Author's note:
So I was reading the last chapter I wrote for this story, and it really
sucked (--); HaHa. Please, feel absolutely free to tell me about my
stupid mistakes. I really don't mean to use bad grammar, but sometimes I
write these stories really late at night (and very quickly) so mistakes
happen. Let me apologize for the last chapter, and I promise at least
perfunctory proofreading from now on. Honestly though, I think I may need
to get me a beta. Heh. Anyone interested... please?
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"Wind. . . ! Brother!"
Windrider struggled not to lose consciousness as his mind reverberated with Darshay's screams and pleas to their tormentor to stop. . .and the laughter: the wicked laughter Companion and Herald had grown to hate over. . . Windrider closed his eyes in despair as he struggled to remember how long the two of them had been trapped inside the dungeons of the fortress Newhart. Newhart, the home of the Baron Kestlon, blood-path mage-- apparently--and one of immense strength. Somehow, Kestlon had learned to not just tap the energies derived from pain and blood, but how to drain true Power from those that had it: to drain it thoroughly, if slowly.
And painfully, thought Windrider, as another wave of nauseating pain washed over his body. He could feel the energies seep out of him, unraveling slowly the very core of his being. He was a Companion. Power was the essence of what he was, and without Power he could not exist. Already, the Power had been drained from his wings, leaving him unable to call them at first and then without them completely. Windrider wondered what part of him would be missing the next time he looked down. Or perhaps, he would not be able to look down at all, not as he was doing now. His eyesight could very well be what went away next, or his hands. Albeit, he could not be drained directly. The energies within a Companion were too pure for those like Kestlon to touch, but through Darshay. . .
Suddenly, Windrider's thoughts came to a screeching halt. His mind, numbed with pain and loss, sharply focused. Hands, he thought, gazing downward. With the barest thought, he flexed the fingers in each of the hands before him, studying them. . . and the arms they were attached to. . . and the chest. . . and. . .
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Windrider found himself shouting. Windrider gasped startled by the sound of his voice (his voice!). What was going on?!
Darshay, passed out into unconscious bliss, made no answer but the barest whimper. The Baron Kestlon laughed. "Companion energy is too pure, but human energy is not. I know, I studied the one that came last time, both the horse and the Herald. They did not know it, but oh how I studied them! The Power that seethes from all of you. Draining even one or two of you horses would ensure me a lifetime as the strongest of Adepts. But you. . .You have far more Power than even a normal Companion."
Windrider winced as the Baron's laughter took on a hysterical edge. The eternally sardonic corner of his mind wondered why every villain deemed it necessary to expound on his own brilliance.
"Yes Companion, I drained your Herald and you gave him Power to keep alive. I drained that too, and slowly you became weak. Weak but still so strong. Still so much there to harvest! Unfortunately, this one," said the Baron, pushing at Darshay's limp for with his booted foot, "is too weak to channel all your Power. I could not strip you through him, but I can strip you as a human. As weak as you were it was child's play to change you."
Windrider's head reeled. How was this possible? The Baron had changed him then, had really changed him, into a human. That was the only explanation, and the explanation that the Baron claimed was truth. Yet, how was it possible? Companions were Companions, constructed of Power: mortal yet of another plain and each other. Unless. . . Windrider reached with his mind for the presence of Haven's Light that he had always taken for granted and found. . .nothing. His mind went blank. He could not feel the Light that connected all Companions.
"How?" Windrider managed to croak out.
"I worship the great Shadow. The Dark One showed me the way," replied Kestlon simply.
Windrider winced. He had heard of the Shadow and its followers. Men who killed for the joy of killing, men who tortured their own children in worship of that one. . .men who betrayed all bonds for the false strength the Shadow offered. It was said that none rose as quickly as a Shadowlord. We should have known, Windrider cried into the space the Light had once occupied, but there was no Light to answer him.
The Baron Kestlon, watching the rapidly changing expressions of the former Companion, smirked. He made a beautiful man, Kestlon thought silently, with his waterfall of silver-hair as long and silky as any Companion's tail and eyes the color of brilliant sapphires. Not to mention the figure, as slim as any girl's but masculine in its own way, hinting at muscle. It wasn't something Kestlon liked to flout, but his tastes had never run to women. Perhaps before the creature broke, he thought his eyes glinting with a cold light, it wouldn't hurt to have some fun with him. Well, plenty of time for those thoughts later. Shaking the unnecessary out of his head, Kestlon walked toward Windrider, who had crumpled to his knees and now sat radiating despair.
Reaching down, Kestlon grasped Windrider's chin, forcing him to stare upward. His eyes were near vacant, Kestlon noted with pleasure. The creature was broken. "Well, Companion. Hmm. Perhaps I can have my fun now rather than later."
Kestlon tossed Windrider to the floor with a hard push. Laughing slightly as the man lay where he fell, unmoving, Kestlon worked to unbuckle his belt. This was the most fun he had had in ages, he thought, laughing again.
A movement stopped the Baron's laugh. Gazing over, he saw Herald-Prince Darshay move and moan. Briefly, the Baron debated the wisdom of toying with Windrider in Darshay's presence. Injured and weak the Prince might be, but Kestlon was not a man that liked to take chances. Sighing, Kestlon began to rework his belt back through the loops that held it in place. Then again. . . the Baron smiled at his own brilliance. Grasping the belt in on hand, Kestlon cracked it like a lash, letting the resulting noise reverberate unchallenged in the dark room.
With a quickness that hinted at muscle hidden beneath the deception of fat, Kestlon tied Darshay's hands together with his belt, then looped one end through a manacle ring set into one of the cold stone walls. "Where is your strength now, oh Valdemar's Heir?" spat Kestlon as he strode away from Darshay's limp form. Perhaps, he would play with the Prince after the beautiful broken one. Toying with the idea briefly, Kestlon dismissed it. Too much pleasure did no man any good. Besides which, he'd never tortured a Companion before. This would be an experience. Stepping over Windrider's body, Kestlon stepped onto the former Companion's finely-boned hand with the heel of his boot and ground down. Bones snapped. Dropping onto his heels, Keslton smiled like a cat licking cream. With one hand, he reached to grasp a handful of silver hair.
The Shadow would be well pleased with his work today.
"Darklord of Shadows his fetters is weaving, Binds him in darkness as deep as despair, Mocks at his anger and laughs at his weeping, "Where is your strength now, oh Valdemar's Heir?"
"Wind. . . ! Brother!"
Windrider struggled not to lose consciousness as his mind reverberated with Darshay's screams and pleas to their tormentor to stop. . .and the laughter: the wicked laughter Companion and Herald had grown to hate over. . . Windrider closed his eyes in despair as he struggled to remember how long the two of them had been trapped inside the dungeons of the fortress Newhart. Newhart, the home of the Baron Kestlon, blood-path mage-- apparently--and one of immense strength. Somehow, Kestlon had learned to not just tap the energies derived from pain and blood, but how to drain true Power from those that had it: to drain it thoroughly, if slowly.
And painfully, thought Windrider, as another wave of nauseating pain washed over his body. He could feel the energies seep out of him, unraveling slowly the very core of his being. He was a Companion. Power was the essence of what he was, and without Power he could not exist. Already, the Power had been drained from his wings, leaving him unable to call them at first and then without them completely. Windrider wondered what part of him would be missing the next time he looked down. Or perhaps, he would not be able to look down at all, not as he was doing now. His eyesight could very well be what went away next, or his hands. Albeit, he could not be drained directly. The energies within a Companion were too pure for those like Kestlon to touch, but through Darshay. . .
Suddenly, Windrider's thoughts came to a screeching halt. His mind, numbed with pain and loss, sharply focused. Hands, he thought, gazing downward. With the barest thought, he flexed the fingers in each of the hands before him, studying them. . . and the arms they were attached to. . . and the chest. . . and. . .
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Windrider found himself shouting. Windrider gasped startled by the sound of his voice (his voice!). What was going on?!
Darshay, passed out into unconscious bliss, made no answer but the barest whimper. The Baron Kestlon laughed. "Companion energy is too pure, but human energy is not. I know, I studied the one that came last time, both the horse and the Herald. They did not know it, but oh how I studied them! The Power that seethes from all of you. Draining even one or two of you horses would ensure me a lifetime as the strongest of Adepts. But you. . .You have far more Power than even a normal Companion."
Windrider winced as the Baron's laughter took on a hysterical edge. The eternally sardonic corner of his mind wondered why every villain deemed it necessary to expound on his own brilliance.
"Yes Companion, I drained your Herald and you gave him Power to keep alive. I drained that too, and slowly you became weak. Weak but still so strong. Still so much there to harvest! Unfortunately, this one," said the Baron, pushing at Darshay's limp for with his booted foot, "is too weak to channel all your Power. I could not strip you through him, but I can strip you as a human. As weak as you were it was child's play to change you."
Windrider's head reeled. How was this possible? The Baron had changed him then, had really changed him, into a human. That was the only explanation, and the explanation that the Baron claimed was truth. Yet, how was it possible? Companions were Companions, constructed of Power: mortal yet of another plain and each other. Unless. . . Windrider reached with his mind for the presence of Haven's Light that he had always taken for granted and found. . .nothing. His mind went blank. He could not feel the Light that connected all Companions.
"How?" Windrider managed to croak out.
"I worship the great Shadow. The Dark One showed me the way," replied Kestlon simply.
Windrider winced. He had heard of the Shadow and its followers. Men who killed for the joy of killing, men who tortured their own children in worship of that one. . .men who betrayed all bonds for the false strength the Shadow offered. It was said that none rose as quickly as a Shadowlord. We should have known, Windrider cried into the space the Light had once occupied, but there was no Light to answer him.
The Baron Kestlon, watching the rapidly changing expressions of the former Companion, smirked. He made a beautiful man, Kestlon thought silently, with his waterfall of silver-hair as long and silky as any Companion's tail and eyes the color of brilliant sapphires. Not to mention the figure, as slim as any girl's but masculine in its own way, hinting at muscle. It wasn't something Kestlon liked to flout, but his tastes had never run to women. Perhaps before the creature broke, he thought his eyes glinting with a cold light, it wouldn't hurt to have some fun with him. Well, plenty of time for those thoughts later. Shaking the unnecessary out of his head, Kestlon walked toward Windrider, who had crumpled to his knees and now sat radiating despair.
Reaching down, Kestlon grasped Windrider's chin, forcing him to stare upward. His eyes were near vacant, Kestlon noted with pleasure. The creature was broken. "Well, Companion. Hmm. Perhaps I can have my fun now rather than later."
Kestlon tossed Windrider to the floor with a hard push. Laughing slightly as the man lay where he fell, unmoving, Kestlon worked to unbuckle his belt. This was the most fun he had had in ages, he thought, laughing again.
A movement stopped the Baron's laugh. Gazing over, he saw Herald-Prince Darshay move and moan. Briefly, the Baron debated the wisdom of toying with Windrider in Darshay's presence. Injured and weak the Prince might be, but Kestlon was not a man that liked to take chances. Sighing, Kestlon began to rework his belt back through the loops that held it in place. Then again. . . the Baron smiled at his own brilliance. Grasping the belt in on hand, Kestlon cracked it like a lash, letting the resulting noise reverberate unchallenged in the dark room.
With a quickness that hinted at muscle hidden beneath the deception of fat, Kestlon tied Darshay's hands together with his belt, then looped one end through a manacle ring set into one of the cold stone walls. "Where is your strength now, oh Valdemar's Heir?" spat Kestlon as he strode away from Darshay's limp form. Perhaps, he would play with the Prince after the beautiful broken one. Toying with the idea briefly, Kestlon dismissed it. Too much pleasure did no man any good. Besides which, he'd never tortured a Companion before. This would be an experience. Stepping over Windrider's body, Kestlon stepped onto the former Companion's finely-boned hand with the heel of his boot and ground down. Bones snapped. Dropping onto his heels, Keslton smiled like a cat licking cream. With one hand, he reached to grasp a handful of silver hair.
The Shadow would be well pleased with his work today.
"Darklord of Shadows his fetters is weaving, Binds him in darkness as deep as despair, Mocks at his anger and laughs at his weeping, "Where is your strength now, oh Valdemar's Heir?"