Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 66

Emric only smiled.

"Now, to business. How many of them are there?"

Emric leaned over the parapet too. "Five thousand strong."

"Splendid." A slow smile crept across King Krugmann's face. "Byton would fall in less than half a day."

"The four hundred you see here are special elites I have gathered for your personal guard when we ride out for Byton. The rest I have yet withheld from engaging in clashes around the borders, ever since the one Vasaen got out of hand and ran into some Midaelian soldiers. "

"You believe some barbarian bandit clans can distract the Midaelian forces long enough?" asked the king.

"As a matter of fact, I do not," said the general. "Let the poor Midaelians have their small victories. Ah, perhaps I will send in some of the Vasaen to die by their blessed blades--for great acts require great sacrifices. When they are convinced the day is done and the battle is over, we strike. We unleash the Vasaeni and launch the Firemounts."

The King's eyes glittered. "Carrying ahead the legacy of the great vampire hunters of yore, I see. Burn the blood-suckers to the ground when the sun shines." He let out a hearty laugh. "There, you have once again pleased me--a feat not achieved by many. What is the favor you wished to ask? Fire away, before my good nature sullies under the pressure of a king's responsibilities."

"I have two things to ask of you, Your Majesty." Emric turned to face the king. "You wouldn't be able to resist the first, is my belief."

King Krugmann furrowed his brows.

"All the prisoners in your dungeon, those who have been sentenced to death--send them to Calbridge Castle instead of the gallows," he said. "I have rounded up a cadre of mages who have mastered Avalyn's magic, and they will take up her work while she's gone."

The king gave a good-natured laugh. "I sacrificed my finest warriors to have them made immortals, what're a few grimy prisoners? They're all yours--skewer them alive if that helps. Although..." he trailed off, studying Emric's face. "What of the two prisoners you brought from Calbridge? My guards informed me you also ordered for a young girl and her mother to be thrown into the dungeon. Wonder what that's all about?"

"You'll find out soon, Your Majesty. And this brings me to my other request." Emric pushed himself off the bulwark and brushed dust off his hands. "I wish to borrow the best torture tools your dungeon has. Those that make one talk."

King Krugmann appeared puzzled. "Borrow? Why would you bother with this dirty business? Tell me who needs their teeth pulled, and I'll have the dungeon guards take care of the rest."

"No need. I ask for the tools only."

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The bewildered king accompanied Emric down to the depths of the dungeons.

The head torturer was a masked individual, clad in black robes with pale, veiny hands jutting out of trailing sleeves, dried blood crusted under long fingernails. On the king's command, the torturer brought the two to a long table laden with instruments, the likes of some of which even the general had not seen in the prison of Calbridge Castle. Serrated blades and spiked mallets, thumbscrews and branding irons lay in neat rows, some still speckled with blood. Hooks on thick chains dangled from the rafters.

"Take your pick.”

And Emric did, trying his best to hide how badly his hands trembled.

He commanded the dungeon guards to haul the tools up on a small cart mounted on wheels, the sort healers used to arrange their surgical instruments and medicine vials--only much more sinister.