Puppeteer

I have chapter
10 ready and - well, no more words. Just enjoy. Thanks to everyone reading and
love to everyone reviewing! Thanks to my beta Cassie for her work. You should
try her work!

 

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Jailers and Pain

I opened my
eyes, not knowing where I was. Darkness was all around me and then pain crashed
over me, waves of agony flooding my system. I let out a strangled cry, my
throat dry, and my chest aching with every breath I took. Slowly I realized
that I didn’t lie on the floor but hung from a wall, handcuffs digging into aching
wrists, my arms and shoulders stiff and sore. I was thirsty, my tongue dry like
sandpaper and my lips chapped. I could taste dried blood when I licked them. I
tried to remember what happened when memories flashed up. The fire! Sorr’an was
in the Steel Keg. This man… Can’t you see it’s too late? Flames
flickered out of the roof. The fire spread staggering fast, nobody could
escape this hell. I had tried to do something, to extinguish the flames but
he was right. I killed people – I didn’t remember how many but I remembered the
black strings that pulled at my core.

Sorr’an was
dead. Something in me broke; something I didn’t know I had still in me. Well,
not important anymore because I was sure that I would rot in this dark brig.
Something rattled at the door and a moment later it opened and an ugly, huge
guy ducked under the door frame, holding a sooty torch in one hand and a bowl
in his other. He pushed the fire in my face, almost burning my skin and my head
snapped back, hitting the hard wall behind me. White dots danced in my sight
because of the bright flame and the pain that exploded in my skull.

“Ah, so you’re
awake, Puppeteer. Good, you need to eat to stay alive.” He stuck the torch into
a holder at the wall and took a wooden, moldy looking spoon from his belt,
pushed it into the bowl and then deep into my mouth. My gag reflex kicked in
and I coughed the slimy mash out, gobbets of it hitting the jailer’s face. “You
filthy bastard, spitting at me!” He hit me hard in the face and my vision
blurred. When my head met the wall again I was sure that my skull split open.
After a few moments the spoon was again pushed into my mouth, this time not as
deep as before. I swallowed and a foul taste remained in my mouth but was
replaced with an acid one when that bastard threshed his fist into stomach,
making me vomit violently. “If you don’t like what we serve then you get the
special treatment.” When my gagging calmed a little another spoonful of disgusting
slime was loaded in my mouth and I gulped it down. Suddenly white stars of
agony exploded in my head. That bastard had hit me in my scrotum – hard! The
pain crawled up my spine, blossomed over my whole body and again I was fed
another mouthful delivered with another blow to my groin. I screamed in misery,
tears rolling involuntarily from my eyes. My torturer remarked in a hateful
tone: “Seems I find the right spot that hurts you enough to be fun for me but
keeps the food down. We don’t want you to starve before the judge passed their
sentence to you.” When he was done feeding me he opened a waterskin and emptied
its contents over my face while I tried to
swallow as much from the lukewarm but godly tasting liquid as I could. The
jailer punched my jaw for good measurement and then left me in complete
darkness once again.

From then the
days blurred; I was alternately in a semi-consciousness state that was filled
with weird dreams, moments of agony when I was fed by different jailers and
rare moments of blissful unconsciousness. The dreams were about fires eating up
a whole city, burning peoples running out from the fire towards me, Sorr’an,
Arias, my mother, Kip, Gerald – I tried to run away from them before they could
set me on fire, too. Sometimes I didn’t know if I was dreaming or not, fever
making my skin burn as if on fire one moment and then made me shiver the next.

There were
other jailers aside from the first, whom I called Mauler and who had taken a
likening in turning my balls in egg-sized, rock-hard stones that ached
constantly and had me cry in throes at the slightest contact – not that any of
his touches were kind. The others didn’t hit me as often and as hard and mostly
in my ribs and kidneys – not much of an improvement. One of them was even
worse, though. He never hit me, but felt me up in a tender way, caressing the
inside my thighs, my over sensitive groin and my stomach, murmuring endearments
with it. He also showed me phallus shaped carvings of splintery wood,
whispering in my ear that he would prepare me for long nights of joy with him
after the judge had set my sentence. His falsetto, touches and filthy words
left me shivering in disgust and fear.

The humiliation
of not being able to move and therefore defecate and urinate on myself, the
permanent darkness that robbed me of my sense for time and date, an ongoing,
mysterious drain of energy from my body, the pain and ache and constant thirst
slowly but steadily planted seeds of madness in my subconscious that started to
root. I saw shimmering threads flow through the air, heard sweet voices and
smelt fresh, earthy air like the scent after a shower of rain in a forest. I
knew they would not hurry to put me on trial because this way they could easily
torture me.

One day, after Mauler
had paid me a visit a few hours ago, the oubliette door opened and two watchmen
entered the room, placing a chair a few meters in front of me and a woman
entered the room, sitting down with the guards at her side with their swords
drawn and gazes fixed on me.

“Puppeteer,”
the woman sneered, “my name is Fisania Warlando, successor of Mornagol
Warlando.” An aristocrat – and my judge I guessed. She was kinda tall for a
woman, had light blonde hair tightly pulled back in a bun, wore a high-necked,
dark green dress and had plain face with a sharp nose and stern looking eyes.
“I am your judge. You’re accused of four time murder and of practicing
forbidden and demonic magic within the city walls. What do you plead?”

I tried to
answer, but my throat was dry and swollen so I just coughed violently. The
situation seemed suddenly very funny to me, in a rotten hole they called prison
with one judge but no jury, and I wasn’t even able to defend myself – not that
it would have mattered anyway. Welcome to my life. A throaty chuckled left my
mouth and suddenly Fisania jumped from her chair and approached me, poking her
index finger in my chest but before she could say something she wrinkled her
nose and took a step back, gaping for air. “You smell abominable!

My chuckle
turned into a maniacal laugh and I croaked out a few words between fits of
laughter. “Sorry Milady, if I would have known… you were visiting me today… in
my chamber… I would have taken a bath… in rose water.”

She surprised
me by slapping me hard in the face with the back of her hand. ‘How unladylike!’
“Don’t you dare to make fun of me, filthy spawn!
While you exercised your hideous magic you killed an elderly man who was my
cousin’s servant. A boy of eleven years fell victim to exhaustion as did a
young, expecting maiden. So what do you plead?”

I suddenly grew
cold inside with her words; the laughter dying immediately. I remembered now
how many black strings there were – three, and one having an additional, small,
slightly differently feeling in it. Four livings taken, one of them even
unborn, for nothing at all. “Guilty.” I said insensately.

She squinted
her eyes. “Good. In the name of the Noble Council of Dal Beron, I, Fisania
Warlando, administer a death sentence to you, Puppeteer.” She turned on her
heels and marched to the door before looking back, her cool demeanor falling
off of her and a grimace of hatred appearing on her face. “And because you’re
just demonic scum that kills for fun it’ll be death by hanging – naked. I’ve
heard it’s a very filthy and demeaning death, especially for men. The moment
you struggle vainly for your life you’ll soil yourself with feces and your
semen, demoneyes. I’ll enjoy watching your end, knowing the world will be a
better one without you, demonic spawn!”

With this she
left the room, her guardians following her and once again I was left in utter
darkness, my mind feeling numb.

I was woken
from another surreal dream, when I heard a clinking sound. I blinked and I
could see some light filtering in the cell. ‘Great, another hallucination.’
Closing my eyes I sighed, trying to will away the shadows which tried to
overtake my mind when I heard a soft rustling and a quiet whistle. I looked up
and saw a small, cloaked figure standing a few meters away from me, a soft
glowing stone in their hand. When they approached me I could see their head
snap back.

“You stink like
a latrine pit that was used for weeks, Puppeteer!” a familiar voice announced
in a slightly disgusted tone.

I blinked. Was
this another illusion? No, this couldn’t be, oh please, could it be? “Kip? Is
this you?”

“Yeah, it’s
me.” Stepping closer he scrutinized me. “You do not only reek like shit, you
also look like it.”

Hope bloomed in
my chest. “It’s really you! Kip!” I tried to move fruitlessly.

“I swear, if
you try to kiss me or anything else ugly I let you rot here!”

I swallowed, my
throat dry as it was for years it seems, a smile stealing on my face. “It’s so
good to see you, Kip.” I said his name again as if to make sure that he wasn’t
a hallucination and would vanish the next blink.

“Okay Niven,
now stop struggling, I’ll free you from your restraints and then we leave this
God forlorn pit.” While searching his inside pockets he mumbled: “And if we
pass a river or lake I’ll throw you in there. They’ll smell us three kilometers
against the wind!” He got out a small pouch, reached into it and strewed a
powder on my handcuffs and shackles. The grains lit up and then black flakes
fell to the ground. Kip whistled. “Well, they play it safe. There’s Erodeum in
these ties – a waste for your sad magic abilities, if you ask me. But okay,
then I have to do it the traditional way. Much more fun that way; never was too
fond of this magic stuff.”

He brought
forward a lockpick and started to work on my bonds. Erodeum is a material
anti-magic dust is made of by mixing very small amounts of this metal with
normal sand. It has two impressive properties: First, it can dissolve magic. In
huge amounts and high concentration it can even menace the tremendous ancient
magic that’s still intact in a few places. Second, it’s extremely rare. There
are legends that there once was a sword and a full plate armor made of pure Erodeum,
but I do not believe they are true. I didn’t know Dal Beron had a dungeon cell
with ties that had Erodeum mixed in but it explained the constant drain of
energy from my system.

Kip had opened
one handcuff meanwhile and was working on the other. When it opened with a
click nothing kept me upright anymore and I started to fall forward face first
towards the hard floor. Kip caught me, his arms around my shoulders. “Don’t get
your hopes high, Puppeteer,” he pressed out while lowering me gently to the
ground, turning to the shackles that kept me connected with the stonework.

With my arms
not above my body anymore, blood started to rush through them and feeling crept
back in them, starting with a faint tingle that grew more intense and painful
with every heartbeat. I couldn’t suppress a groan and Kip looked at me and
sighed. “Arias said that you would most probably be in bad shape and gave me
this for you.” He rummaged in his cloak pockets and brought up a flask with a
pale green liquid in it.

The thief
uncorked it and held it to my lips but I turned my head away. “Mix blood in
it.” I croaked out.

Kip blinked but
then unsheathed a dagger. “Where do you want the cut? Though the way you look
it doesn’t matter much I guess.”

I coughed and
shook my head. “Yours.”

The larcener
froze. “You’re kidding me, right?” I shook my head. “That’s some perfidious
trick to make your will-less slave so that you can have your wicked and
perverted way with me, right?!” Again I shook my head but had to smile a
little. As much as his attitude was obnoxious it was something familiar and
calming in this scene of personal distress and torture. Kip mumbled: “Yeah, I
guess you have now this catboy to stuff your dick in.” A sudden coldness spread
in my innards when Kip mentioned Sorr’an and my gaze got unfocused. Something
cold prodded against my lips and the purloiner whispered: “Drink it, Niven. I
want to get out of here and Arias only pays when I bring you with me, alive!”

I nodded and
drank the now brownish-grayish liquid that tasted lightly sweet and metallic. Seconds
later warmth sprawled in my body and with every heartbeat I regained strength
and the pain dulled a little. When both shackles were broken open I replenished
enough power to stand up on my own with a hand at the wall. Kip looked at me
with a calculating look. “I guess you’re not in condition to climb up a rope?”
I just stared at him and coughed. “I see. Well, I’m not going to drag your
sorry up with a climbing rope, so we have to make our way through the
catacombs.” He stepped in a circle of soft moonlight and pulled at the rope
that hung from the ceiling in a complicated sequence of tugs and the cord fell
to the floor where Kip rolled it up and draped it over his back. He went to the
exit and made quick work with the lock there, opened the door and slipped out
for a few seconds before returning, signaling me to follow him.

I entered a
badly lit hallway, a fact that would benefit our flight. A human shaped heap of
clothing lay in a corner, blood leaking out from under it. I just hoped it was
the Mauler or the guy that wanted to use his splintery wood on me. I shivered
for a moment and then followed Kip, the pilferer leading the way mostly
downstairs which confused me first but then he mouthed ‘tower’ to me. I wasn’t
held captive in a dungeon but a prisoner tower, not that it mattered much. We
pressed in the dark corners and staircases when flickering shadows and faint
noises passed us and luckily Kip didn’t have to cut another throat. This way
the chance that my escape would be discovered lowered and with some luck I
would be somewhere far, far away before they realized I wasn’t in my cell,
waiting for my hanging.

After what
seemed like an eternity of cautious skulking and lurking Kip stood in front of
a wall at the end of a half-dark corridor, feeling around the brickwork.
Suddenly he braced himself against a certain spot and slowly a hidden door
swung open. He grinned and just shrugged when I lifted an eyebrow. I followed
him outside and took several deep breaths, the fresh air of freedom filling my
lungs. My breath caught when I heard a soft babbling of water and looked
around.

There was a
moat a few steps away and a ramp led into the water at this position. I
stumbled towards it and carefully, as not to make splashing sounds, kneeled
into the water. I ladled up water in my hands and drank greedily from it, the
murky sludge tasting like the finest wine from Lesmo Layti. When I wanted to
drink a fourth handful, Kip stopped me. “Don’t! You will only get stomach
cramps and vomit it out. Take it easy, I have two waterskins at our horses.” I
nodded though I slightly cringed at the though of having to ride a horse. But
anything to get out of this damn town, this town of death and torture…

I tagged along
Kip once again and after a short run through the shadows he ducked behind some
bushes and I followed him. There was a soft whinnying when the thief patted the
nostrils of two horses I’ve never seen before. They both were black as were
their saddles and bridles and the hooves were wrapped with thick, dark clothes.
Both horses shied away from me when I neared. Kip calmed them with soothing words
I couldn’t understand and then, a little louder, he addressed me. “They don’t
like the stench that sticks to you. I don’t like it either.” The animals seemed
to settle down a little with Kip’s effort and the cutthroat added quieter, but
still hearable: “I wouldn’t want him to ride me neither, Inridian. But it’s
just for this night.” I rolled my eyes when he handed me the reigns and we both
mounted a horse. The fabric muffled the hoofbeats while we trotted to the city
gates through small, deserted and dark alleys. When we reached the East-Gate,
the smallest of the five gates that led into Dal Beron, Kip dismounted and
vanished in the small sentry post and a few moments later he returned with a
guard who opened the small door in the huge metal leaves of the gate. I
dismounted, too, and Kip and I guided our horses outside and then took off in
canter while the door closed behind us.

The ride took
its toll on me and when the potion from Arias wore off exhaustion and pain
dawned upon me, making it harder and harder to stay on horseback with my
limited riding abilities. I hoped we would stop at the inn Sorr’an and I had rested for a night but
Kip kept the fast pace. When the city walls of Arrandar came in sight the
horses were panting harshly and I clung barely to consciousness. Only the pain,
that blossomed in my groin and washed over my body with every step the horse
made, kept me awake. Again we approached a
smaller gate and this time Kip rapped against the door in a rhythm that was
well-known to me and slipped a porch through the spyhole that opened to the
knock and the whole door opened. When I dismounted my legs gave away and I
tumbled to the ground. Kip helped me up and I leaned against the wall while he
led the horses through the door in the gates.

He looked at me. “Get yourself together, Puppeteer. We’re
already there.” I nodded and tried to step forward but would have fallen down
again if Kip hadn’t caught me. “Okay, I should have known that you would try
everything to get on a horse with me. But I sit behind you, perv!” He helped me
mount his horse and then sat behind me, while I clutched to the saddle horn,
Kip’s arms around my torso holding the reigns and stabilizing me.

While we rode
carefully through abandoned and empty streets towards Arias’ house, I murmured:
“Thank you, Kip. I’m really grateful for this.”

He sneered
back: “Well, I’m grateful for all the gold Arias will pay me for getting your
half rotten carcass back to him. The Gods know what he sees in you.”

After a moment
of silence I thought I heard a ‘You’re welcome, Niven’ but that could have been
my imagination. When we arrived at Arias’ mansion I almost plummeted to the
ground barely held by Kip till Gerald had a grip on me and helped me from the
horse. Both men supported me when we entered the house. I saw Arias' worried face and Elise’s shocked expression when
everything went black before my eyes.

 

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Reading is
great, leaving a comment is awesome! You want to be awesome, right? :-)

I moved to Aarin and post there under the nick "Nirkal". I think I will keep posting Puppeteer here, but it will be later and with less interaction between readers (you) and author (me). So I invite you to visit me there and have a chat :-)