A Dark Tyranny

by C. M. Pendleton

  “If there’s to be a wedding, where is everyone?” retorted Cal Mossy. He was a logger with a broad back and chest. “I ain’t seen nobody here … coming or going. And where are the councilmen? Something ain’t right I tell you.”

  “Calm down, Cal,” said Jared Horn.

  “The wedding is still weeks away,” said the older woman.

  “The farmers are still reaping their crops for the donation. People will come and money will be made,” said Jared.

  “They are lying. Don’t you see? Something is not right. Nobles are being moved inside the castle walls. Why?”

  “Calm down, Cal. Lower your voice,” warned Jon Lince, as he looked around the tavern.

  “Why? The ears of the king might hear? I ain’t seen the king in months … only his tabulate collecting the realm’s unearned share,” quipped Cal Mossy. He stood with his fists against the table.

  “Cal, sit down,” warned Jared.

  “There is a plot afoot and it is as thick as thieves. Don’t no one else see!” yelled Cal.

  “Come now, Cal Mossy,” said one of the men that was rolling dice. His hood was pulled low. “I can assure you that there’s not a plot afoot … and no thieves thickening.”

  “And you would know this how, sir,” said Cal.

  “Because my brother told me himself. He will be wedding in a matter of weeks.”

  “The king’s brother,” whispered Jon Lince.

  “He meant no offense, sir,” said Jared Horn.

  “I’m no king or sir. Please, call me Ellison or you or bugger … just not sir … and, thank the Creator, not king.”

  At this, a small rumble of laugher was heard across the tavern. It rubbed Cal Mossy sorely. He turned red.

  “I am to believe there’s no plot by the word of the king’s devil brother,” Cal spoke very loudly.

  “Come now, Cal,” yelled Jared, “show the man his deserved respect.”

  The tavern grew silent.

  “It’s ok,” said Ellison, “it’s true … I do appear quite devilish.”

  He pushed his hood back revealing his white skin and hair. His red eyes were the only color to his pale face. He grinned at Cal and those looking at him. Most were accustomed to seeing him with his hood up. Ellison was lanky with chin length white hair tucked behind his ears. He was handsome by normal standards but his lack of pigment distracted the eye.

  “I can, however, assure you that my father did not sack a witch … nor did my dear mom roll with a warlock,” said Ellison.

  A wave of laughter filled the tavern.

  “In truth, no one knows why I am this way … but a devil, I am not. Besides, aren’t devils handsome … and kings,” Ellison spoke with a grin.

  Laughter ensued. This time even Call Mossy let a fleeting grin pass his lips.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Cal.

  “Think nothing of it. Please have a drink with me. I’ve rolled enough coin away for one night. Talk of devils, it’s this jolly lot of ruffians here,” Ellison pointed to the men rolling dice. They laughed and sneered in jest.

  “Bring more coin to roll away tomorrow, devil,” laughed one of them.

  Ellison laughed and threw a wooden spoon towards the table. The group laughed and waved him off.

  It was well past the midnight hour when Ellison fumbled his way into the living quarters of the castle. He hummed a tune and continually walked over his own feet. The living quarters of Castle Horos were attached to the northern tower. It housed the king’s council and other visitors of noble heritage. It was quaint and comfortable. There was always a fire going in the main room and with various dignitaries talking politics in its great leather chairs. However, at this hour, all had long gone to sleep. It was only the fire and Ellison. He sank down into a chair and stared at the fire. It was common for the morning kitchen workers to wake him in that chair with a cup of coffee, some bacon, and sweet bread.

  “Another night at the Greenwood I take it.”

  “Malvern, you are awake at this hour?”

  “It is hard to sleep with all the noise … humming and fumbling about.”

  “I hope you gave a fiery rebuke to whichever scoundrel that was,” said Ellison.

  “Ah. Well, I know it’s not my place but it’s not proper for the king’s brother to drink and carry on in the village. It … it sets a poor image for the king,” Malvern spoke in a dry tone.

  “I assure you that your words have sunk into my thoughts. I will change my ways.”

  Malvern remained silent, as he scratched at his patchy beard.

  The arrogant bastard.

  “Tell me, Malvern, I am hearing lots of talk about this wedding. Some of the townsfolk are worried. They have not seen visitors, nor have any orders been placed for various things.”

  “Who are these people?”

  “No one particular. These are things heard out and about Timball. Perhaps, you could have someone transcribe a copy of the acceptance letter from her father. It would do the village well to have the reassurance.”

  “Ah, this is a good suggestion. I will take it up with the king.”

  “Do you have the letter? I would love to read it.”

  “Where is this concern coming from regarding the wedding?” questioned Malvern.

  “Nowhere … I would just like to read it.”

  “I don’t have it. I imagine it has been sent to the archivist. I will try to find it for you when time allows. Will this meet your needs?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “If you will excuse me.”

  “Yes. Good night.”

  Malvern scurried out of the room in the direction of the kitchen. His sandals slapped against his feet with each step. Ellison winced. His head was already beginning to feel what the morning had in store for him. He stared at the fire feeling his eyelids grow heavy. It felt as if his eyes had only shut briefly, but Ellison could tell that he had been asleep for a while. It was still dark. Morning would not arrive for a few hours yet. Ellison pulled himself up from the chair. He awkwardly walked toward the door.

  The briskness of the night air helped to wake him. He walked to the visitor stables by the living quarters. Fumbling with his pants, he unlaced his crotch just enough to pull himself out and begin to piss onto the straw. He stared up at the sky while relieving himself. He thought of his discussion with Malvern and how peculiar he had acted.

  Why would it be archived so soon?

  There was noise coming from the stable. It was not a horse; it was the sound of a muffled cry. It was rhythmic. Ellison thought he could make out loud breathing as well. He finished and laced himself again. He grinned, as he pictured a guard naked from the waist down with his wife bent over a stable rail. It was not uncommon for them to visit their husbands during a stretch of night patrols. Ellison turned to leave but the muffled cry continued to peek his curiosity. Something about it was quite odd. He pulled open the door to the stables to see a boy of roughly fourteen years leaned over a stable rail. Ellison recognized him as one of the boys that worked in the kennels. He was whimpering, as Malvern stood behind him with his robe pulled up over his waist. Malvern had sweat dripping from his brow. He was breathing heavily and grunting with each thrust of his waist. Ellison rushed towards Malvern pushing him to the ground. Malvern looked up with shock. His robes were twisted revealing his thin bowed legs and erect cock. Ellison kicked the old man.

  “Are you ok?” Ellison asked the boy.

  The boy pulled up his woolen pants and ran.

  “He is just a boy!” Ellison yelled, as he kicked Malvern again.

  “You bastard,” Malvern yelled. Blood dripped from his mouth.

  Malvern stood to get up but Ellison punched him back to the ground.

  “I should have let your father kill you! Devil bastard!”

  Malvern lay on the ground spitting blood. His eyes were wild with rage. He pulled himself to his knees. He kept one arm against his stomach.

  “You will pay for this,” said
Ellison.

  “You mean from the king that sticks his cock in two or three whores a night! No, you misjudge your brother.”

  “I will tell him you said that.”

  “Do. He will boast of it. You are nothing but a curse upon this castle.”

  “I do not prey upon young boys.”

  “You’re a drunk … a gambler and debtor. You would be long dead by now if you were of any other house,” Malvern said, as he breathed heavily. “Dark times are coming to these walls, boy. Solid council will come before cursed blood when such dark times beat against these castle walls.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You will be surprised to find how your precious villagers will turn to folklore in desperate times. It will not be hard to convince them of your deviled curse. They would burn you without forethought.”

  “You raped a boy. I will tell the king. You are done here, Malvern. Your threats are just threats. Go near that boy again, or any other, and I will tear your lungs out.”

  Chapter 14

  An Encounter along the Road

  Finn pulled at the rope around his neck. It had caused his skin to become chapped and raw. He alternated between putting his fingers between the rope and one side of his neck. It was a momentary relief but also caused the twine on the other side to dig deeper into his skin. He guessed that they had walked for at least a day. Finn did not know how long he had been unconscious, but he knew that only a day had passed since he had awakened.

  The slavers were fewer in number but still moved much slower than the gorgons. They stopped frequently. Finn had no idea why. He would lie down and stare into the sky. He thought of Nylah. He wondered where she was and if she was alive. Some of the slavers would occasionally pull at his shirt to look at the coin marking. They discussed it in a language that Finn did not understand. It was a crude guttural language. The head slaver would always show up yelling and scolding the men. He was protective of Finn like a thief to his treasure. Finn could tell though that the slaver’s authority was waning, at best. It was obvious to him that they all wanted his marking. They wanted his skin.

  The last glimmers of light hung over the horizon before the slavers stopped to setup camp for the night. The party had turned sharply west during the day. This put them close to the Norberry Woodlands. These were hardly woodlands since they consisted mostly of large plains of grass with only random patches of small trees. The grass was covered in small Norberry flowers. They grow like weeds. Their petals are a deep purple. The slavers picked a small formation of rocks nestled beside some thin trees. The skinny trees slowly moved in the breeze. Their large maroon leaves gave them an appearance of adolescence, like a child wearing his father’s gloves.

  The slavers built a fire along the wall of the rock formation. The rocks blocked the wind. The prisoners were tied together in a lump away from the fire, but within eyesight of their captors. The rope around Finn’s neck was removed. It was now around one of his ankles. The other end was tied to a stake just outside the larger group of prisoners. He could hear them whisper amongst themselves. Finn pulled at the rope. He had not lost the desire to escape. Although, he had no idea which direction to run. He didn’t know where he was. He would try to find Nylah, but he had no idea where the gorgons had gone. Finn would have to simply backtrack and hope to find their trail. There were too many questions and thoughts racing through his head.

  Concentrate on breaking free.

  “They are brewing something over the fire,” one of the prisoners whispered to the others.

  “No,” another said in a whispered panic.

  A deep blue smoke slowly rose from the slavers' fire. They laid plants and flowers over the burning wood. It caught fire in a puff and bellowed more layered smoke. The slavers sat around the fire chanting in their garbled tongue. Their eyes were closed while they continued to breathe the smoke in deeply.

  There were more whispers.

  “What are they doing?”

  “I believe they are preparing for the spirit world. I think they mean to kill us.”

  “They are burning mince root and sea plant. I can smell it.”

  “Sailors use sea plant to numb rope burns. Why breathe it in?”

  “We need to break these ropes. We need to run. They are going to kill us.”

  Finn heard their whispers. He could smell the fire as well. It had a putrid stench about it. The mince root crackled in the fire and glowed a deep red. The sea plant burned quickly and drifted in the air. Finn pulled at the rope with all the strength he could muster.

  I won’t die this way.

  “One of them is coming!” cried one of the prisoners.

  A slaver approached the prisoners. He had a dagger with a handle made from stained bone. He had pelts of skin hanging from two belts that crossed his chest. They swung as he walked. The prisoners squirmed with fear. The slaver grabbed one by the foot and cut deeply above the ankle. The prisoner flailed about like a fish and screamed out in pain. The slaver grabbed his other leg with a strong grip. He sank his dagger into it as well. The other prisoners screamed out in fear or sat in shock. The slaver then cut the rope that held the man. He dragged the man by one of his legs towards the fire. The prisoner clawed at the dirt to stop but it was no use. His legs burned in agony. His strength and determination had all been taken from him. When the slaver reached the others at the fire, he grabbed the man’s hair and pulled him into a sitting position. The prisoner sobbed grabbing the wound on his legs. The slaver did not hesitate. He slipped the dagger between the man’s shoulder blades. He pulled the knife down his back. The prisoner’s eyes widened. He yelled like a wounded animal.

  Finn did not look. Instead, he pulled at the rope. He could hear the man crying out and the other prisoners screaming. He could feel the stake move slightly. The ground around it cracked. He pulled feverishly at the rope. He kicked at the stake. It moved slightly giving Finn more hope. He kicked and pulled like a trapped fox.

  “Two are coming back!” yelled a prisoner.

  Finn turned to look at the slavers approaching. He caught a quick glimpse of a slaver at the fire putting on fresh skin. The two slavers were discussing something as they walked. They looked at the prisoners. Suddenly, Finn saw them point at him. He saw one of the slavers pull a dagger from his belt. The other one looked back. The head slaver was not with them. He motioned towards Finn.

  “They’re coming for you,” yelled a prisoner.

  “You need to run!”

  Finn pulled at the stake pushing it back and forward. He frantically kicked it and pulled at the rope. He yelled out as he pulled. He felt all his muscles straining and aching. The two slavers stood over Finn and watched. One said something to the other. He grunted or laughed. Finn stood and backed up as far as the rope let him. One of the slavers grabbed the rope and began to pull. Finn’s leg went from under him. He hit the ground with a thud. The wind knocked out of him. The other slaver grabbed his leg. Finn kicked with both legs at the man. He had a grip like a giant. He raised his knife. Suddenly, he got a queer look upon his face. He jerked forward slightly. Blood dripped from his mouth. He turned to look behind him. Finn saw that a long spear was sticking from his back. The slaver fell. The other slaver held his dagger out. He did not see where the spear had come from. He yelled out a challenge. Finn rose to his feet grabbing the spear jutting from the dead man’s back. He had to put one of his feet on the man’s back before it pulled free. The other slaver did not even notice him. He was busy looking behind him for whoever had thrown the spear. The other slavers at the fire began to turn to see what was happening. Finn tried to loosen the stake with the spear. He kept one eye on the slaver. The slaver turned towards Finn. He began to lunge at him, but a sword cut him from shoulder to stomach. He fell like a stone. The head slaver stood over the dead man and looked at Finn. He yelled something to him and pointed at the spear. The other slavers were at Finn now. They looked at the dead man and at the head slaver. He yelled and scolded them in
their black speech. The head slaver again looked at Finn. He yelled and looked at the spear in Finn’s hands. Finn knew he was being ordered to drop the weapon.

  This is my only chance at freedom. I can at least die with honor.

  He raised the spear, pointing it towards the slavers.

  “No.”

  The head slaver raised his sword. He spoke to the other slavers and pointed to Finn’s chest.

  He is telling them not to strike my marking. I will strike it myself before they take me.

  Finn heard the whoosh of a dagger fly through the air. He moved but the blade crossed his shoulder before it bounced off landing on the ground. He saw another slaver raise his dagger. He took his time to aim.

  They will slowly bleed me to death.

  Finn heard another whoosh, but this one was deeper and came from above. Wind blew down from above them. Everyone felt it. The slavers, prisoners, and Finn looked into the night sky. The slavers ran to their wagons to get larger weapons. Others lit torches from the fire. The head slaver held his sword tightly, as he looked into the darkness above. Finn saw a quick glimpse of a shadowy beast swoop from the sky.

  It has talons.

  The head slaver was lifted into the darkness with a startled scream. He disappeared up into night. Finn heard his screams abruptly stop. The other slavers looked up. Legs, arms, and the head of the slaver fell back down. Finn then heard a familiar sound. It was deafening. His ears rang with it. His eyes lost focus. He fell to knees. Before passing out, Finn saw the giant falcon swoop down again. It sliced through four slavers with its talons.

  The Blood Falcon.

  Chapter 15

  The Greenling Woods

  Matthias’ strength had slowly begun to return by the time they reached the end of the mountains. The rocky ground had given way to a soft green moss. It covered the ground and most of the trees. It had a fresh smell of evergreen and pine. The trees themselves were tall and shaded the forest from the rays of the sun. Even in the brightest part of the day, the forest was dimly lit like the early morning or late afternoon. It was calming. Matthias had even found it easier to breathe.