Dungeon of Edmond's Fortress

  He sat in the darkness, a different darkness than the one that had been his place some time in the past. The days were blurred into weeks, months, and years so that he could not remember how long he had been here, or who he was for that matter. But he knew that he was not alone. The cries of the doomed were always with him, but they did not speak to him with warmth and compassion. Eyes that rarely saw reality tried to focus on the noise; a figure stood before him, light coalescing into the shape of a man.

  “Come, my champion. It is time for you to leave this place. You are needed.”

  You are needed. It falls upon you to protect the innocent, to defend the righteous. Strangely familiar but unknown words flowed through the wreckage of his mind, setting the stones trembling. Agony brought him to his knees for a moment, making him close his eyes. What seemed like ages passed before the pain settled back to its customary levels. He opened his eyes, not surprised to see the man was no longer there, but instead a boy on threshold of manhood, shaking and scared.

  “Come,” the boy said in a trembling voice. “Follow me.”

  Shuffling to his feet, he stood and followed as ordered, reality slowly fading again as his mind wandered along the rubble of a once great man.

  Il'elethivin City of Il'vievlin

  She ran, knowing it was futile, knowing that this was only a dream. Even in her dreams she knew not to look behind her as she ran; it would cost her valuable seconds, seconds that could mean the difference between escape and capture, life and death. Star- and moonlight were ahead of her, offering safety from the cloying darkness that pursued her. It toyed with her, staying just far enough behind to give her hope, yet close enough that she knew her hope was in vain. She had waited too long to begin running and her hesitation was going to cost her. The light ahead of her brightened, became stronger, called to her more urgently. A scream of outrage ripped the air behind her and she felt her pursuer move faster, closing the distance between them. Smothering darkness surrounded her, closing off her air though she continued to struggle forward. A deep-throated laugh full of malice filled her ears as the emptiness filled her vision.

  “You are mine.”

  Esmond’s Fortress

  Esmond, Rhys

  Captain Rhys strode along the walkway towards the inner donjon of Esmond’s fortress, the rain seeping under his collar. A pair of house guards snapped to attention as Rhys passed beneath a portcullis and into the main keep. Once out of the rain, he stripped off his soaked cloak and tossed it to a nearby servant without breaking his stride. He passed through a set of doors and climbed a long stairway until he reached a simple wooden door. Knocking once, he entered.

  A servant met Rhys just inside of the door. “The master is busy.”

  “He’ll understand.”

  “I cannot allow you to pass,” the servant insisted, blocking his path.

  Pausing for a moment, Rhys looked at the servant standing in his path. Not recognizing the man, he said, “I am Rhys, Captain of the Guard, and I can disturb Lord Esmond whenever I must.”

  “The master was explicit. He is not to be disturbed by anyone.”

  Frowning sourly, he tossed the servant against the wall. The man slid to the floor unconscious as Rhys knocked twice on the door and reached for his key. He was about to put the key in the lock when the door opened, allowing him entrance.

  Esmond was seated behind his desk, several books open in front of him. Continuing to write notes in one of his large books, Esmond asked, “Trouble?” without looking up.

  “Percival is gone, my lord.”

  “Gone?” Esmond’s head snapped up and he focused on Rhys.

  “We discovered this a few hours ago and have been searching for him. He hasn’t been located though we’ve completed our search of the dungeons. I have ordered the citadel closed and demanded the gate records for the last two weeks.”

  “How long has Percival been gone?”

  Rhys sighed. “It could be longer than a week.”

  Esmond’s eyebrows rose. “That long? Are you certain?”

  “No my lord, but the last anyone can recall seeing Percival in the dungeon was over a week ago.”

  Anger flashed in Esmond’s cool, gray eyes. “That is not acceptable, Rhys.”

  “No, my lord.”

  “Find him. Tear the citadel apart if you must, but find him.” Esmond’s voice was strained, his anger seeming to suck the life and heat out of the room.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Slave Quarters Near Il’vievlin

  Percival

  He sat in the darkness, blank, staring eyes immune to the suffering that filled the eternal night. Ruddy, flickering torches cast their feeble light upon the scenes of depravation and horror around him. Torch smoke mixed with the stench of death and rot from the food, the rats, and the slaves. Anyone’s sense of smell was overwhelmed quickly and soon so dulled from the onslaught that it ceased to be of any appreciable use. Beyond the stench there were the lingering spirits of the dead and the echoes of the horrors that happened in these cells. Not in a million seasons could the stones of the slave pit be cleansed of the odor of fear and pain. The walls themselves seemed to ooze suffering.

  “Hell,” a voice whispered next to him. “Hell is what comes next.”

  “Why?” a frightened voice hissed nearby.

  “The il’elethivin are coming for us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The slave master speaks loudly.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “I’d rather be dead,” the voice hissed. There was silence in the stench.

  Whispers echoed in the corridors of his broken mind. Those taken by the il’elethivin are seldom seen again. A few have survived to escape and bring us news of horrors beyond description. Many of them were mad. Few have ever lived more than a handful of years beyond their escape so great was their suffering at the hands of the il’elethivin.

  He blinked. Il’elethivin coming for us? Was it a dream?

  A dead woman lay at his feet. Her eyes were empty pits of hell reflecting the fires that lit the slave pit. The rats would come and feast upon her flesh and soon her stench would waft in the still damp air. She is gone from the suffering.

  Food was given. Water came later. The slaves slept the sleep of the exhausted or the doomed.

  His eyes stared blankly at the flickering torchlight. Darkness surrounds us--cold merciless darkness, a voice whispered in his head. A longing for the warm embrace of mother night with her starlit skies filled his heart. He closed his eyes and slipped back into the madness that he called himself. His dreams were spent walking the endless twisted corridors of his mind, stopping every now and then at a door to mourn the loss of whatever part of his life he had locked away. Other doors held nameless horrors and he stayed away from them. The halls were shattered and twisted with uneven floors and broken pavement. Cracked and worn walls lined the passage that ended as it always did in a garden. A brass plate was attached loosely to the wall beside the gate that bared his entrance. He looked at the writing and suddenly remembered his name. Percival. I am Percival. Percival pushed the gate open and stepped in. He looked back at the garden’s entrance. The hallway back to reality was nearly closed. Not a bad thing really.

  But it is, a voice breathed in the gentle winds of the garden. We are creatures of the light and may not remain forever in this place.

  We have no choice, he answered. We do not know the way out of here.

  We will not survive without the light, the voice breathed in the warm, fragrant air.

  He looked at the ground and answered softly. There is no light in this darkness. There is no kindness here. There is no love here. In this place we are lost. We are doomed.

  No. We will endure.

  To what end?

  A breeze stirred the leaves in the garden. The silence lingered stale upon the air. Be gone. Come back to us only when you find the light. The garden vanished and he resumed endless wanderings, name forgotten once more.

  His body moved and responded to the orders as the slaves were led away to their doom. He was dimly aware of his surroundings but paid little attention. The corridors of his mind were empty save for the few voices that he still heard. He remained safe behind walls and twisting hallways, safe from the terrors behind the locked doors and the terrors of the outside. Darkness surrounded him as usual, but not the darkness he once knew. This was no welcoming relief, no gentle starry skies, but the icy cold of chaos and malevolence. There were no bright spots of warmth here.

  “We do what we can.” An old, familiar voice echoed along the shattered hallways.

  Il'vievlin

  Jalaena, Slave Broker

  Jalaena woke from her reverie, the light semi-sleep of her kind. Laying still in the darkness for a moment, she stared at the ceiling before sighing; new slaves were to arrive today and she would have to be at the holding area early. She rose and walked to her bathing area, waving a hand to turn on the faucet. After the tub was full, she plunged her hands in the frigid water, mumbling a few arcane words. When steam began to rise from the surface, she smiled and eased into the now warm water. Using magic was completely unnecessary since she had hot water available, but it never hurt to practice even the smallest things. Grabbing a sponge and soap, she proceeded to cleanse her body and hair. She couldn’t remove the taint of her blood but at least she could be clean.

  While she bathed her mind wandered to the last slave she bought. With her help, he had escaped several months ago. He should have made it home, back to his wife and children by now. The thought made her smile. She couldn’t help them all, but at least she could help some. The past few groups didn’t have any that would make it through the rigors and it saddened her that she could help none of them. Hopefully, this group will have someone I can help.

  Finishing, she stood and pulled a towel to her. It dried her as she wandered over to her vanity and looked at her collection of fragrances. Unlike most of her kind, she preferred light, natural scents to heavy perfumes. Selecting one, she sent the towel away and walked to her bedroom. Her closet door opened as she selected a simple tunic and trouser combination. Also different from most of the women of her race, she expressed no vanity in her clothing choices. As long as they were comfortable and gave her plenty of maneuverability, she didn’t care how they looked. Dressing swiftly, she glanced at herself in the mirror and sighed. How could someone as beautiful as my mother have a daughter so plain? Even if she had preferred more elaborate clothing and scents, they would only help so much. She was average looking and she knew it. Which actually worked in her favor since she didn’t want to attract any males she met down here. This will do for today. Satisfied with her appearance, she walked to her kitchen and fixed a light breakfast; it was going to be a busy day and she didn’t want to feel weighed down.

  She left her apartments and moved toward the auction grounds. Slaves and il’elethivinavoided her which both pleased and upset her. Her reputation was growing daily it seemed. If they only knew. She put those thoughts aside and focused on the area around her without being obvious. There had already been two assassination attempts during the past year and she could ill-afford being caught unaware.

  The smell that assaulted her nostrils told her she was nearing the slave pens. As much as the stench bothered her, she could understand why it existed. The smell of fear was tangible and for good reason. Few slaves brought to Il’vievlin, or any il’elethivin city for that matter, lived more than a few years and even fewer ever left. Fear, coupled with sweat and excrement, laced the air and made it difficult for her to breathe at times. Fortunately, the pens had been recently cleaned so the stench was tolerable. She hesitated for a moment before entering. I will not miss this place when I am gone.

  “Ah, Great Mistress! You are early.”

  Jalaena entered the screening area and raised an eyebrow. The male broker for the slavers was a little livelier today than usual. A pleasurable evening or something special with the slaves. “Is there a problem with my arrival?” she replied, coolly.

  Fear flashed through his eyes. “No, Great Mistress! It is always an honor to work with you.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “We have a good collection coming in, Mistress,” the broker replied quickly. “There is one, a large male, human, you might find particularly interesting.”

  She gave him a cold look. “Do you presume to know what I find interesting?”

  The broker groveled at her feet. “No, Mistress!” He looked up at her, fear oozing from his pores. “It is just that he is strong, as strong as a bear.”

  “If he is so strong, why is he for sale?”

  “I believe his former owner did not have the supplies or time to feed him what was necessary to keep his strength. Much better to sell to someone who can and profit than to starve him and lose.” A glimmer of hope tried to surface beneath the fear.

  Jalaena snorted. “More likely, he has some disease or some other ailment that can’t be healed.” She narrowed her eyes. “You do remember who you work for, don’t you?”

  The hope rapidly disappeared. “Yes, Mistress! I am most fortunate!”

  “Then what should I know about this slave?”

  “H-he is slow, Mistress.” The broker pointed to his forehead. “There is something wrong with his mind. He seems not to have one sometimes and other times he screams in his sleep.” The male shuddered. “The screams do not sound natural.”

  Interesting. “That should not be a problem as long as he can work. What else?”

  “He has the appetite as well as the strength of a bear. To keep his strength, he must be fed well.”

  Perhaps this one can be helped. “That may lower his price somewhat.” She tapped a fingernail against her teeth, considering. “We shall have to think of a way to make him look especially good to compensate.” Her attention returned to the broker. “When are they expected?”

  “They should be entering the city now, Mistress.”