“They’re gone!” Zambon said.
The trail ended abruptly in the middle of the road. The tracks stopped as if a line had been drawn in the snow.
Lenny stuck his head out the door of the deserted wagon. “The dag-blasted thing's empty!” He trotted over to join Zambon and Qyxal, who were examining the tracks for any sign of what had happened. “Magic?”
Qyxal nodded. “There are heavy traces of magic right where the tracks disappear. Intense interweavings of water and fire.”
“So what happened?” Zambon asked.
“It shouldn't be possible, but I think a gateway was opened.” The elf wiped a brow that had broken out in a cold sweat. “They were transported away.”
“Bah! That can't be done.” Lenny huffed. “I've known lots of wizards in my time and they ain't never done nothin' like that.”
Qyxal shook his head. “Transport is possible. At the MageSchool they have created large mirrors that act as portals to take someone across great distances. But those devices only allow travel from one mirror to another one made to match it. This magic is completely different. It would take a huge amount of power to transport just one person this way, much less six men and horses. It's inefficient.”
“Nevertheless, it was done,” Zambon said. “So what do we do now?”
“Well we still gotta' find the boy!” The dwarf said. They looked to Gwyrtha. She stood as she had during their entire journey, staring straight ahead as if she could see something on the distant horizon.
“I for one will go on,” Qyxal pronounced. “I intend to find him even if it means I have to face the wizard that made this portal. Besides, I doubt Gwyrtha would let me do anything else.” Zambon and Lenny nodded in response.
“Okay, so we follow the rogue horse’s lead.” Lenny said. “I just hope the boy’ll stay alive long enough fer us to find him.”
* * *
It was always dark in Justan's cell. He had no way to know what time of day it was. Time crept by agonizingly slow. At first he tried to sleep, but the stench of the place was too overwhelming and he had to do something to keep his mind off of it.
He tried to pass the time exercising. He ran in place for a while hunched over with his head touching the ceiling, but the rough rock floor was painful on his feet so he switched to push-ups and sit-ups. With the stamina given him by his bond with Gwyrtha he was able to exercise for quite a while without collapsing with exhaustion. However, he had not eaten since before his capture and he could only work out for so long before lack of sleep and lack of food and water caused his body to shut down.
He collapsed on the wooden shelf physically exhausted but his mind was wide-awake. He thought about his mother and father. What were they doing at this moment? Were they missing him? He thought about the many friends he had made since leaving the Training School. He thought about the things he had learned in the MageSchool. He played Elements in his head against imaginary opponents. He commanded great armies in fierce battles.
All of these thoughts were short diversions, but it wasn’t until memories of Jhonate filled his mind that he was able to calm down. When he had been with her, he hadn’t exactly seen her as a calming influence, but now that she was far away and he knew that he would most likely never see her again, it was thoughts of her that brought Justan the comfort he needed to fall asleep.
During the next few days, Justan continued to keep himself busy by exercising and sleeping. Every once in a while a bowl would be passed under his door. It was always a runny soup with sparse bits of vegetable matter and occasionally a chunk of unrecognizable meat. There was little nutrition or flavor in this meal but it was all Justan had. From time to time Justan wondered when Kenn was going to show up and gloat, but he never came.
Justan continued to try and contact Gwyrtha. She was still too far away for him to communicate with her, but he took comfort in the fact that she was coming closer. He hoped that his other friends were with her.
Eventually the oppressive weightiness of the dungeon began to get to him. As the hours crept by, Justan became more and more aware of just how hopeless his situation was. The other men in the cells around him wouldn’t talk much. Some of them had their tongues cut out, others were so weak that they could barely speak, but the stories that Justan did hear were bloodcurdling. The tales were often so bad that Justan could not make himself believe what the men were telling him.
He had read many of the histories in the Mage School Library and learned of the evils that men could carry out, but they had always seemed like mere stories to him. His meeting with Ewzad Vriil had been an unpleasant experience and Justan didn’t think that he was a good man. However, he could not comprehend the idea of a man so evil that he would allow the kinds of atrocities spoken of by his fellow prisoners to go on.
On the third day, he learned the truth first hand.
“Hello, Justan. Missing me?” came a voice from the door to his cell. Justan looked up from his push-ups to see Kenn Dollie grinning back at him, as greasy haired as ever.
“Oh, yeah.” Justan muttered and went back to his exercising. “I was wondering when you were going to show up.”
Kenn laughed. “You’re training? In your cell? Oh, Justan that is so like you. The first one up, the last to bed, and still the worst fighter in the school.”
Justan didn’t stop. “Why don’t you come in here and see if that’s still true?”
Kenn ignored the comment. “Don’t you see, Justan? There is no more reason to train. It’s over. You are in Duke Ewzad Vriil’s dungeon. Your daddy isn’t here to make sure you’re treated well. You are going to die in here!”
Part of Justan wanted to shout back, to tell Kenn the truth, to show him the runes on his hands. How cocky would the man be then? A year earlier he probably would have. Instead, he continued his push-ups and kept his voice level.
“We shall see.”
“We shall see?” Justan could hear the frustration in Kenn’s voice. “Yes we shall, starting tonight. You see, Justan, my master has ordered an event that will be a perfect example of what is in store for you. An entertainment if you will.”
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it.”
“Of course you will, but a bit of advice first. When it starts, stand back from your cell door.” Kenn chuckled, but when his remarks showed no response in Justan, he hissed, “Tonight you watch, tomorrow it is your turn! So, good night. I will see you in the morning.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Justan said and continued his workout, pleased that he had not given Kenn any pleasure in the conversation. Still, he could not help but feel uneasy. He was not looking forward to whatever Kenn had planned.
A few hours later Justan heard voices approaching and raced to the door of his cell. He peered through the bars as men and gorcs dressed in the duke’s uniform dragged several chained prisoners down the corridor. The shackled men struggled and argued with their captors as they were secured to the walls outside of Justan’s cell. For some reason, the guards didn’t stop to cuff the men into submission as usual, but scurried down the hall as if in a hurry.
After the guards had been gone for a while, Justan peered through the barred slot at the top of his door and whispered, “Psst!” The men looked up at him suspiciously. “Hey, what’s going on? Where did you guys come from?”
One man with a long scraggly beard answered him. “The duke decided we wasn’t using enough mortar in the outer wall. We been locked up down here for weeks and all of a sudden these guards pulled us out of our cells and chained us up here.”
“Yeah,” said an emaciated man. “They’ve been doing it all over the dungeon. We passed all sorts of folks strapped out in the halls just like we are now.”
“It can’t be nothing good,” said another.
“Maybe the Duke is setting you free,” Justan suggested.
The man with the long beard laughed bitterly. “The Duke don’t let no one go free.”
Justan shook his head sadly and retur
ned to his wooden shelf. He pitied the men for their despair. He, for one, would never give up. Justan was determined to escape this place. He had plans and dreams to achieve and none of them ended here.
A commotion outside of his cell door startled him out of his reverie. Screams echoed from down the corridor. The men outside his door started shouting and trying to pull themselves free from the walls. Justan moved to the edge of the opening in his door but still could not see what the men were so terrified of. Then the screams down the corridor were cut short and there was an eerie moment of silence before the men in front of his door began shouting again.
Justan followed the men’s eyes in horror as something slinked into view. He pressed his eyes to the slot in the door and caught a glimpse of a lithe creature covered in blood. It was female, naked, humanoid in proportion, but its movements were like that of a bird. It moved with fluid strides, a tail extended straight behind it, never touching the ground. Its hands and feet were tipped in long black claws that dripped blood, its face a nightmare, large reptilian eyes, slits for a nose, and a mouth full of razorlike teeth.
The creature leaned over one man who cowered at its feet. It crooned soothingly and nuzzled him before grasping the man by the head and lifting him up. The men around him leaned as far away as they could in stunned silence.
It cradled the helpless man’s head almost lovingly while he pleaded for mercy, tears streaming from his eyes. Without warning, it plunged one taloned hand deep into his abdomen and rooted around while he let out a dying scream. It jerked its hand out and the man went limp. It held something toward the other men and crooned at them. Justan could not see what it held, but from the look on their faces, he was sure that it was the dead man’s beating heart.
Justan stood transfixed in shock and horror. He had seen men wounded and seen men die at the Training School and in the golem attack at the MageSchool, but nothing in his life had prepared him for this monstrosity.
The men around the creature screamed and it hissed in pleasure. It began a dance that would continue in Justan’s nightmares for the rest of his life, moving gracefully through the men, taking them apart piece by piece. Blood splattered the walls as it killed them all with claws, teeth and tail.
Justan stumbled back from the door in terror. This was no ordinary beast. It was not killing for food. Justan had seen the joy in its movements. This thing killed for pleasure. It hadn’t even stopped when the men were dead. He could still hear it thrashing about, rending flesh. Then the sounds ceased.
A scream escaped Justan’s lips as the creature’s face appeared, pressed against the bars of his cell door. Blood dripped from its chin. Its thin scaly lips pulled back, exposing razor sharp teeth with bits of flesh stuck in them. It breathed heavily and crooned almost lovingly. A long rounded tongue tasted the air. Justan knew that it wanted to kill him. It would enjoy every second of his death.
The creature cocked its head to one side as if hearing something, then let loose one hissing laugh and was gone. There was more killing to be had elsewhere. Screams echoed down the corridor as it continued on its way.
Justan crawled back on the wooden shelf and shuddered. He didn’t try to sleep that night. He didn’t even answer when Gwyrtha’s concerned mind tried to contact him. If he had, he would have found that his friends were not too far away at all. It might have given him hope. But what was the point? That night in a cell deep beneath the earth, Justan’s unstoppable drive gave out.
Despair had won.
Chapter Thirty Four
Hours later, Justan heard sounds in the corridor again. He didn’t move from his shelf, but stared straight ahead, his mind connecting shadows in the corner of the cell into various odd shapes.
Orc guards shuffled down the corridor going about the grim work of removing the bodies of the slaughtered men. Much of it had to be done with shovel and wheelbarrow. Sometimes they had to scrape flesh from the wall.
Kenn came along behind them.
“Good morning, Justan. I trust you enjoyed the entertainment?” When Justan didn't have a smart answer, Kenn smiled. “Well, today you get to join in the fun.” Kenn pointed a glowing scepter through the bars and Justan was struck by a paralyzing spell.
Two bulky gorcs entered the cell and picked him up from the wooden shelf. Together, they carried Justan’s frozen form down the blood-streaked corridor. With the way he was frozen curled up in a ball, one of them held him under the arms while the other had him by his lower back.
If he broke the spell, Justan could have kicked out with his legs, catching one gorc in the jaw and perhaps taken the other guards weapon. If he could take down both gorcs and Kenn, he might have had a chance. But he didn’t even bother trying to break the spell. After the events of the night before, he knew that there was no escape from this place.
The gorcs complained about their backs as they carried him through several different turns and down another long corridor. Finally they came to the section of the dungeon the prisoners called the Corridor of Screams. This was where the torturers did their grisly work.
The place lived up to its name. Screams of pain and agony echoed down the corridor from every chamber they passed by. Justan numbly accepted the sounds as they would be part of his every day life from here on out. Those were the sounds that belonged in this place.
“This guy is the best, Justan.” Kenn arrived at the door to the last chamber in the section. The screams echoing from inside were intense to the point that they sounded hopeful. This person was nearly dead from the pain. Kenn unlocked the door and threw it open.
The scream ended in a gurgle and a sigh.
“Kyle! I have a priority guest for you today.” Kenn said.
“Oh, you startled me! I killed ‘im,” A gravelly voice complained.
With the way the gorcs were holding him, Justan couldn’t see much, but from the corner of his eye, he could tell that the torturer was a half-orc, bulky, green skinned, but with rounded human ears.
Half goblinoids were rare. Goblins and gorcs were incompatible with the humanoid species. Only the greater orcs were able to reproduce with a human. Since they were usually the result of rape, these offspring rarely made it past birth. The children were looked upon as unsavory and if they grew, had a miserable life, often hated by both races.
“Aww, but the big-un was next. ‘E’s been waiting a long time for ‘is turn,” the half orc said.
“It doesn’t matter, Kyle!” Kenn spat. “This prisoner takes priority over all the others.”
“Oh, okay.” Kyle didn’t sound too happy about it. “You two, ‘elp me get rid of this-un.”
The two gorcs dropped Justan on the floor. The ceiling in the room was higher than in the corridors outside. The walls were covered in wooden racks holding various implements that Justan had no idea the use of.
The center of the room was taken up by a large wooden table with pieces of equipment set up on either end. Justan watched as the two gorcs unfastened something on top of the table and carried the body of a grey haired man to the side of the room and tossed it into a large bin in the corner.
“A’right, bring ‘im ‘round ‘ere, boys,” the half-orc said.
The two gorcs lifted Justan off of the ground and put him on top of the long table in the center of the room. They clamped chained metal bands around his wrists and ankles and Kenn gestured with the scepter. Justan was released from the spell.
The torturer turned a crank and the chains tightened, stretching Justan into a spread-eagled position. The metal bands dug in to his skin, but he didn’t register the pain. He didn’t even fight when they strapped his in place.
Kenn handed the scepter to one of the gorcs. “Give this to Hamford. He needs it for his hunt.” The gorcs left the room and Kenn shut the door behind them. “Justan, you are in for a treat. Kyle here is the best torturer we have.”
The half-orc was collecting several implements from around the room. “What’s this then? You going to stay and watch, Dungeon
Keeper? You ain’t never done that before.”
“This is a special situation, Kyle. I am planning on at least staying for a while. Make this one slow, but don’t remove any limbs or fingers. I want him to be able to heal so that we can do it again next week.” Kenn chuckled and leaned over the table, his eyes locking onto Justan’s. He looked a little disappointed at the lack of emotion. “Are you ready, Justan?”
At this point Justan didn’t care. He felt so numb inside that he doubted that he would feel the pain. But as the torturer brought over a tiny glowing coal, something stiffened within him. He resolved that even if he did feel pain, he wouldn’t scream. He wouldn’t give Kenn the satisfaction.
Messenger of the Dark Prophet (The Bowl of Souls: Book Two) Page 37