Avarice Desperation Valley

Deliverance

Carlos woke surprisingly early it was not his usual habit to do so. Purpose on his mind this day, long before most others in the camp had stirred, with a sense of renewed energy. He was usually one to sleep very late, lethargy was an easy mindset to succumb to as a slave. However this morning was decisively different. No longer owned but a free man in his own right, it was a good feeling and bolstered his sense of worth and future, yet it felt alien to him also. The concept of freedom so long denied was difficult to get into his head. At long last he had a destiny of his own, free from the wills and limitations of others.

With this new horizon in mind he set about the task of organizing Bennett’s abandoned abode to his liking. Orange, powdery bull dust had invaded everything, nothing was sacred. A few short weeks was all nature had needed to reclaim anything in this place. He shook out the bed clothes draping them on some scrawny bushes nearby to air. They were dusty and dirty but there would be no hope of washing them, water was too precious to be wasted on such vanities, the fresh wind would have to suffice. The same treatment for the mattress too, leaving it to air for the day.

Carlos discovered many valuable and interesting treasures as he cleaned out the ramshackle cabin. His eyes bulged when he discovered a collection of knives in varying sizes, the surgical stainless steel blades smooth and cool to the touch, all neatly wrapped in some cloth and tied with a strip of rawhide. They were well made, razor sharp, and had seen little use. He was surprised no one had taken these prizes sooner as they were deemed valuable currency indeed. However the specter of Bennett their uncompromising former leader still struck dread and respect into all. It would take some time before the fear the man generated subsided from the minds of the inhabitants in this camp. After all he was the founder of this place, and Bennett's rule and leadership permeated everything here from task to ritual, dawn to dusk.

In this clean up he also located a few useful items of clothing jammed down in an old metal filing cabinet. Most of Bennett’s clothes naturally were way too large for him, these he set aside. Others would be grateful for their use. He cursed his bad luck as he found a pair of good boots which were much too large for him also, he desperately needed a new pair as his were very battered and fast getting toward the end of their life.

Stowed here and there were many items from before the war as well. Tokens that had little use now except as historical reminders of what civilization used to be before the chaos of conflict ensued. Old watches, a camera, credit cards, computer disks and a plethora of scratched CD's, even a battery operated radio. The batteries in it all gone bad, its insides destroyed by the corrosion of the leaking battery acid. The young man reminisced briefly on the joy of music as he played with the now mute receiver. It had been years now since he had heard music. The world had become a quiet, tuneless, place and he was not sure the human race was richer for its absence. Remembering his mother had a passion for music and her apartment was constantly filled with the sounds of her expensive stereo that he was forbidden to touch. It had taken Carlos a long time to grow accustomed to music’s absence in his life if he even had. He hated the silence the new world seemed so filled with.

There were reminders of Bennett's pre-war world also, most of it lost on the young man as he rifled through the belongings of his much hated adversary. Photos and personal effects he found were all hidden from sight in the underneath of a velvet lined pistol box. Carlos had no such physical memories left of his own, and was more interested in the handguns whereabouts. Though he was fairly certain Bennett had taken the much prized weapon with him into battle, he would have liked to possess it dearly. The ammunition for it was gone as well, so he cast the box aside into the cardboard carton of other useless paraphernalia beneath the old table.

The sun was bright and warm as he sat in the doorway surveying his little corner of the world. He was pleased with his mornings work but he did not feel so enthusiastic to see Raissa approaching his newly found kingdom. He had wondered how long it would take her to grace his doorstep now his freedom was common knowledge in the camp. He hoped this would not be a long visit, or become a regular occurrence. He could not help groaning inwardly as she approached, the young man realizing it had been folly to have ever taken her to his bed in the first place.

“Hi,” she said tentatively as she came up the path her golden hair back lit by the sun, her uncertain eyes anywhere but seeking his. “It is a beautiful day, if not for the wind.” Meandered her somewhat hesitant small talk. Carlos just nodded, in no mood to respond, or to be welcoming, his black lashed eyes part closed enjoying his new found liberty and the warm sun, whilst sheltering in the lee of the cabin out of the worst of the frigid wind’s bite. “Do you mind if I join you?” Raissa pressed, not giving him time to answer or invite her, as she settled herself down awkwardly close by. He did not feel like talking this day, least of all to Raissa, and he hoped her visit would be brief and painless. He definitely had no desire to relive her disappointments, it was over between them. She would just have to accept that and move on, as he had.

Carlos sat there twisting the dragon ring on his finger in awkward silence, wishing Raissa gone. Though her closeness still stirred passions in him that he wished he could repress better, and her scent was as intoxicating to him as always reminding him of the forbidden pleasures they had shared at every opportunity in the caves high above. He shifted uncomfortably and sighed trying to put the desires out of his mind and forced forth other thoughts.

She could have at least been useful and bought some food and drink he pondered somewhat aggrieved. With that a heartless idea began to surface in his mind, he decided in an instant he would run with it. The girl was a mere slave after all wasn't she? He reasoned. Perhaps if he treated her like one she would learn to act accordingly and it would be easier to ignore her and put her in her place in the future? It was cruel and possibly heartless, but it was worth a shot. If he was going to stay here in this camp and become a warrior with the respect the other men had this problem must be dealt with swiftly for his own sense of personal comfort. Deciding in a heartbeat he would treat her just as all the other warriors did, like the slave she was.

The former slave wasn’t used to giving orders to anyone, but the words came from his lips nonetheless, emotionless and hard. Attempting to sound like the other warriors in the camp with his order. “You come here empty handed? Make yourself useful. Bring me some food and drink, now.” Carlos did not look at her, but Raissa stared at him eyes wide, mouth twisting, ready with a retort. It never came forth, she was clearly taken aback. “Now, or I will make you sorry!” Carlos warned in a growl, his body tense reaching for a nearby stick to strike her. The young man was overcompensating profusely, not wishing to give Raissa a chance at any further words.

Raissa leapt up open mouthed, but she dared not defy him openly, clumsy and slow with her expanding belly, and seething with disappointment in the one she had figured would be better than the others. This obdurate man who sat before her was a warrior now, and he could punish her for any offense real or imagined. She would have no recourse. His coldness amazed her. If this is the way he wants to play it, then let him she thought. He will get no more sympathy or favors from me. In spite of her accusation there were tears apparent as she turned to do as she was bid. However she did not let him see them, or how his attitude had stung her. In truth she had expected better from Carlos after all they had shared, but as in all her dealings with men she had again been proven wrong. Perhaps that was just the nature of them all she ruminated. Deciding she would concentrate on her unborn child, no more heartbreak for her at the hands of careless men.

Carlos meanwhile sat unmoving and was inwardly very satisfied with his treatment of Raissa. He was happy in himself being finally presented with a way to deal with this woman who would not let his youthful oversight die. It had been mere lust after all, at least on his behalf. He had been wrong to play with the girl’s heart like that he knew, but if he felt any remorse he swiftly wiped the emotion away. As for his own view of their relationship he was simply satisfying a normal need for pleasure, and hopefully she would derive some benefit from it also. Recalling vividly their many afternoon trysts in the caves that dotted the cliffs, rising far above, Raissa had seemed to enjoy the physical aspect of their relationship as much as he did. The inexperienced man had never meant for it to go any further than that. Carlos had never felt love at any point for Raissa, and he was glad to be free of her emotional entanglement, and its restrictions. Let someone else deal with her he brooded, there were plenty others who would take her on.

*****

Nathan had silently fretted for three days, the stress of each failed attempt to escape each ensuing evening had left him most distraught. The boy tried hard to mask his frayed nerves, but he felt fragile and broken. Without fail Robbie had commandeered him for some other duty each evening, it was as if he knew Nathan’s mind. Though in reality he had no idea of the plan his boy, who was very not his boy, was brewing. It was simple lust that drove the man’s decision, and the fact dinner preparations had run early. Instead the fat cook would send one of the others to the cells with the food foiling Nathan's carefully contrived plans. Nathan agonized his master would be suffering surely, and with each day that passed escape would be made more difficult if his master was too incapacitated to help the others. Knowing he was such a slight, weak boy and stood little chance of being any real help other than with the initial escape. Success relied heavily on Bennett's huge strength, stamina, and quick mind in a battle situation. Without that all would be lost.

Nathan felt bleak and hopeless as he worked, trapped by the endless kitchen drudgery, under the ever watchful eyes of his tormentor and the others. He was growing more desperate by the hour and had decided he was seriously running out of time and must move tonight no matter what action he may be forced to take to enact his plans. He shuddered at the thought of how far he may have to go if things went awry. Again his emerald green eyes searched out the sharp carving knife laying innocently on the wooden carving platter, and he hoped he had the fortitude to use it when the time came and not to pause in uncertainty. For that action would mean sure death for them all.

*****

The days went by in the valley somewhat peaceably, the quiet becoming tense and difficult to live with, all were affected by it. The weather each day was a carbon copy of the day proceeding it. Azure skies framed the upright sticks of dead corn that rustled in the arid orange soil, and the last tired leaves left the grape vines in preparation for winter’s hibernation. The garden preparation usually a very important task was left in favor of the watch. Everyone was drafted to do their time, even the women and Aran himself. The nervous sentries reported nothing moving anywhere on the horizon but the occasional eddy of a passing dust storm, or some scant herd of wild half starved farm animals.

On one such afternoon three emaciated cattle were sighted wandering aimlessly in search of some green and water. This used to be a commonplace event but had become rarer in the past couple of years. They moved closer and closer to the valley scenting water but not seeing any as herd animals often do. The men took advantage of the animal’s plight almost immediately, it was too good an opportunity to miss, especially since raiding was out of the question with such reduced numbers. Todd and Will managed to shoot all three desperate animals, thirst and weakness had made them an easy kill, and the slaves were ordered to bring all the newly butchered meat back to camp. It was hard thankless work and the clouds of flies descending on the bloody carcasses plagued everyone almost to madness.

That evening all were content to enjoy this much welcome change in their usual diet of goat, rabbit, and the occasional unfortunate bird. The beef was stringy and tough, but no one noticed or cared, it all tasted deliciously good and was devoured swiftly. Not a scrap was wasted, sinews, bone, hide and horn, it was all useful for something. Supplies had never been so lean.

All the men had gorged on the best cuts, it had been rare recently they could feast like this. The mood was relaxed. Orange and yellow fire danced on the blackened stone hearth in the cave’s center. The men reclined around it, mending or making weapons, conversing or playing dice. Aran was as usual thoughtfully quiet sitting apart from the others, he sensed the men did not respect him as they had their former leader. Perhaps it was his youth and untried inexperience, or was it he had hesitated to deal with the issue of Renard, and his men were confused at this seeming lack of swift justice on their leaders behalf? Bennett would not have dallied on such a matter.

Aran had imprisoned the traitor instead in the cattle trailer pending his decision which he still wrestled with and had got no further toward resolving. His warriors who were not privy to Aran’s true motive for the hesitation to mete out justice as befitted a leader, they thought him weak, and often said so quietly amongst themselves. At times Aran overheard their whispers of malcontent, words that stung him, but unlike his predecessor who would have immediately quashed his warriors doubt with violence, Aran just sat insecure and undecided while the whispers went on unabated.

Night and day he struggled with the puzzle of what to do next, fearing a reprisal attack soon from the steel fortress, or even a raid from another haphazard force like their own. The green leader knew if attacked they would be ill prepared. The camp would be left with little alternative but to run and hide, something that stung his pride, but a harsh reality nonetheless. Raiding for supplies was also fraught with difficulty if not impossible, the men were too few to venture forth and stand guard at camp at the same time. Aran felt like he was stranded on a sinking vessel, damned if he left it, and damned if he stayed. Due to this the morale of his handful of warriors sunk lower by the day, along with their respect for him, and their supplies.

It was his task as leader to present them with meaning and direction. Thus far he had failed to do so even though his rule here had been but a few days old, he could see plainly where things were headed. Leading the camp weighed on him heavily and he had no one to turn to for support. Aran missed his brother’s council sorely. Yet he sensed not one man there would challenge his prowess openly, at least not yet. That may come in time he imagined. The dissension was there Aran could feel it plainly and it worried at him as he walked the camp in the warm afternoons, and as he sat at the hearth in the still evenings. Unity must be achieved, but how?

In his waking and sleeping hours Aran dredged the depths of his brain for a solution which would not surface, his leadership becoming a meaningless sham, the seeds of dissension grew by the day. Soon his inaction would be his undoing, he had to decide an appropriate sentence to pass on Renard. The only suitable sentence for a traitor, death. Renard the scapegoat, the blood of an innocent required for his leadership to survive, it was not right in his eyes, it was not just. Aran was sure though Bennett would have and probably had done the same thing many times in his reign, and thought no more on it. Conscience a hindrance for a leader as Aran was fast finding out, and his mind was heavy with this debate, he needed to lose himself if only for a little while. Clinging to the faint hope that perhaps tomorrow his troubles would look clearer and easier to resolve to him, and a path of action would be apparent.

He raised yet another cup of firewater to his lips and took a long draught, more lighter fuel than a consumable beverage it burned all the way down, but the troubled man did not flinch in the slightest. The alcohol they had left in the stores was so terrible only the hardiest of souls could or would consume it. It seemed appropriate to him the stuff tasted so bad, misery begets misery he mused. Aran swiftly felt his self imposed constraints leave him as the vile brew did its work, eyes of others less accusing now, troubles conveniently pushed aside, he knew he had had quite enough already, but he called for yet another. All eyes were on him as he descended into drunken oblivion, most there wondering if he truly was fit to rule?

*****

On the fourth night Nathan could take no more. He had spent a nerve wracked day furtively preparing for his exodus. Going through his plan, placing the items he would need in readiness, and thinking of possible contingencies should something go wrong. He was unused to such stress and he felt sick with it. As the hour approached he felt like he could not go on but Nathan knew he could tarry no longer, chances were already that his Master would be in bad shape. All he could hope was that his effort had come in time. Dinner was almost prepared it would soon be the hour to act. He did not anticipate any trouble from the two slaves, they would most likely run and hide, but he could not afford to miss his mark with Robbie, that was the part of his plan he was dreading most. He took a deep breath and committed himself to action.

It was his nightly task to prepare the tray for the prison so nothing seemed out of the norm. As usual three very plain meals for the prisoners accompanied by water, and one superior one for the warden on duty. The warden was Nathan’s biggest impediment to his entire plan, the boy was no match for a fully trained soldier seasoned by many battles. So the problem presented to the scheming lad was how to remove this man easily?

He had debated it endlessly. Nathan would have to take him out of the picture by stealth, the reed thin boy stood little hope of confronting him to get the keys or being successful in any kind of outright attack. Captain Harris always took wine with his meal, it was the same every evening. Nathan had observed the pitcher always returned empty, the man obviously enjoyed his wine, a perk of the office he held. Nathan had also carefully noted on the one visit to deliver the meals the Captain took the wine before he ate. He hoped this was a usual habit of the soldier as he mulled over his papers on his desk. Please let it be so he prayed.

Red wine the color garnet, the color of blood, and today the deliverer of death, Nathan mused as he shakily poured the claret beverage into the pitcher shielding his quick and nimble hands from sight as he added the caustic soda powder as slowly as he dared, careful not to let any touch his skin. It was a coup he had found the stuff, quite forgotten beneath the shelves in the store room yesterday. At last a way to deal with the Captain had delivered itself into his hands, he was grateful. This deadly cocktail should take care of the last impediment to his escape plan, though he was unsure just how swiftly it would work and how incapacitating a mouth full of it would truly be? Forgetting any kindness the man had done for him on his capture completely in his headlong desire to free his beloved master, a trait becoming typical of him.

He froze in silent panic momentarily as the powder fizzed and bubbled sure someone would notice his nefarious act, but the clamor of the kitchen drowned out any noise that issued forth. The collective chorus of hissing steam from the huge blackened cast iron pots, and wood being thrown into the stove’s gaping maw by Jimmy masked his intentions completely. Nathan breathed a sigh of relief as the chemical reaction subsided, the first part of his plan had gone off without a hitch.

Nathan had slowly pilfered from the kitchen stores and Robbie's disheveled room all he would need over the past days of nervous waiting, and bundled everything in a huge navy coat tied firmly with strips of cloth. This task had at least helped him pass the wait. The time had seemed to drag relentlessly, even a slave’s sense of patient resignation to a world beyond his control had helped him little. Now that the moment was on him it all seemed to rush by in nothing but a blur.

Nathan recalled his many uncomfortable nights in the desert above vividly, determined he was not going to shiver in the desert this time, the huge wool overcoat of Robbie's would amply suffice to keep him warm on the bitter frosty nights. Nights when his master had other matters than his blond slave boy to occupy himself with. Everything he would need was contained within its ample folds, provisions, clothing, useful odds and ends like flint and a sharpening stone, most importantly knives to arm the men.

Nathan had wanted to take and use the great carving knife in his escape plan, he had envisioned using it many times while day dreaming of his escape, but had wisely decided against it. Nathan had reconsidered he would opt for stealth, the smaller knife narrow and sharp would just as surely dispatch a man if placed with precision. He had witnessed it done by the others many times. A lesser knife would not be missed and much easier to conceal, he brushed his pants pocket again for reassurance as he had many times already that day, there it was pressing comfortingly against his thigh, sharp and at the ready.

The smell of fresh baked bread enticed him, emanating from the ovens, mouth watering. However he would get none of it this day as he had eagerly every day since his arrival. Soon he would be back to the desert and the meager existence it afforded him as Wesley Bennett's property. He would be happy with that, in fact he wanted nothing more. “You there!” Nathan jumped, but it was Jimmy who Robbie had commanded. “Take the food to the prison, and hurry up about it.” The heavy blackened oven door clanged shut as Jimmy made haste to do as he was bid, fearful of yet another beating. I wish he had of asked me Nathan sighed inwardly realizing he would have to do things in his most non preferred manner now and all with great haste before Jimmy made it out the door.

It turned out Robbie unwittingly made Nathan's task a little easier as he sidled up close to the boy, his heaving perspiring bulk threatening to engulf his prey. However this day Nathan was no longer prey but rather the hunter, his fine fingers straying to the hilt of the sequestered blade and clasping it in shaking fingers. I can do this he commanded himself trying to exact some mysterious power from the weapon in his grasp to boost his steadfastness. “My little pet.” Robbie purred in his high pitched falsetto voice, which laid bare his sexual orientation in an instant. “Come with me.” He smiled down at Nathan as his arm encircled the slight boy tightly. Revulsion rose in an instant as it had each time the grotesque sweating lump of a man had touched him making the next act a lot easier to accomplish.

The next few seconds were a blur to Nathan, even later as he tried to recall the events of the initial escape he found he never could with any great clarity. But in those few frenzied minutes Nathan learned for the first time what it was like to have blood on his hands, and what it was to take a life. Feeling surprised that it was less difficult than he had thought it would be.

Fumbling with the blade the hesitant amateur Nathan was; it plunged in far easier than he thought it would in his imaginings, though death itself was a messy affair. Not at all the clear cut thing he had witnessed many times and expected it would be. Robbie stared in open mouthed shock as the knife slipped between his ample ribs speechless. All he could do was gasp in wordless horror and try to thrust Nathan from him like a poisonous snake. Nathan hung on and realizing his first attempt had grievously wounded the ghastly man, but failed to kill, the boy stabbed at him repeatedly fueled by the hatred and abhorrence for this man who had so used and abused him. Robbie went down heavily in a heap of flailing limbs, and the floor was slick with blood. Nathan stabbing him one more time through his throat the flesh soft and white, the blood bubbling from the gaping wound as the man took his last breath and died without so much as a coherent word.

Jimmy was frozen in horror as was the wretched girl, luckily for Nathan neither of them had the presence of mind to run or raise the alarm. Nathan fought to clear his head and gather his wits about him as he herded them both into the store room at knife point, barring its sturdy door. His escape should not be discovered for some time. He estimated he would have about one hours grace before the curious would care to look in on the kitchens wondering when dinner would be served? By that time he planned to be long away.

His clothing choice was fortunate, black, it hid the blood stains well. He washed the telltale blood off in the small basin in Robbie's room smearing the stiff towels with watery crimson, his unruly blond hair wet and tousled hanging in his eyes. The boy had too much adrenaline in him to pause now, gathering up his well tied bundle, thrusting it under his oversize jacket he grabbed the tray and headed into the corridor, every sound, sight and movement sent new waves of fear as he made the journey to the cells. Attempting to walk slowly and project calm it seemed the longest walk he had ever made. In all his caution he had completely overlooked his bloody footprints starkly preserved on the passage floor...


Captain Harris looked up briefly from his work as Nathan appeared through the doorway flanked by two guards on duty outside in the passageway. It had been a long day and he was tired, another couple of hours and he would leave his post, go back to his family where he wanted to be, leaving the horrors and troubles of this place behind at least for a little while.

The Captain had always thought to himself he was fighting for his family, trying to forge order in this brave new world and what he was doing was right and had some very real merit, but daily he had to question that with the comings and goings of the Lord’s black shadow Victor Krosse, the Captain was no ignorant man and knew full well the extent of the dark doings occurring within the prison walls here. He tried to reason these were bad men, they were deserving of such treatment, yet deep down he knew even these men were deserving of better. The guilt of just standing by filled him with bitter gall and a sense of unease. Still this was as close to a ‘safe, ordered society’ as things got, he was fairly comfortable and his family his number one priority lived better than most. However he was not a bad man and at times he felt sick with the things he witnessed here. It was hard for an honest man like him to turn a blind eye.

“I haven't seen you for a while.” The Captain said cheerily to the boy not really looking up from his mound of papers he was signing. If he had perhaps his soldiers sense would have seen the wild gleam in Nathan’s eyes, and the danger that lie there.

Nathan was glad he had no voice at this time sure words at this moment would have given him away completely. The Captain expected no answer from the mute and kept on with his work, Nathan setting down the tray fervently praying the man would drink the wine sooner rather than later and it would have a dire effect on him, all the while eyeing the cell keys laying in full view on the desk. He dare not tarry but he so desired to, he must appear normal in every way. Nathan was reaching for the hilt of the still blood smeared knife stowed in his pocket as Harris unsuspectedly up ended the pitcher and poured the wine. It was to be the Captains last coherent act.

It was only mere seconds until the man took the first big drink, he was so engrossed in his work he had failed to notice anything amiss. The man stood up abruptly pushing his chair over with a loud clang, gasping and clutching his burnt throat as the caustic soda consumed his insides with raging swiftness. Nathan lunged at his stricken quarry, knife in hand viciously ramming it home. Captain Harris went down heavily to the floor trying to clutch frantically at the desk for support, all his soldierly art had not prepared him for the slyness of this captive slave boy. His last moments spent staring into the vibrant green eyes of the boy he had saved, only to be murdered by him in return. Nathan had no time to wallow in such remorse, nor did he care, his existence as a slave had necessitated he had given up feeling guilty about such things a long time ago. He grabbed the keys from the table top and bolted toward his master’s cell.


Victor Krosse had left his day’s work but moments before, narrowly missing Nathan in the meandering corridors. His pristine black boots resounded on the steel walkway, his black leather floor length trench coat with its gleaming silver buttons fanning out behind him. The yellow light globes in their metal cages overhead, casting small pools of brightness in the hard steel world illuminating him one moment and plunging him into shadow the next as he passed beneath. There were a number of routes to the prison in this twisting labyrinth, it was easy for a new comer to get lost here as one place looked the same as the next. Another day of no results the saturnine man thought glumly, and another evening to face Lothar’s displeasure, though he had expected half as much. Bennett was a hard man and had borne the four days of torture well. It appeared to the experienced torturer he would hold his secrets for many days yet.


Bennett stooped down low over Sven's recumbent form as he had lain for the vast majority of the time on the cold cell floor for days with little sign of movement. The blanket covering him was soaked in the man’s own blood and urine. Gareth was close behind ever watchful, he too was otherwise naked save his loins being wrapped in a dark blue blanket which covered very little of the large man, showing off his ample tattoos. Dragons, swords, serpents, geometric designs and other mythical creatures covering most of his upper torso and arms in heavy black ink. Sven did not stir as the two looked him over. Nathan fidgeted nervously on the periphery constantly eyeing the entrance unable to clearly see over the bulk of the two men's backs, and not sure if he wanted to. Selfishly he thought that maybe Sven was dead making it much easier to escape, and if he wasn't maybe they could just leave him there.

Bennett even though he was in a hurry and anxious to be gone from this place had been very curious as to what had been done to his man. He peeled the sodden blanket back carefully revealing all of Sven's nakedness. The man’s body was crisscrossed in abrasions, cuts and bruises, hardly a surprise to either of them. There was little left of the untouched flesh visible to his eye anywhere. Gareth looked over Bennett’s shoulder his face a mask of concern. Both men pondering the difficulty of getting Sven out of here without compromising their own escape. Bennett usually a man of little compassion, hard as the land he survived and prospered in was taken aback when he realized just what terrible thing had been done to his henchman and most trusted friend. Where Sven’s maleness should have been there was nothing visible except neat suturing and a small drain tube. The essence of all he was taken irrefutably in one clean cut, never to be returned. It was so final.

This had gone to a level he had never anticipated, Bennett had always liked to think he was the highest in the food chain, but Krosse had bested even his most outrageous cruelties. Bennett felt inner cold grip him in a way he never had before in his life, shocked at the extent of that which Victor Krosse’s torture entailed. It went to some dishonest place even he would never dare tread. Bennett just stared at the disfigurement his mouth dry for some moments in stunned silence, he could not tear his eyes away. Gareth looked away like he had been slapped, not a word was exchanged. The horror of what had been done to Sven difficult even for these hard men to comprehend.

Bennett replaced the soiled blanket swiftly, neither man had expected or had been ready for this. They owed it to Sven to bring him home, the scapegoat for them all, he who had borne the days of torture so that they had been spared. Both he and Gareth forgot their own aches and pains, and galvanized themselves into action.

Nathan lingering behind the two men was unhappy as he realized they would be taking Sven with them. Why did they not just leave him here to die, it made no sense to jeopardize them all? He had become a very mercenary boy indeed.

Swiftly they stripped Captain Harris of his clothing and weapons, he would have no further need of them in the after life. The garments were predictably too small for Bennett, but they fitted Gareth well. The Captain’s weapons consisted of fully loaded .45, a clip of ammunition as well as a serviceable short sword and dagger. Nathan stood back as the door was opened and the two guards were easily dispatched, no match for these wild, desperate men from the desert above. They never even managed to raise the alarm as their throats were slit, or even glimpse their assailants. Bennett an imposing sight even naked as he was took Sven's great weight, slinging him on to his shoulder. He groaned but did not awaken.

It was Nathan's turn to put into action all he had practiced. He had learned this place well. To others not familiar with the twists and turns in these half lighted corridors they all looked the alike. A labyrinth of no escape, but he knew the way. Bennett hoped he could trust the easily panicked boy in truth at this moment he was left with little choice but to follow. They ran as fast as they could with their burden, a lesser man than Wezley Bennett could not have done the same. It seemed they were going deeper into the workings of the city, the very bowels of hell itself. Water tainted with corrosion dripped at intervals, the puddles slick and dangerous on the steel path. Steam was erupting from pipes and valves overhead, the lights here were dimmer and flickered threatening darkness.

A few times to avoid detection they had to swiftly secret themselves in side rooms from passers-by. Once they collided into an unfortunate civilian as they did this, the surprised resident was dead by Gareth’s hand before he could make an utterance. The patrol passed by unaware of their proximity. The three fugitives senses full of their own desperate rasping breathing, and the pungent smell of their sweat mingling with the metallic stench of fresh blood.

They were about to leave this barely lighted room when they realized much to their fortune this was a store room. The alarm as yet had not been raised and the men took no prompting to rifle through its contents, Bennett finding a good set of leathers and boots. If they were to survive on the outside they knew it made sense to equip themselves adequately. Bennett smiled a gruesome smile, one that never reached his ice eyes, providence was shining on him after all as he grabbed a stack of wool blankets and threw them to his boy to carry.

The alarm was just being sounded as they made the semi dislodged vent pipe cover. This major breach in security had been quite forgotten. Its exit standing in dense brush a small way from the city walls and near the refuse dump. Nathan held his breath for a moment not because of the pervading stench, but due to the steel fortress erupting in a cacophony of sound as alarms went off everywhere within its dark heart. This was the part of his plan Nathan was very unsure of, he had tried on many occasions to budge this cover repeatedly to no avail. Could the others even open it he fretted?

The iron grate was heavy and well made. Gareth tried to dislodge it with all his might but it stood firm, he cast a far from confident look at Bennett. Bennett put his burden down carefully as the restrictive space in the tunnel allowed, and both he and Gareth strained to budge the grate. Nathan watched in silent dread, all this to just be caged here like rats in plain sight of freedom? The sight of the gap was tantalizing he could easily squeeze by it and be free, but none of the others stood any chance of that. Somewhere far off they could hear guards their boots thrumming on the steel walkways deep within the fortress, time was running out to be leisurely in their escape.

Nathan started, suddenly feeling something by his legs, he was incredulous to discover once he had calmed his raw nerves it was nothing more than Tiger. She was milling about his feet in ever tighter circles, she must have been here mousing, and had often followed him to this point in the past as he had attempted to memorize this exact location. The sight of her pulled him up from the events of the present, how could he have ever forgotten her, his little furry devoted friend of the kitchens?

He scooped her up in his bundle of blankets and she sat embedded in them purring contentedly, her slitted eyes shining bright. Nathan hoped she would quietly stay there for it was not the nature of most cats. The steel grate rasped against rusted metal and promptly fell away, Tiger tensed in the bundle but did not leave it. Gareth and Bennett maneuvered Sven through the opening and they were free and under the open sky. To all it was a beauteous vision.

It would soon be dark but they dared not leave the brush until the cover of night fall. The two able bodied men replaced the loose cover so their escape point was not blatantly obvious and moved Sven out of sight, making him as comfortable as possible, covering him with a light blanket. It was a difficult wait, a couple of times patrols of armed men passed perilously close by. Fortunately they had no dogs with them. They all held their breath eyes riveted on Sven hoping he did not make any sound in his sleep as he had been doing on occasion all day. Bennett ready to silence him should he do so. The two escapees may have been able to take the patrol but more would be alerted and soon deployed. They had no choice but to wait it out.

Black carrion eaters circled lazily high in the sky catching the last warm thermals of the day and diving for the repulsive scraps the city saw fit to discard to them. The air was thick with decomposition, and the flies were in such menacing numbers it was hell to sit silent there and remain unnoticed. Somehow they were not located and at last the merciful darkness descended. The swarms of files retreated from the cool evening air bringing relief. It was time to leave their cover and make for some safe place where they could access fresh water and prepare for the long march home.

The group of escapees made it past the search lights and guards who had now resorted to dogs to track them down. Thankfully dogs were a luxury to keep and even the Wolf Lord did not have access to many. The plethora of scents in the dump made it all too easy to cover their tracks, though it was a miserable task having to pick their way through the festering refuse. Finally they made it through to the far side and began a wide bearing northward to a place they knew they might reach in a couple of hours, where they could rest up and get some limited water.

It took longer than they anticipated to reach the rocky overhang where the small but reliable spring dripped inside. Even in the almost dark the limestone sanctuary glowed like a crypt in a moon lit graveyard. They could hear the spring’s steady drip from the front of the limestone overhang. Nathan his thirst achingly acute, quite forgot himself rushing toward the rear of the overhang to the spring cupped in the curved natural bowl of stone. His advance was checked however being caught mid stride by Bennett’s iron fist. The rending of shirt fabric was loud in the silence, Nathan expecting more than just a caution stopped and cowered. Gareth laughed a cynical laugh deep down in his throat, he was tired but could still see the humor in the situation. Bennett looked at the fair boy though it was very dark and he could barely see naught but his whitish hair. “Go on,” urged Gareth. “Let him try it.”

Bennett was slow to release his hold on the boy’s torn garment, but his henchman was right he was a slave and he was worth a lot less than risking a warrior to a poisoned water supply. If Nathan feared being poisoned or even cared for the risk he was taking he did not show it and was drinking thirstily almost the instant he was nudged forward. The others waited a respectable time to see if there would be apparent side effects, then quenched their thirst just as Nathan had on hands and knees like animals themselves.

Thirst sated they attempted to make Sven drink as well, a difficult task, he refused most of the water and choked on the rest. The two men made him as comfortable as was possible being thankful they at least had a decent blanket in lieu of a fire. There would be no watch this night. Nathan bedded down with Tiger purring in his arms on the hard stone, she was soft and warm. It was uncomfortable even after Robbie’s lumpy bed, he could feel his bones against the hard surface and lay awake long after the others had fallen asleep, belly growling, cursing himself he had not thought to bring a scrap of food.

They did not wake until well beyond midday, Bennett was the first to stir his barely blue eyes squinting at the hard bright light of the afternoon. He brushed the lime stone dust from the side of his face feeling a cool easterly on his skin. The sparse grasses stirred softly and rhythmically beyond the cave that dotted the dunes, he smiled to see the wind had already erased any tracks they had made last night on their approach to this place of sanctuary. They would be safe here for the time being. Lothar’s men were noisy and clumsy and not creatures of this blighted place. Not like he was. They would be unable to approach without him being privy to their presence. It did not matter the fugitives had lingered here this day, Bennett had expected to, knowing they dare not make any move until the cover of darkness as they were too vulnerable with Sven in his present condition.

Bennett’s stomach growled loudly it had been a substantial length of time since he had eaten. Even longer since had had eaten well. He looked across at his companions, Gareth was still snoring, his arm sprawled carelessly over a rock, Sven lay supine as he had been positioned the night before in fevered slumber. Nathan was in a tight huddle to the rear of the cave, he could barely see the boy buried in his blanket, just a tuft of white blond hair betrayed his presence there.

He was about to look away when his keen eye noticed something tawny and moving near Nathan’s curled form, to his surprise it was none other than a cat! Bennett, never one to miss an opportunity snatched up the small creature in an instant waking Nathan as he did so. Tiger in her startled surprise fought him savagely, scratching deep rents in his exposed arm and attempted to twist free of his grasp to bite in her fear. Bennett’s hand closed about her vulnerable neck.

Nathan attempted to cry out but it was nothing more than a contorted sound as he threw himself toward Bennett attempting to save Tiger. The commotion woke Gareth from his deep slumber, old habits dying hard as he drew his dagger in one deft move and grabbed Nathan’s hair, twisting a fist full of it cruelly in his tattooed hand. Bennett paused in spite of the fact the half grown cat was tearing at his arm, he smiled at the struggling boy who Gareth had pushed to his knees but was still strongly fighting for all he was worth to save his feline friend. He made sounds like a wounded animal as he tried to form words, his tongueless mouth drooling on the chalky stone as Gareth pressed his face to the cold unyielding floor.

Bennett had never seen Nathan more animated, and the sadist in him was stirred. “Let him watch.” Bennett said coldly. Gareth lifted the boys head up still holding him by the hair, his large knee planted firmly in his back to allow Nathan very limited movement. Bennett then proceeded to calmly twist the little cat’s neck, it was not much of a fight, in just moments she hung limp and lifeless from his bloodied arm. “Breakfast.” Was all he said with a chuckle and he began to skin the small animal.

Nathan’s jade eyes glazed and his usually pale face suffused with anger. A growl rose in him as he twisted loose from Gareth’s grip, rolling under the man’s imprisoning knee, and charging at Bennett in a badly thought out attack full of passionate hatred. The slight boy was no match for his Master, Bennett struck him hard in the face cutting open his left cheek, sending him sprawling on the unyielding stone in the dust stunned. He then rounded on the unruly boy viciously and repeatedly, slapping him sharply with the flat of his hand on his face a multitude of times in a concussive assault. He did this until he drove the message home, it did not take long before Nathan ceased his aggression, holding his bloody and bruised face, shaking with ragged sobbing. Bennett then unceremoniously bound Nathan’s hands tightly behind his back with rawhide strips, and resumed his breakfast preparations as though nothing of any import had occurred.

Nathan did not see it this way. The boy who was no more than a slave defiantly stared through his tear blurred vision, his face smarting from the stinging blows at the giant leather clad back of his Master. If his thoughts could be daggers, and his hate fueled by his will at this moment could only send them to their mark. In the twisted mess that was his mind he had lost his final friend to a pig of a man who had not even the simple grace to have once thanked him for risking his life to make good their escape. Without him they would all have perished within the Wolf Lord’s walls. Hatred like no other was born that day.

The two men made a tiny fire which they soon extinguished for fear the smoke would be seen on such a clear fine day, it was just enough of one to cook the pitiful meal Tiger had provided. They both ate it hungrily ignoring the glowering boy and set themselves to fashioning a stretcher out of what they had at hand. They would leave that night.

*****

Aran spent the next few days of his reign in the grip of drunkenness. In the moments of lucidity he did have, all there avoided his troubled countenance. His demeanor was that if an irritable bear. He ordered the clean up of the last of the remaining stores and an inventory to be made, and when they could spare the man power the tilling of the garden. He found himself often alone on the verges of the camp sitting in the cold wind watching the sun fade, and at barely twenty-three years of age he felt faded too. Everyone talked about him in his absence. The entire camp not knowing what to do but feeling their choice of leader had been much misplaced. There was even talk of deposing him.

Sometimes he would use the women, not Lucy or Raissa but one of Frances’s three maidens, there was no care, there was no love, just a need to be sated. They made every effort not to be found alone, but somehow the morose warrior would always catch one or the other of them out. Mostly at the well where Lucy or Raissa had sent them to draw water in the evenings. It soon became a dreaded mission for the women. He would grasp them by the arm firmly, his strong, blunt fingers biting into their flesh and escort them to his steel doored domain. There was no out to this duty he would brook no refusal. On occasions he would be intimately engaged with one or the other of them, they were all interchangeable to him, and he would feel angered looking down on the insipid creature writhing beneath him. Why did she live and Frances did not! Worthless little bitches he thought. Cruel ire would rise in him half fueled by drink and loss, and he would slap them hard across the face, pull their hair, and make them weep while he took their bodies until he was sated.

Lissa lay with him on one such evening, she could smell the firewater on his breath coupled with the musky smell of him, unshaven stubble tickling her soft skin, his essence sticky between her thighs. She was far from comfortable but too afraid to move as she was sure he was not asleep, his arm heavy, strong hand still possessively placed at her breast. Were all men like this she wondered? Was this really all a woman could expect?

She stared out at the stars through the chink in the doors, she was not in the least bit sleepy. They were bright and cheerful as she had been as a little girl, playing with her friends like Frances, her dolls and numerous pets. With a loving family and a cozy home where no bad could ever intrude. Golden summers spent riding ponies across the farmlands to the river in a world she thought was so full of promise. Completely insulated from the realities of a ravaged civilization in decline, the reality of the present was doubly hard for her. She had even envied the announcement of Frances’ betrothal and planned wedding to Lord Lothar, and could hardly wait for someone to be chosen for her. To this end she loved to flirt with all the boys as she grew to woman hood. Especially Stephan’s handsome son, what was his name again? She tried to recall but it would not come to her, she had been but fourteen or so, but delve as she might she could not remember the young man's name, it had been so long since he had disappeared while on a hunting excursion.

The entire settlement had been devastated and felt deeply for their gentle and wise leader’s loss. Yet Stephan and his wife Anna took the blow with such dignity and composure. Why did such things always happen to the best among them? It seemed a cruel test. Lissa wondered would Stephan’s son have been the same way as the men in this crude camp had been toward her? Would he too have been rough and as uncaring as this man she now lay beside, filling his needs only? The other men here were dreadful as well, many of them she found displeasing even to look at, but she was forced to suffer their attentions whether she liked them or not, as did her friends. Some like Will were kinder to her than others, some like Pig she did not want to be with at all.

However this man she lay with he was different, he really frightened her in some primal way. It was most unnerving. He was beautiful to look at, breathtaking even. If he showed some emotion maybe she could even bring herself to love him. She had to confess he was one of the most striking men she had ever beheld, very unlike any of the boys she knew in her childhood. He was more like some of the older hardened soldiers she felt so scared of that manned the gates or frequented the inn of her settlement.

Frances had seemed to feel the same way and had confided in her on the matter, she too had felt very afraid of this warrior yet compelled all at the same moment, and what had become of her? The girl did not expect to see her friend again in this life. Lissa sighed curling her auburn hair around her slim white fingers biding time, waiting for the telltale snoring to begin so she might leave this oppressive man.

Aran had become a tyrant, a husk of a man driven by the loss of Frances to almost madness, and as far as the others were concerned a liability to their existence. Even the slaves agreed. Though none would have said so openly, but all there heard the warriors muffled talk in the evenings as Aran sat alone outside in the darkness.

On one such evening after the fire was fed and the food brought before the men Aran strode the center of the camp. He had been sober all day and brooding. The evening chill had come early this dusk, Raissa always thoughtful had brought the great man a blanket to drape about his naked shoulders. He took it wordlessly, neither acknowledging her or rebuffing her.

He strode the camp in the half light looking like a cloaked knight of old, or some Norse god. She watched him from the great caves entrance while she sewed some skins, her baby squirming within. She sighed trying to concentrate on her needle work whilst eyeing the troubled warrior and thinking of the little one soon to arrive. The men behind her were speaking in low tones, she did not need to hear what they were saying. The topic of the conversation was a dangerous one, it had been on the agenda now many nights.

Aran finally changed his direction and in the last of the fading light walked to the cattle trailer that housed its miserable prisoner, chained securely within. Renard eyed him like a captive animal, for in truth that was what he had become. He had no more to say to Aran but met him with a level gaze to say in no uncertain terms I am not afraid. Aran met Renard’s stare with an equally steady one of his own, took a deep breath and walked away. He too had nothing to say.

The conversation was swiftly stifled as Aran entered the cave and walked toward his place by the fire. The silence was oppressive and awkward. However he did not sit as all were assuming he might. His trailing blanket brushed by Raissa as he passed, its threads catching on her needlework. All eyes were on him. Kate knelt, proffering him his usual alcoholic escape in an ornate silver tankard which he had been insistent on each evening. He waved her away, instead signaling for water. He took a drink remaining unseated, and without fanfare announced. “Tomorrow I shall execute the traitor at dusk for his crimes.” That was all he said, his voice steady and with no hint of regret. He then sat and began to eat as his men who were just moments before on the cusp of mutiny rallied to his side. The promise of tomorrows blood fresh in their nostrils they were all his again. How fickle they are, Raissa mused as she returned to her sewing.