Kastali Dun
Eagle heard a scream. It was drawn-out and piercing, cutting through him like shards of glass. The sound of it left his skin crawling. It was the kind of scream that put one's hairs on end and got a person's heart pounding. Eagle knew who the scream belonged to, and though he cared little for the man, he cared more for what would come next.
He was surrounded by torture devices. They lined the walls, set up along the perimeter of the room. He could not see them now, not in the pitch blackness, but he'd spotted them when the king's men brought him in. That wasn't the half of it—the stench inherent to this place was enough to drive anyone mad with fear. He knew one thing with certainty: many men had been tortured here. Now he had to listen to Tark's ear-splitting screams before he'd be given the chance to create his own.
Once more, out of desperation, he tried pulling at the ropes around his hands. There was little hope of untying them, but what else could he do? Tightening his abdomen, he kicked his legs up, until he was folded in half, and wrapped his ankles around the ropes just above his hands. His face was in the right direction, looking at the ropes, but he could see nothing in this blackness. It was useless.
He cursed and let his legs fall back to the ground.
When they'd brought him here, the knife hidden in his trousers had been removed. They took everything from him that could possibly be used as a means of escape. Perhaps this was the end. Yet, he refused to believe it.
Scream after scream, he listened to Tark's pain. Whatever they were doing to the man—and he did not want to consider what it might be—was agonizing. It could be heard in the raw quality of Tark's cries.
There was no telling how long the screams lasted. Minutes? Hours? Time seemed to lose its value. All Eagle knew was that when silence fell, Tark was either dead, or unconscious. Either way—he would be next.
Fear in its entirety was upon him then, gripping his insides tightly. He became overly aware of himself. Tiny beads of sweat rolled down the sides of his face, his fisted hands were clenched so tightly, he could feel the drawn blood trickling down his wrists to his arms, and his breath wheezed in his lungs, which felt so tight and constricted, he had to fight for each draw. By the time the door burst open, there were little stars swimming in his vision.
Three Drengr men entered. He had trouble discerning their identities as his vision swam in and out of focus. They set about their business. One was lighting wall sconces, another was out of view fussing with instruments, and the third stood before him, motionless.
His skin crawled. The feral eyes of Dragonwall's king appraised him. "You put up quite a fight earlier, young Eagle."
"Young?" Eagle snorted. "I am hardly these days."
"In comparison to the number of years I have walked these lands, you are."
Eagle bowed his head in agreement. There was no telling if his cooperation would reduce his sentence, but if there was any hope of doing so, he was more than willing to try. To hell with his contractor at this point; no amount of gold was worth death.
"Based on your expression, I imagine you know what follows your friend Tark."
"He is hardly my friend." Tark was nothing more than a hired hand—a reckless hired hand. His mistake for working in an unfamiliar city. King Talon said nothing, so he was forced to ask, "Is he dead?"
"No...not dead, though he very nearly was when we finished with him. Koldis has healed him. Tomorrow he will face much worse. I promised him a worthwhile death. When we finish with his torture, I will rip him to shreds, or perhaps I will eat him alive. I have not yet decided."
Eagle shuddered. "You dragons eat humans?"
"We eat scum, if the need arises." This came from the Drengr in the corner. King Talon glanced in that direction before returning his gaze to Eagle. "The rack is ready, Your Grace," said the same voice. King Talon nodded and then stepped back into the shadows. There wasn't time to wince as the other two Drengr were upon Eagle, untying his bonds and dragging him to the back corner of the room. All the while, the king watched with great intent.
"Wait," Eagle shrieked, looking over his shoulder as his feet dragged. The Drengr holding him paused. "Aren't—aren't you going to question me? Give me a chance to be truthful! I will tell you anything you wish to know."
The king motioned with a flick of his hand for his men to continue. Then Eagle was placed in front of the means for his torture. He knew what a rack was—what it was capable of. The sheer size of the rollers and ratchet mechanism struck terror into his heart. He'd be pulled apart entirely. His body began to tremble. Next, his bladder lost its control.
He was hoisted effortlessly up onto the rack. "No...no...no...no," he began to mutter, shaking his head. The Drengr did not hear him—or more likely, they did not care. They set about their task of positioning him.
"Please," he called to the king now, begging. A real man never begged—he couldn't recall ever doing so, but this time he did so in earnest. What other hope did he have? "Please, Your Grace. Please. I'll tell you anything you wish to know! I swear it!"
They were tying his wrists above his head. The king's face appeared in his limited field of vision. He petitioned King Talon once more. He held nothing back, pleading like a child, promising that whatever the king sought, whatever information he wanted...
"I know, Eagle. I know." King Talon put his lips close to his ear, his voice barely above a whisper. "You will tell me now, or you will tell me later; it makes no difference when. If you think spilling your secrets will result in any kind of happy ending, you are poorly mistaken." The king paused for the length of a breath. "Ah, and one more thing: Perhaps you are thinking at this moment that you might try to use your information as leverage. Trust me when I say, you'll be screaming for reprieve, for any chance to divulge what you harbor. In fact, I suspect it will come clawing its way to the surface long before I ever ask for it." With that, King Talon moved away.
He was shocked by the king's words, but too distressed to fully process their meaning. For a moment all was still—all was silent. Every inch of him was shaking. His breathing came as shallow gulps while his lungs constricted in dread. And then he heard the fateful words. They came like the thud of an axe on a chopping block. "You may begin."
His head was restricted, so he saw very little. His eyes strained as they studied the ratchet mechanism. It began to click with each rotation. He heard each click distinctly in the silence; the progression brought him closer to imminent pain. One, two, three, four, five...he tried to count.
The discomfort started as a dull ache. The ropes around his ankles and wrists were so tight, they hurt more than the rest of him. Slowly, gradually, he could feel the pressure on his body, stretching, pulling. And all too soon he was clenching his jaw in pain, willing himself not to scream—it wasn't bad enough—not yet.
Still the ratchet turned. Each click brought upon him more distress. When his body felt as though it could extend no further, the true agony surfaced. His legs felt the worst of it, especially his knees, as the excruciating pain took hold there, latching on, and then spreading throughout his body.
At last he screamed, hardly aware of how his mouth contorted as it opened to expel the horror of his torture. His fists were clenched as tightly as they would go, and through his screams he fought with every fiber of his being to hold himself together, as if tightening his muscles would keep his body from being torn in two.
For all the light in the room, a blackness engulfed him. He saw nothing of his surroundings. Every sense was overcome by what he was feeling.
Something within his body snapped. He felt, rather than heard, the pop, as severe agony radiated out from the point in his knee. His eyes were wide, so wide, that they hurt.
He felt another pop, followed by a pain so extreme in his shoulder, that his world fell away. He was hardly aware of the other snaps that ensued in his wrists and shoulders. Then the ratchet clicking stopped. For a moment he was frozen in time.
Then the pressure lessened. He was too wrapped up in his agony to hear the ratchet clicks as it reversed and eased the tension. All he knew was that the pain had decreased. There were still pools of it, radiating out from his knees, shoulders, and wrists—the places where his body was the weakest.
Someone came up to stand over him. Warmth began spreading through him; he had never felt something so joyful. The pain dissipated. Even more sluggishly, his senses returned. His mind was still frantic, but he could think a little more clearly.
"Not bad for a warm-up," he heard someone comment a few minutes later, when the ratchet stopped.
"Shall we begin again?"
The question stilled his heart. Before he had time to consider the mercilessness of the situation, the ratchet was turning once more. This time he cried out in fear, in apprehension, in hopelessness, in desperation, "Please! I beg of you!" He found the words tumbling from his lips the moment the uncomfortable tension in his body began to build. "I had no idea the mess I was getting into. I never planned to harm the woman! I was only meant to bring her to my contractor...Please! Please..."
Click, click, click...
The familiar agony of being pulled in two directions was mounting.
"My contractor offered me unimaginable riches. More gold than I have ever seen! You must understand..."
His muscles burned as the ratchet turned, stretching him further, until there was no more for his body to give.
"PLEASE!" he screamed.
"Stop." The command was spoken quietly. He only heard it because it meant the pain would cease, at least for the moment.
The king loomed into view. His face swam in and out of focus. Eagle's own eyes were full of watery tears, tears of misery.
"Your contractor—tell me about him."
"He...he..." Eagle could hardly think for all the pain he was in. His vision was cycling from light to dark, intermittently.
"Koldis, reverse the ratchet a few clicks; I am interested to hear his answer."
The pain reduced a great deal. His muscles were so tense, so tight from holding his body together, that they were bulging.
"Must I wait?"
"S-sorry. My-my contractor never...he never gave his name. But...he was...There was something abnormal about him. He couldn't have been fully human."
"What makes you say that?"
"His eyes—his eyes. Oh dear gods above...I can't...his eyes were red. I caught—I caught a brief glimpse of them."
Eagle wanted to say more—to stall—anything to prolong the impending agony of his torture. His mouth opened to speak, and his mind attempted to form a coherent statement, but the world around him slowly faded from view, and then went black, welcoming him into oblivion.
⭐🌟 DON'T FORGET TO VOTE!!🌟⭐