Warning: Torture
Ch. 8
Merlin was getting the sneaking suspicion that the enemy's current location hadn't been entirely about setting a trap. The crawling journey from one side of the valley to the other gave Merlin time to assess the situation, specifically the four derrigibles hovering overhead and the contstant comings and goings of numerous skyboats.
Then his current mode of transporation eased itself down into a clearing at the foot of a very weathered mountain, and his suspicions were confrimed. Now that he was awake, Merlin had been allowed to sit up on one of the skyboat's many benches – mostly for the sake of his captor's being able to keep a better eye on him than for comfort – and Merlin was able to see over the side of the rail.
Whatever these people were up to, it involved one hell of an effort. The camp below was massive, a mess of tents, camp fires and stacks of crates full of supplies. The real point of interest, however, was what appeared to be some sort of mining operation, maybe an excavation – men chipping at a cliff face with picks and tossing chunks of stones into waiting wagons to be hauled away. The work stretched the length of the cliff as far as the eye could see in either direction, but the focus mainly along the base.
Then the skyboat's tethers were tossed over the side, and the camp's activities became the least of Merlin's worries. The boat was hauled all the way to the ground, allowing the crew to dump their prize – namely Merlin – over the side without having to unchain him to use the ladder. Merlin landed on his side on the ground, hard, jarring his shoulder and hip painfully. They were within the camp from what he could see, men gathering slowly and curiously but making sure not to get too close to him.
"Someone get Lord Cenred and the Lady Morgause!" someone called. "Tell them we've got ourselves a little prize."
Men chuckled, and someone booted Merlin in the back. Merlin allowed himself a quick grimace but otherwise kept his face neutral, which was no easy feat. His heart was pounding fit to race up his throat and out his mouth, and he had to lock his muscles to diminish his trembling to mild vibrations. Never had he been more terrified in his life, not when the men at the hangars were in the mood to give him grief, not even when Arthur had attempted to pound him into the ground for standing up to him. But just because he was scared didn't mean he had to show it, if he could help it.
Then the crowd parted enough for three people to make their way through – one a man with a sharp face and a slick, greasy smile, dressed like a gentlmen in a light gray suit and red silk cravat. Another a spidery little bug-eyed man that made Merlin think of a undertaker having lost his wits, complete with a dark coat that had seen better days and a dusty top hat. Finally, there was the woman, blond hair, beautiful, and like a glacier personified. She was dressed in black trousers and a white button shirt, and one look at her frosty blue eyes sent waves of cold down Merlin's spine. She looked down at Merlin and frowned severly.
"You said you found us a prize," she said. "Not a piece of garbage."
Maybe it was foolishness, or maybe Merlin's inablity to grow a thick skin when it came to certain insults, but for a moment he forgot his fear and glared at the woman. It made the slick man laugh.
"He's got spirit for a peice of garbage, Morgause," the man said.
"He's a mechanic and no use to us unless he can tell us where the regent is, Cenred," the woman snarled.
One of the men who had been in the sky boat stepped forward, his back rigid enough to snap. "He was found within the valley, my lady, and as you know only one flyer was spotted making for this area. He also used magic."
That made both of Morgause's pale eyebrows climb high up her smooth forehead. "Magic, you say? Are you sure?" She toed Merlin in the chest with her booted foot. "Perhaps my eyes decieve me but he certainly doesn't look to be a sorcerer."
"Believe me, ma'am, he is. I arrived in time to see him dispatch a patrol using the very trees. I had to spell a rock to fly into his head to stop him. It could be a disguise, my lady."
"True," the woman said. "Are you, boy? In disguise? Tell me, Trickler. What threat does this pup pose to us?"
The spidery man shuffled forward smiling a smile that made Merlin's flesh want to crawl off his bones. The man reached for him, chuckling, and Merlin tried to shuffle away when a boot pressed against his back, stopping him. But Trickler didn't touch him, thank goodness, merely passed his hands over Merlin's body with only an inch of space in between.
Trickler sucked in a breath. "Goodness but you are a talented one. The power just vibrates from him, Miss Morgause. It takes years of deep study and practice to ooze such ability. He must be in disguise."
Trickler's laughter turned breathy and insane, and he straightened, practically humming with excitement as he wrung his dirty hands together. "Oh, can we keep him, Miss Morgause, can we? I will break him for you and he will make such a wonderful pet."
Morgause looked at him sharply. Trickler shrank back, but continued on undeterred. "Do not doubt me now, mistress. Have I been nothing but loyal in gifting you with sorcerers? And the younger ones are so easy to train. I will have him docile as a lamb before the day is done. We could use such talent."
"I'm more interested in what he knows of the regent," Morgause said.
Trickler scoffed. "Oh, mistress, that is nothing for me. You know this."
"I do," Morgause said coolly. "Fine, do what you will with him. If he survives then you have my permission to attempt to... coerce him into our ranks. But I want the regent more than I want another sorcerer. Do not hold back."
Trickler laughed, clapping his hands together spamodically. "Oh, thank you, mistress, thank you. I do love breaking the little sorcerers."
Merlin's stomach clenched, his heart seeming to take refuge behind it. The crowd, grimacing, hurried away as though anxious to escape whatever was to come next – except for three, two men and a woman, their faces thin and pale and their eyes near-empty save for a never-ending terror as though their torment continued.
Merlin could sense their magic even from where he lay.
"Now, then," Trickler said, cracking his knuckles. He smiled showing his dirty teeth. "Shall we begin?" He shook out his hand, then lightly swatted it as though batting away a fly.
Merlin's head snapped to one side, his face throbbing mercilessly like he'd been struck by a metal gauntlet. Something warm and metallic filled Merlin's mouth. When he spit, he balked to see a wad of blood splatter onto the ground.
Trickler let loose a high pitched and giddy laugh. "Splendid, just splendid!" His hand shot forward, reaching out with his fingers curled like claws. The fingers squeezed nothing.
Merlin found himself unable to breathe, his chest constricting, and constricting, and constricting, his ribs creaking as they pressed in on his lungs. His chest burned, his lungs burned, his body screamed for air and black motes pulsed in his eyes. Trickler's finger opened and air rushed into Merlin's throat, filling his desperate lungs.
The man's fingers squeezed. The air stopped. Merlin arched back trying to loosen whatever it was stopping his breaths and crushing his chest. There followed a snap, then another, loud enough for both Trickler and Merlin to hear, and white-hot agony. Trickler released his hold.
Merlin screamed.
Trickler laughed.
~oOo~
"Gah, this boat is bloody slow!" Gwaine snarled. "And drives like a bloody drunken ox."
"It can drive like a drunken elephant for all I care as long as we get to where we need to," Arthur said. He tugged at the enemy jacket a little too tight about the shoulders. On the plus side, at least the trousers fit. Too bad Morgana couldn't say the same – she was practically swimming in her uniform and kept having to tug the trousers up. Gwen had been a bit quicker about getting to the smallest of the enemy, though her clothes weren't exactly a perfect fit, either.
"Preferably before nightfall," Lancelot said, glancing up at the sky nervously. "We're losing daylight."
"Good," Arthur said. "We can use the dark to our advantage." He had stopped his adjusting, ignoring the uncofortable tightness of the clothes in favor of staring at the way ahead. They were closer, now, the skyboats no longer dots in the distance but detailed. The plan was to land somewhere outside the location and go from there with the hope that the enemy were not so close a knit-group as to recognize a strange face among their ranks.
"Do you think..." Gwaine said. He faltered, took a breath and tried again. "Do you think that... they're questioning him?"
"Probably," Arthur said darkly. It surprised him how sick the thought of it made him. He was supposed to hate Merlin, but the image of that skinny, bumbling idiot – the same idiot who had let himself get captured saving Arthur – being tortured for information...
Arthur swallowed thickly. That idiot had saved his life. Like hell Arthur was going to leave him to suffer at the hands of those bastards.
A hand on Arthur's shoulder thankfully pulled him from his dark thoughts. He looked down at Gwen, who smiled back up at him.
"We'll get him back," she said.
Arthur nodded, resolute.
~oOo~
Merlin was shaking, he hurt so much. His face, chest, neck, back, arm. Trickler hadn't stopped with invisible punches to the face and breaking two of Merlin's ribs. He had done something that made Merlin feel as though his spine were being tied into knots, his neck bent near to breaking, his wrist twisted violently, and his organs squished. Then Trickler's fingers squeezed air, and Merlin's heart thrashed like a bird being crushed. When Trickler released, Merlin gasped out a sob, his heart beating frantically in his chest, desperate to get his blood moving again.
"Oh, you are a resilient little thing," Trickler sneered. "Really, now, why such stubborness? Is the regent really that worth it? Do you not think that where ever he is hiding he would have moved on by now? Of course he has moved on, so there's no need for this resolve. Go on, tell me where he is and I promise, no more pain."
Merlin coughed, and his sobbing became laughter. "Yeah, no more pain. What was that a while back about breaking me to be some kind of pet? Why do I get the feeling that's going to involve twice the pain as now?"
Trickler looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "I suppose you have a point. Breaking a mind does take it's sweet time, but it is rather enjoyable, I must say." He squeezed, and Merlin's broken ribs ground together. "And I'm oh so very good about inflicting it without it resulting in death. Honestly, I could do this all day."
Trickler released, and Merlin gasped and choked, curling into himself. The temptation to say something, anything, to make the pain stop even if it was only for a moment crested like a massive wave in Merlin's heart. A lie, tell him a lie, throw him off the scent. But the pain wouldn't let him think of anything but the cave.
Maybe Trickler was right. Maybe Arthur had moved on.
No, he wouldn't have, not with the patrols out there. He would still be hiding, still vulnerable.
Trickler's fingers twitched. Merlin's back arched, his spine bending against his will nearly to the snapping point, then released. Merlin groaned breathing hard and fast.
He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't, he wouldn't, he wouldn't...
Trickler's fingers squeezed and Merlin couldn't breathe.
Then he released, far sooner than last time. The blood roared through Merlin's ears and he sucked in greedy-lungfuls, making him momentarily deaf. But then the roaring cleared just enough for him to realize that the sound hadn't been entirely the product of his rushing blood. There was a commotion. Men were shouting, the shout spreading as people ran to and fro, riding high on excitement.
"Mister Trickler! We found something Mr. Trickler!" someone said, but it was an excitement Trickler didn't share, having to cease his torments. He grumbled, rolled his eyes, then gestured sharply at Merlin.
"Bring the brat!"
Two men hauled Merlin by his arms to his uncooperative feet, dragging him along behind the muttering, stomping Trickler. Merlin spat a wad of blood from his mouth onto the ground. More blood trickled from his nose, a cut over his eye and another on his cheek. He was carried for what felt like forever along the cliffside until they came to a collection of boulders and talls rocks leaing against eachother. A narrow pathway had been chipped clear, leading to a bare section of cliff.
"Here, Mr. Trickler," said one of the men. With the day aging toward evening and the remaining light blocked by the boulders, serveral lanterns had to be held close to the rock face. Merlin forced his head to raise on his aching neck. Being close – right behind Trickler and a little to the right – he squinted at what looked to be a weathered but still intact carving in the rock, a circle with some sort of Celtic knot design in the center.
It was like a lever had been flipped, Trickler's moodiness gone in a heartbeat, replaced by an insane giddiness that had his hands a blur of clapping.
"Yes, yes, yes! At last! This is it! Someone go get the lady and Cenred. Tell them I am working to open the door even as we speak. Now where are those bloody papers..." Trickler patted himself down until producing said papers from a pocket within his dusty jacket. He removed them with a flourish and an "ah-ha!" then proceeded to scan them. Satisfied with his scanning, he placed a hand over the symbol and began muttering ancient-sounding words.
Whatever Trickler was up to, it was taking its sweet time and not meant to. He spoke the words over and over, louder and louder, his eyes flashing gold each time, but nothing happened. He was also gaining a bit of an audience as men gathered looking both nervous and hopeful. Then the men parted like the Red Sea allowing Morgause and Cenred to squeeze through.
"What is taking so long?" she demanded. "If this is indeed the door then why isn't it open?"
"I am trying, my lady," Trickler growled. He spoke the words again, practically snarling them. Still nothing happened.
"Move," Morgause snapped. She squeezed through to the front. After shoving Trickler back, she slapped her hand over the symbol and hissed the words Trickler had been speaking only moments ago.
Still nothing. Morgause stepped back, her expression thunderous as she rounded on Trickler.
"This isn't the door. You have wasted our time, Trickler!"
Trickler cringed back. "It has to be!" he whined. "It's the location, it's the mountain and there has been no other symbols." He flipped through his collection of papers fratnically. "It's this bloody research, mistress. It is all written in riddles. See, here – only he who is not searching finds what he does not seek. What – what does that even mean?"
"It means," Morgause sneered, "That the entrance is not ours to open." She glanced around until her cool gaze landed on Merlin. The woman wasn't just an iceburg, she was also a snake. She struck fast, grabbing Merlin's twisted wrist and pulling him forward, hard. He cried out. She couldn't care less.
"Don't think to try anything. I will know it and you will be dead before you can utter a single syllable against me," she said. She muttered a word, her eyes flashed, and the manacle on Merlin's wrist fell away. She then pushed Merlin's palm against the symbol. "Trickler, the words."
Trickler held a sheet of paper in front of Merlin.
"Speak them," Morgause hissed.
Merlin glared at her. "No."
Morgause's eyes narrowed. "Trickler?"
Trickler's hand shot out, squeezed air, and Merlin's ribs bent and groaned until he screamed.
"Speak them!" Morgause snarled, squeezing his wrist.
The pain cut through Merlin's sanity, shredding it until all he knew was agony and the need to make it stop.
He shouted the words on the paper.
The sigil shimmered a faint gold. There followed a deep, throaty rumble and then a section of rock face slid away revealing a dark, endless tunnel. Morgause smiled like a fox in the hen house.
"Well done," she purred. She held out a hand that someone slapped the manacle in, then bound Merlin's wrist. Merlin's magic retreated to his center like a rabbit to its hole.
"Gather lamps and weapons," Morgause called. She released Merlin's wrist with a rough push, sending more pain skittering up his arm to his spine. "We proceed immediately."
TBC...
