The Hound's Prey (Revolution's Blade Book 1)

Chapter 2 - Name?

My mind is certain of this, for it knows much about what is below me.

The layout of the fortress is known, down to the location of its strongest and weakest points. The purpose of each slave is understood, or at least the purpose of the larger task that their small part helps towards. The command structure, how Captains and Commanders, they themselves obedient slaves, boss about the underlings, making sure the will of the Devil is carried out; all that my mind understands. My gaze takes in the wide avenues outside the fortress, built across the plains, where many thousands of slaves pass each other in columns, some marching back towards the fortress, others off to distant lands, and my mind knows where they are all going and to what end.

With a grim heart a realisation hits me why these things are known. There is a link between this Devil and me; some force connects us together, allowing me to share knowledge contained in that demonic brain. Panic, horror, revulsion - my mind recoils, desperate not to even see the person who scares me so much, let alone be connected to them; but the connection is there and it will not be broken.

My eyes search for something to give me a glimmer of hope, some escape from the horror, but all there is to see is more misery.

As my gaze passes over each broken, doomed and miserable slave, my heart breaks. The total absence of hope is an unbearable torture, yet those poor retches have no choice, no hope, none. Each is bound to the will of the Devil and by a power so great that there is no chance of escape. The slaves cannot even lie down and die, such is the control held over them.

My voice tries to scream, to shout as loud as possible, but there is no sound. My ghostly body tries to thrash about, struggling to move, to break away from whatever force binds me, but it is in vain, nothing happens. There is no control, even over myself. My spirit form continues to float in the sky while my mind unravels, the result of the evil it beholds.

Then, another realisation; even making no sound, my scream has been met with an answer.

There is laughter, horrible laughter, rising from the throne. My mind shudders, my gaze tries to look further away, off into the distance so none of the fortress and the nightmares it contains will be in my sight any longer. My will struggles to move my eyes, struggles and fails. That control has been seized, stolen from me, and instead my gaze is forced down, down towards the tower.

The Devil is looking up from the throne and an awful gaze locks onto mine. It pierces me to the core, filling me with dread, and as it does, the laughter grows louder. My voice tries to scream again, and this time the sound is allowed to come. My voice screams for an eternity, and in the real world, it screams for the first time - and that scream jolts me into consciousness.

Awaking, startled and breathless, the terror of the dream still fresh in my mind. My eyes open but all they see is darkness; my hands touch wet snow and beneath it grass. In a panic, my arms push down, forcing my head up. For the first time, my gaze takes in the surroundings.

It is night. My body is lying on a slope, my feet higher than my head. Around me the ground is covered in thick snow. Confused, my eyes stare out at the landscape, searching for anything familiar. The slope is a hill that rolls gently downward to meet an open plain that continues off into the distance, and everything is covered in more snow.

The stars and moon shine brightly as, even though it is night, the view is clear for many miles. Everywhere snow reflects the silvery light from the sky, but there are no significant landmarks to make out, no towns or houses, no rivers or signs of any roads.

The nightmare has left me panting and sweating, disorientated and frightened; my throat is dry and my body aches. For a minute, I lie there staring out into the night, trying to fight down my panic and shock. However, before my mind can regain control, a sudden and intense pain forces me to grasp at my head. It feels like a hundred tiny men with hammers are banging away against my brain.