Hopeless Liberation Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Peter
"Dante!" I screamed, just before my friend fell backwards with two arrows stuck inside his chest, both of which stained his tunic with fresh blood before he even slammed against the ground.
Arms seized my wrists and I was turned to face eight knights in armor. A bear and a gazelle with open helmets, the men who had shot Dante, reloaded their crossbows. Unlike them, everyone else held sword, even the reeking kangaroo and ocelot that now tightly seized my wrists. All of them wore the Talis Family crest on their armor, which was a howling wolf head between two tall trees.
As I tried to break free from the two men, the group of knights began shouting out different ways to kill me.
"Slit his throat and be done with it,"
"Twist his neck! No point in getting your armor bloody,"
"Just put a few arrows in him like his friend,"
Out of the madness, when all seemed lost, a deep -yet soft- voice spoke. "Any man who harms him will be fed to the dogs back at the fort,"
All of the knights became quiet and watched an armored dhole, whose helmet was open, walk forward. His left arm proudly displayed the violet captain sash wrapped around it and his eyes, which were amber, reminded me of burning coals.
"Don't kill him, sir?" the ocelot to my right asked.
"No," the dhole said, stopping only a short step away so that he could gaze down at me with curiosity and an expressionless mouth, which was flat like the edge of a book.
"Quentin," the captain said.
"Yes, sir?" the kangaroo to my left asked.
"You're in charge of watching the otter on the way back to the fort," the dhole said, still staring at me like I was a color that he couldn't name. He then reached his arm forward and pulled my sword out of its sheath. "If he dies, you'll quickly follow him,"
Before the kangaroo had the chance to speak, the captain turned around, his suit of armor clanking like a rusty door, and faced the rest of his men with my sword in his hand. "It's time to go home,"
In silence, the group began marching up the road, heading north. I took up the rear with the kangaroo, who had been abandoned by his ocelot friend and griped my wrist so tightly that my hand already became numb.
As we set out, I turned my head around to see that Dante was still lying on the ground with two arrows in his stomach. A small puddle of blood had already begun to stain the top of his tunic. He can't be dead. Nothing can kill Dante that easily. He just hit his head really hard and passed out. But what if he is dead? What if...? What if I'm all alone now?
_ _ I tried to tug my left arm free, but wasn't even strong enough to make the kangaroo look down at me.
_ _ My eyes then glanced down at the handle of his sword, which hung at his right side. It was within my reach, even though I would have had to awkwardly stretch my right arm across my body to grab it. It's better than not putting up a fight.
I looked up to see if the kangaroo was paying attention. Instead of keeping an eye on me, the knight's focus was on the rest of the group in front of us.
After taking a deep breath, I reached my right hand over and clumsily pulled the kangaroo's sword out of its sheath -I mean scabbard, as Dante had reminded me so many times during sword practice- in one try. As the sword left its scabbard, I used all of the strength in my arm to try cutting the knight's chest.
Rather than killing the knight, the sword fell to the ground, banging against the gravel of the road. As the sword collapsed into the dirt, I realized that, in my desperation, I hadn't considered how heavy the kangaroo's sword would have been, since I was an otter and the blade was made for members of larger species.
The knight, who stopped as he saw me drop his sword, turned to smack me with the back of his armored hand. It felt like a boulder had fallen onto my face, which throbbed in pain as I fell facedown on the road after the kangaroo released my wrist.
As I tried to raise myself from the dirt with both of my arms, the kangaroo picked up his sword and kicked me in the nose with his armored boot. Already I could smell blood, which trickled down over my lips a moment later when I lay still on the road.
The kangaroo then kicked me in the side of my stomach, making me feel like throwing up the carrots and potatoes that I had eaten for breakfast. He continued to kick me, becoming more hurtful with every strike. Or maybe that was just my body becoming weaker as I cried into the dirt, which began to clump together with the fresh blood on my lips.
Suddenly, the kicking stopped.
I raised my head and saw that two other knights were now holding the kangaroo by the arms.
From out of the crowd of the knights, who had stopped and were all watching the scene, the captain walked forward, his helmet still open. I thought his eyes would have been full of anger, but, instead, they seemed to be just as curious as before.
"Quentin," the captain said, after stopping in front of the kangaroo. "I ordered you to escort the prisoner, not beat him to a pulp,"
"I was, Sir Vercer!" the kangaroo said, defending himself. "He grabbed my sword and tried to kill me!"
"You not only disobeyed orders, but you also let a commoner steal your sword?" Vercer asked, his voice dripping with either shock or amusement. Maybe both.
_ _ "He surprised me,"
Vercer was quiet, his amber eyes calm like water and refusing to tell what he was thinking. Then, he finally spoke. "Hang him,"
"What?" Quentin screamed, as the knights holding the kangaroo dragged him to the side of the road and threw off his helmet.
"That branch there should do just fine," Vercer said, as though he were telling them to squash an ant, while pointing to a very low-hanging branch that was almost as thick as an arm.
"He almost killed me, sir!" Quentin explained, as a third knight, who untied a long rope from his belt, came out of the crowd and walked towards him.
"All the more reason to hang you," Vercer said. "I can't have a knight that's easily disarmed guarding my fort,"
The third knight, who had brought the rope, finished making a noose and tossed it over the branch above him. Then, he tightly tied the noose around Quentin's neck and grabbed the other end of the rope.
"Cut his fingers off so he can't free himself," Vercer commanded, not seeming to hear Quentin's sudden outburst of curses.
As Quentin tried to pull the noose off his neck, the two knights who had held Quentin's arms took off his gauntlets and threw them into the dirt. Then, they pulled out their swords and began sawing off the kangaroo's fingers one by one, cutting through their bones like they were carrots.
Once Quentin's limp fingers all lay in the dirt and his hands poured out ten streams of blood, the knight holding the other end of the rope pulled down, lifting Quentin slightly off the ground.
Quentin's legs began to thrash around like he was trying to swim and his fingerless hands helplessly tried to loosen the rope around his throat, only managing to stain the noose with red. Meanwhile, below him, all three of the knights now tugged on the other end of the rope, making Quentin rise even higher off the ground. Eventually, he bumped his head against the bottom of the tree branch that he hung from, only to stop kicking moments later, while his blood continued to trickle down from his hands, which now limply hung at his sides.
Honestly, I didn't know which made me feel sicker, Quentin's violent kicking and screaming or Vercer's willingness to kill his knight without hesitation.
"Drop him," Vercer said, after Quentin had been still for a long time.
The knights, as commanded, released the rope, which flew upwards as Quentin's body dropped into the dirt, lifelessly splashing into the pool of its own blood.
"Should we carry him back, sir?" one knight asked, his bloody sword still in his hand.
"No," Vercer said. "Let the vultures eat him,"
"But what about his family?" the other knight who had cut off Quentin's fingers asked.
"He disobeyed orders," Vercer said. "We'll tell them disobedient men receive nothing less than justice. Take his sword, though. We still need the steel,"
While the men stripped Quentin's corpse of its sword and scabbard, Vercer walked over to me and extended his free hand down. Meanwhile, his eyes searched for something in my face that I couldn't guess.
Seeing that I had no choice, I took the dhole's hand and stood up, only to have my own sword nearly pressed against my face, causing me to think that Vercer planned on slicing open my cheek.
"Decent steel," the dhole said, not caring how close he was to cutting my face off as he began examining my sword. "It's a good thing I'm holding onto it. We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself,"
"I'll make you pay for what you did to my friend," I hissed, glaring at the dhole.
His eyes released their grip on my sword and now stared at me, their cool expression unwavering. "I don't doubt it. The smallest fighters tend to be the most wild,"
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
"But," Vercer said, lowering the sword and releasing my hand, "as much as I'd like to see you fight, we need to get back to the fort. Maybe after I'm done questioning you, you'll still be eager to duel. Who knows? All of your limbs could still be intact,"
The dhole then motioned to the left with my sword, silently telling me to move up the road. Without arguing, I complied and walked as Vercer followed behind me, keeping the edge of my blade lightly pressed between my shoulder blades, which made every hair on my back rise and become frozen by fear.
Just before sunset, we arrived at a fort. Its walls were grey, but didn't have salt sprinkled into their stone like the walls in Ansil did. I also noticed a few holes in them, which weren't big enough to crawl through, but were still noticeable. Must be an old fort. Hardly any knights could be seen standing on the top of the fort's walls, either. I counted eight, but assumed that there were others inside. Still, since there were only eight knights on the wall, I guessed that there probably weren't many others guarding that shithole.
As we approached, the black metal gate opened and we strode inside. The ground of the fort was pure dirt and clouds of dust began pouring upward, rising almost as quickly as smoke does when it leaves a fire.
"Stop," Vercer commanded, placing the flat side of my sword on my shoulder.
I stood still and remained quiet.
"Giovanni," Vercer called out.
"Yes, sir?" a voice said behind me, followed quickly by a few pawsteps.
"Fetch the Talth from his cell," Vercer said. "Bring him to me. And find some rope,"
"Yes, sir," the knight said.
"The rest of you are dismissed," Vercer said.
Without any disagreements, the knights dispersed and left me alone with the dhole, who gradually slipped the sword off of my shoulder, sliding its sharp edge unusually close to the side of my neck.
I turned around to face the captain, seeing how inexpressive his eyes still were as they examined me from head to toe.
"You shot my friend," I reminded him. "And, for that, I'm going to kill you,"
_ _ Vercer shrugged. "He was bound to die eventually. What makes dying today any different?"
"And the way you killed your knight," I said, disgusted. "I've met monsters before, but never one like you,"
"And," Vercer said, raising the tip of my sword to my throat, "what exactly is it that makes a monster so despicable? Someone's own personal values and bias. So, are there really monsters in the world, or is that just a lie we tell ourselves?"
"Someone who doesn't give a shit about anybody else," I told him. "Somebody that hurts others and doesn't care. That's a monster,"
"So," Vercer said, keeping my sword pointed at my neck, "let's say you managed to get your sword back from me. And let's say you could attack me before I drew my own sword and cut your throat apart like it was a wedge of cheese. Would you show me pity? Me? The person who killed your friend?"
Silence was my answer.
"No," Vercer said, bringing the tip of my sword up to my nose. "You'd like nothing more than to run this sword through my stomach as many times as you possibly could. Wouldn't that, according to your own definition of the word, make you just as much of a monster as me?"
Because I had no interest in letting Vercer continue to act like the proud asshole he was, I decided to change the subject. "What hell is the name of this fort anyways?"
"Fort Balther. It was named after the king who was ruling at the time it was built,"
"How long ago was that?" I asked. "I'm guessing a few hundred years, since this place looks like shit,"
Vercer stared at me, his amber eyes burning my face with their relaxed gaze. "You aren't very docile, are you?"
"What do you mean?" I asked, my tail twitching behind me as I tried to guess the definition of the word "docile." Dante would know.
"You're strong willed and speak your mind," Vercer explained.
"So?"
"It'll make breaking you all the more enjoyable,"
Before I could ask how Vercer was planning to "break" me, an opossum dressed in armor walked up to us with a weasel, who was covered in rags and had his hands tied together by a long piece rope that dragged through the dirt at his paws.
"Let's move to the table," Vercer said, pointing my sword past me and towards a small wooden table that was near the far side of the fort. Two wooden chairs sat on opposite ends of the circular table and, to the side of it, there hung a wooden bar, which was held up by a metal pole on each of its two ends.
Silently, we all walked towards the table.
When I stood beside one of the two chairs, Vercer pointed my sword down at the seat. "Sit,"
After glancing over at the opossum, who had his hand on the handle of his sword, I obeyed and took a seat.
"String him up," Vercer ordered, turning his head to stare at the opossum.
Quickly, the opossum followed his orders, untying the rope around the weasel's arms and tossing its end over the wooden bar to my right, only to tie it around the weasel's hands again. When the knight was done, he picked up the other end of the rope that had been dragging through the dirt and tugged on it, sending the weasel up to hang by his wrists from the wooden bar, his bare paws lifelessly dangling as dirt trickled out from between his toes. The opossum then tied the end of his rope to the metal pole on the left.
"Good," Vercer said, as the opossum finished tying the rope to the pole. "You're excused, Giovanni,"
Giovanni, the opossum, gave a slight bow of his head and left, his pace seeming unusually quick, like he desperately wanted to leave.
Without a word, Vercer approached the quiet dangling weasel and lifted my sword. He began to cut open the stained rag that the weasel wore for a tunic, ripping through the cheap material very easily. Eventually, the tunic was open and the weasel's entire bare chest was exposed, allowing me to see how his ribs were pushing against his paper-thin stomach. Yet, his head hung low while his eyes remained unfocused and barely open, as though he were about to fall asleep.
"I don't understand why you're doing this," I said, feeling pity for how humiliated the weasel must have felt for having his bony belly out in the open for me to see.
"This weasel, like you, was found on the road," Vercer explained. "He was a Talth and tried robbing a merchant that was traveling to Sleeping Sun. Unfortunately for him, one of the men on duty heard the merchant yelling for help and sounded the alarm. The Talth put up a fight, of course, but was subdued,"
"And?" I asked, as Vercer pulled down the weasel's trousers, revealing the Talth's soft sheath.
"I interrogated him and he refused to cooperate," Vercer said, tossing the trousers aside and taking a step back to examine the silent naked weasel.
"I still don't understand what your point is,"
Vercer stood unusually still for a moment, his entire body appearing as though it had become a statue and stopped drawing breath. "I want to show you what happens when someone doesn't answer my questions,"
Then, Vercer, with no warning, leaned forward and shoved my sword through the weasel's left paw. The dhole began turning the sword, slowly cutting through the bones in the Talth's paw and spilling blood onto the ground.
The weasel's eyes tightened and he yelled something, but it came out as gibberish, like he was extremely drunk.
"I cut out his tongue," Vercer coolly explained, tearing my sword out of the weasel's now open paw. "Instead of answering my questions, he told me to go to hell. He kept repeating himself, but I quickly changed that,"
Vercer then dug a few inches of my sword into the Talth's right thigh and began carving it open like he was preparing a wild turkey for dinner, spreading the flesh so wide that I was able to see the pink insides and bones of the weasel's leg.
"Stop it, you bastard!" I yelled, standing up from my chair.
Vercer twisted my sword as he yanked it out of the weasel's thigh and pointed the dripping red piece of metal at my face. His voice remained composed and he spoke as though he were merely talking about the weather. "Sit down before I cut out your eyes and pour boiling wine into your sockets,"
I stared at the dhole, then my sword, and reluctantly sat down.
After staring at me for a moment, Vercer turned to face the weasel, who was now sobbing.
The dhole squatted and began to cut off the weasel's balls, cradling them in one hand as he used his other to move the sword back and forth against the furry sack. Blood gushed across the weasel's legs and down the bottom of his sheath, raining down into the pond of red beneath him. The weasel screamed, finally lifting his head up to face the sky. Vercer didn't even seem to notice and continued to slice through the weasel's sack.
Eventually, the weasel's sack opened and fell off into Vercer's hand. When the captain took a step back and moved the sack with his fingers, I saw two purple and veiny balls fall out into the center of his hand.
Then, when I though Vercer was going to toss the weasel's balls away, he stepped forward and shoved them into the weasel's mouth. Before the weasel could spit the balls out, Vercer covered his mouth and nose with a bloody hand, keeping the Talth from breathing as he painted the weasel's face red.
"Eat them," Vercer ordered. "Or else I'll cut off your cock, too,"
The weasel screamed into Vercer's hand, rocking back and forth in midair. Then, he stopped moving. For a moment, I thought he finally died, but then I saw his jaw move and noticed his throat swallow. He actually ate them.
As my stomach curled at the sight of the weasel's throat swallowing, Vercer pulled his hand away from the Talth's head, which now hung low in shame. The captain then threw the weasel's bloody sack down into the dirt and began to silently stare at the poor bleeding man. Nobody deserves this. Not even a Talth.
_ _ Suddenly, Vercer raised my sword and ran it straight through the weasel's neck. The weasel's eyes widened and, after a moment, his head lifelessly tilted forward, allowing the sword to further run through his throat. His eyes remained open the entire time, even as the streams of blood from his neck and between his legs slowly stopped dripping.
In one try, Vercer pulled my sword out of the weasel's neck, staining his armor with red drops of blood. In silence, he stared at the dead weasel, which dangled in front of him and began to sway as a sudden breeze passed. The dhole seemed hypnotized by the body, as if it were a good line he read from a book, or as if it were a beautiful painting he had found. I, on the other hand, seemed to have been completely forgotten by the captain.
Finally, Vercer turned around and sat down in the chair across from me. He then set my sword next to him, leaning the bloody handle against the side of the tabletop as the blade's tip sat in the dirt.
"An otter traveling with a wolf is a strange thing," Vercer said, clasping his hands together, "especially in the North,"
How the hell am I going to get away from this fucking weirdo?
_ _ "Now," Vercer said, relaxed as always, "I want to know everything: who you are, who your wolf companion was and where you were going,"
"And if I refuse to talk?" I asked.
"You have that option," Vercer said, turning his head to stare at the dead weasel that still hung from the wooden bar. "But I don't believe you'd enjoy that decision as much as I would,"
Silence filled the air, accompanied the strong smell of death and blood.
What could I have said? I wasn't able to think of a good lie, especially after watching Vercer murder that Talth. My tail twitched behind me and my paws began to shake inside of my boots. Is that what he'll do to me if I don't talk? Tie me up, cut off my clothes and make me eat my balls? The thought was terrifying to consider. But what if I told him the truth? He would probably have killed me anyways. Then again, I realized that he would have wanted to tell Queen Talis about capturing me, the firstborn son of King Gannish, an old enemy of the North. Telling her would probably take some time. And it may have been a day or two before she decided what to do with me. Plenty of time for Dante to save me...if he's still alive. At least, I hoped that would happen. Queen Talis could have just decided to cut off my head and be done with it. After all, my father and the rest of the Southern rulers were taking almost half of her money for taxes, which meant that the idea of my father suffering would probably have been very appealing to Talis.
"So?" asked Vercer, who had been watching me while I thought about my options. "What's your decision? Are you going to talk?"
The captain then glanced at the dead weasel. "Or are you going to be scream?"
After taking in a deep breath and sighing, I spoke. "My friend was Dante. He was escorting me south to Lowpive,"
"Escorting?" Vercer asked. "What for?"
I swallowed and looked down at the table. The fur on the back of my neck began to burn and my tail nervously curled up against my thigh. This may be the end for me. "I'm Peter Gannish,"
Vercer was quiet and searched my face with his gaze. Then, he finally said, "Your friend was returning you for the reward?"
"Yes,"
The captain became quiet once again and I couldn't tell what he was thinking or feeling at the moment, since his face wore its usual relaxed look.
"Well, Peter," the dhole said, standing up and grabbing my sword, "it seems you'll be staying here for a while, at least for tonight. I need to alert Queen Talis about this. I'm sure she will want to see you for herself. She'll most likely visit sometime tomorrow, or later tonight if she's eager enough,"
"What will happen to me before then?" I asked, fearing the answer.
Vercer shrugged. "You'll be put in a cell,"
I didn't have a response.
"Now," Vercer said, walking around the table with my bloodied sword in his hand. "I'll take that scabbard from your belt. You won't be needing it anymore,"
After taking a look at my sword and seeing my reflection in the coat of red around it, I untied the scabbard from my belt. I then held the scabbard up and Vercer gently took it from me with his left hand.
"Thank you," he said. Then, he pointed the sword to my left. "This way to the cells,"
After I scooted my chair back and stood up, I began walking across the courtyard. The dhole's pawsteps followed closely behind me.
"What will Queen Talis do with me, Vercer?" I wondered, thinking that it would at least be better than what the dhole had in mind.
"I don't have the faintest idea," Vercer said. "And call me Julian,"
I didn't dare respond.
"I think I'd like to have dinner with you tomorrow night, Peter," Vercer said. "That is, if Queen Talis doesn't kill you by then,"
Why does he want to have dinner with me? "Um..."
"Not that you have a choice," Vercer added. "I'll come for you tomorrow evening if you're still alive,"
Both of us were quiet for the rest of the walk.