Avarice Desperation Valley

Taken Alive

Bennett woke, and for a few confused seconds could not comprehend where he was. Realizing with a start he was in a prison cell, and the events of last night's failed attack came flooding back into his mind, bitter and devastating. He had no idea of how long he had been asleep here, or any inkling as to the hour of the day.

He sat up taking in his environment, discovering he was incarcerated in a steel cell some ten, by ten feet square, its bars a good two inches thick, impossible to flex even for one as powerful as he, running all the way from floor to ceiling, and anchored firmly in place. Overhead the illumination came from a single bright, dichroic led light, recessed into the steel plate ceiling. The only items in the room besides himself, were a steel bed that slung out from the wall supported by two thick chains at either end, and on top of this a thin mattress that offered little real comfort, and of all things a stainless steel toilet which flushed, its cistern built into the rear wall.

Bennett realized he had been divested of all his clothing, bathed, and his few minor wounds seen to. All he wore currently were a pair of shapeless gray flannel trousers that were laced with a draw string around the waist, they were of course too short for him, the hems barely covering his lower calves. Further observation revealed to Bennett that the prison contained ten identical cells, arranged in blocks of five running parallel down either side, and separated by some twenty foot of passageway running through its center. In the cells furthermost from his own he could see his two companions Gareth and Sven, they too appeared unhurt, still sleeping it off, and dressed in the same gray attire as he was.

To his extreme left, just beyond the cells of his fellow henchmen was a door, and this was slightly ajar. Though Bennett craned his neck to see what was beyond he could not make out anymore than what he could currently see, which was next to nothing. He was situated at the right hand end of the row of cells which faced on to the warden's area, a space some forty feet across and thirty feet wide, incorporating a large wooden desk, and a comfortable chair where a soldier now sat on duty eyeing him but saying nothing. There was a door here also, this one barred and locked, and Bennett rightly assumed that this was the way out. He sat back down on the bed, unused to having the tables so cruelly turned, and wondered just how he was going to extract himself from this one, and he had no ideas.


The detachment of soldiers finished the morning burying Bennett's dead just beyond the gate in a large pit, they numbered eleven in all. Nathan watched the proceedings from the sidelines in such a state of morbid fear he was almost paralyzed by it. Occasionally Captain Harris would glance over at the boy, as he took some respite from his grisly duty, for the day was indeed beginning to get quite warm. Nathan's frightened eyes met Harris' over the pile of displaced dirt and rising dust, as the men shoveled it into the mass grave, and Harris felt a flood of pity deciding at once to speak to Lord Lothar asking that the boy be spared.

Orphans were usually looked upon as liabilities in this hard place, unless they had some unusual talent and Harris' conscience could not rest easy thinking that this tortured lad without a name, would probably be gifted to the evil Krosse, ever eager for subjects to assist him in his cruel medical and psychological studies. Harris shuddered at the thought, hadn't the boy suffered enough already? No, he would plead his case to his Lord himself asking that the boy might be spared this horrible fate. At least then whatever happened, he would feel somewhat better.

Hearing the soldier's talk amongst themselves, Nathan soon began to understand the nature of last night's events more clearly, and things had not quite played out the way he had first envisaged. His heart almost skipped a beat to learn that Bennett had been captured, and was very much alive, and Nathan's only desire at that moment was to gaze on his Master again, and to curl up into warmth and protection that the formidable warrior offered, whatever it might cost.

The bodies buried, the soldier's work here was done, and for Harris it was time to report to his Lord and fill him in on the events of the past twelve hours, and see if he would be benevolent enough to spare the wretched boy in his triumph.


Krosse spent most of his morning in the hospital operating theater, with his small staff in attendance, his responsibilities as the only doctor in this place demanded his full attention, and he had no time to spare for anything else since the battle's conclusion. There were many injured, a good percentage grievously, and a couple of men Krosse suspected would be lucky to survive. It was well into midday before Krosse had satisfactorily completed his duties, and could take the opportunity for a bath, and a much needed brief rest before he knew he would have to report to his Lord.

Krosse dressed taking his time in one of his neat well fitting suits, the usual black, offset with gold buttons, a pressed white shirt, and tie also black. His leather boots held such a shine they were almost reflective, and not a hair on his steel grey head was out of place. This man loved nothing more than to look neat and impeccably groomed, something many who lived in these times found difficult to achieve. It made him feel superior and important, and generated feelings of fear and inadequacy in most.

Krosse was the type of man who loved nothing more than to project power and control, and delighted in the humiliation and misery of others. This little tendency, and his desire to experiment, had seen him get into plenty of trouble in his time. In his youth he was a brilliant medical student finishing top in his class, and rose quickly through the medical ranks to become a surgeon of great ability. However, his dark desires he found difficult to deny, and eventually they led to his downfall. He was struck off the medical register never to be readmitted, and though he was not imprisoned for his crimes, Krosse became embittered with the verdict, continuing his work underground.

He was by this time independently wealthy and had many powerful connections still managing to further his medical knowledge in secret. He found no shortage of willing victims for his experiments, he prayed on the poor, the isolated, the desperate. He covered his tracks well, and honed his evil skills to ever greater heights, a task that became progressively easier as the international climate edged ever closer to war, and human rights were eroded in those final days.

Just prior to the war, his long time friend Lothar had asked Krosse to join him, and having little else to go on with he willingly agreed. Since that day some eight years distant he had been in this place forging a new life for himself, restored again as a respected, practicing surgeon. As for his black hunger it was adequately catered for, and as a consequence Krosse was feared by all. Understandably he was very happy with this arrangement.


Lothar had since been relocated to his own chambers, a place of unbridled luxury and decadence deep within the fortress. Krosse had deemed he would rest and recover better here away from the noise and bustle of the fast filling infirmary.

Lothar reclined in his massive, beautifully carved mahogany four poster bed. The rich voluminous, blood red velvet drapes cascading from the intricately carved framework, and spilling in glorious folds on to the sumptuously carpeted floor. Gargoyles leered from the corner posts, and a pair of elaborate, solid silver candle holders some four foot high, their bases adorned with silver flowers, leaves and doves, sporting a dozen white candles in each sat either side of the bed. Stolen paintings by old masters in ornate guilt frames lined the walls, and numerous marble pedestals stood below them like sentinels, crouched on their tops alabaster and ivory statues of great beauty, and value.

Lothar loved beautiful things, they pleased his eyes in this hard edged, and cruel world, they made for a welcome respite from the ugliness and despair of every day life in this place. His inner living quarters were filled with their extravagance, every room overflowing, and over adorned to ostentatious garishness. Captain Harris stood amongst all this opulence, so different to his own Spartan quarters, at the foot of his Lord's bed, and with him Nathan, his hands still bound tightly behind his back. Harris with a firm grip on the boy's ragged shirt bought him closer to his Lord, at Lothar's request that he might see him better. Though Harris was careful not to bring him too close as unpredictable as Nathan had proven earlier that day.

Lothar leaned closer to look at the boy, he was too thin and pale and his eyes were shifty and wild like an animals, deciding at once the lad would have very little potential for training as a soldier, or anything else for that matter. "Not much is he? You say he was left at the enemy campsite?"
"Yes, Sir he was, chained to a rock. He cannot speak sir, at first I thought he was just scared, but on closer inspection I discovered he has no tongue my Lord." Harris could guess where Lothar's thoughts were heading on the fate of this poor orphan, and he promptly took a risk, speaking out of turn. "Might I beg you Sir that this lad be spared, Krosse has others at the moment. Can you find it in your heart to be merciful Sir? You can see he has suffered much already?"

Lothar sat in silence for sometime, Harris uncomfortable with his leader's quiet thoughts. Nathan becoming agitated, and Harris having to tighten his grip on the lad considerably as he waited for his Lord's verdict on the matter. Finally Lothar spoke. "Perhaps the boy can write, though I doubt it, still, cut his hands free and humor me will you Harris?"

Harris did as his Lord bid somewhat reluctantly, praying that the boy would do nothing stupid and undo all his good work. Lothar ordered a servant to fetch him a pen and paper and almost immediately the servant reappeared with the requested items placing them gently in Lothar's lap, and retreating from whence he came. Lothar looked into Nathan's fearful eyes, as he handed the hesitant boy the pen and paper. Nathan took the proffered items carefully, unsure whether he should reveal his little secret to this man, or not.

"Let's start with something simple shall we. Do you have a name lad?" The two men incredulous, watched as Nathan wrote his name in black ink on the paper, his hand writing neat and precise, bordering on the almost beautiful.

Both men looked at each other clearly surprised, Lothar deciding to try something else. "Well, Nathan, now that we know you have a name and can communicate with us. Tell us what do you know about this man Bennett?" Nathan found it strange to hear his name called again, it made him feel important, he had not heard it for such a long time, and was more used to the derogatory terms and curses that his Master frequently used to gain his attention. So he began to write again on the piece of white paper spread before him. A plan already forming in his manipulative mind, something probably that his grandmother would not have approved of, but something he just had to do anyway. Lothar took the paper in his hands, scrawled on it were these hatefully inscribed words, the pen cutting through the paper in places.

"I hate Bennett, and all the others. It was he who took my tongue and laughed afterwards. I wish he was dead!" Lothar put the paper down his decision made at last.
"Harris take him to Robbie in the kitchens, I'm sure he will keep him gainfully employed and fed also." Harris breathed a sigh of relief, the kitchens as dark and gloomy as they were would be preferable than the fate of becoming one of Krosse's lab rats. A career with a decidedly short future.
"Yes, Sir I will take him there immediately."
"You are dismissed Captain."

Harris turned sharply on his heel taking Nathan with him, pleased he had managed to spare the boy. The smile soon left his face however as he spied the ominous Krosse coming toward him down the corridor toward Lothar's apartments.
"Good afternoon, Captain." Krosse purred. His eyes already fixed on Nathan by his side. "I take it, one more for me?" Krosse inquired, raising an eyebrow as his eyes finally acknowledged Harris' presence.
"No Sir he is not," Harris countered, pleased he had thwarted Krosse's desires for a change, adding. "He is to go to the kitchens, and work for Robbie on Lord Lothar's orders."
"What a shame, yet another blow to medical science." Krosse answered chillingly, as he pushed past Harris becoming bored with the exchange and wishing to be gone.

He had more important issues to deal with at this time, as he strode swiftly down the gloomy hallway. Harris hurried Nathan by, he too having no desire to share any more of his time with one he so despised, and made haste toward the kitchens, which were located down in one of the lower levels, along with the prison and the stores. An airless, dreary place where the inhabitants rarely got to see the daylight, and their ceaseless, thankless work never ceased. Harris felt bad as he looked at the skinny, fair haired boy, knowing that even here he would be little more than a slave and treated badly. Still he had done all he could, and this was the best he could have hoped for given the circumstances.

Robbie Coltraine was balding, sleek and fat, aged in his late forty’s. Here in the kitchens he was king of his world, and he had come a long way from the starved refugee who had begged admission from the barren wastes, five long years ago at Lothar's feet. He was saved by his talent, for Robbie was a master chef, and every leader who had ever ruled could appreciate the value fine food, Lothar included. Robbie could turn plain ingredients into edible art, make an impossible feast a mouth watering reality, and he had been well rewarded for his talents. Lothar had installed him as head of the household, the massive kitchen his castle and the centre his entire world. He rarely left the place as there was little need. Besides Robbie hated the exercise he was no good at stairs, and he had all he required at his chubby little fingertips, right here.

Robbie was overbearing, lecherous, and cruel, and insisted on having a staff formed of children or teenagers to assist him in his duties. They were worked hard, employed in endless scrubbing, cleaning, fueling the massive ovens, or running his errands, and found little respite or compassion in this dark depressing place. Robbie's "children" were kept in check by his very obvious threats, his favorite one of course, that if they misbehaved he would sell them to Doctor Krosse. A dastardly act he had seen fit to enact on the rare occasion, and completely without remorse on his part. Though more usually he would resort to scalding with hot water, or beating wrong doers with his whip, which he carried with him always.

The morbidly obese man looked up, annoyed at being interrupted as he put the finishing touches on a highly decorated cake, to see none other than Captain Harris and a young teenage boy enter his kitchen.

Captain Harris breathed the stale hot air, and wondered to himself how anyone could survive indefinitely in this place so akin to hell. "I have a new boy for you Robbie, our Lord was gracious enough to send him your way."
"Wonderful!" Robbie replied, plainly excited, rubbing his fat hands together greedily, as he appraised Nathan with his pig like eyes.

Nathan just stared forlornly at the cake, saliva running and his stomach aching and rumbling, he was always hungry.
"He is a mute, but he can write." Harris added.
"I care not, as long as he does as he's told." Robbie replied in his high lilting voice, coming closer to look at his new acquisition, and liking what he saw. "So Captain, I gather that now we have won the war the rationing will soon be over, I trust?"
"I suspect so Robbie," Harris added. The man looked sadly at Nathan one more time and said to him, hoping the boy would get his meaning. "Try to do as you are told son, it's easier that way." With that Harris bid them goodbye, grateful to be gone from such a horrid place, feeling like he had blood on his hands.

Nathan stood motionless as Robbie circled him like a shark moving in for the kill. "My you are a wild one, and a bit on the nose too. We shall have to remedy that right away." Robbie's pudgy white hand was on his shoulder in an instant, directing him from the room, as the chef yelled obscenities at his three other workers, two young boys and a girl, who had dared to look up from their work.

Nathan did not resist and went along willingly as Robbie escorted him to his private quarters. The room was cramped, dark and stuffy, the ceiling covered in boiler pipes and plumbing, and it was furnished poorly, everything within in a dilapidated and untidy state. Robbie ran Nathan a bath ordering the boy to undress, his lecherous eyes missing nothing as Nathan meekly complied. The boy sank down in the tub, the warm water felt so very good, easing away the hurt and stresses of his existence if only for a little while.

He was roused rather suddenly from his daydreams by the unwelcome touch of Robbie's hands as the grotesque man began to scrub him roughly all over until his skin was red raw and hurting. Robbie was clearly impressed, not missing the opportunity to fondle the boy's private parts as he did so. Nathan used to such demands let him, and though this vile man revolted him Nathan had already decided to use Robbie to achieve his plans, whatever that implied.


Krosse entered his Lord's chamber without being announced, black brief case in hand, and proceeded to seat himself by Lothar's bed in a sumptuous red velvet upholstered chaise, its arms and clawed legs carved to perfection. He had delicious news to impart that he was sure his Lord would enjoy. "You look much better today my Lord, could it be that your magnificent victory has aided in your sudden recovery, or perhaps it is just the new surroundings?" Krosse inquired, as he reached for the crystal decanter of red wine on the side board and poured himself a glass.
"What is the status of my army?" Lothar asked, as Krosse made himself at home, pushing pleasantries aside in favor of hard facts.
"That's more like you my Lord, cutting directly to the chase, you really must be getting better. I'm afraid although we achieved our objective it was a bloody battle and the losses were quite high." Krosse edged around the subject hoping to gloss it over.
"How many?" Asked Lothar bluntly like a dog with a bone, he would not let his aide evade the issue this time.
"Fourteen dead my Lord, and seven injured, two of which I do not think will see out the night. "Lothar flinched visibly at the losses, then continued on.

"How many did we kill?"
"Eleven my Lord, all buried this morning. The rest of the rabble scattered and fled back north, I do not think they will trouble us again. The good news is though, we have the three men you requested, all unharmed in the cells below, and we did locate a small cache of firearms, and ammunition hidden at their campsite." Krosse positively beamed at Lothar as he made this statement.
"Very good," Lothar countered, he was feeling much stronger this day. "But Krosse, before you go to work on them. I would wish to question them first, understand?"
"Yes, my Lord certainly." Krosse's disappointment was barely veiled, as he opened his case and withdrew something golden and gleaming, and dropped it into Lothar's scarlet bed covers.

Lothar just stared for long moments at the distinctive pendant saying nothing, the last gift he had imparted to his bride to be, a seal of their promise of marriage. He had placed it around Frances' slender neck himself. It bore his family crest, and could have come from nowhere else. "Where did you get this?" Lothar slowly looked up at Krosse, his intense eyes demanding answers.
"The big blond one had it on him my Lord, we found it when we stripped them this morning."
"Then he must know where she is?" Lothar rightly reasoned.
"I imagine so." Krosse reinforced, sensing he was very close to getting his way, and he was itching to begin.

*****

Will spent a troubled day sheltering in the shade of the tall standing rocks, ever on the lookout for enemies, and he was eager to be gone from this uninviting place. Although it was well into autumn the day was almost uncomfortably hot. Curled up on the earth close by him, Aran was weakening by the hour, and Will had already given him all the remaining water in the canteen. They must move soon he realized, taking advantage of cool of evening to do so. Will knew of a place not far from here where there was shelter, fresh water and plentiful game. If he could just get Aran there perhaps the injured man stood some chance of survival. Even then Aran's chances were decidedly slim Will contemplated, but he had to try.

*****

It was late in the afternoon, and unseasonably warm for autumn, Carlos shivered despite the heat and he was very thirsty, his tongue uncomfortably dry in his throat. His thoughts were snatched away suddenly from his own troubles, as it occurred to him that someone was approaching. He sat up just in time to see Raissa as she unlocked the cage and came purposefully toward him, carrying food, water, and medical supplies. He looked away feeling both ashamed and cornered, not knowing what to say to her. Anything they felt, or shared, seemed so long ago to him now, perhaps it was best to say nothing.

Raissa set her bundle down on the floor somewhat awkwardly, bending had become quite a chore with her pregnancy so far advanced. Slowly she knelt beside him, her gold hair blending with his, and the smell of her was sweet and comfortingly familiar, just as he remembered. Carlos tried to avoid her eyes, he did not want her to see the hurt there.

Raissa placed a cool hand on his fevered brow, still he said nothing gazing at the floor. "Let me help you?" She persuaded, her touch felt gentle and good, and her voice bore no traces of malice, or bitterness toward him. "You are ill, and I'll try my best to help you." She handed him a chipped enamel bowl brimming with cool water, Carlos drank it thirstily craving more. "Pig sent me." She went on, as she slowly pulled back the dirty blanket covering his now intensely aching foot. "He was afraid I think that you might take ill, and Bennett when he returns will not be pleased." Carlos shivered at the mention of that dreaded name, he had no desire to see the man again, not ever. He could not be here when Bennett returned, no he just could not.

Raissa was ever so careful as she cleaned the infected wound, it pained Carlos badly and took all his will power to hold himself immobile, enabling her to complete the job. Raissa then proceeded to shave off his beard, combing out his tangled black hair with her fingers, finishing by washing the charcoal from his skin with cool water, and gently sponging down his welt covered back.

As she did so she did not push him for words. Raissa did all the talking making general conversation, filling him in on events that had taken place within the camp during his absence. Nothing of importance really, just words to fill the quiet as she worked. Raissa handed him some flat corn bread filled with cooked goat's meat. "Here." she said. “You need to eat.” As Carlos took it from her his eyes met hers, finding he couldn't look away. The words he so needed to say to her, but had left so long unsaid loaded with the weight of his guilt, suddenly came tumbling forth.
"I'm so sorry Raissa, for everything." He apologized, as he tore his gaze away from her honeyed eyes, eyes that were still very beautiful to him, and he felt again the agonized pangs of remorse and confusion, at once desiring to be left alone.

He felt her hand lightly caress his shoulder, as his eyes again sought the comfort of the floor. Carlos felt acutely ashamed at his inability to commit to one who so obviously, and greatly cared for him. "Get better." Was all she said. "I will be back to check on you tomorrow." With that Raissa hastily bundled up her belongings. She had dreaded this meeting as much as she wanted it, and fought her emotions down, not wanting to upset him further. She was resigned to the fact that the two of them were just slaves, the path of their destiny not for them to decide. She had been foolish to think otherwise, and would not make such a costly mistake again. Leaving him some water, she departed, not forgetting to lock the cage behind her. A solitary tear so full of pain running down her cheek and dropping onto the thirsty sands.