He wore comfortable jeans, a long-sleeved t-shirt, boots from his own special tailor. I crouched and curled up so that I fit in the space allotted for me. Inside behind the ornate stone balustrades was a room overdone in elegance with marble floors, exquisite handwoven rugs and tapestries, candelabras of gold and silver, a bed carved of rosewood and inlaid with amber. On the heavy brocade gold coverlet were a set of clothes; leather trousers, black tunic and harness holding my leaf daggers. My eyes widened and then I lowered them. He was implying I would return to my human body.
He moved his fingers in a complicated pattern and uttered a spell that I could feel on my dragon hide. I shrank and he grew larger until I was crouched on my hands and knees before him, naked and covered with black and blues, heavy scabs where I had been wounded. He touched my bare back and scraped at the fresh scars from his last whipping.
“You tried to kill me, Master,” I whispered and he kicked me in the belly. I rolled and sucked for breath as he watched.
“You were supposed to die, Corbel,” he said. “Your fucking father was supposed to kill you. Even Julian would have done the deed.”
“Why did you morph me back?”
“Still the spark of defiance and curiosity, Corbel? Would you like another dance with the flagellum?”
“No, Master,” I said, gritting my teeth and trying to cover my nakedness. His eyes narrowed and he hit me on the side of the head. My hand came up and caught his. We vied for dominance and he cursed, spitting out a spell that froze me in my tracks.
“Where did this courage come from, Corbel?” he snarled. “You dare to raise your hand to me? Tenfold will it be returned unto you. I can break your spirit again, son of Merlin.” He paused and smiled. “I think I’ll tell you the fate of your friend, Corbel. Do you wonder where Steen is? I see your eyes flare with hatred and fear. You should fear.” He called out and a trio of servants appeared. Mostly human and led by a guard I knew slightly named Carolus. His eyes widened when he spotted me.
“Milord?” he bowed on one knee to Jurt.
“See this slave, guard?” At his nod, Jurt continued. “He has displeased me greatly. Tie him out on the Pinion Rock and tell the Thrid Captain to do with him as he wishes. Make sure he lasts longer that Steen.”
The guard swallowed. “Yes, milord. To the death, then?”
“Well, I don’t want him eaten but they can play with the parts. Make sure they fuck him first. All of them. If he survives that, bring him in and let him rest the night so we can watch tomorrow.”
“Milord,” Carolus hemmed.
“Do you wish to take his place, guard?” Jurt snarled. He smiled as he devoured my fear and trembling. Tears crept down my face not for me but for the man who had tried to help me and suffered the worst fate I could imagine. Death when it came must have been a blessing and I hoped it came quickly for both of us.
The three of them picked up my stiff, unmovable body but before they carted me off, the Master kissed me on the lips, caressed my body almost as if he was saying goodbye. I begged him with my eyes, I swore promises to him, I pleaded with the gods, the Logus and the Unicorn not to do this to me. No one heard my pleas.
They carried me to the north side of the palace and on an open plateau off the soldiers barracks was a flat rock of sharp obsidian, waist high shaped like an altar. There were manacles for both wrists and ankles, and for around the neck. Near it was another wedge of rock like a half wall and I puzzled over its use until Carolus brought me towards it. I screamed inside, tried to struggle until he put me face first, on the rock on my stomach with my hands over my head and secured to rings in the ground. My ass was in the air. My ankles chained and spread apart so that I was spreadeagled over the rock just wide enough to support my middle. It cut off my ability to take a deep breath.
The stasis melted and I exploded, trying to twist like a wild animal, trying to slip out of the cuffs, or to slide off this rock. I pleaded, begged and cried, all resolve and courage evaporated in lieu of this potent threat. My sanity was in jeopardy besides my life.
“Please, please, please, Carolus! Don’t do this! Don’t leave me here! Oh gods! I’m scared, I don’t want to die like this! Master! Please, Master! I’ll promise you anything! I vow on the Pattern, on the blood of Amber! Don’t let the Thrid have me!”
Carolus shivered and gripped my hand before hurrying away. He did not want to watch me break down. I sobbed until I had no more tears left and they hit the rock beneath me, a shiny pool of salty crystal that reflected my anguished face back at me. I could see bits and pieces of torn flesh. A few teeth, hair and splotches of blood. I gagged and vomited, joined what I took to be the last mortal remains of Steen.
I smelled them before I heard them, a sharp stink that cloyed the back of your throat, the iron tang of armor and salty sweat. Musk and rotten meat. I bit my lips to keep from screaming as it touched me. A slow, lingering pinch down my back that burned icy and then warmth ran across my ribs to patter on the ground. It had used its disemboweling claw to slice open my back. It took my blood and used it to lubricate the passage it was fondling. I sucked in one last deep breath knowing that no matter what I said or did, nothing was going to stop this, that I was going to survive this, kill the bastard that ruled this realm and save Vialle. I vowed it on the Blood of the Unicorn.
The Thrid placed its elbows on either side of my neck and leaned on me. He smelled like dung and his organ was thick, probing at my hole. I clenched my buttocks and prayed it would be over quick. I knew its prick was massive, barbed and once it entered me, it would tear at my insides with spines that were hooked and inject me with toxic seed that both poisoned and destroyed tissue with acid like results. When it exited, it would tear more going out as the barbs were designed to hold its mate and ensure fertilization. Sex for a Thrid female was a once in a lifetime event, she died during the act and her fertilized offspring would eat their way out once mature. This Thrid let his right hand dangle near my wrist and I arched my back trying to dislodge him. My feet never touched the ground so leverage wasn’t there to help me. I stifled a sob of frustration and sheer terror as he snuffled at my ear. He whispered and it took me several tries before I listened.
“Hold still, you fool,” he muttered as he played with my cuff. His voice was human and recognizable. Rinlon. “I’m sorry. I have to do this. It’s not what you think, it’s a metal tube with fake blood. Understand? It’s not a Thrid organ, I’m not a Thrid.” He shoved and my insides burst in pain and blood spread from my rectum. I cried out and the world rocked, receded as I fought an overwhelming despair. My mind fractured. I could not handle what was happening, I was inventing false reality so I could cope with true horror.
The cell was in the heart of the black pyramid. I was curled up on a thin blanket with blood running down my legs and back. I smelled like the Thrids. I wondered how many had taken me, how many of them had pieces of my insides attached to the spines of their sex. How long I survived depended on how many had raped me and how much I’d been infected with.
As I looked up, I saw a window on the wall and people were dancing to the strains of a minuet. I looked through the window and they waved to me, I hummed to the sounds of the waltz. The ladies were beautiful with their white powdered hair and lovely formal gowns. Diamonds sparkled on their high-heeled shoes. The men wore tails and sashes, twirling and dipping with evident joy. I ached to join them. A tall man in pale blue approached and bent a knee before me.
“May I have this dance?” the gentleman questioned and held out his lace enveloped hand. His fingers were long, delicate and adorned with huge blue gemstones.
“I’ve nothing to wear,” I protested and he nodded.
“No matter. Come, get up. Dance with me.”
I rose to my feet and he did not stare at my nakedness but gripped my wrists, tugging me through the window which sprouted French Doors as we entered them. The people moved aside to give us room, he held me lightly at the waist and wrist.
“Corbel, I gave you the key to your cuffs and in the tube are pen and paper. Corbel, you have to come back. Do you understand? Rescue yourself.”
“What kind of dancing is this?” I asked, puzzled. He shook me and slapped my face. It stung. The music stopped. The people faded and the window slipped away. I was lying on the cold stone floor of the cell with only the corridor’s witch light providing feeble illumination. A guard was slapping my cheeks with warm hands. As he saw I was cognizant, he stopped. He smiled in relief. “Corbel. How do you feel?”
“Why didn’t you leave me alone?” I cried. “I was someplace else, not here. I don’t want to die here, like this!”
“Oh my dear boy,” he tried to hug me and I beat at him.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I seethed.
“Corbel, no one raped you. I promise. Not the Thrid or Webster. It was an illusion.”
“I felt it. I felt its prick go inside, it hurt and made me bleed. It raped me. I’m going to die,” I shuddered in horror.
“No, Corbel. It was me, disguised as a Thrid. I am a spy for Amber and I used a spell to change my appearance. What I inserted into you are Trumps, paper and a pen so you can escape. Steen told me what you planned to do.”
“Steen is dead,” I said flatly. “I killed him.”
“No,” he was surprised. “Steen was murdered by Webster.”
“Steen died for helping me,” I returned.
“He died in a fall from the Tower trying to rescue the Queen when you didn’t return.”
“The Master said he fed him to the Thrid. I am going to be manna for the Thrid. Will you give me a blade so I can cheat them from their pleasure? I can’t give you anything except for my body, do you want that? The Master seemed to enjoy it.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “Damn it, I didn’t want to do this,” he reached into the pocket of his uniform shirt. From it, he took a short metal tube and stuck it in my neck. I complained and rubbed at the spot and felt a bead of blood. It made me angry enough to want to plant a dagger in him. Fire raced through my veins, distorted my vision and my perceptions. I was suddenly stone cold sober, hopped up and ready to jump at the slightest sound. I looked around with terrified trepidation. “What did you do to me?” I wailed, clutching at his forearms.
“Corbel,” he hissed. “Shut up. Be quiet. I’m not supposed to be here. Are you...sensible now? All I did was give you a shot of Moonbane.”
“You think me mad?”
“You were. You are, Corbel. Your mind broke three days ago. You were babbling and laughing, dancing and singing as they tortured you and then, you went catatonic. Webster ordered you left here until you were aware enough to finish the torture he planned. Seems he gets no pleasure out of tormenting the insane. No response, you see. Can you stand up? He whipped you, sodomized you with his wand and then beat you with it until it broke. I treated you with heal-all and most of your wounds are scabbed over. I couldn’t help your blood loss, do you feel faint?”
I searched his face and the over-laden image of a Thrid Captain kept intruding. “Who are you?” I gasped and he bear-hugged me firmly. I could not resist. He smelled like a sweaty, fear filled man who used bayberry on his hair and spicy aftershave. His cheeks were rough with three day old whiskers that scratched my skin. I felt his heartbeat under mine, fast and as frightened as mine, his muscles under the were-hide cloak were hard and supple yet not as hard as the Thrid. I felt lower and when I encountered his definite manhood and not the Thrid’s heavy organ, I believed. He shifted his hips away, embarrassed.
“Sorry,” I whispered dropping my hands. He helped me to my feet. “What do you want me to do?”
“Escape, Corbel. Flee this place,” he was puzzled.
“The Master does not want me to,” I said and he shook me.
“Corbel, he is going to torture you until you have nothing left. He wants, he needs for one of the Princes or the Kings to kill you. When one of them spills your blood, it will destroy both the Pattern and the Logus opening up a new entity of Power and Webster means to use your blood to make him that entity.”
“I won’t leave without the Queen,” I hedged and shook my head.
“She’s in the Tower. At the Palisades. Not here. Steen managed to bring her there before he fell. Quite the man, he was,” Rinlon admired. “He said not to give up on you. He was a hell of a climber, too. He climbed the outside of the tower to reach her.”
“He was a son of Eregnor, the son of one of the Golden Circle Treaty Diplomats,” I said sadly. “He was the true hero.”
“He was the missing Prince of Eregnor, Sterling Orate?” Rinlon gasped.
“Prince? And he said he was no warrior,” I mourned. “He endured twenty years of the Master. I had only two.” I looked at him. “This tube you...inserted. How do I remove it?”
He explained and I followed his instructions. Moments later, the thing was in my hands. I opened the steel tube and emptied it into his hands. Unrolled it to reveal a trump of the Lighthouse, another of a forest. None of any of the Princes or of Amber direct. Paper and a pen which he passed to me. With shaking hands, I drew the Tower room with enough detail to be almost a painting of it, felt the familiar tingle and we were there. As soon as my flesh met the sandy pebbles at the base of the mansion, my body wrenched into a cramp I couldn’t straighten from and I fell. When I could move again, I saw the black scales of the dragon form. I cried out and the wail echoed against the mountains. The guard drew his blade and advanced on me.