Page 20 of Eldritch
“Well rip the bloody thing off, if you have to! Time is wasting!”
“I can’t, Sir. It’s like hardened clay.”
The guard groaned and turned to a monstrous figure linked to the other side of the old man.
Zevander had only seen an orgoth once in his life, but he’d heard stories of their ferocity. Excessively muscled and tall, with sharp ivory tusks that protruded from their bottom lip, they looked more beast than man. Stubby, white horns and pale skin with blue undertones, like a wintry corpse, hinted that he might’ve been Vespyri.
“You there,” the guard said, pointing toward the orgoth. “Remove this man’s cuff, and I’ll grant you an extra ration of water.”
The orgoth gave a hearty snort and stepped forward, hauling the prisoners behind him to the ground. The beastly man bent forward, lifting the much smaller, trembling Lunasier by his head, and placed his thick hands at either side of his face. In one grunt, he squeezed, and the man’s head exploded on a splattering of blood, meat and bone.
Zevander spun and expelled the last meager meal he’d eaten that day, a spray of mostly bile that splashed onto the black sand below him.
The rest of the man’s body slumped to the sand, his stumpy neck slipping right through the cuff, leaving behind a string of skin that dangled from the chain.
“Well, not quite what I had in mind, but off we go.” The guard turned his attention toward the front of the line. “Ahead!”
As the orgoth stepped back, the chain stretched out with the empty cuff between them, and that dangling bit of flesh taunted the back of the boy’s throat again. He turned away and the pink of his father’s skin caught his attention. Again, Zevander found himself staring down at his flesh, which only seemed to have darkened in the blazing sun. As if noticing himself, his father frowned, lips tight. Without saying a word, he turned away from Zevander and followed after the chain of prisoners.
Jags of mountain spires clawed at the stormy gray sky overhead, while gaping black archways swallowed the line of prisoners entering the mines. Only a few scattered torches illuminated the surrounding darkness as Zevander entered, and once inside, a guard approached him from behind and unshackled the cuff at his throat. Zevander rubbed his hand across his neck, the burn of the absent metal lingering there. When the guard moved onto his father’s, the boy watched as he struggled with the cuff, which had burned into the older man’s skin.
“Gods be damned!” the guard growled over his father’s cries of pain. In a wet, tearing sound, he loosened it, and Lord Rydainn fell to his good knee.
The older Rydainn pushed to his feet, and Zevander caught sight of the glistening, raw patches where his skin had been torn away.
A shove from behind sent Zevander tripping forward, but he caught himself and looked up to see an arched stone tunnel ahead, where other prisoners—mostly of his age—had been herded. His father was directed toward an adjacent tunnel with older men, and for a brief moment, he wanted to run to him, just as he had as a child whenever he was uncertain or afraid.He didn’t, though. After having learned that his father had murdered a woman, Zevander wanted nothing to do with him.
Instead, he followed after his peers, not sparing his father another glance.
“Move along!” The guard who’d shouted stood on a small wooden platform and smiled as he drove the boys forward like cattle, cracking his whip against their sunburned flesh as they passed.
Fire streaked across Zevander’s exposed arms with the strike of the guard’s whip, and he clenched his teeth, cradling the lash mark as he swallowed back the pain.
All of the boys his age were arranged in a single line and marched toward the arched wooden door at the end of the tunnel. At the front of the line, the first boy was led through, the rest of them made to wait. Only minutes later, screams bled through the door, and a wintry frost crawled through Zevander’s veins as he imagined what could possibly be happening in that room.
When the door swung open again, the boy didn’t emerge, but the next in line was shoved inside and the door slammed shut behind him.
More screams.
Terrible screams that prickled his skin.
Minutes later, the door swung open again, and a third boy was pushed inside by the guard standing at his back. The moment the young prisoner seemed to catch sight of the room, he spun on his heel and shot back toward the door, a look of terror carved into his expression. “No! No! Please!” His fingers clung to the frame, as guards inside the room yanked at his arms and shirt.
The guard outside the room lifted his boot, kicking the boy in the chest, which dislodged his hands, and the door slammed shut behind him. A blood-curdling scream sent a chill downZevander’s spine, and he glanced around, noticing the only escape was the way they’d entered through the tunnel.
Blocked by a half-dozen guards.
Only two other boys remained ahead of him. The next had to be dragged into the room. Through the narrow gap, Zevander spied the profile of a short, squatty man standing alongside a tray of what looked to be strange tools. The man snapped his head toward Zevander whose heart jolted when the other half of his face was revealed. Covered in silver that must’ve been poured over his head and hardened the way it seemed to drip down his face, his eyes hidden behind dark purple spectacles.
The door slammed shut.
Tension tightened Zevander’s muscles as his mind begged him to run. Even if there was the slightest chance that they’d catch him.
The door opened again.
Go. Now.
He turned to step out of line and caught sight of four figures entering the tunnel, garbed in golden armor with elegant filigree across the breastplates, and pauldrons that looked like sun motifs. Wings with engraved feathers swept either side of their golden, riveted helms, and the long, golden tresses that draped over their shoulders nearly reached their elbows. While tall and intimidating, thanks to their bulky figures, they walked with poise and grace, before coming to a stop alongside him. The figure closest to him removed their helmet, revealing themselves to be a woman—the most impressive woman he had ever seen in his life, with her square, muscular jaw, and sharp, sculpted bones.
