Avarice Desperation Valley Ch. 23

The soldier on duty was clearly not enjoying the sounds of the torture emanating from the room beyond. The man looked up from his desk to see the boy approaching with the much welcomed refreshment. He smiled broadly, at once recognizing the poor mute lad he had rescued from the clutches of the dark, Victor Krosse.

"Good to see you Nathan, I hope life in the kitchens is not treating you too badly. You do look much better?" He said with genuine warmth like a father would to his own son. Captain Harris could see that color had returned to the pale face of the half grown boy, and his cadaverous figure had filled out considerably since he had last looked on him a week or more ago.

Nathan briefly met the Captain's smiling eyes as he placed the food and drink on the rough hewn wooden desk, down amongst the array of disorderly paperwork which lay strewn across its battered surface. Captain Harris smiled again at the boy, he did not believe in the notion of slavery, even in this dark age, everyone was an equal in his eyes, and deserving of respect.

"Thank you Nathan. I guess you had better go and get the others their food as well." Mentioned Harris as he regarded his tasty meal on the table spread before him, taking up his wine. "Not that I think too many of them will have the stomach for it this evening." His weather beaten countenance searching the tightly closed door to the interrogation room beyond, wishing the moaning would cease.

Nathan managed a vague smile, he was unused to showing such emotion and scurried off obediently to get the rest of the food. His heart pounding rapidly, deliberately keeping his eyes averted from the sight of his true Master in the steel cell beyond, and trying not to let the moans and wails of the tortured Sven unnerve him.

The boy was frightened but he was hopeful, now that he had glimpsed his lord alive and healthy it further fired his resolve to escape. Things would be put right again and very soon he would have his strong protector by his side, ran the boy's simplistic musings, but he would have to hurry.

He had it all planned out, the past days in the kitchen seemingly engaged in his chores, he had observed, plotted, and planned carefully. Only waiting for the right time. Now that Robbie had made the mistake of letting him take the food to the prison each evening, he could enact his plans. Nathan was Robbie's favorite boy and he got all the light duties, ever since his scalding at Geoff's hands.

Nathan hastened back with the prisoners food, the metal plates and cups rattling on the tray, wishing he could present his Master with something a bit more suited for his repast than simple soup, stale bread and water.

The boy reviewed in his mind the route he would take as he had learned it running his miscellaneous errands, to the place where he would lead them all to freedom. A ventilation shaft he had discovered that ran all the way to the surface world. He could sight its faint light high above, it would be a squeeze for those big men but he was positive they could make their escape this way. He had no idea where it emerged sadly, but he was sure that once on the surface they all had a very real chance of freedom. It was the best he could come up with.

Butterflies filled his insides and a lump rose in his throat, as Nathan fretted that he would be forced to reveal to his Master that he could actually write this day, but there was no other way, and so be it if his Master chose to punish him for keeping his secret he would accept the admonishment. Just like he accepted the sting and itch of the burns as they rubbed against his shirt, painful and red with his every movement. He hoped his Master could read, as many men could not, and he wondered what to do if this was an eventuality. He prayed his Master would understand his intent, and his plan would go smoothly.

Nathan reemerged through the prisons portal with the remaining meals. He steadied himself as he walked toward the bank of shining steel cells. Furtively he glanced over his shoulder, his green eyes flashed with fear noting Captain Harris was buried busily in his paperwork, absently chewing at his meal and sipping on his wine.

The sounds of torture were softer now but nonetheless still emanating from the room beyond. Nathan placed the tray in the slot almost upsetting the water pitcher as he did so, his anxious eyes meeting Bennett's questioning ones. Bennett burning to know how his boy came to be here in this place.

Nathan glanced meaningfully at the tray, swallowing hard in his nervousness. Bennett caught his meaning at once glimpsing the tiny edge of the paper protruding beneath the enamel bowl. The big man took his food, and Nathan paused for a second to look at him again hoping for approval. If there was any he could not tell, his Master's face was as impassive as the steel bars that surrounded him.

He wanted to linger in his Master's presence, he wanted so badly to touch, or be touched again by this fearsome specter of a man. Instead, pulling himself away he hurried off to deliver the remaining meals to the other cells and left the room swiftly, darting out the door, as Krosse may emerge any moment from the room beyond, and Nathan had no desire for another face to face meeting.

Bennett glanced down at the tray, checking again to see if the man on duty was looking his way. The same man who had betrayed him and led him into this trap in the first place. He would kill him slowly he ruminated, no one deceives him and lives long. The barbarous prisoner gazed at the officious Captain Harris who was at this moment quite oblivious, pen in hand, filing reports and sipping his wine from a battered metal tankard.

The fierce leader scowled removing the tiny piece of paper from beneath the still warm, chipped enamel bowl. The words were written in neat black script. "I will rescue you tomorrow night." Then beneath it a childishly drawn heart and the name Nathan housed within it.

Bennett proceeded to eat the message along with all his food unsure if the note was real or just some contrived cruelty on Krosse's orders. He had never considered the possibility that that boy of his could write, let alone possess the courage and ingenuity to rescue him. Still he had to believe, and he would be ready if his chance came and Nathan was truly on his side.

*****

Sven shivered and moaned, the cold steel and the hardness of the operating table beneath him quite forgotten. The brightness of the white tiled walls all but blinding him in concert with the glare of the harsh overhead lighting. He had slept very little in the past days, and was fast losing his lucidity, his usually very rational mind had begun to play tricks on him. His voice was so hoarse with screaming and throat so raw Sven did not think he possessed the ability to scream more, yet somewhere still he found the voice to do so.

The big man struggled vainly in his bonds in a futile attempt at escape, but the tight, broad leather restraints bit further into his flesh numbing his circulation as he again sought to avoid the pain coming to him. Blood and sweat ran from wounds on his strong body staining the white tiled floor, darkening his golden hair, and mingling with the blood of many others who had lain in this place before him in the floor drain. The dark melodious voice of Victor Krosse constantly in his ear, velvet in its persuasion as the Doctor kept up his line of questioning, relentless.

Victor Krosse was plainly frustrated. He had been interrogating this stubborn man for six solid days using every trick in the book to loosen his tongue. Still he had very little to go on, and his Lord Lothar was growing highly impatient with the lack of results. Renard had not returned from his mission either, the search for Frances was not proceeding very well.

Every evening Krosse dined sumptuously with his Lord, and every night he had no more of import to reveal to him. The shrewd reader of minds knew his Lord was not pleased with his progress on the matter and he dreaded each evening's approach, trying ever harder to extract the much needed information anyway he knew how. The branding iron, electricity, sleep deprivation, drugs, nothing could seem to elicit anymore information than he currently had.

He was only too happy to depart to his own private chambers and his beautiful slave's charms, often wishing he could just stay there. Yes, this unyielding project was getting him down. On the morrow he had already decided he would have to begin on his prize, the stoic giant of their leader who sat in his cell in the next room, yet untouched by Krosse's cruel art.

The expert torturer was by now most sure this brute was telling the truth of where he got the pendant. Babbling between his screams of torment something about a man called Aran who was supposedly his brother. So where was this Aran then? Dead on the battlefield, or had he escaped? Perhaps at this moment hiding somewhere in the desert?

Krosse had closely questioned Captain Harris and every member of the detachment who went out that day to bury Bennett's dead. Every man amongst their number agreeing they had buried no one who looked even remotely like Sven. So Krosse was almost sure he had the whole truth of the matter even if he did not like the information thus garnered.

The sadistic torturer had one more sure fire thing left to try, something that had never failed him yet, and he felt an evil glimmer of pure joy wash over him, as he fondled his array of scalpels glinting and ever so sharp, meticulously laid out on the table beside his victim. The man would be executed soon after, every one knew that, but even in that light it was amazing how this procedure could affect and extract every remaining vestige of a secret. Completely demoralizing the bravest of men.

Sven turned his head with much difficulty the restraining leather strap around his thick neck hindering him badly, trying to see what the man in black was up to now. His gray eyes on Krosse like those of a mistrustful wolf. "I am tired of this." Krosse purred, partially with regret and partially with pleasure, his pitiless pale eyes gleaming as he took in the fearful man spread naked before him, helpless to avoid the impending mutilation.

"You realize I have the power to take anything I desire away from you, don't you? Your sight perhaps, or maybe something else?" He said it as though he was speaking to a frightened child. His usually grim lips curved at the edges into a slight, sadistic smile. Sven writhed and struggled, muscles knotted, trying to pull away. Krosse seemed unaffected by his victim's trepidation, but inside he was exultant. Taking the wicked little instrument lovingly in his steady bony fingers, he was calm and assured. This was his favorite part, the part he had been waiting for.

*****

Bennett fought hard to control his ragged nerves as Krosse and his soldiers approached his cell. It is time he thought. He drew in a deep breath trying to relax, pushing panic aside which was threatening to cloud his reason. This time there were ten men and Krosse had his taser drawn. Bennett wrestled with the urge to chance escape, he could not afford to be badly injured now, not if Nathan really meant to rescue him tonight. He would have to at least take this one day of Krosse's torment, and hope his slave had spoken truth and escape was imminent.

The irons went on, making freedom irretrievable. Krosse gloating all the while. "I am pleased to see you have learned something since last time." He purred. The snide comment ignored by Bennett as he was marched to the chamber, outwardly calm, eyes forward, the press of armored bodies either side directing him. The goading threat of the taser firmly against his side. He wanted to glance at Sven but he kept his eyes averted, what had been done to him Bennett worried? His second in command had not moved since he had been returned to his prison, he was in bad shape.

Escape should it come this evening was going to be difficult he fretted. Gareth eyed his leader as he passed, he looked hollow and worn. Bennett did not return his look. Krosse did instead, a twisted smile of gloating satisfaction on his evil countenance. Gareth looked away like a beaten dog, all defiance gone. Bennett suppressed a shudder at his man's demeanor and braced himself for the horror to come. Then they were gone through the metal portal. The soldiery emerging shortly after and departing for their posts in silence.

*****

His eyes rolled upwards and his mighty body heaved, he took another deep shuddering breath. The mind is stronger than the body was his mantra at this moment. He was repeating this over and over trying earnestly to stay calm. Blinding light flashed through his head and somewhere small, very small and deep inside, wondered just how long he could take this and not tell all. His admiration for Sven becoming greater by the minute, as he bit down hard willing himself to silence.

Momentarily he panicked, could he do this for many days? Sven had broken in six, would he? Hard on the heels of this internal fear came his reason, you will not have to, my boy will free us tonight. He will, he just will. However the seeds of doubt were there, Bennett was partly sure Krosse had put Nathan up to it, all part of the torturer's art, the giving of false hope. He would have done the same. Still he had to grasp at something, and that was his hope. That seemingly worthless boy will come tonight, after all he is my slave. I have conditioned him, he will free us, he is loyal to me. The thought was at least a comfort.

Bennett could no longer feel his feet or hands, or the places where the leather had cut and bruised into his flesh in his struggles. Movement was minimal, there was no option to avoid the pain. Another bright flash behind his eyes as the voltage was again applied, searing the skin as it arced hungrily seeking ground. Bennett screamed involuntarily as his body arched and shuddered, then promptly clenched his teeth. He would reveal nothing this day or the next. He would die rather than give in to the hellish little man who hovered above him, entreating him to tell all, in his persuasive German accent. Yes, he would give him nothing.

*****

Lothar moved slowly and awkwardly in his wheelchair about his luxurious apartments. The chrome and rubber wheels creaking ever so slightly as he made his way over the plush rugs and carpets, the cavernous beamed rooms dwarfing him in every aspect. He was proud of what he has achieved here, it had been no easy path to build and hold this fortress in the desert. Lothar was not a man to quit when the going became difficult, instead he just tried more doggedly until he won out.

This evening like many before he was in severe pain, moving with much difficulty, stopping to rest periodically, gazing on his horde of precious possessions as he maneuvered about the room. Lothar's dark, hard eyes alighted on the portrait of his betrothed, young, golden, and delicately beautiful in this despoiled and dusty world. The Wolf Lord wondered if he would ever see her again? Yet love her he did not, she was of all things merely a prize to him, a trophy wife. Something simply to be had because he could. A symbol of his power and a medium to producing an heir.

Frances was little more than that, a token, a bauble, something that would interest and endear the masses, someone to care for his person and give him a semblance of a home. He had nothing in common with the young woman. He had met her fleetingly on a few occasions and found her insipid and fragile, but he surmised she would look good on his arm, and be gracious enough to become his self styled queen.

Lothar sighed audibly with disappointment, stroking his neat goatee with his thumb absently, as he fretted if it was at all possible to find a replacement for her anywhere. She was after all unique, such a sheltered protected soul was a rarity. What would he do if she was not returned to him?

Doctor Krosse stood almost invisible and motionless in the dark recesses of the room, his straight back to a tapestry of majestic proportions featuring a battle scene, complete with charging knights and dying men, awaiting his Lord's pleasure.

The physically diminutive man missed nothing and knew well his Master's thoughts at that moment. Yes, she is beautiful he mused, but not nearly as beautiful as my daughter is. Relishing the fact no one even knew she existed, or had set eyes on her and lived to tell of his hidden prize. The slightest trace of a smile touched him then, and was gone in a fleeting instant, unnoticed.

Lothar seemed for a time not to heed Krosse as he fondled this and that trinket arrayed on the shelves in petulant thought, but Krosse was clever enough to know that was not the case. His Lord missed nothing, even since his illness. Not the slightest detail escaped his ruler's keen interest. In fact disability seemed to have made the man sharper than ever, as Lothar strove to overcompensate for his loss of physical prowess. It was a new trait that Victor was finding hard to live with at times.

"So how goes the interrogation?" Lothar said almost casually, his eyes elsewhere admiring his curios, voice distant and soft. This had been the seventh night he had asked this very same question of his aide, and he was fed up with the lack of results. Krosse could hear both the weariness and sarcasm in his voice.

"My Lord." The diminutive man paused, in an attempt to add importance to the title, then continued. "I have started on their leader today, he will take some time to break, he is a strong and determined one. I think even more so than the last one, and he took six days..."

"Of that I am well aware." Lothar shot back hastily, his annoyance evident, cutting off Krosse mid sentence, causticity evident in his inflection. He was not afraid to put pressure to bear to get what he wanted. The results were already too long in coming.

"Yes, my Lord." Krosse replied, trying to keep his cool. He too, jaded with this recurring conversation of every evening past.

"How will I replace her?" Lothar spoke to the walls covered in velvet sumptuousness, his hands raised in frustration. The thick wall hangings muffled his usually strong, resonant voice. "She is surely dead or soiled by now beyond redemption. That shifty brother of hers Renard has still not returned either. I do not like this at all. I demand answers and soon!"

"Yes, my Lord. You will have them." Was all Krosse could add, as he bowed and turned on his heel glad to depart from his Lord's mounting displeasure.

*****

The big man felt nothing but waves of relief, and the refreshing cool of the concrete floor as he came to in his cell. He had endured one day at the hands of Victor Krosse, the dread Doctor of torture, and he had held his secrets for now. That was all he could tell himself. However it was too early for self congratulation as Bennett realized Nathan did not show as he had promised. Instead a sickly wan featured pubescent girl had delivered the prison rations for the day. Bennett's heart plunged at the sight of her, and he was hard pressed not to spiral down into a morass of hopelessness and resignation. Now he was unsure, perhaps the promised escape had been a contrived ploy after all to falsely raise his hopes.

The sight and smell of the food nauseated him, deciding he had no appetite he pushed the metal tray aside, sipping a little of the water was all he could stomach. It somewhat quelled the pain in his raw throat and sharpened his addled wits. He ached all over and still his heart raced in his breast. He breathed deeply trying to bring his racing body under control as he sat gathering his senses and thoughts.

Tomorrow would arrive too soon and he would have to suffer more, this time without the hope of Nathan's rescue to cling to. He sighed, getting slowly to unsteady feet, drawing on inner reserves of strength and solidarity, clutching his mantle of hardness about him that none may know of his despair.