Author's note : First, I hope you enjoy reading this. I'm very interested in any feedback anyone has for me so please leave a comment or get in touch with any thoughts you have on what is good and what could be done better. All votes and comments are much appreciated.
Author's Note II :
I have recently begun scribbling some stories again and in advance of submitting new material I've been revising all my previous stories. If anyone notices the difference in this story I hope they like it and leave a comment or send me a note to tell me about it but if by chance anyone misses the previous version, get in touch and I can get you a copy of the original. Many thanks to the wonderful kjplotts for editing this for me!
*
"Is that man supposed to look like that?"
Morden moved aside so his chief torturer could peer through the iron bars of the cell door. She threw back her head and laughed.
"Ah yes," she said. "That's one of my
special
projects. Just for my personal amusement. Don't worry, I made sure he had no potential use before I began his... conditioning."
Morden kept his face carefully blank and continued his inspection.
Katarina had what from one perspective could be called a gift and from another might be described as a mental problem. Morden had found her in one of his enemy's prisons and instantly seen the role she could serve. Her skill at extracting information, bending prisoners' wills to serve the kingdom and general sadism was extraordinary. In return she only asked for a few of the prisoners to be given to her as playthings.
The floor of the tunnel was covered in filth of uncertain origin. Morden knew she had arranged this deliberately, as this level of the castle was pristine when he gave her it to create her dungeon.
They walked past more cells, saw more men and women in various forms of agony and despair. Some screamed, some could only moan out something that was fast approaching a death rattle. Beyond the last cell the corridor opened out. The floor in the centre of the room had been lowered into an oval.
"This is my favourite torment," she said.
A banquet was set on a table. Half a dozen malnourished prisoners huddled at the edges of the ring. Between them two demon hounds were chained to the table. They were visions of hell itself, with raw red flesh that hung loosely from their bodies and eyes filled with fire.
"This group has only been there for a few days," she said. "It will be a week before the hunger gets too much and the first one tries to get to the food."
Morden looked down at the miserable souls in front of him.
"After that the fun really begins," she continued.
Morden noticed her hand had slid between her legs as she spoke. Katarina never wore clothes while in her lair.
"Once they have seen what happens, they will begin to fight among themselves. When the hunger gets too much to bear, they will try sacrificing one another to give themselves time to raid the table. And after that fails, they will start to consider feasting on each other."
"I trust you have taken precautions with those demons," he said.
"Yes of course," she replied. "The hounds don't have any real mind of their own but they are completely bound to that area and are contracted not to harm anyone in your service."
Morden nodded absently. He was going to have to get rid of her if she got any worse than this; as useful as she was, she was getting too erratic to safely keep around. The war would be over in the coming months and after that, it would be easier to get rid of her.
A young lieutenant in his army bustled into the room and abruptly came to a halt as he saw the bizarre scene. Morden looked at him expectantly.
"My liege," he said gleefully. "We have captured them."
* * *
The heavy iron door slammed behind Morden as he strode into the dungeon. The years of conflict had been worthwhile just for this moment.
The stone-walled room was windowless. Light was provided by torches in brackets lining the walls. It lay at the deepest level of his castle, several hundred feet below the ground. Iron had been painstakingly latticed across every surface to create a perfect magical vacuum. The perfect prison for a beaten warlock.
Morden surveyed his fallen rival with satisfaction.
"You should have taken my offer years ago, Pavon. Now look what you have brought upon yourself."
Pavon, shackled to the wall with heavy manacles, ignored him.
"I'm glad they caught you alive though. I wouldn't want you to miss the consummation of the union between our lands."
Morden let his glance wander to the room's other occupant and laughed as Pavon struggled hopelessly against the thick black chains.
In the centre of the room, a block of black marble in the shape of a Y rose several feet off the ground. Initially, he had asked Katarina to provide a suitable apparatus to restrain a woman for coitus. Her ideas of what was suitable had both astonished and dismayed him. She had offered to provide alternatives after he politely refused her initial suggestion but he had thought it best to conjure his own. A young woman lay on it, legs splayed down the forked ends, chained at the ankles and wrists and bereft of any clothing. Morden trailed his hand along her toned leg as he walked around her.
She had the same deep brown eyes and light brown hair as her father but her olive complexion must have come from her mother. Her figure was graced with full, fertile curves and her face was a vision of aristocratic beauty.
"What do you think, Alexa? Should your father have taken my offer and spared you from this?"
"No offer you make can be trusted," she said. She met his gaze steadily but the tremble in her voice betrayed her fear.
Morden laughed again.
"You recite his mindless slogans well," he said. "He must be very proud. Do you think he will still be proud when you are my Queen? When you bear my heirs?"
They both remained impassive but he didn't care. Having them at his mercy was reward enough.
Morden and Pavon had known each other all their lives. Their families owned neighbouring kingdoms. They had studied at the Academy at the same time. They had even ascended to their respective thrones within a year of each other.
Pavon was a fool. Always had been. Morden had known he was the better man when he was fifteen years old and had spent most of the intervening period plotting the conquest of his neighbour's kingdom.
If genetics had been kind to Morden, inheritance had been kind to Pavon. Morden ruled a kingdom barely half the size of his rival's and with fewer resources. He hadn't let logistics curb his ambition though. After years of planning, he had launched his assault and within six months had achieved an unassailable advantage in the war.
The idiot didn't surrender. Pavon's position was hopeless and everyone but he knew it. The outcome of the war could not be changed, but his stubborn refusal to see sense had dragged it out for six years and ravaged the kingdom he thought he was protecting. All the while he had locked himself away performing hare-brained experiments and dabbling with any dark art he could find, searching in vain for a way to fight back.
None of that mattered anymore. Morden had him now. Him and his precious daughter.
Alexa was an unexpected bonus. Morden had no idea how Pavon managed to find a woman prepared to bear him a child and he knew he lacked the spine to take one by force. The Princess was hugely popular among her people and her family. She served as Pavon's chief lieutenant during the war and acquitted herself far better than he had.
Now Morden would take her as his Queen. After he subdued her will, it would be a great boon in his efforts to solidify his hold on his new territory to have the peasants beloved Princess acknowledge his rule.
