Hankro's mocking laughter rang throughout the grim chamber, echoes of the torments faced by so many unlucky souls imprinted in the scarred rock. Stones stained with years of caked blood, flecks of fingernails, even chips of finger bones wedged into the slab Halence even now heaved furiously on all gave mute testament to the torments suffered by their former owners. For so great had been their writhing agony at the hands of their torturer that the poor victims had embedded their very flesh into the stone slab that had served as their place of pain.
"I shall let my cousins negotiate with you. You sicken me too much to stand talking to you any further."
With those words Sorn turned around, walking jerkily past his surprised looking cousins, giving a curt whisper before disappearing down the hallway.
"Well, lads," Hankro said jovially, "your friend doesn't have the sand for this game, but you three had best put something on the table. You and I got all day, but I should hate for my wrist to slip. Oh there, look at that," he said, flicking his wrist with an expert twist, adroitly laying a light slash just under Halence's left eye, causing Halence to give a hoarse cry before spitting his contempt in Hankro's face.
"Looks like I slipped," Hankro observed with an ugly smile, casually wiping away Halence's spit. With lighting quickness, surprising for being so unexpected, Hankro's right fist slammed into Halence's gut causing him to gasp in pain as the man cruelly dug his hand under Halence's rib, whispering to Halence in a nasty snarl. "It's best you behave yourself, sailor boy. You're disturbing our negotiations. My pets learn soon enough what's allowed and what's not. Screaming, now that's okay, writhing? I wouldn't have it any other way. But they know never, ever, to spit!"
Hankro smiled for the lads' benefit. "Don't worry about us boys, your captain and I just have to come to a little understanding. Right, Captain?" Hankro said with another cruel twist of his right hand causing Halence's eyes to roll back as he gasped in agony. "Now you would be surprised what I could do to your friend here with my bare hand alone, not even needing to break his skin! Oh no, lads. Don't get too huffy. Remember what's in my other hand."
Hankro gave Sorn's cousins a nasty grin, forcing them to focus on the keen edge of his wicked looking knife that he still held to Halence's throat, riding gently on Halence's every writhing movement as his right hand dug ever more savagely into Halence's flesh under his ribs.
"Now are we going to negotiate something, boys, or am I just going to have to start tearing your good captain's ribs out?" He jerked his hand back with a sharp twist, and Halence screamed as his rib gave out with a sickening snap.
"Really, boys, you don't seem to have the hang of this negotiating business," Hankro said, shaking his head but obviously enjoying himself immensely. That was, of course, until his left hand was abruptly jerked away from Halence's neck, wrist savagely twisted back and spun behind him with such force his back arched and he was forced on his toe tips before the limb gave out with an audible snap a moment later.
Though he did not scream, Hankro's eyes bulged and his face broke into a cold sweat. Halence appeared oblivious to the change of events. The captain's eyes were squeezed shut, taking short, pain-filled gasps of air. But the triplets looks of surprise soon turned into rather pleased smirks of their own.
"That's because their job wasn't to negotiate," a now visible Sorn said, still twisting Hankro's now broken arm at an agonizing angle as he whispered softly into the man's ear.
"Their job was to distract you, so I could do this!"
At which point a still brightly flushed Sorn abruptly twisted his body around, snapping his torso forward and sending Hankro flying. He didn't let go of Hankro's arm, however, which resulted in a sickening wrench and an oddly feminine screech from Hankro as his arm distended horribly, jutting at an unnaturally angle from the back of his socket.
"You know," Sorn said matter-of-factly, "That looks like it hurts.” At that point Sorn favored Hankro with a positively vicious smile.
“I'm sure this won't help at all."
Sorn slammed his right fist into the elbow of Hankro's already severely dislocated left arm and was rewarded with an audible crack as the man's elbow shattered, Hankro screeching as Sorn's terrible strength was such that he near effortlessly continued his blow until the mans arm tore open, the bloody bones of his upper and lower arm now both piercing his flesh. Sorn's eyes glowed with vindictive glee and his smile was no doubt a terrible sight to behold for the one man who could see it, the terrified fourth crossbowman who only then fired his bolt, aimed perfectly despite the man's terror, for Sorn's heart.
A bolt which proceeded to bounce harmlessly off the missile ward Sorn had had the presence of mind to recast after carefully drawing out the bolts that had already hit him, in addition to the invisibility spell he had used to sneak up on Hankro.
"Now that wasn't very nice," Sorn said softy, casually letting go of Hankro's shattered arm with a twist that sent the man stumbling in agony to the ground, smiling as he approached the no whimpering fourth crossbowman. The man started scrabbling frantically backward as Sorn approached, too paralyzed by fear to even stand up, desperately clawing at his sword, only to find his hand savagely kicked away from the hilt, several finger bones snapping with the force of Sorn's blow. The man then lost all self-control and started screeching horribly as Sorn abruptly hoisted him up with no more effort than he would a pillow.
"Sorn!" called one of his cousins, "don't we want one of them as a prisoner?" Lieberman's suggestion was sound, even if his voice carried a concern greater than was warranted by such a technical detail. Nonetheless, Sorn cooled his ire long enough to consider his cousin's suggestion.
"You have a good point, Lieberman. Here. You deal with him." Sorn offhandedly lobbed the soldier over the slab holding a still recovering Halence, eyes tightly shut and tearing from the pain of his broken rib. The crossbowman's landing was, however, cushioned by the three corpses of his fellow armsman. The poor soldier, not surprisingly, started screaming when he found his face next to the glazed-eyed countenance of one of his now dead companions, the man's face frozen forever into an expression of open-mouthed horror that was matched, momentarily, by the living guard's own expression.
"Oh shut up," Fitz sighed, and proceeded to strip the unresisting man of armor and weapons, the man having been reduced to a gibbering wreck.
Hankro, body heaving, eyes glazed in pain and fury both, had managed to collect himself in those few moments of respite despite the horrible damage suffered to his left arm which even now dangled, shattered and broken, from its ruptured socket. His eyes glared furiously, his right hand spasmodically clenching the knife he had just then grabbed from the floor.
"Your friend dies!” Hankro shouted with savage glee as he charged toward Halence, knife upraised, muscles unleashing into a vicious heave as he plunged his knife down with all his might. Indeed, Hankro, his own agony forgotten, was lost in the rapture of being able to torment his enemy one last time before dying himself. The abrupt flash of light stunned him for a moment, but even momentarily blinded, it did not deter him from completing his savage stab with all the strength left in his body.
It was only as he stumbled, off-balance, against the slab holding Halence that he realized, squinting through his still watery eyes, that something was terribly wrong. He had plunged down with all his might, yet Halence laid there unscathed, save for wounds already inflicted. It was only then that surprise turned to horror as Hankro beheld the mangled travesty that had been his right arm, knife and arm both blown apart in a blinding flash by the fiery orbs Sorn had sent blazing his way but a moment ago.
Perhaps for the first time in the twenty years that Hankro had entertained himself in that dungeon, staring at his lifeblood pumping steadily out of what remained of his mangled right arm, the screams echoing through the chamber were Hankro's own.
"Oh, I think not," Sorn observed dryly as Hankro gave vent to his own personal agony, not finding it nearly as enjoyable as the agony of others.
<
br /> "Truth to tell, you don't look to be in much better shape than that poor guard you so enjoyed watching the slow demise of. I'm sure you will last longer, however, as you aren't bleeding nearly so fiercely."
At that point, Sorn had grabbed one of the searing hot pincers still heating halfway in the fire, not concerned in the least by the heat emanating from them.
With a grim little smile, Sorn proceeded to walk casually over to a shocked looking Hankro, grabbing the suddenly struggling Hankro's right arm with a fierce yank, then placing the white hot pincers upon the mangled flesh, searing heat sealing shut the terrible wound. Undeterred by the man's horrific shrieks, Sorn proceeded to burn through the mangled remains of Hankro's forearm entirely, leaving an even stump just past the elbow.
A shocked Hankro fell to the floor moments later, too exhausted and drained to resist any further.
Sorn locked gazes with the broken man. "You have no idea how deeply I desire to give to you the very pain and despair you inflicted to so many others, women and children among them. But I fear you would best serve his majesty alive, bearing testament to the heinous acts committed by your master in which you so fervently participated." Sorn's eyes glittered coldly as he continued, "Rest assured, should his majesty allow it, I will request the opportunity to avail you of every agony you committed to so many after you give the king your testimony."
Sorn then yanked at the man's belt, causing Hankro to shriek, but Sorn only removed the keys held therein, and proceeded to free Halence from his manacles, gently lifting his friend free, the captain's sharp ragged gasps indicating he was still in considerable pain.
For the first time in what seemed ages, the fury of Sorn's countenance was superseded by a far more human expression that bespoke of care and concern.
"Are you all right, Captain?"
Halence, despite the pain in his side, chuckled grimly at that, bending over as the laughter caused him additional pain. "Only when I breathe. Fear not, lad. It's nothing too serious, just a broken rib. It only hurts if I inhale too quickly. The bastard pulled out, remember, so it had no chance to jab my lung, though no doubt he bruised some muscle there as well."
For all his bravado, Halence had to lean against Sorn, putting most of his weight on him, as Sorn gently led him to the entrance. "Let's not forget our crew there, right lad?" Halence said, locking gazes with the desperate sailors bearing witness to the captain's rescue.
"Of course not, my friend," Sorn soothed. "I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable first."
With a nod to his concerned looking cousins who gently took Halence and led him along with the trussed blubbering guard up to the main level, Sorn tried the keys one by one on the various cell doors holding his shipmates. He was greeted with each success by grateful cries and heartfelt hugs as he cut the bonds of the captured crewmen before they proceeded to the next prison cell.
Ignoring their wide-eyed looks of awe, Sorn gently shooed the grateful sailors up the stairs before once again turning to Hankro.
"Well, I guess it's your turn, you disgusting jackal of human suffering."
Sorn sighed and shook his head at Hankro's wide-eyed countenance, his face which had before held such an arrogant confidence and contempt for the world now shown only a pathetic mixture of fear and defeat. His was the gaze of a broken man. Eyes that had been so filled with the brazen contempt of a mad wolf, now reflected only mounting dread as Sorn approached. Like a broken cur that had been kicked and battered and reduced so terribly that nothing but fear remained.
"Now were you anything but the hideous wretch of a monster that you are, I would think tying your legs tight would be sufficient restraint. But since I refuse to underestimate either your strength, cleverness, or desperation, something a bit more… permanent might be in order. Wouldn't you agree?"
Sorn flashed a vicious smile, once again negligently reaching for a white-hot poker, and proceeded steadily towards a frantically scrabbling Hankro. No doubt at another time or place, Hankro would have been sickened to see how similar his blubbering pleas were to those of all of his former victims, and Sorn was forced to wonder how closely his own vindictive, merciless smile matched Hankro's own.
And the insight didn't curb his retribution in the least.
14
The screams heard echoing from the cellar below caused the triplets to widen their eyes momentarily before grimly shaking their heads in unison, Halence's men giving an involuntary shudder for remembered horrors.
Halence just smiled in grim satisfaction while the cowed soldier trussed beside him started whimpering like a babe, until one of the sailors kicked him.
"That's a good lad there, our Sorn," Halence said with a wry sort of fondness. "I'll bet he's teaching our dear friend Hankro that there's a price to be paid for messing with our crew, lads. Take heart, boys, we're past the worst of it, and once Sorn has had his little bit of fun, we'll all be off to the ship and back in quarters familiar and sound. And men? I promise you this. When we land at York, each and every one of you will have a handful of gold royals to your name! For I'm your captain, and I'm damn well going to see that we all leave this bloody city for the better!"
The three surviving sailors gave a ragged cheer of support that died oddly in the eerily quiet house, though Halence's words certainly seemed to have raised the moral of his haunted looking men.
"For that, Captain, it almost makes the horrors we've seen today livable. Not worth it, mind you, but livable," voiced one of the sailors, his companions nodding in agreement.
"So, Captain," queried an intrigued Lieberman, "how many gold royals fit into a handful?"
Halence grinned. "Oh, I would say about a dozen, Lieberman is it?" He turned to his men. "Well, boys, does a dozen royals seem fair?"
"Why yes, Captain," came a breathless reply. "That does seem fair." To which the other two suddenly awed sailors nodded reverently to their smiling captain.
At that moment a beaming Sorn all but bounced up the stairs, effortlessly carrying the huge bulky form of a whimpering Hankro over his shoulder. Halence's all too expert eye saw the telltale signs via the burns seared deep into the back of Hankro's ankles that Sorn had severed the man's Achilles' tendons.
"Why, Hankro, glad you could join us! You look a bit the worse for wear. Hope you're not getting cold feet about your meeting with the king!"
Sorn grinned broadly at Halence’s jest.
"No worry about that, good captain!" Sorn said brightly. "I've made sure he won't run off and get himself into trouble. Now wait right here, you piece of pig slop," Sorn said with mocking sweetness. "I've got your friend to look into."
Whistling a merry little off-key tune, Sorn returned a few minutes later holding a terrified looking Lord Vorstice by the back of his coat, arms dangling painfully at his sides. His right arm was an enthusiastic mess of bandages applied rather liberally by an uncertain Lieberman, and certainly their mass, if nothing else, had prevented any further blood loss. Despite his chalk-white pallor, Vorstice's powerful frame did not appear in any danger of collapse.
"Poor guy was busy as a bee in the corner his study when I came in! Looked like he was groping for something with his off-hand, and sure enough, I found another trap door! Though I'm afraid I don't know where it leads to, I took the precaution of rebolting it and putting the desk over it, just in case it might lead to more of Vorstice's 'friends.'
"Sorry to disappoint you there, Vorstice," Sorn said mockingly, "I'm afraid that today you've bitten off a bit more than you could chew."
This, of course, sent all four youths howling in laughter, Halence and his men politely smiling though obviously missing the humor. Vorstice, on the other hand, started screaming.
"He bit me!" Vorstice shrieked. "This mad creature bit me! Look at my arm!"
Halence's smile was grim. "That your work Sorn?"
"Afraid so, Captain."
"Good set of molars you got there, lad."
Sorn flashed his brightest smile. "Thanks, C
aptain."
A weary Halence eyed the broken countenances of Vorstice and his chief torturer Hankro with a bleak smile of his own. "You sure you want to give these boys up to the king? Seems like we could do a fine bit of justice on them ourselves. Fitting, too, I would say."
Sorn sighed. "I'm afraid we must, Captain. The truth of the matter is that our dear Lord Vorstice is planning treachery on a grand scale. He's got warehouses full of enemy soldiers, having helped with the construction of a tunnel leading right to their forces. On any night, his little work could flood this city with the Empire's soldiers, and then it's all over."
"Ah." Halence nodded. "That does put another light on it, doesn't it?"
"I rather thought so myself," Sorn agreed.
Halence grinned. "Well then, time for us to be heroes once again and warn the king. Shall we?"
Sorn's look was one of concern. "Are you sure you're up to this, Captain?"
Halence responded with a roguish smile, looking for a moment like his old self again. "Lad, I wouldn't miss this for the world!"
The small band of weary sailors and youths quickly made their way to Lord Vorstice's stables, having the presence of mind to deduce that no carriage would hire on, given their present battered and bloody state. Considering the three captives they also carried, two maimed quite violently, it was a sure bet that any carriage for hire would most likely gallop full speed away, no matter how much Halence offered.
"Well now, what do we have here?" Halence said, smiling grimly at the figure of Vel, struggling half-heartedly against the bonds with which he had been tied up earlier, looking pale-faced and shaken. He did a double take when he saw a blood-spattered Sorn, still a bit wild-eyed with remnants of the rage that was only now fading from him, if the reflection off a nearby mirror was anything to go by.
Only just noticing it himself, Sorn's battle fury was being slowly replaced with what felt like a terrible fatigue, though he did his best to hide its symptoms from Halence and his cousins alike.
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