Dark Towers: A Gothic Fairytale

Chapter 4.

The faceless man stepped slowly forward. Nigel could hear his laughter rasping from the beneath the visor of his helmet.

‘What do you want of me?’ demanded the prince, his voice firm even as he backed towards the niche in the wall. It was his only vague hope of shelter in the otherwise featureless cell at the top of the tower.

‘What do I want of you? What don’t I want of you!’ The guard laughed again, loud and salacious.

Nigel understood him well enough, but denied it anyway: ‘If it’s my life you want…take it. I’m not afraid to die!’

‘Really?’

Nigel felt his knees waver and barely smothered a cry as the guard began to draw his sword from its sheath. He daren’t move now. All he could do was stand, his back to the empty space, and wait.

‘I’m not afraid, man! I’m not!’

With one swift, fluid movement, the guard had the tip of his sword at Nigel’s throat – then, unbeknownst to his victim, he smiled.

He hadn’t been expecting such a treat when he was given his orders!

The prince, mused the predator, was quite delectable. He had been a prisoner for three days, his family had been slaughtered and yet his hair and clothes were scarcely ruffled, and his skin, currently bathed in white candlelight, was as perfect as fresh snow.

But it was the prince’s stubborn dignity, despite his boyish looks and frame, which had kindled the guard’s compulsive desire to defile. He had been given no orders not to touch him – so why shouldn’t he take his share of the spoils of war? He skimmed the blade lightly over the young man’s skin until it rested portentously on the side of his neck.

‘You are afraid,’ he said solemnly. ‘And you have no idea, do you? No idea what pain is!’

Nigel’s sea-green eyes were iridescent with terror, his breath ragged. Yet still he had to say something - anything, even a lie – in order to vainly negate the inevitable.

‘I’m not afraid!’

The guard gave a lusty roar, and slashed the weapon towards Nigel’s throat. At the last instant, he stilled the blow and instead sliced the sword into the top of his victim’s arm.

Nigel gave a guttural moan of shock, clutching towards the wound; blood oozed between his fingers and he fell to his knees.

He scrunched his face against the sickening pain, which seared through his shoulder and spine, overwhelming his whole being. Dark voids veered up in front of his eyes, and he was sure he was going to faint. But he didn’t - as much as he prayed for the release.

The guard had been right. He’d never known what pain was – until then.

He hardly registered the hand seizing his hair. He felt it hideously enough, though, when something – a gauntlet? a boot? he knew not what – smashed away his bloody fingers, and bit into the raw wound on his arm.

Nigel finally screamed, but his cry faltered as he was jolted forward. Suddenly, his face was pressed against cold, hard stone, and his frame crushed into the floor by a much larger one. Harsh, damp breath burned into his neck from close range.

‘You’ll know the meaning of pain now, you arrogant, spoilt brat,’ spat the guard. ‘I’ll teach you the meaning of pain, and make you understand what it really is to want to die…’

Nigel started to resist, wriggling as best as he could with such limited scope for leverage. But his energy was draining along with the blood that now pooled on the floor, smearing his chest and face. When the guard pulled back to rip off the prince’s jacket, the agony in his shoulder crippled him. He surrendered completely, cursing his weakness even as his body went limp.

Then Nigel felt the mauling hand at the back of his waistband, tearing down his breeches and leaving him naked and exposed. Before he could even snatch breath, the guard’s thrusting hips and hot, hard member were chafing against him, pressing at the chilled flesh of his backside. Rough fingers probed at his opening, cruelly prying him apart and preparing the way for the ultimate violation.

Nigel’s mind cried out to long-dead protectors. Nobody heard him.

‘No….please God, no!’

****************

Derek braced his arms tightly around his companion, for fear he would burst the stitches in his arm. Nigel’s sleep had been restless at best, and now it was quite evident he was lost in the hellfire of nightmare.

‘Ooomph!’ The elbow of Nigel’s uninjured arm hurtled back into Derek’s stomach, momentarily winding him. As he loosened his embrace, however, Nigel only began to struggle more, kicking and thrashing so wildly that Derek had little choice but to restrain him.

He pushed Nigel onto his back and then lowered himself on top on him, heedful not to place weight on the prince’s injury.

‘It’s alright,’ he whispered. ‘Whatever it is, nobody will hurt you now…’

‘NO!!! GET AWAY FROM ME!!!’ Nigel’s shout was so loud, Derek cringed. The last thing he wanted was the attention of the whole house – or the whole neighbourhood. Very carefully, he patted Nigel on his cheek. The skin was moist to the touch. In the dying fire-light, Derek could see it was streaked with tears.

‘Wake up,’ he said, firmer now. His fingers slipped over Nigel’s lips, pre-empting another outburst. ‘Nobody will hurt you, but you need to calm down.’

As Nigel’s eyes stretched open, Derek pressed down harder. He sensed Nigel draw breath sharply, thrust hard with his hips and knees to dislodge the larger man and, on failing, go limp. Resignation misted his eyes; then recognition dawned.

‘It’s me,’ stated Derek. ‘Your friend? You were dreaming, but I can’t have you shout out. Do you understand?’

Nigel remained silent as Derek removed the covering from his mouth and rolled off of him. Nigel was panting hard, his breath stilted and shallow, but what concerned Derek was the bandage over his freshly stitched wound. It was spotted with blood.

‘Damn him!’ Derek’s thoughts thundered angrily. ‘Damn him! Why does it still bleed? I did the job well, as good as any surgeon.’

His faculties slowly returning, Nigel peeped sideways at Derek. The Captain was leaning on his side, peering over him. As shock-waves of memory continued to wash through him, the appearance of Derek’s hang-dog face and athletic, bare torso seemed both intimidating and huge, and strangely comforting.

‘Sorry,’ breathed Nigel, after a moment. ‘It was just so…oh God, I don’t want to…’ He ran his fingers wearily across his eyes. ‘It hurts to think…I…I can’t…’

‘Don’t then,’ said Derek plainly. Nigel’s nerves tautened as the Captain’s hand closed over his and lowered it carefully to his chest, not letting it go. ‘What worries me is you shoulder. Does that hurt more or less than last night?’

‘Um…’ Nigel frowned, concentrating hard. It still hurt like hell, but he had almost got used to it. Was it worse or better? He couldn’t tell; rather than the sharpness of yesterday, it felt dull and bruised.

‘A little better?’ he offered, partially through an innate politeness, partially through a desire to please. ‘Did you stitch it up?’

‘Yes,’ said Derek, and although the notion pained him, he added: ‘You’ll have quite a scar – a real warrior.’

Nigel’s lips curved into a humourless smile. ‘Believe me, Captain, it was hardly won in a brave battle.’

‘Yes it was.’ The Captain squeezed his fingers, gently caressing them. ‘More brave than any of my own.’

Nigel fought another innate wrench of fear, as Derek leant down over him. ‘I…I have to ask?’ husked the Captain, his tone uncharacteristically wavering. ‘I know he hurt you, but was that guard the first man to…to take you?’

The prince nodded wordlessly, his gaze locked nervously on the older man’s.

Derek drew away, muttering a heartfelt obscenity. He paused, though, when Nigel spoke softly.

‘But, I always dreamt of…a lover…it was just, not…not what one did, or even spoke off with anything but abhorrence…and now…’

Nigel broke off. Derek had replaced a single finger over the perfectly-formed mouth he yearned to claim again. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about right now. I just had to know, that’s all.’

‘And now you do?’

Nigel’s words brushed like kisses, soft lips moving against Derek’s hard fingers.

‘Now I do.’

Derek’s breathing accelerating as the prince’s ethereal beauty gradually entranced him. Then he tore himself away. ‘We have to go!’

The abrupt, business-like tone severed the crippling build-up of emotion between them, Relieved and oddly frustrated, Nigel glanced towards the pale moonshine that seeped between shutters. ‘Now? It’s still night!’

‘Yes, and at dawn when I do not report that my duty is done, the alarm will be raised – if it has not been already after your carelessness last night.’

‘That was hardly my fault! I was…’

Derek, who had already risen from the bed, cut Nigel off as if he weren’t listening. ‘We’ve taken too much time too rest already,’ he reprimanded, reaching for his heavy armour. ‘Now we must ride!’

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

Derek crept as silently as possible down the stairs, his arm coiled tightly about Nigel’s waist, whose face was carefully concealed.

When he saw that the Innkeeper still in the main chamber of his ruined alehouse, the Captain’s hand drifted towards the hilt of his sword. Nevertheless, the man was hardly ‘with it’. His head was slumped forward into his arms on a bare, trestle table. Three empty wine jugs told the tale of his drowned sorrows.

A treacherous creaking floor-plank betrayed the men’s presence, and the landlord looked up groggily. He gulped with terror at the sight of the Captain.

‘My Lord, my master,’ he slurred. ‘How can I serve you?’

‘Bring me the best vitals that remain in this shack,’ demanded Derek. ‘Go on, move! I need them NOW!’

The man raised himself shakily, although as fast as he could, and hurried to the kitchen. Derek eased Nigel down onto a bench, with a stark reminder to remain hidden. They waited in silence until the man returned with a cloth full of bread, cheese and a hunk of indefinable meat.

‘You’re a good man.’ Derek pulled from his belt a bag of gold coins, and slammed in down on the table. To his surprise, the Innkeeper shook both his head and hands in an ill-co-ordinated gesture of refusal.

‘No…I can’t accept it! I do not do this for you. I do this for my Prince!’

Derek’s heart clenched like steel. The man had seen Nigel! Intoxicated although the Innkeeper was, the memory would still be imprinted on his mind in the cold light of day. He had to die.

In a flash he had drawn his sword. He saw the wan-looking daughter as she appeared at the door, but shut his ears to her scream. He was on the verge of running the man through, then, when Nigel grabbed the tail of his chain-mail.

‘No! Please…I…I command you not to do this!’

Derek turned on the prince, his eyes blazing with fury – only to be met with a gaze of equally steely resolution.

‘You command me?’ he seethed.

Wavering a little, Nigel backed against the table, supporting himself with his good hand. ‘Yes…well, no. But what are you going to do? Kill them both? You’d…you’d best kill me!’

The daughter had rushed to the father and was now sobbing in his arms. Still overcome with fury, Derek yanked the sacking back over Nigel’s head, shaking him roughly. ‘It would have been fine to kill the father alone, now you force my hand!’

‘Do you really believe they had not already spoken of me?’ hissed Nigel, slumping back onto the bench as soon as Derek released him. ‘And what of the other daughter? Will you seek her out in her bed and slaughter her too…and who’s to say there’s not other children, a good lady, or a chambermaid hiding somewhere? There’s clearly only one solution!’ Swiping off the hood again, he lifted his chin proudly. ‘You kill me, here and now, in front of these witnesses!’

Derek virile façade disintegrated into that of a man defeated. A muscle in his jaw clenched with impotent anger.

He couldn’t do it – and Nigel, deep down, must know this too.

The prince was the master once more.

‘Damn you!’ he spat, and turned on the Innkeeper again, jabbing his sword. ‘If a word of what you have seen tonight leaves this house, each of your children shall suffer worse than a thousand deaths before your very eyes! You understand me?’

‘Yes, oh yes, my good lord, God bless you and bless Prince N…’

‘Never mention his name again,’ growled Derek, still aggressively brandishing his sword. ‘He is dead, remember! I kill him today – HE IS DEAD!’

With that, he grabbed the food bundle, heaved up Nigel, and departed the Inn.

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

No word passed between them as they rode out of the yard, and through the streets of the ruined town.

One arm clasped tight around Nigel’s chest, Derek felt him flinch at the sights that greeted them. In front of the charred shells of building, bodies lay bloodied and unburied on the street, emitting the noxious stench of burnt and rotting flesh. Yet all were dusted with a thin icing of snow, which shimmered in the pale, morning light, a mockery of beauty.

Derek, perennially dogged by invisible eyes, avoided the main gates of the city. Instead he headed straight for a section of the wall that had been completely destroyed by siege, and where he knew only six or seven weary men, huddled up against the rubble for shelter, would stand on watch.

Just before they came in sight of their place of escape, Derek whispered in Nigel’s ear. ‘Lie down over the horse like yesterday – and do not move!’

Nigel obeyed, and they trotted onwards.

‘Who goes there?’ asked one of the soldiers, not bothering to conceal a yawn.

‘Captain of the Guard!’ barked Derek. ‘I’m taking a body for burial without the walls.’

The man nodded, and let him pass – nobody questioned the Captain of the Guard but the Emperor himself! But Derek read the guard’s thoughts even before they evolved into mumblings. ‘Why bury that body, when those of even our own men still lie on the streets…and I’m sure I saw the ‘body’ move!’

They were half a mile from the walls, but the time Derek yanked up Nigel by the collar.

‘You moved!’ he spat. ‘You did it deliberately!’

‘I didn’t!’ protested Nigel, doing his best to scramble into a more comfortable position, while Derek slackened the horses pace only a little. ‘But you try to not sneeze when your nose is pressed into the shoulder of this coarse beast! I did my best, honest!’

‘Not good enough!’ growled Derek; and rammed his spur into the horse’s flank urging it onwards.

Nigel’s nervous glare danced between Derek and the animal before, beyond the swathes of destroyed farmland, he glimpsed the grey walls of the city as they faded rapidly into the morning mist. He couldn’t bear tears again; he turned away, denying the finality of it all, as the bitter wind licked against his face

‘Are…are you very angry with me?’

Derek said nothing in reply. His eyes were fixed on a new target– a dark smudge of trees, which stretched right across the horizon.

‘We’re going there?’ asked Nigel, his pulse quickening.

Derek drew a deep, calm breath. ‘We’re passing through, yes.’

Nigel was silent a second, then asked: ‘Oh…um, if you don’t mind me asking, do you believe in the spirits of the Great Forest?’

‘Do you?’

This time the answer was too quick. ‘No! It seems ridiculous, like all the other tales! That the good spirits hide there, keeping evil at bay from the city? After everything, of course I don’t believe any more!’

‘Then why are you shaking?’ Derek chuckled knowingly. ‘I think you are lying!’

‘Its cold,’ grumbled Nigel, glancing back with the hint of a scowl. ‘And surely you don’t believe in them?’

‘I might just be starting to,’ murmured Derek, as he freely admitted to himself that the prospect of the vast and un-chartered forest ahead of them excited him. There they could hide; there they could become lost. There they could be quite, quite alone.

Yet they were not safe yet – and maybe they would never be. If hope was to find a way, he knew that he must fight to think like a soldier for as long as he could, whichever spirit had reawakened his heart and soul.

One strong arm clasping Nigel possessively against his chest, the Captain hastened his steed onwards to the vast and glowering woodlands.