Deeds of Their Past - 23. Chapter Twenty-three

Endless trees. Even from their great vantage point high in the sky, the landscape offered little else. Toward the south, the grand mountains of Dead Man’s Pass peaked just above the horizon, and the north gave way to an immeasurable sea. Despite his sorrow, Nathan was fascinated at seeing the world from such a height.

Upon leaving the ruins of Tornel, the daemon flew west toward Brockford. Nathan had never been there, knowing it was a heavily fortified garrison town, and held the main barracks for the army. It was the last place he’d ever want to be. But in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. After bearing the unpleasantness Lord Helmsley had in store for him, he’d be free of the shackles of this world. Free to sleep for eternity. He hoped the afterlife was just a parable. The thought of living on after this life was torment enough.

“Are you always so quiet?” the daemon rumbled.

Nathan regarded it with disdain. “What would you have me say? You’re delivering me to my death.”

“Alas, I am without choice in the matter,” it said.

“No choice? How’s that?”

“I am bound to my master.”

“Who, Helmsley?”

“Yes.”

“So you deliver me. Then what?”

“I will be free, however I cannot return from whence I came, so I will have to find a place to call my own.”

“You speak . . . oddly for a daemon.”

“Do I? How would you have me speak?”

“I don’t know. It’s just not what I expected.”

“Typical human,” it scoffed.

Nathan couldn’t believe he was having a conversation with the beast. “I’ve seen you in my dreams,” he said.

“Have you now? From the ring?”

“How did you know about that?”

“You still radiate its power. How do you think I found you?”

Had Nathan been able to shrug, he would have.

“So, tell me about these dreams?” the beast enquired.

“You spoke to me. You . . . had your way with me. You must know this.”

It laughed. “Excuse me? I had my way with you? I can hardly believe that.”

“But—”

“Whatever happened in your dreams was your subconscious’ doing.”

“I was told those dreams were one possible future.”

“True, however to get it perfectly right is near impossible. There are too many variables, and dreams are too fluid, too open to interpretation. And, as I said, your subconscious often gets in the way and messes the whole thing about.”

“So you don’t plan on . . . raping me?”

The daemon laughed heartily. “If that interests you, I know a few who would take great pleasure in ruining that body of yours.”

“Uhm—”

“It is a shame you will be dead soon. I have not laughed in a long time, and you are providing me with a healthy amount.”

Nathan glowered. “I’m glad I could amuse you in my final hours.”

The daemon cleared its throat, almost embarrassed. “I apologize for treating your friend so roughly.”

“Roughly? You killed him!” he said, his emotions attempting to creep back up to the surface.

“I am sorry,” it offered.

“If you really are sorry, take me back and leave.”

“As I said, I cannot. I am bound to Lord Helmsley. His command is to deliver you.”

“How’s that possible?”

The daemon took an angry breath. “I was . . . tricked. The only way to release myself is to comply to his bidding. Your death is the unfortunate outcome.”

“Why don’t you just kill him instead?”

“As much as I would enjoy squeezing the life from his body, the pact does not work in that manner.”

Nathan felt like he was running in circles, and gave up his attempts to reason with the daemon.

Hours passed in silence.

Trees gave way to grassy plains, and the marshlands of Knavesmire Bog came into view to the south, astounding Nathan at the speed they travelled. What took days on horseback took mere hours by wing.

They continued west, following the sun until it sunk below the horizon. As the sky darkened and stars twinkled into view, Nathan caught sight of the torches and lamplight of Brockford. The town was larger than he expected, built haphazardly with roads and streets breaking off in all directions. Yet at its centre, high stone walls acted as a fortification for the garrison within, its buildings and roads square and neat in comparison.

Without warning, the daemon tightened its grip, and Nathan’s stomach lurched as they descended, gathering speed. The town grew in size at an alarming rate, to a point where it seemed too late to slow down. Yet the beast widened its wings, slowing their descent in time to land on top of a watchtower. The two troops standing guard jumped back in surprise, rearing their pikes toward the daemon.

“Tell your lord of my arrival,” it demanded.

The two men nervously squabbled until deciding who would leave their post. Watching one trooper bolt down the steps, the daemon lowered Nathan to the ground, forcing him to his knees. The remaining trooper, unsure of its intentions, held his raised pike in place, literally quaking in his boots.

In short order, a small contingent of men arrived with torches, Lord Helmsley appearing in the centre of the group. He stepped forward without fear, flanked by two troopers, holding a flame close to Nathan’s face.

“Yes, this is him,” he said. “You thought you could escape?”

“I gave you a good run for your coin, I’m sure,” Nathan said, offering a defiant smile.

“Insolent to the end, I see.”

Lord Helmsley signalled, and three men came up from the rear. Swords in hand, they marched him away from the daemon, and a quick search for weapons revealed he had none. They bound his hands and knocked him down to his knees again, a sword at his back as warning to stay put.

“I have fulfilled my contract,” the daemon stated.

“So you have. I thank you for your co-operation.”

“Understand, you did not have my co-operation,” the beast rumbled. “I was your dog fetching a stick. I have retrieved it and returned.”

Helmsley regarded it through narrow eyes.

“My task complete, I will be on my way,” the daemon continued, turning to leave. “I bid you good evening.”

“Hold! That was never part of the deal,” Helmsley said.

“Excuse me?”

“That body is not yours to keep. It belongs to Theodrik, my alchemist. I demand you leave his body, and return to wherever you came from.”

The daemon scoffed. “Clearly you do not understand that this Theodrik sacrificed his body to bring me here.”

Lord Helmsley gasped in surprise. “What? He spoke nothing of this.”

“Either he was a very loyal subject, or a fool. No matter, he was destroyed in the process of channelling me here. I took his body, and used the last of my power to transform it to something more—how should I put this—appropriate to my stature.”

“I’ll not have you free to terrorize our land and my good people. You will remain here.”

“You no longer have any hold on me, and while I may be without power, it does not mean I am powerless,” the daemon said, flexing its muscle to prove its point.

“Men! Take him down!”

The troopers hesitated, glancing about to see who would lead the attack.

“My Lord,” a man of rank said. “I’m not sure we have the force necessary to take on . . . a daemon.”

“Lieutenant, I gave you an order.”

“I see your men have more sense than you,” the beast said. “Or perhaps you should lead by example.”

Lord Helmsley took the bait, grasping the sword of the nearest trooper and ran headlong toward the daemon. He managed a single swipe, bouncing off its leg before the beast took him by the throat, lifting him off his feet. With its free hand, it grabbed the flailing sword and pulled it from his grasp, tossing it aside. The troopers, seeing their leader under attack, forgot their fear and surrounded the beast, ready to strike.

“Call them off. This is your last chance,” it warned.

“To the hells with you.”

“Believe me, I wish I could.”

“Kill it!” Helmsley cried.

Blades came from all directions in an attempt to slice and pierce, yet none could break through the daemon’s thick skin. Offering a sickening grin, the daemon tightened its fist around Lord Helmsley’s neck, severing his head from his body with a horrible squelch. The men stepped back in shock.

“Anyone else?” it asked.

Silence answered.

“I thought not.”

The daemon turned its attention to Nathan, offering a solemn nod. “I hope the death of your captor brings you some kind of closure.”

“Wait, take me with you.”

It ignored his request, lumbering the short distance off the edge of the spire, and disappeared into the night. Everyone stood still as stone, listening to the beating of leather wings slowly fade away.

“Lieutenant?” one man said.

“Uh, get a runner to Knight-Commander Garricus. He must return immediately,” the lieutenant said.

“What of the prisoner?”

“We’ll hold him in a cell until Garricus arrives. Take all precautions. We can’t afford to lose him now.”

A boot in his side told Nathan to stand. He did, and two troopers led him down to the dungeon.

“Who’s this sod, eh?” the gaoler asked.

Nathan instantly recognized him from his dream. The older man with a round belly protruding from his greasy leather apron.

“This is the man that Lord Helmsley, bless his soul, had been looking for,” the trooper said.

“Wha? What happened?”

“You wouldn’t believe me unless you saw it with your own eyes.”

The gaoler was astonished. “Lord Helmsley’s dead?”

“Yeah.”

“This fucker do it?” he asked, pointing an accusing finger at Nathan.

“No. We’ve been ordered to lock him up until Garricus gets back.”

“Aye? I’ll make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Follow me then.”

The gaoler led the way, swinging a wide ring of keys on a finger. They arrived at a large cell Nathan recognized as well. Of course, Brohm wasn’t with him to share in his fate, offering him a small comfort.

“Strip him, and we’ll get him locked up tight.”

Nathan offered no resistance while the troopers carried out the order, throwing his clothes into a heap in the corner. They locked his wrists into manacles hanging from the ceiling, and shackles around his ankles. A pulley system tightened the slack on the manacles, holding his arms up.

“There we go. You ain’t going nowhere,” the gaoler said once the men completed their task. “Ey, can I have fun with this one?”

One of the troopers offered an uncomfortable look. “That’s your business. Just don’t you dare kill him without orders. Otherwise I’m sure it’ll be your head.”

“Aye. Thank’ya boys.”

Disturbed, the two men left quickly, and the gaoler came in close.

“So what’d you do to get Helmsley so pissed off at ya?”

Nathan didn’t offer a response.

He threw a suckerpunch into Nathan’s gut. “I said what’d’re here for, boy?”

Nathan doubled over as much as he could against his restraints, attempting a breath after having the wind knocked out of him. Pulling himself up on the manacles, he could feel them already cutting into his skin.

The gaoler brandished a fist in warning. “Well?”

“Do you get off fighting men who can’t fight back?” Nathan asked with a mocking smile.

That earned him a solid punch in the face, knocking the smile away. Blood dripped from his nose onto the stone ground.

“When I’m done with you, this cell’ll be slick red.”

“I look forward to it,” Nathan replied through gritted teeth.

The gaoler landed a final punch to the face before turning to leave. Removing the torch from its sconce, he stepped out and shut the iron gate, locking it. Without so much as a word, he walked off, leaving Nathan in the dark to contemplate his remaining days.

* * *

Nathan awoke to the sound of keys jingling on a ring. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, but he assumed it was morning. His body was numb with cold, and he couldn’t feel his hands. Attempting to swallow was painful. What little saliva he had left felt like sharp rocks scratching down his throat.

Torchlight slowly lit the corridor until the gaoler came into view. Another man stood behind him, peering into the dark cell while the gaoler unlocked the gate.

“Brought a friend with me today to join in the fun. You can call him Rowe.”

Nathan squinted at the light of the torch as he placed it in a sconce. Rowe was young compared to the gaoler, wearing a similar leather apron.

“He’s an apprentice of sorts,” the gaoler continued. “Learnin’ the tricks of the trade. You’ll be his first live subject.”

Rowe, smiling nervously at his introduction, entered with two buckets. One filled with tools, the other with liquid, maybe water. Nathan was parched, and seeing it slosh about was torture enough. The gaoler pulled a bundle from the tool bucket and rolled it out on the table, revealing a series of small knives and other sharp instruments tucked into pockets. Nathan knew this was coming, but that knowledge didn’t help to quell the fear building in his chest.

“The most important thing to have is patience,” the gaoler said to Rowe. “That, and a tempered hand. You want him to last as long as possible. Too much pain at once will have him fainting. We don’t want that, now do we?”

“No, Master Ayers,” Rowe said to the gaoler, shaking his head.

“That’s right. It’s all about reading their state. Eyes will tell you much of what you need to know.”

Ayers reached across the table, and for the first time, Nathan noticed various restraints and tools hanging on the wall. The gaoler grabbed a multi-tailed whip from the assortment and handed it to his charge.

“Let’s see yer form. Give him a few hits across the chest.”

Rowe stepped up to Nathan, his face filled with a dark curiosity, yet his awkward stance belied his timidity. He swiped the whip across Nathan’s chest with the strength of a child, seemingly apprehensive to hurt him.

“What was that?” Ayers cried. “Hit him!”

Rowe tightened his grip and swung again, harder this time. It stung, but was tolerable.

“Good. Again.”

The young man swung harder still, putting his body into it. The tails bit into Nathan’s skin, and he bared his teeth against the pain. Rowe, not requiring any more encouragement from Ayers, continued to swing in earnest, watching him twitch uncontrollably with each hit. Nathan tried hard to keep silent, not wanting to give the men any satisfaction, but Rowe seemed intent on getting a reaction.

After many swipes without success, he aimed lower to strike his groin. Nathan cringed against his restraints in anticipation of what was to come next, but Ayers quickly came from behind, grabbing Rowe’s arm before he could make his move.

“Whoa, slow down there, boy. We just started. You don’t wanna go after the delicate bits until a lot later. Only until you’ve run out of options, y’here?”

Rowe lowered the whip, panting and examining his work. Angry red welts covered Nathan’s chest, burning in the cold.

“What information are we extracting from this prisoner, Master Ayers?”

“From this sod? Nothing. We’re just using him for your training.”

“What did he do to get locked down here?”

“A good question. I’ve been told what he did, but I’d like to hear it from his own mouth,” Ayers said, glaring at their prisoner.

With great effort, Nathan lifted his head to consider the two men. “Will you leave me be if I do?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Ayers let out a laugh, immediately answering his question.

“Well then fuck you both!”

“There y’go, boy,” Ayers said. “See if you can find out what he did to get down here.”

Taking the whip from Rowe’s hand, he handed him a set of studded leather gloves.

“Why don’t you try beating it out of him,” he suggested.

Rowe donned the gloves, flexing his fingers to test the fit. “Tell us what you did,” he said in an attempt to be menacing, but lacked the presence to do so.

Nathan chuckled under his breath, and Rowe responded with a stinging jab across the face, followed by an undercut to his belly.

“Tell us!”

Rowe waited for an answer that didn’t come. A left hook knocked Nathan’s senses, and he saw stars.

“You don’t want to hit him in the head too often,” Ayers guided. “You’ll knock him unconscious.”

Rowe swung a right fist into his kidney. Nathan did his best to hold silent, muffling a whimper from the pain. A smile crept across Rowe’s face and swung again in the same location.

“Are you going to talk?”

“W-what’s the point?” Nathan mumbled.

Another swing across the face broke the skin. Nathan’s vision went hazy, and he felt warm blood oozing from the wound, down his face and off his chin.

“Maybe we should try something a little more . . . painful,” Ayers said, perusing the tools laid out on the table. “If you flay the skin and rub in something that stings, that works good.”

Rowe joined him at the table, removing the gloves and chose a small knife from the selection.

“These blades aren’t very well kept, Master Ayers.”

“No, you don’t wanna use a sharpened knife. If the cut is clean, it doesn’t hurt so much. You want it to tear through.”

Rowe returned to Nathan with the blade, and after a moment of hesitation, cut a long slice across his chest. Nathan shook from the pain, but held his tongue. A second cut followed the first, and blood flowed down onto the floor. Ayers stood beside Rowe with a pouch in hand.

“Here. Sprinkle some of this into yer hand and smear it into the wound.”

Rowe slid the bloodied knife into a slot in his apron, and dumped a small amount of the curious white powder into his hand. He jabbed his fingers into the ragged cuts, and the results were immediate.

Nathan found his voice, bellowing out for all to hear. Searing pain slashed across his chest, as though lit from the fires of the hells, and it quickly sunk deeper into his lungs. Screaming in excruciating agony, he expected to see liquid flame spew from his mouth.

Both men stood back with smug smiles, watching their handiwork in action. The burning continued for minutes longer before finally ebbing away to a dull ache. With no strength to stand, he hung from his manacles, sobbing, tears streaking down his face. He just wanted it all to end.

“Are you ready to talk?” Rowe asked, his voice low.

His throat raw from screaming, Nathan tried to swallow, but his dry mouth offered nothing to sooth the pain.

“I did it,” he managed, barely a whisper.

“What did you do?”

“I killed him.”

“Who?”

“Ayers!” a voice barked from the corridor.

The gaoler cursed under his breath, taking the knife from Rowe’s apron and hastily placing it back with the rest of the tools before wrapping up the bundle. A man with two troopers trailing behind him appeared in the doorway.

“Ayers, what in hells is going on in here?”

“Lieutenant—”

“Who gave you the authority to do this? Why are you interrogating this prisoner?”

“Sir, I’ll take full responsibility,” Ayers grovelled.

The lieutenant glanced over at Nathan. “He better not be dead.”

“No, no. He’s quite alive.” Ayers poked Nathan’s bloodied chest, causing him to stir from his stupor and utter a groan.

“Get him cleaned up and into a proper cell. If I find you torturing him again, it’ll be your own head on the block. Is that understood?”

“Sir.”

“When Knight-Commander Garricus gets back, I expect this prisoner to be able to stand on his own two feet. So no starving him either.”

Without wasting another moment, the lieutenant turned and left. The two curious troopers poked their heads in before hurrying back in tow. Ayers let out a long angry sigh, eyeing Nathan through a furrowed brow.

“You’re a lucky son o’ bitch.”

Nathan didn’t feel lucky, but decided not to test it by saying so. The gaoler picked up the second bucket.

“You thirsty?”

Before Nathan could say anything, he doused him with water. The shock from the cold brought his wits back and renewed the sting of his wounds. Water dripped down his face, and with a dry tongue, lapped it up as best he could. Ayers chuckled and dropped the bucket.

Detaching the key ring from his belt, he proceeded to unlock the manacles around his wrists. Rowe stood nearby in case Nathan decided to bolt, but there was no reason to. By this point, he didn’t have any strength left to stand, let alone run away. Once the second shackle was loose, Nathan fell forward onto the gaoler. Laying him on the stone floor, he quickly opened the shackles around his ankles.

“Help me with this sod,” Ayers said to Rowe.

An arm over each shoulder, they dragged Nathan into a nearby cell, dumping his body unceremoniously onto a pile of soiled chaff. Nathan fell in and out of consciousness, his vision reeling every time he opened his eyes. He thought he might vomit, and decided it was best to keep his eyes closed.

He just wanted to sleep forever.