled to breathe. The slaver’s hand squeezed tighter around Finn’s neck. The head slaver yelled to the slaver holding Finn. He dropped him to the ground like a sack of rocks. Finn felt his throat open back up and air rush in. He gasped for breath. A sword cut through the rest of Finn’s shirt, as he laid face up on the ground. He could see the lead slaver looking down upon him.

  The lead slaver looked down staring at the large markings on Finn’s chest. It was an imprint of a coin from the ancient kingdom. The slaver smiled revealing his teeth. They had been sharpened to points. Finn felt himself being lifted up and tied to the back of the slaver’s jackal. He was being taken by the slavers along with some of the other prisoners. Before Finn passed out, he saw Nylah being put back into the crowd of prisoners that the gorgons were keeping. Tears fell from her eyes. She looked directly at Finn. He was full of rage and anger but couldn’t keep conscious.

  It can’t end this way … Nylah.

  Finn passed out into darkness.

  Chapter 12

  The Meeting at Kor

  Matthias sat in the cave with his back against its rocky wall. It had been days since the grandeur had spoken to him. Water seeped from cracks that splintered like veins throughout the stone walls. It dripped down onto his head, neck, and back. Matthias could not see, but he had become accustomed to the noises of the cave. He knew when a scavenger bird flapped down inside the cave or when a headstrong rodent was exploring. It also did not take sight for Matthias to know he was both exhausted and starving. His body hurt from hunger and thirst. He drank water from the cave when he could no longer take the pang of dehydration. Without sight, he had no idea if the water was tainted. It had an earthy taste of dirt and minerals but it had not made him sick.

  I should have let Denthas kill me. I envy death, yet I still rage against it.

  Matthias heard a distinctly different sound than he was accustomed. It was not an animal or the wind blowing rocks and pebbles. He was certain it was a person. The steps came in two and there was a small time between each one. Someone was walking. Matthias was not sure whether to speak or remain silent. He could not see. Remaining silent felt futile.

  “Who is here?” Matthias did not expect his voice to be so hoarse and raspy.

  “You’re here,” Luras said, “I have been looking for you all over these mountains.”

  “I haven’t moved from this one.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I was told you would be in these mountains, but I didn’t think to ask which one.”

  “Well … you have rescued me. The adventure is over. Now, if you will, please give me some food.”

  “Yes. I have some fruit,” Luras said. He removed his cloak and began looking through his leather satchel.

  “Fruit? I suppose I will have to make do.”

  “Here.”

  “I can’t see.”

  “It’s here,” Luras put a small cloth sack of fruit in Matthias’ hand.

  He ate it quickly. The sugar and juice woke his sense of taste. His stomach began to growl.

  “My name is Luras.”

  Luras felt odd saying his new name aloud.

  “I am just a dying blind man.”

  “Surely, you have a name. Here is some water,” said Luras.
He put his canteen into Matthias’ hand.

  “Thank you.”

  Matthias paused for a moment in thought. There was no harm in a name.

  “My name is Matthias. I do not want to go any further into it.”

  “I understand.”

  “How long have you been looking?” asked Matthias.

  “Two days. I saw the carrion birds flying over here at sunset yesterday.”

  “Yes. They’ve been patiently waiting for me to die.”

  “I’m glad to find you well … more or less. Please eat and drink. I will try to gather some wood for a fire.”

  “Aye. Thank you.”

  The sky was turning gray, as the sun slowly set on the mountains. Luras gathered sticks and branches and put them in a broken hollowed out log. The Kor Mountains were rock but some small trees and shrubs sprouted out. The mountains were mostly lifeless. Birds and rodents were the only residents that stayed, everything else just passed through. All the same, Luras felt it safer to stay in the seclusion of the cave rather than sleep at the foot of the mountains. He would take his chances with the birds and rats rather than the darker creatures rampaging through the realms.

  The fire crackled inside the cave. It cast a yellow hue to the walls. Luras and Matthias sat by the fire, while their shadows did the same on the walls of the cave. A breeze caused the fire to flicker momentarily interrupting the shadows. Luras had stumbled upon a carrion with an injured wing while rummaging for wood. It was now hanging over the fire sizzling. Matthias had already eaten a good portion of it. The meat was thin and rough, but it was the only food he had eaten besides fruit in days. Luras tried some but he had not acclimated to the taste of meat. Nighteyes lived off fruit and vegetables so he had never tasted meat until then. A scavenger bird does not make a suitable first experience for roasted bird.

  “I never thought something that tastes so bad could taste so good,” Matthias said, as he took a large bite of meat.

  “You’ve been hungry.”

  “Have you eaten some? I don’t want to eat it all.”

  “Please do. It does not seem to agree with me. I am more of a farm eater … fruits and vegetables.”

  “Well, a plump farm turkey is what you need … as do I.”

  “We will have to look into that,” said Luras.

  “So, you have seen the Grandeur … or one of them? I only saw some beast,” said Matthias.

  “Yes. She sent me after you.”

  “Why you?”

  “I do not know. Why you?”

  “That’s a very good question. I do not favor any king or god. I want nothing from the lot of them.”

  “I believe we are to be Acolytes. I was told that I would be or … well, I am one now, I believe,” said Luras.

  “An Acolyte? The world must have fallen apart while I was a blind prisoner here,” Matthias said, mockingly.

  “I suppose you are to be one as well.”

  “Rubbish. I am no Acolyte. Are your eyes glowing?”

  “They are.”

  “Well, I am blind. I would prefer to die blind in this cave than help a king or a god.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Luras.

  “Gods and kings take what they will … leaving all else to die,” Matthias said in low tone.

  “Which king did you serve?”

  “The butcher king in the north.”

  Luras felt it better to leave this alone.

  “May I,” Luras asked, as he moved closer to Matthias. “I would like to see what is wrong with your eyes.”

  “If you were going to kill me, you would not have fed me.”

  “Well, it is a carrion so you could still die yet.”

  Matthias let out a small laugh.

  “Take a look if you must.”

  Luras gently opened the lids of Matthias’ eyes. He lightly touched the side and base of each eye. They were hard and cold to the touch.

  “Do they hurt?” asked Luras.

  “Not particularly.”

  Luras leaned back and put his canteen close to the fire.

  “Your eyes are coated in clay and some type of small scales … the size of fish scales.”

  “I don’t feel them.”

  Luras took the canteen and poured some water onto his hands.

  “Lean your head to the side. You are going to feel some warm water.”

  Matthias felt the water slowly pour onto his head and close to his eyes. The water was warm and cascaded under his eyelids. Luras held Matthias' eyes open and poured more water. This time it was directly onto each eye. Matthias felt clumps soften and wash away. He could feel his eyes growing lighter. Then, actual light slowly began to seep in. Matthias felt his eyes begin to move again. If was like they were awakening from a great sleep. He rubbed them with his palms. Clay and scales broke apart and fell to the ground. Matthais took the canteen and poured more water into his eyes. Blurred vision gradually focused into a dark cave. The dark cave slowly became occupied with light from the fire. Matthias looked up and saw that Luras was not a human. He was a Bourne.

  “A Bourne?”

  “It was the Grandeur. I was a Nighteye before.”

  “Your eyes,” Matthias stammered, “they glow. You are a bloody Acolyte.”

  “Yes,” Luras answered, “and you are as well.”

  Matthias looked down into a pool of water that had gathered by him. His eyes shimmered with a soft translucent hue of blue. He kicked the water splashing it into the fire with a hiss.

  “No! I will not do this!” yelled Matthias, “I am no Acolyte!”

  Chapter 13

  The King’s Devil

  The village of Timball lay just outside the walls of Castle Horos. The sun had set causing the crafters and merchants to move indoors. It was full of homes made from stone. They had thick wooden logs split in half for their rooftops. The village had both the resources and safety of the mountains and forest. It was obvious in the materials the crafters made and the merchants sold. The village itself was largely built around a statue that stood in the center of Timball. It was an exact replica of Castle Horos. It did not have the tower on the north side because it was carved before the tower was built. However, the statue was very much the image of the current castle. It was a statue of exquisite craftsmanship. The stonework was painstakingly accurate to the smallest of details.

  Many years ago, an invading force from the west had marched towards Castle Horos. The ruler at that time was King Peltor. He had the statue built to mock the invaders. King Peltor announced that should they reach the village, the statue was the only castle they would take. He had the craftsmen carve a stone man dressed in the royal garb of the castle steward. The figure was placed in the front of the gate of the statue. It was a stone man surrendering the stone castle. It would only have further enraged the invaders. However, they never reached the village. They retreated back to the west, due to disease running rampant among their ranks. It is said they lost more men to sickness than fighting. The western invaders and King Peltor were now long dead and gone. However, the statue still stood. Over time, it had become the center of the village.

  The Greenwood Tavern stood not far from the statue. It was a two-story building built from massive rock. They had swirls of minerals in them that cast off a copper color. The minerals infused in the rocks seemed to give off a flickering or twinkle with the rising and setting of the sun. A stone on the top wall of each side of the tavern had a sun carved into it. The roof was wood and painted a deep forest green. It was constructed well after the time of King Peltor, but it had been there long enough to be considered a mainstay of the village. The tavern saw many villagers come and go. It had stayed in the same family line since it was erected. The current owner was Camille Greenwood. She was a large woman with ample breasts, stomach, and appetite. Her face was hard, but she had a jolly smile when she let it show. She was married to Cyrus Tulling. She had kept her maiden name of Greenwood to insure the tavern was always owned by a Greenwood. It
was not a normal act, but the villagers understood. They also knew that Camille had a fiery temper. The sun had recently set causing the tavern to come alive with villagers. There was a steady stream of them coming and going. The tavern was a good place for people to learn what was going on in the realm. It was also, of course, a good place for drinking. The residents of Timball needed both.

  An enormous open fireplace stood in the center of the tavern. A pot full of chestnuts hung from a pole over the flames. Their aroma drifted from the fireplace mixing with the smell of ale, smoke, and sweat. The walls were adorned with various paintings and heads of large elk, deer, and moose. A mounted owl stood perched in a corner. A few wooden carvings stood in various places. One was a bear rearing on its hind legs. Directly below the bear was a carving of a field mouse rearing on its hind legs. Tables and chairs were in no specific places. They were strewn about in whatever formation the current patrons wanted. In one corner, a group of men huddled together rolling dice. Some of them cheered with each roll, while others grimaced with defeat.

  A group of merchants and crafters sat at two tables that had been pushed together. Jared Horn was doing the majority of the talking. He was a large man with thick forearms, a soft belly, and a mustache that was twisted upwards. He took short puffs on his pipe while continuing to talk.

  “I’ve not received one word from Warren Town. No orders. No supplies. With the king’s wedding, you would think the lack of correspondence queer.”

  “My brother lives close to those parts … in Graywood. I've not heard from him, either,” said an older woman with coarse gray hair.

  “Some hunters passed through heading northeast … towards the coastline. There’s stories of bandits freely roaming just west of here,” said Jon Lince, a tall fellow with sunken eyes. He was the village's copier of books, scrolls, and letters.

  “I brought some carving stones to Doghead. They spoke about gorgons sacking Castle Red,” said a tightly muscled quarry worker.

  “Stories … no facts. Do you think the king would wed during an invasion? They are just stories. Don’t get people working for naught,” said Jared Horn.