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Chapter Twenty-Eight
Skellhaundar strode down the cell block to where Ser Ephram Skye awaited him in chains.
Through a closed door on his right, he heard heavy grunting, the sound of flesh on flesh, and the muffled cries of a male slave having a shadow queen's egg fertilized in his colon.
Skellhaundar smiled; rape and pillage both were a man's right as a spoil of war.
He'd personally acquired the man at the market a few days ago. A hairy forty-something former pirate with a gut, Skellhaundar reasoned that the Sulasian had a strong enough constitution to birth a litter of shadow demons. These would go to replace the ones his men had lost to the assassin that vanished into thin air last night. And to be truthful, good pickings were hard to come by in this country as most of the men and women looked ugly as a mud fence.
No wonder flesh crafting is so popular here, Skellhaundar thought. I just hope the Adonis Tea keeps my men hard enough to complete the procedure. It would have been nice if they didn't have to use it, but those situations are exceptionally rare in this god-forsaken country. And that assassin...I don't even have a description of his face. Just black armor...find a tall man wearing black armor, and he looked skinny. That's the fucking description Skellhaundar's men had to go by; the fact that he had nothing better infuriated the general.
As of last night, Skellhaundar had five patrols going door-to-door in every borough of Slippery Squib. If they found nothing, he'd given Makidon Oberon permission to widen the search to the rest of the holy city: The Hollows, Fish Town, Sooty Shingle, the Minge, Well Bottom, The Gift, and even Coral Cove if they needed to. At least it'll give me a good excuse to search the houses of a bunch of rich fucks, Skellhaundar thought. Who the fuck would dare attack my men? And in my city? That smug Valion knight knows, and I'm going to make him tell me.
He walked past another room, this time with an open door. Just inside, a pair of Dread Masters (clerics of Taleta) inspected a man whose head was enveloped by a newly-born shadow queen. Its octopoid tentacles wrapped all the way around the man's head, and the embryo shell from which it was birthed remained attached to the concrete wall via strong, sticky webbing. A yellow sac on the shadow queen's mantle pulsated. This meant that soon it would implant the egg in the man's paralyzed body. The conception began with a long flexible proboscis that forced its way down the esophagus, through the stomach, and into the upper intestine. Skellhaundar had no idea if this part hurt, but he professed a scientific curiosity if he ever found the time. Shortly after the egg was placed on the intestinal wall, the shadow queen would die and its soul supposedly returned to hell. Sages who had studied the phenomenon said that shadow queen embryos came from a temple that contained the Queen of Demons herself on Hell's lowest plane, a place called "The City at the Edge of Midnight." Skellhaundar had never been there but had always wanted to go (if anything) just to see the giant clock tower at city center. Beneath it (rumors said) squatted the Basilica of Eternal night.
Once fertilized by five men (usually over the course of an exhausting four hours), the egg of a shadow queen would drain fat from the host eventually dissolving even his skin. This of course left a mostly bloody, if barely living mess behind. Then it would hatch, and shadows would emerge from the man's ruined anus—how many was determined by the host's constitution, but never more than five. Obese men produced more shadow demons, and they were very loyal to the Timeron knights that gave them life.
A knight wearing silver spurs stood to one side of Ephram's cell. He saluted Skellhaundar and then opened the door. The general gave the tall, handsome man a nod and then walked in, with hands clasped behind his back. The general glanced at the snow streaming through a barred window twenty feet above his shoulder, and then glanced upon the Crimson Guard who stood shackled to the wall.
He is my equivalent rank in the army of Thomas, god of wolves, war, and winter, Skellhaundar thought. Would I have allowed myself to get captured like this? I think not.
Ephram didn't have his helmet on, but he still wore his white corobidian armor and his gorgeous red cloak. He also still carried his sword strapped to a thick leather belt. Skellhaundar felt no need to take those things away. There was no escape from this place unless he allowed it.
Behind Skellhaundar, a guard placed a chair. Then he left, closing the door behind him.
Skellhaundar took a seat and regarded his mortal enemy with hateful eyes. Ephram lifted his head from where he stared at the floor, and his brown hair draped sweaty and clumped over his tan face.
"Do you hear those screams, Ser Skye?" Skellhaundar asked. "That's a slave being raped so that a demon can be birthed from his asshole tomorrow night. I think that'd be incentive enough to give me what I want. Someone like you could produce at least one shadow demon, and I guarantee you the experience would be the most horrible thing you've ever suffered. So I'm going to ask you again. What is the password to get past the cibrian golem in the Keep of Silverhawk?"
Ephram tugged at the chains restraining his arms and legs. "I've got nothing to say to you. If you were honorable, you'd face me one on one, Darkglory shit."
Skellhaundar stood up and walked over to Ephram, flexing the fingers in his armored corobidian gauntlet. "Wrong answer," Skellhaundar said.
He clenched his fist and struck Ephram across the jaw. Then he punched the Valion knight in the face, breaking his nose. After this, he slammed Ephram in the mouth, knocking a few teeth loose. He took a step back and allowed a now bloodied Ephram Skye to spit a couple of bloody molars on the ground. Red streamed from his nose and dripped over the front of his tabard.
"Where's my friend?" Ephram asked. "What have you done with Beryl Loftcrag? I want to see him or I won't tell you a thing."
"He's a prisoner of the Dreaded Irtemara," Skellhaundar said. "I'll send word to her that you'd like to see your friend. In the meantime, I'm sure there's things we can discuss."
"I have nothing to say to you," Ephram replied.
Skellhaundar punched Ephram in the gut as hard as he could. Then he kept punching and kicking him over and over, choosing different spots to slam, beat, and strike for about ten minutes. Because Ephram's armor was corobidian full plate, Skellhaundar felt like he could use his full strength in every blow without fear of killing him. So this was all just fun. He just used the Valion knight's body as a punching bag, never bothering to ask follow-up questions. It became a kind of game. When he heard a bone break, Skellhaundar switched hands. He did so after ten such "cracks."
And Skellhaundar also wasn't without courtesy. He stopped for a few seconds each time Ephram vomited up blood. He even patted Ephram on the back, saying "There, there. You ready?"
When he got tired, Skellhaundar sat back in his chair and stared at Ser Ephram Skye who just hung from his bonds like a rag doll now, both shoulders clearly dislocated and knees obviously hyperextended. He'd broken half of Ephram's fingers, shattered a leg bone, and broke several ribs. The knight's armor was dented in a dozen different places. Skellhaundar wiped away the sweat from his brow and looked at his tabard and gauntlets in disgust.
Everything's going to need to be cleaned. I've gotten his fucking blood all over, Skellhaundar thought. Then he flicked his wrist, tossing blood droplets from the creases on his fingers.
"Do you see this mess you've made?" Skellhaundar asked. Then he realized how stupid a question that was. Both eyes on Ephram's face had nearly swollen shut from the beating. "I guess you don't at that. Knights of Thomas are very inconsiderate, you know."
The door opened to the cell and a guard carried in a tray holding a tall glass of water, a pitcher, and a towel. Skellhaundar drained the glass in one go and then said, "Thank you, Marty."
Then he took the towel and wiped some of the blood off. While Skellhaundar cleaned up, Marty grabbed a bucket and splashed Ephram's face with it, washing away much of the caked blood. Then the guard left, closing the door behind him once more.
Skellhaundar walked up to Ephram, seized his matted locks and held his face up. "This doesn't have to go on. Give me one piece of information, would you? Who was that man that tried to save you last night? I need a description of his face. He wore black armor, had an ornamental shield on his arm about right here that showed a silver rose? He had on this weird looking helmet faced all in black glass? Any clue? I know he works for you."
Ephram just stared at Skellhaundar through a swollen lid. "I...don't...know," he managed to utter.
"Ah," Skellhaundar said. "He was just a good Samaritan that happened to wander by and saw this pine box and thought, `hey there's someone in there that needs saving.' I see. Let's try another question. How many men did you bring to Zanda? This one's easy. I know there's at least two...four if you count the traitorous minotaur and the woman he killed in the barn back at Alsamarax."
When he said this name, there was a visible widening of that swollen eye in Ephram's face.
"That surprises you, doesn't it?" Skellhaundar asked. "It surprises you that I know so much. Well, the death giants...Cirumoghel and Mara Kano I think are the names...they started talking once I destroyed the thing that made them immortal. That's what I do, see," Skellhaundar said. "I know how to find anyone's weakness. You think you don't have one, Ephram Skye, but you do. Where's the red-headed woman?"
At this, Ephram struggled to stand but cried out in pain.
"You didn't think I knew about her, did you?" Skellhaundar asked. "A red-headed whore because no one that wasn't a whore would ever want you," the Timeron general said. He spit in Ephram's face and rubbed it in the sticky blood beneath Ephram's right eye, swollen shut in a huge hematoma. "Is she pretty? Does she like your cock?" Skellhaundar gripped Ephram's codpiece and squeezed. "I wonder what she'd think about you if I cut off your balls and fed them to the dogs. Do you think she'd let you fuck her anymore? Guard!" Skellhaundar called out.
The door opened and Marty peered in. "Yes, Ser Romax?"
"Send for a surgeon. I think we need a castration," Skellhaundar said.
"Yes, ser," Marty said, and then closed the door.
Ephram glared at Skellhaundar and said, "Please...don't do this. You're a knight. We may be mortal enemies, but please let me face my death as a whole man. I would never do that to you were you my prisoner."
The door opened, and a man in a white lab coat pushed a cart inside. On it were several sharp scalpels. Skellhaundar grinned and ripped off Ephram's codpiece. The young man's sweaty circumcised dick fell out. About five inches flaccid, it was ringed in a wiry brown, but barely-there bush.
"I think I expected more," Skellhaundar said. "Bet you've never heard that, have you? All the women in your life just lie to you because of your station. Pathetic." Skellhaundar pushed Ephram's penis aside and gripped the knight's jewels in his cold gauntleted fist. "If I squeeze hard enough will one pop free? Should we find out?"
"Please," Ephram begged. "I would never do this to you."
"Why should I let you die a whole man if you won't work with me here, Ser Skye? Give me something...tell me your whore's name."
Behind Skellhaundar's shoulder, the surgeon began sterilizing a gleaming scalpel. Then he filled a jar with alcohol so that Ephram's testicles could be stored for later use.
"Her name's Annie," Ephram blurted out, voice desperate. "Please...don't cut me." Then the knight wept.
Skellhaundar let Ephram go and turned to the surgeon. "Your services are no longer required." He walked over to his chair and sat down; the guard and the surgeon both left and locked the door behind them.
"So tell me about Annie," Skellhaundar said, pouring himself another glass of water. "I have so many questions about her and your companions. The password can wait until later. I promise, Ser Skye, that when I kill you that you'll still be a whole man. I won't remove anything. Now that we see eye-to-eye, however, it's time you gave me a little more of what I want. Baby steps, right?"
The complete novel is now available to read at http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/discussion-board-for.html under the label "The Orb of Winter" if you care to read ahead.
Are there any artists out there willing to draw some pics for my story? If so, please email me. There is an "Orb of Winter" map now in both the NEWS section of my website and in the FORUMS of my website.
If you go to my website directly from this posting, you will want to begin with "CHAPTER TWENTY" and skip to the first set of three asterix (***).