144: Wrath (22 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Polas leaned against a tree outside of Odes’Kan’s walls. His nails dug deep lines into the deciduous bark. He punched the thick trunk several times, bloodying his knuckles. Tremors ripped through his arms and shook his chest, his legs felt loose and leaden, and he staggered forward and caught himself against a low branch. Something had broken inside his mind, and his memories were returning to him in a flood. His heart could hardly beat under their weight.

~ 1000 years ago ~

Polas heard noises from the hallway. His mind was numb, and vomit soaked his shirt. Across the room, Finadel screamed. Her stomach and legs were blistered and her cheeks were pierced with long gashes so that every scream issued a hot stream of crimson. The two Ibor guards focused their torture on Finadel alone, having grown bored with the child.

Leyryl lay on her table, bruised and burned, but made no sound. She stared at the ceiling and her lips moved in silent prayers.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside the room, but Polas could not turn to look. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, unable to move. He had struggled for hours or maybe days, he was not sure, but the arcane hold barely left him able to breathe beneath its hold. His eyes burned, his jaw ached, and all he could do was watch the horrific assault.

The footsteps came again, this time accompanied by voices.

"Calec, I’m sorry I have to show you this, but you will be a man soon, and I thought it best you know the truth." Polas knew the speaker immediately. Exandercrast.

"I asked your father to leave," the dark god continued. "I asked him to return home with his armies, but he would not listen. And now it has come to this."

Exandercrast entered the room with his hand resting on the head of a blonde haired boy soaked with tears. The boy could not be his son, though. He was years older and was taller than Leyryl. Had Polas missed so much?

The God of Fear knelt beside Calec in the doorway of the torch-lit room, but kept his hands firmly around the boy’s shoulders. A Narculd advisor trailed silently behind them, holding a small, but luxurious robe.

Finadel lurched and opened her eyes. "Calec! No, please! Run!"

Calec strained against Exandercrast’s hold.

"See how your father stands there and does nothing." Exandercrast motioned for the guards to halt. "He does not lift a finger to come to your mother’s aid."

With a nod from the God of Fear, one of the Ibor torturers seized Finadel’s hand and snapped her index finger backward. The bone shattered, and Finadel cried out in agony. The Ibor pulled once more, and the digit tore free of her hand.

Slowly, methodically, the Ibor moved to Finadel’s next finger and the next, repeating the brutal process until she was left with nothing but bloody stumps on both hands.

"I offered him their freedom," Exandercrast whispered. "I told him they would be unharmed if he simply returned home with them. But he refused. And for his great pride in the righteousness of his cause, he still refuses to save them."

Tears streamed from Calec’s eyes, and Exandercrast released his hold on the boy’s shoulders. Calec dashed across the room and threw himself at the Ibor. He punched and kicked and screamed, but the rocky beast ignored him as though he were a tiny gnat.

Calec fell to the ground and wept. "Father, help her," he screamed between sobs.

His sister, Leyryl, lifted her head. She stared at her father with sympathetic eyes. The motion caused dried seams of blood to tear and trickle anew from her shoulders and arms, but her face showed no signs of feeling any pain. Polas marveled at the strength in her.

"He can’t, Calec," she said calmly. "It’s not his fault."

Calec either did not hear his sister or did not care. He reached up, grabbed a glowing hot dagger from the table, and charged Polas, plunging the knife deep into his father’s leg. The heat seared the hole shut around the blade, and Calec pulled his blistering hand back with tears streaming from his face.

Polas’s leg went cold in shock.

Exandercrast smiled and flicked his finger.

Polas felt his arm moving, but he could do nothing to stop it. His hand flashed out and struck Calec across the face. The boy fell in a heap onto the stone floor, and Polas felt a small piece of his spirit die with the blow.

Exandercrast motioned to the Narculd still lurking in the hallway, and the advisor slinked in, swept the boy up in the soft robe, and carried him away.

As the God of Fear watched the boy leave, a sneer crept across his lips. He turned, humming with sadistic joy, and strode across the room.

"Gentlemen," he said.

Both Ibor turned and bowed to their master.

"This girl seems to not be sufficiently broken. That simply will not do." Exandercrast turned and rubbed the red-jeweled ring on his right hand thoughtfully. "Send for Divrahna."

The Ibor guards bowed once more and ducked out of the room.

Exandercrast turned and grinned at Polas. "Oh, General, you may put your arm down." With another simple gesture from the God of Fear, Polas returned to his stoic pose, arms once again folded across his chest. It felt as though a great hand had pinned him and wrapped him in iron bars. No matter how much he struggled, he could only stand and watch his nightmare unfold.

Polas fell to his knees and tried to blink away his tears, to stop the memories - the horrors - from returning. His heart felt as if it would stop at any moment, and a part of him wished it would.

But there was something else growing inside him. Something much fiercer. With each memory that returned, a small piece of his spirit went cold and broke away, and in its place grew a hungering darkness.

~ 1000 years ago ~

The cold, stone walls pressed in on Polas, and the torchlight did little to warm the despair in his spirit. A shuffling sound drew his mind toward the doorway as a gaunt and disgusting creature entered the room.

"Massster." Divrahna bowed low. "You have need of me?"

"Ah, Divrahna," Exandercrast said, "so kind of you to join us."

The Narculd was unbearable to look upon. He had extended the bones in his forearms and fingers with years of self-mutilation and implantation. His ears and nose had been removed and replaced with jagged metal fragments bearing arcane inscriptions. Rocks and bone shards were sewn below the skin of his craggy scalp. Two great spikes jutted unnaturally from his shoulders and acted as a mantle for his cloak. His eyes were a soulless, deep crimson, and the musculature in his face had died away long ago, leaving only sagging, emotionless skin behind. His teeth had been filed to sharp points, and his tongue cut into four snake-like tendrils that danced around his mouth with every word he spoke.

Leyryl laid on her table, a serene picture of peace that looked very out of place in the dank dungeon cell. Across from her, his beautiful wife, Finadel, fought for each breath, and her fingerless hands were cold and violet from blood-loss. Her eyes were swollen shut, and her mouth had been split open to her ears. She could not survive the wounds, and it could only be Exandercrast’s magic that forced her to endure them.

Polas fought to move, to yell his daughter’s name, to challenge Exandercrast in some way, but he could do nothing but watch.

Divrahna stepped forward, clutching tightly to a small bag of tools. He emptied its contents onto the edge of Leyryl’s table. Thumbscrews, flensers, and other horrid utensils that Polas did not recognize were laid out one by one in a meticulous fashion by the evil Narculd. Lastly, he set a series of vials down, each filled with a shimmering liquid.

"I’ll need a sssmall fire," Divrahna hissed.

Exandercrast nodded to one of the Ibor guards. The beast retrieved a torch from the wall and held it out for the Narculd’s use.

"And what did you sssay your name wasss, little girl?" Divrahna asked.

Polas yelled through gritted teeth. His insides felt like they were on fire, and something in his right leg tore. With another push from deep within his soul, he stepped forward once. Exandercrast whirled around, eyes wide, but it was the Ibor guards who sprang on him.

"Very impressive, Kas Dorian," Exandercrast said. "The blood that flows through your veins really is quite marvelous. I wonder if, given enough time, you might be able to free yourself completely from my hold."

Exandercrast laughed, and the Ibor guards nervously joined with him.

Divrahna’s back popped, and his hips made a noise like tearing gristle as he stooped to retrieve the discarded torch. He waved it beneath Polas’s chin. "Do not worry, General," he said. "You will have your turn sssoon enough."

He turned back to the table and retrieved a vial of bubbling, green liquid.

"Now where were we?"

"My name is Leyryl Kas Dorian," she said. "And my father is a hero."