Tegol Denair sunk deeper into the plush chair within his office, feeling very pleased with himself. The mage, Stevak, had the child he claimed would reveal the secrets of the flask, and Tegol had Marz Nightcrawler. He had escaped the mage's mansion with the gang-leader, leaving Stevak and a few mercenary guards behind to kill the youth's friends who were foolish enough to attempt a rescue of the beautiful elf and the girlchild.
Kidnapping Khallryn had been a brilliant idea, especially since she carried Marz's child within her womb. Tegol had heard that the youth rejected her when he learned of the pregnancy, but believed that his scorn was merely an act to make others think he held no feelings for the elf. What better way to keep her safe from his enemies?
A smile crossed Tegol's face as he thought about Khallryn, who had been tortured and defiled at his command. She would be left disfigured and broken as a reminder to Marz of his treachery. No one went against a major crime-lord like Tegol Denair without suffering the consequences! Had Marz Nightcrawler been just another weak thug in his organization, he would have had him killed immediately. But the youth was smart, strong and a talented swordsman, and Tegol needed more men with such strengths to aid him in his efforts to take complete control of Bizmar. Once he addicted Marz to black lotus the youth would become another of his puppets, begging to please him in return for more of the drug.
The crime-lord poured himself a glass of moonberry wine and sipped it slowly, enjoying its exquisite bouquet. He glanced up at Varek, one of his personal bodyguards, who entered the room then motioned for him to speak.
"I've sent word to Barnabas, as you commanded," the mercenary said. "He should arrive by late afternoon."
"And Marz?" Tegol asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The ogres are applying the whip to him now as we speak."
Tegol's blue eyes sparkled in amusement at his bodyguard's words. "When they have finished that task, have them administer a severe beating to the youth. He needs to be taught a lesson he'll never forget!"
Varek nodded and turned to leave, pausing when his commander began to speak again.
"Make certain that Marz is kept chained at all times so he cannot escape like he did from theJade and Jug." The mercenary nodded before making his way out the door. He hurried through the underground complex to the room where they held Marz captive.
Tegol leaned back in his chair and swung his leather booted feet up to rest upon the desk before him. Once Barnabas arrived the real fun would begin. The man was an expert torturer; he would get the information needed about the Medieval Tavern from Marz. Tegol was certain that another crime-lord was trying to rise in power and was using the tavern as a base of operations. That would explain why every attack he launched upon the place had failed. As soon as Marz told him exactly what he was up against he would know how to proceed with a final assault that would be successful. And after the youth provided him with the information, he would reward him by starting him on the black lotus.
Tegol took another sip of wine and turned his thoughts to Stevak. The mage was like a brother to him; once he learned the secrets of the
flask they would come to rule the world together! The crime-lord tried to contain his excitement. Stevak should be arriving shortly with all
the knowledge of the flask he ripped from the golden-haired child. They would share a short celebration before using the power of the flask
to destroy Donal's organization as well as the one rising at the Medieval Tavern if need be. Then they would move on to kill the Aysealar
King and his loyal subjects. The crime-lord's smile widened. It was going to be a wonderful day! His dream of ultimate supremacy was finally
beginning to become a reality.
The glass of moonberry wine flew across the room, shattering as it hit the wall behind Wykle. The punk had just come from Stevak�s mansion to inform Tegol that the mage, and the eleven mercenaries with him were all dead, and Marz Nightcrawler�s friends were their executioners. Wykle and another thug named Pirro were the only ones that managed to escape the massacre without being seen.
Wykle�s eyes widened and he cringed in fear as the angry crime-lord walked toward him. But Tegol simply brushed past him, leaving his office in a rush with Varek, his bodyguard, hurrying to follow. Wykle let out the breath he had been holding, collapsed into a chair and waited for his body to stop trembling. He thought he had seen his own death in Tegol�s eyes and the dampness of his breeches was a reminder of how cowardly he really was.
The only time Wykle felt superior was when he bound a helpless girl and made her weep and beg for mercy. That�s when he became the master, relishing the terror and anguish he saw in his captive�s eyes. Khallryn had been no different. He had reduced the beautiful elf to a quivering mass of fear under his administrations. He smiled as he remembered her whimpers and the screams that were music to his ears. Wykle�s bravado returned as he continued to think about Khallryn and the power he had held over her only recently. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to the room where she was chained with him hovering before her with his tiny knife in hand�
Tegol made his way to the far end of the underground complex where the torture room and cells were housed. He burst through a door, followed by Varek and came upon four of his ogre minions holding a dice game in a corner of the torture chamber. The three hundred-pound plus brutes instantly snapped to attention upon seeing the crime-lord. �Take me to Nightcrawler!� he ordered, through clenched teeth.
Zot, the largest of the four ogres, unlocked a door at the west end of the chamber and led his master and Varek down the long hall that separated numerous small cells. The moans of half-dead prisoners who had somehow displeased Tegol enough to be left to rot here were ignored as they made their way to a cell at the end of the hall.
Marz Nightcrawler lay upon the dirt floor of the cell with one ankle shackled to the wall by a thick, two-foot chain. His bare back displayed deep gashes, delivered by the whip Zot used on him earlier. His face was swollen, with blackened eyes and purple bruises covering it, evidence of the severe beating that following the flogging.
Tegol rushed into the cell as soon as Zot unlocked the door. He knelt beside Marz, pulled his head up by his hair and smiled when he saw the youth regain consciousness. Tegol immediately dropped his head to the ground, rose and applied a vicious kick to his prisoner�s side. �Stevak is dead, you bastard!� he yelled, as the hard toe of his leather boot connected with the youth�s body again. Marz tried to rise but was sent sprawling with a fist to his jaw. �He was like a brother to me and your friends killed him!� Tegol continued to shout while grounding the heel of his boot into the gashes on Marz�s back.
Zot and Varek stood just outside the cell and watched in silence as their leader released his rage on the helpless prisoner. No one noticed the ferret that sat hidden in the shadows of the cell across from the one holding Marz. The animal�s beady little eyes seemed to be fascinated by the small ring of keys Zot held in his hands.
Along with consciousness came complete and utter pain. Marz wondered how long he had been locked in the closet and what he did to incur his stepfather�s wrath once again. It never took much to anger Sistino. The last time he was beaten this badly was because he had misspelled a word and his stepfather wouldn�t stand for any errors, no matter how small they were.
Something scratched at his nose and although he was certain it was a rat, he didn�t dare show any reaction. Sistino might be beside him watching and he would only get beaten more if he cried out or appeared to be fearful. He simply lay as still as he could, hoping the creature would soon leave him alone. But the scratching continued until he couldn�t bear it any longer. He managed to open one of his swollen eyes just a crack to gaze upon----Urchin! The tiny ferret had been lightly clawing at him!
Suddenly, memories flooded into his mind; the fight he had with Khallryn being the most predominant one. He had just come to accept the baby she carried as his when he learned Tegol had kidnapped her along with the golden-haired child, Naiomi. After discovering they were being held in the mage Stevak�s mansion, he, along with Erlic, Corum, Silco, and a blind Nicklar had broken into the place only to be overcome by mercenaries who were ready for them. He wondered whether his friends had won the battle, died in it, or were taken prisoner, as he now knew himself to be. He vaguely recalled something about Stevak being dead but didn�t know if that information was real or simply a dream.
Marz began focusing his attention on his surroundings now and became aware that he was lying upon his stomach on a dirt floor. He tried to lift himself onto his elbows and was immediately overcome by a hacking cough that left him with the taste of blood in his mouth. His arms refused to support him and he collapsed back to the floor, gritting his teeth against the fire that played along his back and the stabbing ache he felt in his side.
Urchin was by his ear brushing something cold and hard against his face; he wanted to scream from the agony the item was causing to the open wounds on his cheek. He hardened himself, refusing to utter even the slightest moan. �Only cowards cry out,� Sistino had said, �and cowards are taken to the lake to drown with the rats.� He remembered how his stepfather held his head in the horse�s water trough the first time he dared to whimper during a beating. At first he panicked at not being able to breathe, but after a time he simply stopped struggling and wished for death to take him away from the constant torment. But neither death nor Sistino would be so kind. He was only seven and had many more years ahead of him in which to suffer and satisfy his stepfather�s sadistic cravings.
After coughing up more blood he forced his head to move enough to gaze upon Urchin. Although he couldn�t get his eyelids to open very much, he managed to see the small bronze key ring the ferret held in its paws. With the help of his friend Corum, he had taught his pet how to steal such trinkets only a month ago while they were in Neromba.
Marz slowly turned his head in the opposite direction of Urchin and saw the locked bars of his cell. The hope of escape rang in his heart and he rose to a sitting position, overcoming the aches and pains that threatened to topple him again. He noticed the shackle around his ankle, reached for the bronze ring with a shaky hand and found the key that undid the lock.
The room spun as he rose; it he took a moment to steady himself before moving toward the bars. He leaned his weight upon them, resting briefly before he fitted the proper key in the lock, grinning slightly when he heard it pop open. Marz poked his head out and looked down the long hall before him to see a solid wooden door at the end.
Using the bars of the cells on either side of him for support, Marz made his way down the hallway. He peered into the various cells he passed, hoping he might find someone to aid him in his escape, but all he saw were broken men, too close to death to care about freedom any longer.
As he neared the door another coughing fit overtook him. He muffled it with one hand while bending over slightly to rub his side where it felt as if a dozen daggers pierced him. His hand came away from his mouth covered with blood; alerting him to some internal injury he hoped would heal on its own. After wiping his hand clean on his trousers, he continued onward, finally reaching the door. He fumbled with the keys until he found the one that fit the lock. He slowly pushed the door open slightly and was vaguely aware of Urchin running past him into the room beyond. Marz slipped out from behind the partially opened door and was momentarily blinded by numerous torches that blazed from sconces on the walls of the chamber he had entered.
Guttural voices coming from across the room attracted his attention and he focused his eyes on the area. Once his vision cleared he saw four large ogres sitting at a table, involved in a dice game. Looking in the opposite direction of the ogres, he saw another door that he hoped would lead him out of his prison.
Marz stayed close to the wall and inched toward the door, moving as silently as possible. He finally reached it without being noticed and fumbled with the bronze ring once again. The first two keys would not fit the lock. As he tried to insert the third, he began to cough uncontrollably. The hacking alerted his captors; he heard their heavy footsteps rushing toward him.
He flung the key ring into the face of the first ogre that tried to grab him and quickly lunged to his left, right into the arms of another of the brutes. Rage ripped through Marz as he spit blood into the ogre�s face. �Burn in rakin� Hel� he shouted, while trying to slip out of the hold his captor had on him. Suddenly, the ogre yelled in pain and burst into flames, releasing Marz to pat at the fire that now covered him.
Marz spun around to face another assailant, only to be hit forcefully across the head with a club. He staggered and was hit again---and again. The light in the chamber instantly went out; darkness dragged him down into oblivion where he knew no more.
Ogres were not known for their intelligence. The only thing that made them worthwhile was their brute force and their ability to follow orders of those who knew how to think. Zot knelt down beside the prone figure of Marz, staring at him stupidly. He felt the boy's neck, hoping to find a pulse since their orders were to guard him, not kill him. Odg had gotten a little carried away with slamming his massive club into the youth's head and Zot knew that if he was dead, Tegol would have them all executed.
A smile played upon Zot's ugly face once he realized the prisoner was alive. He then turned to his comrades who were hovering over Lax, the one who had somehow burst into flames. Luckily he'd been able to smother out the fire by rolling around the dirt floor, but his hair and eyebrows were nearly all singed away. A number of deep burns covered his already grotesque body.
"He musta got too close to a wall torch or sumthin," Zot said. The others immediately agreed since trying to think of any other reason for what took place was too difficult a task for them. Zot briefly wondered how Marz had gotten his hands on the key ring he put on the table earlier, but shrugged a moment later. He decided he would just keep the keys hooked to his belt from now on.
"I don't think we should tell the boss what happened," Zot said, hauling the prisoner over his shoulder and rising. "He'd get pretty mad if he knew this punk almost got away again." The other three ogres grunted their agreement. "Let's get us some rope and tie him up real tight like, so he can't move. If he can't move he can't escape!"
The others nodded. Not only was Zot the biggest of the lot, he was probably the smartest as well. Lax grabbed some rope from the chamber before following the others back to Marz's cell. Zot placed the shackle back on the prisoner's ankle then tied his wrists behind his back tightly, not thinking about the matter of circulation. He then pulled out a dirty cloth from his pocket and gagged the boy securely, before rising.
"You sure that will hold him til the torturer gets here?" Odg asked.
Zot stared down at the youth for a moment, then grabbed his free leg by the calf and twisted it forcefully until he heard the crack of bones. "He won't be goin' nowhere with a broken leg!" he said, dropping the limb back to the floor.
The ogres laughed as they left the cell, locking it behind them. Now that everything was secure again, they hurried back to the torture chamber, resuming the dice game that started earlier.
Barnabas smiled at the prisoner that lay before him once again with his limbs strapped to the table. Tegol's healer had used nearly all his inner energy to reduce the swelling on the youth's head and to repair the damage he had suffered to an internal organ. Although Marz was far from being completely healed, at least he had regained a measure of stupefied consciousness and that was all the torturer needed to begin his work.
The ogres hovered around again, in eager anticipation of what was to come. They grinned stupidly when Marz blinked his swollen eyes a number of times trying to focus on Barnabas, who ran a sharp fingernail down the side of his bruised cheek. Once he had the prisoner's attention, Barnabas put his hands on the leg he knew to be broken and leaned over, applying all his weight to the limb. Marz gritted his teeth but made no sound, much to the displeasure of the torturer. He wasn't doing a very good job if he couldn't even get a moan from his victim!
"I know the broken leg pains you, just as having to lay upon your back does, considering all the welts there," he said. "But I can call the healer back and have him relieve you of all this suffering if you simply answer my questions."
The torturer leaned harder on the leg and was disheartened once again when all he received for his efforts was a sharp intake of breath from the prisoner. Barnabas knew the youth was not strong enough to remain conscious for long under his administrations, and that displeased him as well, since he hated having to hurry things.
"Who is the new crime-lord working out of the Medieval Tavern, and how many members does he have in his organization?" he asked, lifting his weight off the leg. A very hoarse "rake you" issued from Marz's mouth, making Barnabas sigh deeply. "I believe that you are the one who is raked Marz," he said, just before quickly snapping the bone of one of the youth's fingers.
After receiving only silence from his victim, Barnabas knew then that the youth was more accustomed to pain then most; he would need to employ more drastic measures in order to get results. "How many mercenaries does this new crime-lord employ?" he asked while pulling on a thick leather glove.
"Thousands," Marz said with as much sarcasm as he could.
Barnabas withdrew the hilt of the dagger whose blade had been heating in a nearby brazier. "How many mercenaries?" he asked again, showing the youth what he held in his hand. Marz merely laughed and closed his eyes as if preparing for what was to come. The smell of burning flesh suddenly permeated the room as Barnabas touched the flat of the red-hot blade to the youth's bare stomach. Although Marz pulled wildly against his bonds and gritted his teeth, again there came no cry of pain.
Sweat broke out all over Marz's body when the blade was then pressed against his neck. He strained against the leather that held him and anger coursed though him, but he was too weak to sustain even that. A chair toppled in the distance apparently of its own accord, but no one seemed to notice. Marz felt himself slipping into unconscious but suddenly became more alert after inhaling some sharp, pungent fragrance the torturer held under his nose. Marz found he couldn't stop his body from convulsing slightly as Barnabas hovered over him with a small bottle in his hand.
"This is acid," the torturer said. " A few drops is enough to eat through skin and bone." Barnabas opened the bottle and tilted it over Marz's arm. "Now tell me about the new crime-lord at the Medieval Tavern and his minions," he commanded.Marz would have spit in the man's face if he could summon the saliva to do so. Instead he closed his eyes again and turned away, bracing himself for what he knew was to come. He was determined not to let the man know how very close he had come to screaming. He bit his lip as the acid came in contact with his skin, but refused to make a sound.
The torture continued until Barnabas could no longer keep the prisoner conscious for longer than a few minutes. He ordered the ogres to
return him to his cell then made his way back to his villa for a late dinner. Hopefully, Marz would be stronger in the morning, for then he
would be able to continue his administrations for longer periods of time. At least he had finally managed to get a single deep moan of pain
from the youth, before he passed out for the final time. Tomorrow he would break him completely.