Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 09

Darkest Days.

Renard sat out of the cold wind, his back against a ruined wall, autumn was here he complained, rubbing his frozen hands brusquely together, as he took his turn at the watch. Here he had ample time to reflect on his work of the past nine days, it had been a risky endeavor but he had accomplished much. Renard worried though that Sven's eyes watched him, he had no wish to arouse the suspicions of the over officious second in command. He would have to be careful.

There were also other reasons to be nervous, Aran, Sven's younger brother was behaving strangely as well. The two siblings were brittle in their demeanor toward one another which was most unusual, both with tempers ready to flare, fracturing the usually strong unity within the group. This coupled with the unpleasant necessity of laying low. So close were they to the farming settlement keeping constant vigil, they could not risk making a fire, and as a consequence they were neither warm or comfortable, and all did not relish their diet of uncooked rations. The group had utilized the ruins of an abandoned settlement, sheltering amongst this wreckage of corrugated iron, wooden uprights, and broken bricks. Waiting and watching their quarry, taking everything in.

Renard sighed as his eyes wandered the ever familiar valley below of his home, how he wished he was there now in the comfort of his old room, surrounded by all those he knew and loved. Yet a cruel irony, here he was instead, as usual, cold, hungry, a predator lurking on the fringes. Yes, that is what he had become. All in the name of necessity. He felt remorse at all he had witnessed and participated in during his time with this lawless horde. Perhaps he should have done it differently, knowing if he had, he would have ceased breathing long ago. He prayed that the arrow, along with the note he had attached had indeed reached the eyes of his father Stephan, and that he had taken the warning seriously. Renard scanning the valley settlement below for any sign of extra vigilance or military build up. Dread was his feeling as he saw nothing to denote that his warning had been heeded.

Renard had often argued with his father about such issues. The elder man refusing to acknowledge the threat of others military might. Renard constantly entreating him that he must do so. Still it appeared that his father kept his dogged course, blind to the avaricious intentions of his neighbors, positive that peace and diplomacy were the best way forward in this dark age. All the young man could do was hope that if they went in, none below who knew him would reveal his true identity to Sven or the others, that he may have the advantage to work his plans in secret.

Still he was anxious, and rightly so sensing that death and treachery stalked at his shoulder. With these cheerless thoughts he huddled down, avoiding the worst of the wind. Drawing his soft hide coat more tightly around him, comforted by the sounds of his horse as he cropped the sparse grasses close by. Praying fervently to his god that lady luck would continue to stay with him awhile.

It was mid morning on the following day, the light clouds scudded swiftly across the cool blue sky, the cold wind of yesterday had not abated. It was Sven's turn at the watch, and he was a troubled soul. Things had not sat well between he and his brother since the start of their foray to this place.

At times the two usually close knit siblings had bordered on open hostility. Aran would have nothing of Sven's thoughts or proffered guidance on the subject of Frances. Very nearly coming to blows, only the older man's sense saving the day as he backed down. Sven knowing they were evenly matched and quite likely to do each other a serious injury should they resort to fists. Hence Sven had desisted rather reluctantly, though still wishing to prevent Aran from pushing their leader's patience. It would, Sven knew, despite Aran's fighting prowess only end in his brother's senseless slaughter. Aran as good as he was would surely fall to the viciousness of Bennett. However when he raised this matter his impetuous younger brother angrily refuted his warning, and stalked away.

That was not the only trouble Sven's expedition had been fraught with. Renard was of growing concern to him also. He was sure that he was not imagining it, but the young man's scouting choices had seemed odd, wrong even.

His keen judgment sensing treachery when on the fourth day of their trek they encountered the impassable gorge. It had taken them some two days to skirt the hazardous terrain and resume their journey east, where a further two days later they had the farming settlement at last in sight.

So here they sat appraising the almost non existent defenses, and the plentiful vista below. The small sheltered pocket of land was lush and fertile, a stark contrast to its barren surroundings. How it had remained unspoiled for so long was indeed a mystery. Its defenses were weak, only a few insubstantial palisade walls interspersed with the occasional lookout post, with the protection of a river that meandered lazily on the eastern side.

The location to Sven's eyes after so long in the wastes seemed a veritable paradise just waiting for the taking. All these things and more the experienced campaigner noted, he would have much to report to his friend and leader soon. Deciding to savor one of his last precious cigarettes as he wiled away the morning watch. Thus blissfully engaged, and relaxed was he, leaning against a large boulder his mind far away...

The whinny of a horse brought the group to sudden alert. Renard sprinting at once to his mount and grabbing its bridle to lead it back out of sight over the rocky crest, to prevent the gelding giving away their position. All the men taking cover, weapons at the ready as the contingent of mounted, armored, soldiers came into plain view.

There was no guessing where the force was from, the wolf insignia proclaimed them from the well defended fort so recently discovered to the south. They rode without fear into the settlement below, encountering no resistance, heavily armed and intimidating. Scattering the communities frightened residents, and farm animals in their wake.

Sven licked his dry lips as he lay flat, pressed to the earth, binoculars in one scarred fist, trying to glean as much intelligence as possible. His career in the military had instilled in him the wisdom and the value of accurate intelligence. He would let nothing escape his attention, no matter how inconsequential it seemed.

The mounted detachment made their way to a large villa close to the river, where three of the men disappeared inside. Sven did not have to wait many minutes before they reappeared again, remounted, and rode out. Messengers he thought, and the chief whoever he is, must live right there. Again he scanned the large wooden home, yet he spied no defenses of any kind. A plan of action manifesting in his cunning head, and he smiled as he watched the knights ride out the way they came, swiftly disappearing from view.

Sven called his men together that evening for a council of war, eagerly they gathered about, as the gloom of twilight settled on them, the wind still cold at their backs. All eyes attuned to their commander, all for their various reasons wanting to be selected to perform the task he had in mind. "Two of you will go in to the settlement under the cover of darkness, you will employ all stealth. You cannot afford to be sighted. You will capture one of the guards, without drawing attention to yourselves. So pick your mark with care, we cannot afford to fail. Then you will return with your prisoner unharmed. Surely he will know what the visit was about today. I shall wrest that from him." Sven continued with conviction. Aran hoping fervently that he would be appointed with this task, his first opportunity to get in, even if it meant the chosen man who was selected to accompany him would have to suffer an unfortunate accident.

Sven looked at his circle of willing men, taking in each in his turn, his grey assessing eyes finally coming to rest on his stalwart companion Gareth. Sven knew this man was loyal to him beyond reproach, his decision was made. "Gareth you go." He selected another lesser ranked man Clint. "You go too. Leave on dark, and don't be seen. We will await you here. Good luck."

"Consider it already done." Gareth shot Sven an evil grin, made more so by the failing light, and the two men hurried away. Sven noted Aran's look of displeasure at his choice, and Renard's veneer of indifference. I must watch them both he thought, not liking this at all.

Stephan considered himself an unremarkable man born in remarkable times. Though all who knew him would have stated otherwise. He was aging now, yet still he held his carriage tall and proud, his full head of white hair carefully cut, beard and hands manicured to precision, clothes impeccable. The only telltale sign of his weariness and advancing age was the tremor of the parchment in his hands.

Notes, more notes he sighed, first the mysterious notation on the arrow shot into the compound five nights prior. His logic telling him that his son's survival was not possible after all this time. Yet his heart and his intuition argued that the writing on the paper was none other than the distinctive hand of his dearest and only son Renard. Now this, Lord Lothar's edict, all the more alarming as Stephan had already sent his beloved daughter to the Warlord, reluctant as he was to honor their agreement. Frances' departure had been hard on both he and his wife Anna, many tears were shed after much soul searching and sad goodbyes more than three weeks ago. First his son, now quite possibly his daughter, the crushing grief of a father's loss threatened to force tears. With some measure of effort Stephan fought them back, here alone in his great library he must clear his mind and think. War would be on him, and soon. The people would look to him for their solution and assurance, and he must know what to do.

The dark hours had provided little rest for Sven and his men, the abduction had gone flawlessly, and the soldier had, under Sven's keen blade, been persuaded to reveal all; before he expired some hours later close to sunrise. Sven was loath to but he knew he must journey back to report to Bennett in person. It was time, Bennett's talents were needed here, along with all their military muscle. He would leave today.

He bid Gareth command in his stead, putting a word in Gareth's ear to watch Renard carefully, and also to keep vigilance over Aran. He said his goodbyes and much to Renard's obvious disgruntlement, he took the horse. Though he hated the beasts and never felt at ease on one he realized if Renard did have any traitorous intentions, taking his horse would make his work more difficult. Besides, unknown to the others he wanted to cover more ground and swiftly. Perhaps it would still be possible to track some of Renard's movements, had he spent his entire absences really hunting? Sven's fertile mind was crawling with suspicions over the quiet man. So kicking his heels unkindly into the beast he headed off for some answers of his own.

In the days of waiting that followed the raid Bennett often sated his lascivious cruelties on the traumatized Nathan. He was new, young, and did as he was told, for he was very afraid. Bennett often perpetrating on him acts he would never have considered with his previous slave. During one such encounter as twilight bathed the land in rose, turning to darker shades of purple; the brutish man was in the final shuddering throes of his passion. Nathan pressed face down, hard against the dusty table top, suffering in silence, tears streaking his face. The only outward sign the poor boy gave of his misery.

Bennett glanced down taking in the boy's slight features, as yet failing to show any sign of developing manly, maturity. Then the vision of the broad muscular back of another, stinging his thoughts, catching him unaware. Suddenly he longed for the challenge, aching to grip the shaggy black hair once more, desiring to match his wits again, against the unpredictable animal cunning. Finding he felt angry and cheated, and this blond boy, so eager to please, so driven by fear, appeared hollow and tame by comparison.

With sudden fury Bennett grabbed the boy and heaved him across the room. Nathan fell hard on the unyielding metal surface, suffering scrapes and bruises, scattering the table's dusty contents to the floor. Quickly the lad collected himself, cowering from his master's wrath in the furthermost corner, not comprehending what he had done to so raise his master's ire, tears of pain and shame glistening on his face, pure terror rising in his vitals.

Time moved slowly here, the passage of existence measured in new, minute ways, found in the observation of the crawling of a cockroach, or the spider spinning its gossamer web. One's focus squarely on bodily needs, which for the most part could not be met, or the endless cycle of the days and nights. Carlos' only measure of time the length of the stubble on his chin, that by now was almost a beard.

There was little pattern to all else, the putrid slop that passed as food he received intermittently, and water was the same. Often being close to undrinkable, tepid and muddy, most foul, though he drank it down thirstily just the same. On one occasion he was thrown the stinking, half fly blown carcass of a goat. Pigs depraved work no doubt, but the light from above burned his eyes so badly, tears ran making it impossible to tell who it was who stood above. This he ate too as there was nothing else, his sadistic jailer's made sure of that. Survive or die was all he was capable of, vowing Bennett would never win.

The damp and cold ate at him constantly, bringing on a wracking cough. All sorts of unseen creatures crawled and bit, raising welts and running sores on his once perfect skin. Scratching madly till he bled, the resultant wounds becoming septic, making his hours pure hell. His whole being turning inward, to survive, in this dark foul world devoid of hope.

Frequently as of late his reason had begun to wander, he would make conversation with himself, then as suddenly in a moment of lucidity he would realize just how crazy he sounded. Mostly though he attempted to sleep, for his strength was failing slowly as the days progressed. Sleep was his only friend, if he could encourage it to come. For to sleep was to dream, and to dream was to escape...

Selene sat in her magical chamber, set deep within her labyrinth of twisted limestone. A place no man could reach, as the tunnels that led to it were too confining to permit entry. Surrounded by her enchanted artifacts, bathed in eerie light, she was still as stone. Focusing on her task, the raw power humming about her as she went to work. If one could have observed this enchanted scene the energy and the surrounding walls of stone would have been heard to chant in their otherworldly cadence. The words that Selene did not have...

"The unending oceans shall continue to rise, until the first leaf of Nethrizil graces the earth. The unassailable shall witness another hue come to pass, and those beautiful, straight and true will be bowed in a mantle of white."

Selene sighed and lay flat to the earth, her outstretched arms wide to embrace the coldness of the humming stone. Her raven's eyes tight closed...

This place was familiar, was it not? Carlos looked up the cavern's walls covered in cryptic images, none of which had any meaning to him. Only the thought that he had was that he had been here before, entering into his mind. He sighted her then, she was somehow different, his skin began to crawl.

She came toward him with her dark unreadable, unrelenting stare boring in to his own, making him feel acute discomfort, as his weaknesses and shame were all laid bare in her mighty presence. Carlos felt suddenly foolish, she was only Selene, feral and misunderstood, one of the lost who survived in this place, that was all. No more than a mere girl, one who could not speak at that, of little consequence to him or anyone else.

Then came the burning sensation, the ring he had strung on the chain about his neck uncomfortably warm against his chest, accompanied by her strange powerful words. As before he was awestruck as Selene moved yet closer, powerful, commanding his attention. "You must help me." She reiterated. "You must try to stay alive. Survive this trial of fear and deprivation, for vengeance to be yours! You cannot realize your power without first tasting of despair." Her tone was higher now, excitable, demanding. "I can only help you if you help yourself. You are almost ready, your forging with pain and trial almost over........" Carlos wallowed in a world without reason.

"You can't talk!" He screamed at her. "You cannot help me Selene," he accused. Wanting this surreal meeting to end. "Leave me, leave me alone, you are just a girl, you cannot help me, I cannot help myself..."

Abruptly he awoke, the pit hellish black, the air thick and stale about him, his fevered body wracked with a bout of savage coughing. Realizing he had yet again wandered into the ever increasing world of the insane, a world that held more lure with each passing hour. A world he struggled now to leave. Carlos slumped heavily against the wall, its cold now feeling good against his fevered flesh. How long could his body endure, holding on to this tortured life, how long till the mercy of death would arrive to claim him? This foremost in his mind as he languished in the depths of his despair, if only death would come soon.

Bennett lay wide awake gazing out of the open doorway at the night's mantle of glittering stars. Dawn would arrive shortly, with it an end to the silence and inactivity that often dogged his many sleepless nights. He felt the warmth of the slight lad nestled against him, occasionally tossing restlessly in his terror filled nightmares, which he seemed to suffer with surprising regularity. Still it was preferable to sleeping on his own, and his new captive was both obedient and eager to please him, doing all he was ordered. For the first time in a long while Bennett had the opportunity to experience other joys that he would never have been game to with Carlos.

That name again! He cursed himself, still he could not put Carlos from his mind. He knew that there would in all likelihood never be another to replace the intense young man. He knew also that after all this time, he had little chance of winning the war he had started. The problem must be put to rest lest he look like a fool, one such as he could not afford to be seen as sentimental or caring. No, he must do what was appropriate, the young man had become too dangerous, too unpredictable, he could not be mastered. Bennett hated to admit this, even to himself alone with his thoughts in the dark. It was decided then. He sighed as he closed his eyes willing himself back to sleep. Come tomorrow it would be finished once and for all.