Chapter 12
Every
luxury had been heaped upon them. There
was nothing that, if they desired it, they had not been given. Rwiordes held his glass out as the terrified
peasant woman refilled his measure of wine.
She trembled so badly as she poured that she almost spilled the vintage over Rwiordes.
“The wine
is most excellent is it not, Rwiordes?”
The Demon asked in a most congenial fashion.
“Indeed it
is, uh, Master.”
Hertrid,
not wanting to be left out, chimed in his approval as well, “Quite a delightful
vintage, to be sure, My Lord.”
“I am so
happy you both approve. It brings me
pleasure knowing that my dear friends are enjoying themselves,” the Demon said.
They nodded
vigorously in agreement.
Rwiordes
did not know why the Demon was being so nice to them. Was it gratitude for releasing him into the
world. Was it because there was some
trace of Perilisk’s mind left? Even that
didn’t make much sense, as even Perilisk had rarely ever shown such concern for
his friends’ welfare, not to mention comfort.
In any case, there were a lot worse situations he could find himself
in. The Demon had been nothing but
cordial and friendly to them. Rwiordes
shrewdly decided to stay on the Demon’s good side.
“Is there
anything that we can do for you, Master?”
Rwiordes inquired.
Hertrid
looked rather shocked by Rwiordes question, but the Demon seemed pleased.
“No, dear
Rwiordes, for the time I require nothing of either of you. Your comfort and happiness are among my prime
concerns. However, when the time comes
that I need your assistance, I shall let you know.”
There was a
trace of dark menace in those words.
Rwiordes was not stupid; he was certain that when the time came for them
to help the Demon, they weren’t going to like it much. Still, what choice did he have? In a way, they were prisoners; the Demon did
not even like to let them out of his sight for long.
Tyuriuk
entered the tent where they reclined on soft pillows, sipping the fine wine.
“Master,”
he said. “We have captured the rest of
these nomads. They are gathered outside.”
“Well done,
my Captain,” The Demon responded. He
turned to them, “Shall we inspect the new recruits, gentlemen?”
“Of course,
Master,” they answered in unison. That
was getting annoying, Rwiordes thought, but it seemed to delight the Demon to
no end.
They exited
the tent and strode across the main concourse towards where Tyuriuk’s men had
herded the nomadic shepherds who had decided to battle rather than submit. For their trouble, many were slaughtered, and
their women and children enslaved. They
had fought bravely, but they were no match for Tyuriuk’s army of rogues. The Demon hardly participated in the
conflict, so sure was he in Tyuriuk’s abilities.
The nomads
were gathered, huddled together quite tightly.
They hardly had room to move. It
looked uncomfortable to Rwiordes, who had just realized that he may have
partaken of a little too much wine. The Demon regarded the defeated shepherds
for a few moments, before speaking.
“You have
fought bravely, if somewhat foolishly,” he said. “I therefore, have something of a generous
offer for you. Those who wish it may
join my army. I will be lord of this World
soon. Those who assist me early on will
find themselves richly rewarded. Those
who resist me will learn that such a course is the ultimate folly; they shall
be dealt with accordingly. I, therefore,
offer you this one chance to join me.”
He waited
and watched as they mumbled amongst themselves.
The Demon patiently stood there with his arms crossed over his chest.
Rwiordes
hoped, for their own sakes, that they made the only intelligent choice. It was the same choice he had made. To live and serve the Demon must surely be
better than dying.
At length
about fifty men, about two thirds of those left, had agreed, albeit
reluctantly, to serve the Demons’s army.
Those that did not were left to the suffocating huddle. The Demon ordered his troops to force the
fools into even a tighter mass.
The Demon
spoke first to those who had joined him. “You will find yourselves well treated
in my service. Your families will be
freed, though your animal herds will be donated to our food supply, as we will
be marching across the desert towards Coertol City. Until we enter a combat situation, your
principal duties will be to care for and herd them. But, as you will see, you will not be sorry
for your decision here this evening.”
He turned
toward the huddled mass of prisoners, “You, however, have made what might be
called a miscalculation.”
An
apparently brave man, squeezed within in the human pile, shouted, “Aye, but you
can only kill us. We will never serve
you!”
The Demon
smiled and looked straight into the fellow’s eyes, “, you’re wrong on both
counts, my foolish friend. I am not
going to kill you, and you will end up serving me.”
He called
Rwiordes and Hertrid over to him, “My friends, I can now use that assistance
that you had previously offered to me.”
“What can
we do, My Lord?” Hertrid asked.
“Whatever
assistance we can give is yours, Master,” Rwiordes said.
“Good. I merely ask that you give me your hands.”
It seemed a
strange request to Rwiordes, but certainly a relatively harmless one, he came
up next to him and offered his hand.
Hertrid did the same, in a more fawning manner.
Rwiordes
suddenly felt . A sickening feeling came
over him. Energies moved in a circuit through his
body. Images flashed across his mind. A sound came to his ears, and the group of
prisoners started to scream. Then
everyone else assembled there cried out in horror. Rwiordes looked first at Perilisk’s smiling
face, and then over to where the prisoners were. A bizarre cloud of grey luminescence hung
over them. It was difficult at first to
see what was happening. They were
writhing in agony and screaming at the top of their lungs. Rwiordes’ ears hurt from their anguished cries.
Finally he
could see what was happening to them. It
was unspeakably disgusting. They were
being fused together in a mass of heads, leg and arms. A mass of humanity seared together. He turned away; he even attempted to pull his
hand away from the Demon but the fiend’s grip grew stronger as he
struggled. Their cries were
unbearable. Rwiordes closed his eyes and
wished with his heart that he were dead.
He had never witnessed such monstrous events. Even with his eyes closed, his brain was receiving
images of the abomination. The screams subsided into a low moaning, as
the process was completed. Rwiordes felt
the Demon release his hand. He quickly
turned away and vomited violently on to the ground.
All were silent except for the groans of the
thing that had once been twenty men, but now was a mass of such horror that it
could scarcely been looked at.
Rwiordes
felt a slap on his shoulder and heard, “Well done, my friends.”
He looked
up to see the Demon congratulating him and Hertrid.
The fiend
called over to Tyuriuk, “Have it put in an empty tent and feed it scraps and
dung.”
Even
Tyuriuk was shaking in fear, “Yes-s-s-s, Master.”
“It shall
be an effective surprise weapon for use in our conquest, don’t you think?” The Demon asked his captain.
“As you
say, Lord.”
Tyuriuk
ordered some of his men to follow their leader’s instructions.
The Demon then shouted, “Such a fate awaits those
who do not follow me. Or perhaps, next
time, I’ll think of something worse!”
He then
began to laugh with such diabolical enthusiasm that everyone in the nomad’s
village, even the meanest rogue, grew afraid for their souls.
Abruptly he
ceased his fit of laughter and gently tugged Rwiordes’ and Hertrid’s arms, “Come,
my friends, we shall resume our comforts.
I believe that there is more of that delicious wine waiting for us in
our tent.”
Rwiordes
wanted to cry. He was shaking violently.
“Yes,
Master,” he said.
Copyright 2002, 2015
e.
No comments:
Post a Comment