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The Bells That Toil Part 4

The Bells That Toil Part 4

by nivay
6 min read
4.87 (994 views)
adultfiction

How goes the border defences?

All's well, for now. But the Prucz will undoubtedly attack, or try something at least.

Pyotr nods. They are not idiots, the Prucz. They bide their time. When they attack, it will be something we do not expect.

It is their style. But still, all we can do is be vigilant.

The men walk in silence, the townsfolk are busy, but not too busy to stop what they're doing and bow to their Executor.

And so the girl...

Hmmm? Girl? Pyotr knows what Hasmet refers to, but pretends to be nonwe the wiser.

Hasmet laughs, not wishing to push the point. Pyotr chuckles as well. Words do not need to be spoken between the two. But they also know that where they are walking towards deserves more serious attention -- the dungeons.

The dungeons of Galat are cruel places -- captives from wars fought years ago still flounder in the caverns of these dungeons. Icy cold, and bitterly so in the thick of winter, the prisoners here are kept alive, but only just. Fed only what is necessary to sustain life, beaten enough to strike terror when the captives hear footsteps of their gaolers, the dungeons personify terror. The screams of those in torment stings the air at all hours of the night. Into this crucible of hell, Gergiuze has been flung.

And how is our prisoner doing?

She keeps silent, sings all day and all night. She accepts very little to eat, and the guards say that each time they approach, she smiles and sings louder, brazenly showing her naked form.

The morning is still fresh, but each time he thinks about Gergiuze, he feels spent. What manner of woman is this, who seems to have the resilience of a witch?

Secretly, Pyotr toys with the idea of making Gergiuze his wife. But he knows this is dangerous. If he were being honest with himself, he would like to steal into the dungeons in the thick of night, and amid the screams of the tormented souls, he would pound her mercilessly, make her scream out into the darkness of the dungeons, unrelentingly manhandle her like a rag doll, deflower her, then sodomise her, beat her as he does so, fling his raging soul upon the diabolically perfect body of Gergiuze, and return nightly for the same, leave her shaken, used. Secretly.

The guards greet the men with respect and ceremony, bowing low, awe etched in the corners of their eyes.

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They report to him that she been upbeat. There are some signs that she is fatigued, and when she thinks they are not watching her, she carries a look of longing, a look of sorrow. But the second she realises someone is near, or she hears footsteps, she rises and stands, facing the guards with defiance in her eyes.

Has she eaten? Has she been treated for her wounds from the beating?

Yes, my Liege, as best we could. Her patience runs thin and she spits on the doctors. She even tried strangling Physician Vladek.

Pyotr stifles a laugh. The guards stare at him uncomprehendingly, and then laugh, because he laughs.

Let's see the prisoner.

Deep in the belly of the labyrinthine dungeons, Pyotr, Hasmet, his men, and the guards approach the cold cavernous prison of Gergiuze.

As the guards have predicted, she stands in the middle of her cell and stares defiantly at them, her body now begrimed with soot, and sweat. Yet, in his eyes, she has lost none of the majesty with which she presented herself at the Pora. He notices a slight frailty in her form, fatigue most likely, but her eyes still burn.

When she sees Pyotr, she smiles and steps forward, seductively, her hips accentuated with each calculated step towards the cell bars. She reaches high for the bars, as if rehearsed, because she knows, as her hands reach high, and hold on the bars, her breasts are compelled to lift with the arms, and the hollow, that beautiful hollow of her underarms, catch the dim flickering light from the flames on the torches. She knows the effect this will have. It seems to Pyotr that she has seen through his soul.

So...the Executor himself graces us with his presence. You have made me wait. How naughty of you. She says, her eyes glinting with malice.

I see you have not lost any of your defiance. Strange is it not, Gergiuze, that you stand behind bars, and your father has nary done a thing, or said a thing.

She never loses her smile. She locks eyes with Pyotr, and allows the silence to fall, for the last traces of his voice to trail of.

You are a fool, if you think that Pruczians behave like the Galatai. We are children of noble blood, and you...

She pauses here, and looks at each man pointedly.

And you are mere...savages. Uncouth. You think that you have shamed me -- you put me here, with the screams of these poor souls for music, you strip me naked, you put me in chains, you beat me. I ask you this -- cast your eyes on this body, cast your eyes on my breasts, my neck, my gracious hips, my thighs. What is there about these that I should be ashamed about? Not a single man among you would deny his lust.

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And yet, I am expected to feel shame?

She laughs, and her laugh echoes eerily across the dungeons, and suddenly, the dungeons are quiet, the voices of men, their tremulous torment quelled by the sudden realisation that there is a woman in their midst.

The men, and Gergiuze remain silent. But a clamour behind them interrupts this silence. Pyotr and Hasmet are puzzled by the clamour of voices, which come closer. A group of men, led by Marek come through the halls looking for Pyotr.

The Executor looks at Marek, demanding answers. Marek, breathless stops, and noticing Gergiuze, he freezes, both Marek and the captive woman exchange glances, but Marek collects himself.

Our forward observers have come back with a report. An army, perhaps twenty thousand men, perhaps less, it is hard to tell. They are approaching. Their banners unfurled, my Liege.

Behind Pyotr, now that he has turned his back to face Marek, Gergiuze chuckles.

Fools, she says, the word lingers in the air.

Pyotr turns to her again, and with his eyes trained on her, he addresses Hasmet.

My friend, take her to the Quatrefoil Tower. Suspend her from the tower. Twenty men to watch over her. They will not sleep. Our visitors are about a day and half's march from us. But there's no reason why she cannot be suspended from the walls now.

Hasmet hesitates.

Why are you not moving?

She will not survive, my Liege. We need her alive.

Pyotr is angered by his own foolishness. Hasmet is right. But his rage has clouded his judgement.

Very well. Keep her here for now. Send scouts out to gauge their approach. We will suspend her when they get closer.

He turns back to Gergiuze and smiles at her. Your words...are words... Now, we shall see what words are against Galatai steel.

The heavy footfall of burly men make a cacophony through the dungeons, leaving Gergiuze in darkness again. By the time Pyotr reaches the mouth of the Dungeons, the tormented souls resume their screams.

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