AERYAN ILLERYN

  Aeryan sat on the Obsidian Throne, high above the captured lord.

  Lord Alfred was on his knees, and badly beaten. Aeryan could barely recognise him as a lord, let alone one of the wealthiest lords of Lanvar.

  Lord Alric had already described him as beaten, but Aeryan did not think he would be this heavily beaten. What merciless God is keeping him alive still? It was unnerving.

  The lord’s face was pale, parts of his skin was peeling off, and his finger tips were bleeding, they’d taken his finger nails off. Some of his teeth were punched out, and his body was as frail as a pile of sticks. And sar Davis stood over him with a boastful smile plastered across his face.

  Aeryan felt sick to his stomach. He wanted to puke. He wanted to kill Davis himself. He wanted the general ripped to bits, and kept alive. No man deserves this, he said to himself. He clenched his fists. “Arrest sar Davis.”

  The general looked shook, and turned and twisted his head as if he had seen a ghoul. He did not fight, and he did not resist as the two knights took him out of the room, and into the dungeons.

  “My lords,” Aeryan spoke with a booming voice. “If any man, ours- our enemies’s, or those without banners-brings any prisoner in such a state as this.” He pointed to lord Alfred, on his knees, breathing heavy as a ship. “I want you to order them arrested on the spot. No man deserves this amount of torture, no matter who they are.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” lord Alric was the first to speak up, Aeryan could see the utter horror and disgust on his face. And also the same on Varserys’s. The Lord Senator looked as disgusted, if not more disgusted as Aeryan himself.

  “Lord Alfred, you may stand.” The lord tried his best, he tried to push himself up, yet his legs began shaking. Then they gave out from under him, and he collapsed back to his knees. Aeryan felt a deep sense of pity course through his body.

  “I’m sorry, your grace,” lord Alfred apologised, and even from thirteen feet up, Aeryan could see the fear and shame in his eyes. And the tears welling up. “I am unable.”

  Two of the knights in the room helped the man stay stable on his knees. Aeryan’s blood boiled…and his heart sank. Sar Davis had been stupid enough to bring his captive to him, but what of the others? What of the other hundreds of generals and thousands of captains? How depraved were their captives?

  “My lord, tell me what torture the general bestowed upon you, and try to not leave anything out, no matter how gory or bloody it might be. I will make sure you have your justice.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The lord began shaking as he bowed his head, “Yes, your majesty.”

  “Get the man a chair already!” Lord Varserys screamed at one of the guards holding the lord up, “Have you no empathy for a man struggling?” The guard dashed to grab a chair from one of the other rooms. “Get him a drink as well, water. Alcohol’ll burn his wounds.” And a serf grabbed a goblet and poured some water into it, handing it to a guard who gave the lord the cup.

  His gored fingers could barely hold the cup straight without shaking, and the lord was clearly in pain while holding and drinking it. He gulped it down like desert sand.

  The guards brought a small cushioned chair in from the other room. looked almost like a chair from the feast hall. The lord sat down.

  “Now, my lord, please explain to us what torture has been bestowed upon you. And how you were captured. And what are your prince’s war plans?”

  “I can, your majesty.” The lord looked down warily, and began speaking. “I was captured at the battle for the city of Reme. I was sent to set it under siege, or capture it outright. Sar Davis intercepted me ten miles from the city. We battled for eight hours, they burnt our camp, killed our oxen, butchered our men. Any of mine who lived were placed on pikes, alive. He did the same to any of yours who turned and ran from fear.” The room gasped, so he’s a bloody traitor. “I was kept alive and was to be brought to the capital to serve as your majesty’s eunuch.”

  Aeryan’s face dropped. His generals were committing war crimes. Mauryi war crimes.

  “Continue, my lord,” Lord Varserys asked, “If it does not hurt you to.”

  “I was paraded around the city in triumph, your majesty. I was stripped naked, my clothes were burnt and I was paraded through the city, where I was poked, prodded and cut and beaten by on lookers.” The lord shook harder. “They refused to allow me more than half a cup of water a day, a half loaf of moldy bread were the only things I had to eat and drink. I was forced to make the eighty mile march from Reme to here on foot, with no rest. They whipped and lashed and cut and peeled my skin if I fell to sleep.”

  Aeryan could feel a few tears in his own eyes. Yet he thrust his emotions aside. “My lord, what are your prince’s plans for the war?”

  “I do not know if he has changed them, your majesty,” the lord answered, his lip quivering. “All I know is that he plans to besiege Castle Horn and take over the Army Shore.”

  “Do you swear on the Gods of the Old men that you are telling the truth?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” the lord said, his voice now beginning to break, turning into rasps and going into a slow whisper. “I swear on the Gods of the Old men and the God of the Eternal Flame.”

  “I see that the deeds done to your body have broken you physically, and mentally.” Aeryan took a deep sigh, and calmed himself down. “I will make sure that my men will nurse you back to health, and I will not pursue answers or recounts from you any further, My Lord.”

  The knights grabbed the lord, and helped him back to his chambers in the Prisoner’s Tower.