Chapter 7:
"Sheesh..., now I have to go and do all the dirty work on my own again. Snobby undead elves..." I mumble to myself as I stray through the streets of New Avalon not as idly as one might suspect but quite contrary to that on the search for more people to question.
Why can't they just send a group of geists to up one of the Crusaders after the other just as we need them? Just bring one or two to the crypt and torture them there till they tell us what they know. Killing their beaten husks afterwards should be far easier than investing all of this effort, but no.
Not that I wouldn't enjoy it, but I always get these menial tasks to fulfill or at least run after. Kill things here, kill things there.
But well, who am I to judge all of it... Sure, it would be more ... interesting to be on a big assignment for once, yet I guess the master tells everybody what they should order me to do for a reason. It is all a grand scheme of things I don't have to understand.
So, keeping that in mind, now I stand here waiting for another righteous and overzealous member of the Crusade that I can forcefully tear to the forge and torture there with the two iron spikes, then nicely heated up, that are currently fixed to my belt.
Keleseth was the one who gave them to me still inside the crypt. He called them his 'persuaders' with a certain kind of twisted affection and indeed what a lovely name for two spikes made of solid metal that were built to torture humans and maybe even bring burning death. I would definitely be able to reach the same effect with the tip of my blade, yet the elf wanted me to be careful. The victim should live as long as possible and not die without a point due to loss of blood.
After a while of waiting and searching I see a guard patrolling between the couple of buildings scattered out in this bleak image of a town.
I don't try to sneak up on him but still, I might as well approach him from behind.
A hit with the flat side of my blade straight to the back of his head sends him to the ground. He shouldn't be completely unconscious for long, but he should feel dizzy and blurry long enough so that he won't be able to struggle too much until he's safely tied down.
I grab him by the collar of his armor. It's only made of tanned leather nevertheless he is wearing a shield and a sword. Both of them not anywhere near the high quality equipment we took of the first corpses we revived today. It seems their supplies are running thin already. Too many died in the field and decided to take their armor with them to the enemy...
The floor of the forge is already blood-stained from the Crusaders before. Their bodies now rest behind the building, piled up without too much care, waiting for our necromancers to show up and give them a place amongst us. The corpses are all covered with burns, no wounds too great to die from immediately. I gave it my best and eagerly tried every body part at least once – that way I'd get a hold of how effective it would be on which part. Of course I made some differences between men and women, but the number of male members is definitely higher rendering these thoughts pretty much irrelevant. Yet again, I may be ruthless... but I still have my fair share of personal honor I intend on keeping, at least concerning these matters. Besides ... I wouldn't end up foolish enough sparing them just because of their gender, neither does death.
Anyways I put the Crusader I have with in chains for a start-up.
The timing is down just like with those before: whilst the spikes heat up in the forge, the young man slowly seems to wake up again.
I already wonder what he might try to tell me, how he would bargain for his pitiful little life. The Crusaders seem to be a stubborn folk. Some of them tried to threaten me, told me stories about me hanging from the gallows soon, not that it would matter anymore. Others almost begged for the sweet kiss of death, announced that they would tell me nothing and I would have to kill them. Idiot... That one really expected me to kill him on the spot just as he told me to. But I better idea. I set an example... His screams were loud enough to be heard up in the fortress on the hill.
Yet the most exhausting ones by far were those that tried to mock me. One even tried to tell me that their own Grand Inquisitor, called Isillien, was more fearsome than I. Why do these people tend to make their gravest mistakes in the seconds right before their inevitable death? I took his sight away first as a present of my graciousness. Keeping completely quiet on my part, I left him the chance to imagine that Isillien was the one killing him instead of me, if that was the person who he truly had feared most in his life.
But this time, everything seems to be a little bit different. It turns out that I have found me a weak one for a change. I stare at him with my ice-blue eyes for a moment to get things going. This already builds up a sufficient amount of pressure in his heart. And indeed I manage to break him even before anything had happened. I did not bother taking off his helmet. The limit sight he had like this made it only worse for him. Clearly he's still rather young, not too devoted to the Scarlet Crusade at a whole, the tabard of their guard he's wearing with at least some pride lost forever. At least it lets me hope that he might know something useful.
Without a word I get up and go over to the forge, checking on my two little tools. His eyes follow every movement I make, his breathing uneasy, right now he is too scared to actually scream though. The rattling I hear is a good sign. He tries his best and struggles to get out of the chain but ultimately it's useless.
The panic he feels is clearly visible in his eyes as I take the two hot irons freshly out of the fire and smash their tips together sending a sole spark flying through the air.
No doubt, he has to be still rather young and a bit daft too.
I slowly approach him again, putting down one of the 'persuaders' on a large anvil next to the boys right, it's heated end pointing in his direction. It lies there on about eye-level. This surely will be intimidating enough for this brat. And even if not, what's there to lose for me?
My sword is leaning at the wall on the other side of the room, far away but still clearly in his sight. A pool of curdled blood has formed on the floor where the tip of the blade is standing, all of hit just another instrument of my carefully planned terror.
I crouch down next to him and grab his throat with my left hand. Not wanting to squeeze too tightly I watch my strength - not that I kill him or he faints on me again. I found that out the hard way a couple of try's earlier...
I then hover the hot iron in front of his eyes, only centimeters from his face. He immediately closes them and tries to tilt his head back as far as he could yet my grip and the wall stop his efforts abruptly. The heat alone should hurt at least somewhat already.
He again tries to scream but the panic will not let him. He has a lump in his throat, probably more figuratively than anybody would imagine. I expect him to throw up sooner or later due to the sole pressure. But before any of that would happen, I start my questioning. I had remained quiet long enough up until now.
"Tell me about the 'Crimson Dawn' and I will have the mercy to end your miserable existence quickly. Tell me not and you will experience a world of pain!"
I let loose of his neck and take a hold of his right arm, his eyes wide open as I draw closer to his skin with the 'persuader'.
He utters a few things like "No, please don't..." or "Just stop, please!" as I pretend he is begging too quietly to be heard by me. As the hot metal touches his skin his whole body starts shivering under the sensation of melting flesh. He screams out loud once, at least that should offer a bit of a relief for him. Following only his natural reactions he tries to pull his arm back as good as he can and with all the force he is able to muster, but the chain hinders him to do so. For me the sight a little bit different though. With interest I watch how the upper layers of his skin are melting, molding into something new, blood evaporates as it touches the iron, producing the quiet hissing sound I enjoyed for the last hour. Tears come to the eyes of the young crusader. He is the first of them to cry. All of the other ones just sat there with their eyes closed. Most of them screamed as well, other bit off parts of their own tongue but none ever shed even only a single tear. In an awkward way one could even call it touching the way how he is sitting there fearful in disbelieve of the truth unfolding around him.
Being completely helpless - that is what humanity should really learn to fear the most. Sadly this boy would not live through this day to tell his saddening story to anybody. To tell how it felt and to live his life scarred from these few moments, the atrocities of his and our war.
I turn the metal on his skin letting it roll down his arm to an unburned spot. The short hair underneath it is burned away so quickly nothing remains of it. For a second I lift it off the arm and repeat what I want to know of him.
It takes him a moment to focus again and I am willing to let it pass, to let the adrenalin in his body ease the pain for at least a short period of time. I'm already sure about getting something out of him, but it wouldn't be easy. It would hold hardships none of those before him offered me. But instead I find myself in a position where I have to be careful so that the words which I wanted to hear are not drowned in his own salty tears.
He swallows hard and takes a deep breath.
It seems he wants to tell me something.
The first words he is saying are indefinable, but as I come closer with the hot iron again, he swallows another time and begs me to stop. He says he will tell me everything that he knows.
"We... we have only been told that the-the 'Crimson Dawn' is an awakening. You see, the Light speaks to the High General. It is the Light!" He has trouble suppressing further tears. "The Light that guides us! The movement was set in motion long before you came... We... we only do as we are told. It is what must be done..." His breathing is uneasy, the pain coming back again. Makes me even fear that he might die due to a weak heart... "I don't know too much about it..." His voice growing faint, "The High General chooses who may go and who must stay behind. There's nothing else! You have to believe me!"
What is that brat trying to tell me? It sounds like a bunch of lies to me, nothing more – nothing less... but still this... boy... is too young to make things up like this when suffering from such amounts of pain!
I'm sure of it and neither the voice is contradicting my evaluation.
I press the hot iron again against the skin of his arm again just to be sure.
"Everything you tell are lies!" I yell at him, my ice-blue eyes gazing merciless at his writhing body.
"PLEASE! STOP! ... A courier will come here soon... from Hearthglen! He..." His words suddenly die off. They just drop away into nothingness. I take the hot iron off his arm and take a closer look at him. He couldn't have died already, I hardly did anything to him, or did he? Did he just faint maybe?
Either way there seems nothing to be gained here anymore so I get up to my feet again. At least two things are for sure now. First and most important of all, I have something that I can tell the elf in the crypt, and secondly, the boy is unconscious.
I don't think that I would get too much more information out of him now, no matter how much torture I apply. So I might as well kill him on the spot.
Casually I get the blade from the other side of the room. Finally I could go back to the elf and leave this place behind again. Maybe I'll get a more interesting assignment next time I figure.
I drive the sword through the heart of the young man without a moment's hesitation. I don't care if the crusade or our necromancers find his dead body still tied up like this or with the other corpses behind the forge when they get here.
After all, he's just another Crusader.