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Sword of Gaerus 1-2

Chapter 2: Torture

By Trevor JPublished 6 years ago 11 min read
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Gorec dreamt of a beautiful waitress in a high class tavern he once visited. He longed to look into her eyes. He wanted to feel her soft skin. He wanted to kiss her angelic lips. He tried to move closer to her, but he could not. He struggled and strained to move; he felt trapped. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move. He awoke from his dream. Gorec tried to get up, but the confined feeling he felt in his dream had followed him into reality. He looked around to find the cause of discomfort. He noticed he was strapped to a table, much like a rack. His arms and legs where stretched out, but they had many ropes attached to them. How long was he out? How did he get this way? The last thing he remembered was fighting a man who dared to interfere with his business, then he remembered he didn’t finish his fight, he didn’t dispatch the insolent cur who had dared to oppose him. He realized his attacker had knocked him out, then he saw his host; bandaged and very unhappy.

“I never wanted to interfere. I didn’t want to kill you or your companions, I just wanted to leave. Now I have to keep my promise. Do you remember what that was?” The wanderer asked.

“I don’t pay attention to the ramblings of a drunken coward,” Gorec said defiantly.

“Still think you are in control? Lets see how long your attitude keeps you alive. After all, I promised you a long and painful demise,” The wanderer said in a soft voice, leaning towards Gorec’s ear.

“Coward. My friends will come for me. They will rip you apart and serve you to the dogs!” yelled Gorec as a look of complete fear crossed his face.

“Your friends are dead, unless you have others in mind. In that case, it makes this much more useful than fun. I will torture you and you will die before the next evening comes around. I promise you that,” whispered the wanderer

“What are you going to do? I will never talk. You can go to hell,” sobbed the helpless man.

“I believe you need an explanation, as well as I do. I was once a soldier for the king. He sent me on awful missions, made me do horrible things. I tortured and assassinated those who opposed the throne, stole great artifacts and items of power from others. I didn’t like what I did, but I will never forget how to do it,” said the wanderer in a calm voice, standing near the fireplace.

“I need a name then, if I am to be sent to the afterlife. I want to know who sent me, for I will be waiting for you,” Gorec said, trying to regain his composure.

“I will tell you my name before you die, I promise. As you can see, I am a man of my word…Here is how this is going to happen. I will ask you a question, if you do not answer it correctly, I will cut out your tongue, but don’t worry, it will not end there,” said the wanderer with a maniacal grin.

“If I do not have a tongue, how to you expect me to answer the rest of the questions?” asked Gorec, his voice trembling in fear.

“Can you write? You seem to be of some class, I hope you can write…For your sake.”

“What if I refuse? What then?”

“I will like to point out that there are numerous straps on you arms and legs. They are there for a reason. First I will start with your legs. I will cut off a foot, maybe the left one first, then the right. After that, I will cut just above the next strap, inching my way up your legs. Then I will start with your arms. I will have to leave one so you can still write, but you see, if I still have many answers, I will have to start cutting elsewhere. I will then cut off your lips, then your nose. Maybe poke out your eyes. Then, I guess if I am still unsatisfied, I will have to take an ear. But eventually you will be useless and I will have to end it.”

“You will not get all your answers. I will eventually bleed out.”

“You see, I already solved that problem,” The wanderer said, holding up a red hot meat cleaver, "I will seal your wounds to prevent that.”

“What do you want to know? I will tell you anything, just kill me quickly.” Pleaded the helpless man.

“I want to know why?.....Why here?.....Why now?.....Why them?” His tone was harsh. He truly demanded the answers.

“What do you mean?” Gorec asked in a nervous tone.

“Wrong answer. I hope you write better than you speak.” He said as has he grabbed the cleaver.

The scream was loud and ear shattering, then it was no louder than a muffle. It was like a sad and painful moan. Tears welled up in Gorec’s eyes. His breathing was erratic, fast and hard, but also slow and laboured.

“I will untie one hand of your choosing. I will also give you a quill and some parchment. Please end this quickly,” Said the wanderer in a disappointed tone.

Gorec tried very hard to write so little. He strained to see the parchment through the tears. He tried to ignore the pain in his mouth. When he finished writing, he dropped the quill and tried to hold his sore mouth to try and ease the pain, but the restraints wouldn’t let him get close enough. The wanderer grabbed the paper and read.

"Because we could."

“Because we could? What kind of answer is that?!” proclaimed the wanderer as he grabbed for the cleaver.

In one fast, hard swing, he kept his word. Gorec tried to grab his foot, but his hand was too confined to reach. He looked over at his abductor, only to see him dangling a foot and lowering it into a burlap sack. He looked down at his foot…or at least where it would have been, but all he saw was a glowing red blade just above his ankle. The sound of sizzling meat reached his ears, the smell of burning flesh reached his nose, then the pain kicked in and all he could hear was a painful moaning….It was his own.

“Shall we continue now? I have many more questions I need answered,” he asked, not even phased by the sight or the smell, pulling the cleaver out of the table and placing it back into the fire.

Gorec grabbed the quill again, straining to write. The wanderer read as Gorec wrote.

"Inn far from magistrate, busy during the day, quiet at night, family was weak."

“That all makes sense. You cowards were afraid of the guards. That chooses the area. The inn is busy during the day, that makes it profitable, being quiet at night makes it easier to rob. But what I don’t understand is why the family was deemed weak? Because the loved each other? Why use the kid? Why kill the mother? And why wouldn’t you let me leave?” His voice now stern, somewhat angered.

Again Gorec took up the quill.

"Kid was leverage, make parents cooperate, mother was accident."

“The mother was an accident? How is that possible? She was doing what you wanted. She was doing anything to keep her child safe!” he yelled as he raised the cleaver high above his head.

A sickening "thok" rang through his ears and a horrid smell filled the air. Gorec tried to scream, but all that came out were weezes and moans.

“Now, why wouldn’t you let me leave?” the wanderer asked as he threw the cleaver back into the fireplace.

Gorec started to write again.

"Afraid you would alert the guards."

“Really? But isn’t that why you chose this place? The distance from the guard post? I would have to run all the way over there, explain the situation, and run all the way back here. You would have been gone by the time I got back. Besides, I gave you my word I wouldn’t tell the magistrate.”

The wanderer let fly with the cleaver again.

“You seem to be more than a peasant and more than a bandit. Who are you? Who were your companions? How were they involved?” he asked as he replaced the cleaver in the fire.

Gorec, fighting the tears in his eyes, pain in his legs, and fear of his captor, wrote fiercely.

"Gorec Count of Tolarman, Toren was leader. Murroy was butcher Bandits have son"

“How do you fit in? a Count from a different kingdom, riding with common thieves.”

Gorec wrote as if his life depended on it…and it did.

"Wanted to start war between your kingdom and mine, Ran out of funds. Joined bandits to rebuild war purse."

“What do you have to gain from this war?”

"The throne, war will kill all successors but me."

“Was Toren the leader of the group or the bandit clan?”

"Toren leader of us"

“Who does Toren answer to? What happened to Murroy’s wife and Kid? Are they still alive?”

"Wife is dead, son probably joined her."

“What about Toren’s boss?”

Gorec lay still, his eyes rolling in his head. He was fighting to stay conscious from the pain.

The wanderer slammed the cleaver down into Gorec’s leg once again. Gorec tried to scream. He tried to grab at his leg. He wanted to soothe the pain. He quickly grabbed the quill and wrote again.

"Don’t know, Toren never talked of him."

“So you don’t know who he is. Is there anything you can tell me about the bandit clan that I can use to define them? Say if I wanted to hunt them down, maybe?”

Gorec slowly and calmly wrote a few words.

"Bandit symbol is Green spider. Your name, I know nothing else. KILL ME."

“You don’t want to play anymore? Fine, I will search for the green spider and I will kill you.”

A look of fear and relief crossed Gorec’s face. He was afraid to cross over, but glad his suffering would end.

“I am Gaerus, commander of the Romex army. I have killed many. You will not be alone in hell, and one day we will meet there and I will atone for what I have done,” Gaerus drew his shortsword.

Gaerus rose his sword high into the air and then swiftly delivered the killing blow.

*******

At the magistrate, one of the guards heard a knock at the door…maybe more like a thud. One of the guards rushed to the door and opened it. His sword was drawn and ready for battle. He saw no one around. Then he noticed the bag on the door step. It was a large burlap sack. It looked kind of lumpy and wet, but not wet like water. The bag had a reddish tinge to it. The guard cautiously approached the bag and gently prodded it with his sword.

“Lord Dran, you better come here and see this!” Shouted the nervous guard.

Lord Dran approached. He was a man of large stature. He was tall and muscular. Truly a knight hand-picked by the king himself to guard his fair village. His face seemed cold and emotionless. His eyes were full of noble means. His voice was commanding.

“What is it now, Cylis? Is there a problem too big for you to handle?”

“Sir, the problem is this bag. It looks bulky and bloody. I think someone is threatening us, sir.”

“Cylis you are seriously bothering me tonight. Just be quiet and let me have a look.”

Lord Dran opened the bag. Inside where the remains of Gorec. He was chopped into many pieces, probably to make him fit in the bag. On top of his body were the pieces of parchment. Dran proceeded to read the paper.

“What is it Sir? What does it say?” Asked Cylis in a nervous tone.

“It looks like a one-sided conversation. I believe these are the remains of Count Gorec of Tolarman.”

“A Count? From another Kingdom? What are they trying to do? Start a war?”

“Gorec was the one trying to start the war. Frankly, I think he got what he deserved.”

“But who did this? How did this happen?”

“It says here that, in an inn, he and two other bandits tried to rob an inn. Someone got killed. I think we better get moving. It doesn’t say which inn.”

“Did the innkeeper do this?”

“It doesn’t say who did this. We have to find the other side of this conversation to find that out.”

literature
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About the Creator

Trevor J

Paintball, archery, shooting sports, camping and fishing

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