Omusecha nakeminilisya khumukhasi okhali wewe, mookina. Nakeminilisya khumwana, ira.
(If a man forces himself on a woman who isn't his wife, geld him. If he forces himself on a child, kill him.)
- Sourced from The Sitabh, Book of Laws Ch. 5 Vs 12, On the punishment of criminals
"I received a letter this morning from my royal cousin the Lightning Prince," Carman Kantbhurg began his address.
"I didn't know we were bragging about 27th cousins thrice removed today," Bogdyr whispered.
Allara hissed at him to shut up. Blood ties to The House of The Smith were a common bragging point among the Bhaandini nobility. As far as the Kantbhurgs went, their claim to kinship with the Rhexbhurgs was weaker than most. It derived from the granddaughter of Caelor IV, a king who had been dead for 700 years. Caelor IV may or may not have had any children. Nobody knew for sure because many records from The Lost Millenium had either been destroyed or altered by lords seeking to promote their preferred version of history but this was hardly the time to bring it up.
Lord Carman continued, "Prince Caedmyr and his army will be joining us for Aeduisia and Aembauria. They will arrive here three days from today."
Nobody reacted. This was information they already knew.
"In keeping with the spirit of Aeduisia, His Highness will preside over the manumissions this year. To honor our great mother for the bumper harvest this year and victory in the war, the king will liberate a tenth of you."
Everybody started speaking at once as an excited buzz swept through the crowd. Allara did the math in her head. 700 slaves would go free, double the usual number in previous years. Could this be it? Could this be her year?
"Silence, you insolent animals!" the Lord Castellan roared but it came out sounding like a high-pitched squeak. For a man of his girth, Carman Kantbhurg's voice was surprisingly tinny, a fact he was incredibly insecure about, ripping the tongue out of any slave caught imitating him. "I have the final say on who gets freed. It is I who will draw up the list of slaves to be manumitted for The Thunderbolt. Don't cross me!"
The yard fell into an utter and complete silence. Lord Carman continued to speak, giving instructions on preparations for The Thunderbolt's arrival and threatening unspecified consequences for any slave who dared embarrass him.
Carman Kantbhurg dismissed the slaves as dusk began to darken the sky. Everyone was talking about The Thunderbolt and speculating on who would go free. The faces of slaves that often looked resigned and miserable were lit up by hope. One in ten were great odds. Many hoped those odds would be in their favor.
Allara was among the hopeful until Bogdyr tapped her on the shoulder and coughed. She knew that signal. When she looked ahead, she froze. A chill seized her entire body and blood rushed into her ears. She was suddenly aware of every little sensation. She could feel the pumping of her heart and the movement of blood in her veins. She could feel the food churning in her stomach and the light breeze tickling her skin. She could feel her hair and nails grow.
Allara felt intense twitching in her calf muscles and an overwhelming desire to run and never stop but there was nowhere to go. They were near the narrow gate. Slaves surrounded her on every side and he had already seen her. Her eyes met his and he smiled in acknowledgment. There was nowhere to hide. The day Allara had dreaded for months had finally come. She knew it in her bones. She knew it from the cruel curve of that smile and the twinkling of those small bug eyes in the fading light of dusk. She knew it as surely as she knew her name.
She had always taken extreme precautions to avoid getting anywhere near his field of vision but she had been so high on hope today that she had forgotten to do that. Allara tried to walk innocuously past him but that was a foolish hope. Sir Zemil Kantbhurg, The Beast of The Roost, extended one beefy arm and seized Allara by the shoulder. "The tricks with mud and ash don't fool me. You're a pretty one."
Allara looked up into his broad fat face and rheumy red eyes and felt strength drain out of her body. She had expected to feel many things when this day came but powerlessness wasn't one she had counted on.
Zemil Kantbhurg was a beast of a man. His girth made him look shorter than he actually was from a distance but up close, he was something else. He was at best two inches taller than Bogdyr but gods, wasn't he broad? Sir Zemil's veiny forearms were thicker than Allara's thighs. His grip was like iron and his palm was so broad that it engulfed her entire shoulder. Allara did not doubt that he could crush her head in that palm like an egg if he so wished. Those hands of his looked strong enough to strangle a bull.
In the corner of her eye, Allara noticed Bogdyr moving to attack Zemil. It was a foolish move that would only result in more suffering for both of them. Allara mouthed a silent no but her brother had never listened to her. Why would he start now? Bogdyr dropped his shoulder and charged at The Beast. He never made it.
One of Sir Zemil's minions, Ervin, swept Bogdyr's feet from under him mid-charge and kicked him in the stomach as he fell. Two more guards joined Ervin in kicking at the prone Bogdyr. Allara could only imagine the pain.
"Please stop," Allara begged. The Beast looked at her, smiled, and raised a hand. The guards stopped kicking Bogdyr. They lifted him roughly by the arms. He was dusty, bruised, and bleeding from the side of his mouth but his face remained defiant.
"Trying to defend your little lady friend, are you?" The Beast asked.
Bogdyr glared at The Beast but refused to humor him with an answer. Sir Zemil was not amused. Allara could see him huffing as he tried to contain his notoriously terrible temper. She decided to beg for Bogdyr's sake. Valiant foolish Bogdyr. "Don't hurt him, please. Let him go. He doesn't know what he's doing. I will do whatever you want."
Her plea brought a smile to Sir Zemil's face. He turned to Bogdyr. "See how she begs for your worthless life. This must be true love." Then he turned to Allara and brushed one meaty thumb across her lips. "Such pretty lips. You suck my cock with all your heart and soul, and I'll spare the moron."
Bogdyr roared and lunged but couldn't break free of the guards restraining him. This made The Beast chuckle. He ran his thumb across Allara's lips. "Such a chivalrous slave. Do you dream of these, little man?" Sir Zemil grabbed and squeezed Allara's breasts so hard it hurt. "Or is it these? Or maybe it's her cunt!" The Beast shouted with delight and grabbed Allara's arse.
Allara stiffened as Sir Zemil roughly massaged her backside. "A woman's cunt. Warm, wet, and slippery. The best thing the gods ever made," The Beast continued taunting Bogdyr. "Has she let you in there yet or do you live on dreams?"
Bogdyr snapped. "SHE'S MY SISTER!" he roared, broke free of the guards restraining him, and lunged at The Beast. He almost made it.
Sir Zemil let go of Allara and cracked Bogdyr hard across the face with a savage backhand while the other three guards pounced on his legs. They kicked and punched but Bogdyr punched back just hard. He broke Ervin's nose and punched the other two so hard they staggered back to regroup.
Allara had never seen Bogdyr like that. He fought like a caged beast and roared just as much. His green eyes, their father's eyes, seemed to glow with rage. His hands, feet, and head were a blur of motion as he kicked, punched, bit, and ducked. The Beast watched the whole scene with wry amusement until Bogdyr shrugged off his henchmen and made for him.
The Beast put Allara in a headlock, drew his dagger, and held it to her throat. Allara tensed even more than she thought possible and stilled her breathing as the cold steel pressed against her neck. One wrong move…
Bogdyr stopped, rage and purpose changing into confusion. That's all the opportunity the three defeated guards needed. They charged him as one, slamming into his back, forcing into the ground, and keeping him there with their body weight.
"Hey dog turd, look up," The Beast called. The guards forced Bogdyr's head up. "You move a single muscle and I cut her throat. Then I'll have Rhatko fuck you up the arse over her corpse."
Rhatko, sitting on Bogdyr's back, grinned and nodded. Allara's heart sank as she watched Bogdyr's body slacken and the defiance fade out of his eyes.
The guards dragged them back into the castle yard. The sun had set and darkness reigned elsewhere but the yard was lit by the soft glow of firefly lamps. The Beast's dagger was never far from Allara's neck even as they walked.
That's when she saw it. She had seen it countless times before but had never paid much attention to it until that very moment. The sight of the giant marble statue filled her with an overwhelming sense of purpose and imbued her with courage.
It was the Lfw'l Wiel (Death of a god), the most famous and most duplicated statue in the 100 realms but this one here at The Roost was the original. The Lfw'l Wiel was a 20-foot statue of Caedmyr II, The Conqueror, the third king of the Rhexbhurg dynasty. Caedmyr II was the first king to expand his domains by conquest, the first one to vassalize reigning kings, the first one to use the title King of Kings, and the first one to die in battle.
The statue depicted The Conqueror falling over. His right knee was slightly bent while his left leg remained straight. Only the five spears digging into his chest and belly then sticking out of his back kept him from falling flat on his face. Countless arrows stuck into his legs, arms, and chest.
But The Conqueror remained unbroken. He clutched the ruins of a shield in his left arm, the sword in his right hand thrusting forward while he roared in defiance. The Conqueror's immortal last words were inscribed at the base of the statue in massive glyphs.
Allara could neither read the archaic Rhexi script nor speak the language the letters described. The language had organically evolved into something else over the eons while The Restorer had phased out the script centuries before she was born in favor of a less complex alphabet.
But Allara knew what the ancient letters spelled out anyway. Everyone knew. It was a motto, a prayer, a battle cry, a philosophy. "Khufumn Saekhfw'!" The Conqueror had roared as he gutted his last enemy and breathed his last. "Death is instant! Glory is eternal."
Khufumn Saekhfw'! Allara chanted the mantra in her head. Slowly, quietly. There was a second dagger on The Beast's belt. Her hand closed around the hilt. With their bodies as close as they were, he wouldn't notice. Allara knew that while she would survive her rape, Bogdyr might not. The Beast would make him watch as he defiled her and there was no way Bogdyr wasn't doing something stupid and getting himself killed.
Allara had no intention of enduring such a thing either. Death was an infinitely preferable option. But she would take The Beast with her. Drag his rotten soul all the way to the halls of Mwikul for Aembaur's judgment. Slowly and carefully, Allara slid the dagger out of its sheath. The Beast never noticed.
Now all she had to do was turn, jerk her hand upward with as much force as she could muster, and plant the blade in his throat. Hopefully, she could pull it out and plunge it into her own throat before the other guards restrained her and dealt out a more painful death. Bogdyr had proven he was more than capable of handling himself. He could even overpower the guards and make it out alive. Allara hoped that their urge to help the Beast after she stabbed him would grant him the window of opportunity he needed.
Allara gripped the hilt of the blade tighter, planted her foot firmly on the ground, and braced for the turn. Loud clops and the excited whoop of a child interrupted her.
Three horsemen galloped past them. It appeared to be a three-way horse race between a boy, a man, and a giant. The boy was winning and whooping.
The man's horse reared as he stopped, turned, and doubled back to their sad little procession. He was dusty and the right leg of his riding trousers was ripped near the stirrups and covered with hooks of hitchhiker weeds. The fur of his horse was similarly afflicted with dust and hooks. The steed was a magnificent blood bay but the hitchhiker weeds and dust sticking to its coat gave it a mottled green-brown color.
The stranger climbed off his horse. He was a tall man with a regal bearing. A sword bumped against his leg as he walked towards them and stopped just beyond the glow of a nearby lamp. The giant and the boy approached as well but the man put up a hand and they stopped, watching the scene from atop their horses. The giant was mounted atop the biggest horse Allara had ever seen. The dagger felt like a piece of hot coal in Allara's hand. If the Beast glanced down and saw it…
"What in the name of Aephyr is going on here?" the stranger asked in flawless and unaccented High Rhexi with the tone of a man accustomed to command. His was a deep sonorous voice. The kind of voice that commanded respect without demanding anything.
The Beast glared at the man. "Lovers' quarrel," he said with a dismissive wave.
"This one appears unusually violent for a lovers' quarrel. Are you sure she loves you?"
Sir Zemil's face turned red with anger. "My affairs don't concern you, you one-eared cripple. Get lost!"
Allara checked the man's ears and sure enough, half his left ear was missing.
"It's very romantic of you to protect your fair lady like that," the stranger said. "What does the dagger do? I have never needed one with a woman. Does it increase pleasure?"
"You insolent bastard!" The Beast yelled. "You unwashed peasant! You should know better than wag your filthy tongue at your betters."
The stranger gave The Beast a curious look. Allara thought she knew that face but it couldn't be… It didn't matter. Allara had been a merchant's daughter long before she was a slave and Stefan Vindeler had taught her to never let a man's exterior fool her.
A blind man could have seen that the stranger was no peasant. He may have been filthy, dusty, stinking of horse, and covered in hitchhiker weeds but his status still shone through. Allara couldn't spot any crests or traces of purple on his garments though it was hard with the dim light. Nevertheless, everything else screamed that this was a man of position.
His bearing, his tone, the fine leather of his boots, and the finely patterned shirt that would have taken days to make all spoke of wealth, but the most telling trait was his flawless unaccented High Rhexi. He spoke the language with the confidence of someone accustomed to it.
High Rhexi was the language of priests, lords, and kings. They were the only people who used the tongue in day-to-day life. Uneducated commoners spoke the language haltingly at best and using High Rhexi in casual interactions was considered the height of pretentiousness. Allara and Bogdyr had learned that lesson the hard way, getting beaten up in their first few days at The Roost for daring to speak to their fellow slaves in High Rhexi. They had quickly learned The Roost's particular bastardized dialect of the language and the beatings had stopped.
"I said get lost you fucking peasant before I teach you some manners."
The stranger was unperturbed. He took one more step forward. "You still have not answered my question."
How can the fool not hear it? Allara wondered. It's right there in his voice.
Rhatko and Ervin had already noticed that the stranger was more than he appeared to be and tried to pull The Beast away but their master was too angry. Rhatko tried to whisper something in his ear but Sir Zemil shoved him away.
The stranger shifted slightly. His face was fully illuminated by the lamp light for the briefest of moments, a moment so brief Allara could have missed it if she blinked. She saw his face clearly for the first time. The most striking feature was the eyes. Large pools of unyielding purple. He had a man's body now, not a boy's. He had grown taller, more muscular, and more ferocious since Allara had last seen him all those years ago but she had no doubt it was him. Caedmyr One-Ear. The Thunderbolt.
The third guard, Landyrn, started trembling. Rhatko and Ervin tried to pull Sir Zemil away. The Beast cracked Rhatko hard across the face with a savage backhand. "Fuck off!" he yelled. Bogdyr cracked a smile.
Everyone had recognized King Daegan's son Caedmyr. The Lightning Prince. The Thunderbolt. The Scourge of Aemlilon. The Hammer of The Barbarians. Supreme Commander of the Armies of the Purple Hat. Subrhex of War. Prince of The Tides. Everyone had recognized the man from all the songs and stories. Everyone except the fool Zemil Rormilus Kantbhurg.
A small group of guards gathered around them and Allara discreetly bunched up her tunic around the waist and hid the dagger therein. Lord Carman was running towards them with some more men. He shouted something but the words were drowned out by his panting. The numbers emboldened The Beast.
Sir Zemil Kantbhurg sheathed his dagger, drew his sword, and turned to the prince, "You see all these people, you stinking cripple? They're here to watch you die for your insolence." Then he took a step forward, lunging and swinging all at once.
The Thunderbolt sidestepped, avoiding the sword like a mild annoyance. Almost like a dance, he drew his own sword, and in the same smooth drawing motion, took off Zemil Kantbhurg's sword arm just above the elbow. The Beast collapsed to his knees and let out a blood-curdling scream. He screamed even louder when the prince stepped fully into the light and approached him. Everyone could see the purple eyes now.
The Thunderbolt shoved his free left hand into The Beast's screaming mouth then yanked it out with extreme force. The screams died down as blood filled Sir Zemil's mouth and stained The Thunderbolt's fingers. Lord Carman arrived just then and took a knee before the prince. "Your Highness."
Everyone immediately knelt and bowed. Allara took advantage of the opportunity to dispose of her stolen dagger. The Thunderbolt tossed Zemil's tongue at the ground in front of the Lord Castellan. Carman Kantbhurg dropped to both knees and kissed the ground.
"Rise!" Prince Caedmyr commanded. They all stood again. The giant and the boy dismounted from their horses, assuming positions on either side of The Thunderbolt. Allara recognized the baby-faced giant too. He was the same person who had given Allara and Bogdyr bread and water during the sack of Salandport.
The Beast was the only one who remained on his knees, whimpering and grasping at the bleeding stump of his right hand while blood poured out of his tongueless mouth.
A column of horsemen rode into the castle yard. These men were unmistakable in their striped crimson and black Baenarite cloaks. One of the horsemen carried the sacred Liekokh Aemlilonus (Ashes of the Son Aemlilon), a golden urn containing the ashes of a dead king that each regiment of Baenarites used as a standard.
"500 of my men are arriving tonight," The Thunderbolt said. "The rest will come in tomorrow. See to it that they're provided for." He pointed at Sir Zemil with his sword. "Get this one out of my sight."
Lord Carman bowed. "At once, Your Highness." He led a group of guards to his nephew. They staunched his wound with their cloaks and carried both him and his hand away.
The Thunderbolt next turned to Ervin, Rhatko, and Landyrn. "Your friend did not answer my question."
"We… we… we…" Rhatko stuttered, suddenly at a loss for words.
"You were what?"
"We were punishing them, Your Highness," Ervin said in a tiny voice, barely above a whisper.
"For what?"
Rhatko finally found his tongue. "Insolence, Your Highness."
"Which one was insolent?"
Rhatko pointed at Bogdyr. "The boy, Your Highness. He has a very violent streak. Tried to fight us."
Bogdyr tried to protest but The Thunderbolt silenced him with a look. "And what did the girl do?"
None of them answered. "So she did nothing?" The Thunderbolt asked. The result was a confusing mix of shakes and nods. The prince turned to Bogdyr, "Why were you fighting them?"
"They were going to rape my sister, Your Highness."
The Thunderbolt pointed at Allara. "She's your sister?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
The prince then turned to the guards. "Is that true?"
"No," Ervin answered quietly.
"So he's lying?"
"No."
"So you're lying? Are you lying to me?"
A terrified Ervin dropped to his knees. "I am sorry, Your Highness. I was scared."
"You lied because you were scared?"
Ervin nodded slowly. "It was Sir Zemil, Your Highness. He's the one…"
The Thunderbolt put up a finger and Ervin shut up. He turned the full force of his gaze on Bogdyr. "What's your name?"
"Bogdyr, Your Highness. Bogdyr of the Vindelers, son of Stefan."
"Go to the kitchen. Bring me hot coals on a skillet and three skewers."
"At once, Your Highness." Bogdyr bowed and hobbled off, half running and half limping.
"And what's yours?"
"My… Your Highness… I don't understand…" Allara gushed. For some reason, she was confused and terrified out of her mind.
"Your name," The Thunderbolt clarified.
"Allara, Your Highness. Allara Stefanus Vindeler."
"Have you been raped by these men before?"
"No, Your Highness."
"Has anyone else in this castle raped you?"
"No, Your Highness."
"What about the other women here? Do they get raped?"
"Yes, Your Highness."
"By who?"
Allara shook her head, too terrified to speak and also realizing she had said too much already. She looked at the guards, looked at The Thunderbolt, and paused. The prince sensed her hesitation, looking at the guards and then back at her. "Don't be scared, speak. If you want justice, this is your opportunity."
Allara bowed, swallowed, and weighed her options. Slaves were property and there was no such thing as a crime against a slave just as there was no such thing as a crime against a cow. If a man killed a free man, he got sentenced to death. If he killed a slave, he only had to compensate the slave's owner.
Allara knew that if she told her tale, she would be the target of retaliation once he left. Pharasandria was hundreds of miles away. What would father do? she wondered. Stefan Vindeler's voice came unbidden to her head, as clear as if he was standing right next to her. "Weigh your potential for gain and loss before you act."
Allara cleared her throat and launched into the tale. She talked of The Beast and his goal to bed every woman in The Roost, his evening selections, and his propensity for making any men who challenged him watch as he defiled their women. She talked of the men who helped and partook in The Beast's nightly games.
As Allara spoke, many of The Roost's guardsmen and overseers in the crowd that had gathered around The Thunderbolt melted away until only Baenarites were left. Ervin, Rhatko, and Landyrn, on their knees and the focus of The Thunderbolt's unflinching gaze, couldn't run away like their compatriots. They could only hang their heads in shame.
Bogdyr returned just as Allara was winding down her tale. He and Sylvia carried the skillet between them, holding the handles with wet rags.
The Thunderbolt pointed at a spot just in front of Ervin, Rhatko, and Landyrn. "Put it down there." Then he turned to the baby-faced giant. "Arrest all the guards. And that fool castellan as well." The giant nodded and left, taking the boy and half the assembled Baenarites with him.
"Drop your breeches," The Thunderbolt commanded.
A hesitant Bogdyr started complying, undoing the fastenings of his worn-out trousers even as his face swirled with confusion.
"Not you," The Thunderbolt said. He pointed at Ervin, Rhatko, and Landyrn. "The three fools."
The Thunderbolt summoned one of the Baenarites and said something to him. The man walked to Allara and picked up the dagger she had so cleverly hidden in the sand. Allara's eyes met The Thunderbolt's but she couldn't read his expression. The Baenarite didn't say anything to her as she stood there worrying and trembling.
The Baenarite moved on to Ervin, Rhatko, and Landyrn next, disarming them and urging them to strip quicker. The three guardsmen stood there, naked from the waist down and shivering even though it wasn't cold at all. Rhatko's manhood shriveled back into his bushy pubic hair when the Baenarite handed him Allara's stolen dagger.
The man next moved to the skillet, where he unsheathed one of the confiscated swords and stuck it into the hot coals.
"Cut!" The Thunderbolt commanded Rhatko.
"Your Highness?" Rhatko gasped, more bewildered than anything else. He glanced at the dagger and then glanced around.
"Cut off your… male organ," The Thunderbolt clarified.
Rhatko's face went from puzzled to terrified in the space of a heartbeat. "But.. but… Your Highness…"
"What?"
Rhatko pointed at Allara. "She is a slave. It's not rape if she is a slave."
"Yes," The Thunderbolt agreed. "Raping your slave is not rape and killing one isn't murder either. I know the law. What exactly are you trying to teach me here?"
"It's not rape if she is a slave. It's not rape," Rhatko repeated with tears in his eyes. He did have the law on his side. Castration was the penalty for rape, but only if the woman was freeborn.
"But she is not your slave, is she?" The Thunderbolt asked.
Rhatko shook his head. "No, Your Highness."
The Thunderbolt grabbed Allara by the collar, dragging her close to Rhatko even while Allara herself shook as his blood-stained fingers came into contact with the skin of her neck. "Whose mark is this?" he asked the guard. The front of Allara's leather slave collar bore an engraving of the Rhexbhurg crest, a double-headed eagle clutching a sword in its talons. Below the crest were her owner's initials, "D.P.A.R." Daegan Pharasus Aemlilonus Rhexbhurg.
"The king's, Your Highness," Rhatko whispered.
"Did my father give you permission to copulate with his slaves?"
Rhatko shook his head and started sobbing. "No, Your Highness."
"Cut!" The Thunderbolt ordered.
A sobbing Rhatko, holding the dagger in his right hand, took his shriveling schlong in his left and gave it one last longing look. He clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, and cut off his manhood in one downward slice of the dagger. Blood spurted off his crotch like a geyser as he let out a scream. Then he opened his eyes, stared at the severed penis in his hand, and screamed some more.
Allara almost felt sorry for the poor brute. Save for a slave after a scourging, she had never seen anybody else so thoroughly broken. But The Thunderbolt was merciless. "Shut up!" he scolded.
Rhatko quieted down immediately. He put his wrist in his mouth and bit down on it, whimpering while tears flowed down his face.
The prince nodded to his Baenarite and the soldier took the sword out of the coals. Rhatko screamed again when he saw the Baenarite advancing with a red-hot sword. Rhatko, Ervin, and Landyrn, all backed away but the first two ran into a wall while Landyrn tripped on the trousers around his ankles and fell face first.
"If I hear one more peep out of you," The Thunderbolt warned Rhatko. "I will rip out your tongue."
Rhatko and Ervin quieted down while Landyrn struggled to get back to his feet. The soldier ignored him and advanced on Rhatko, taking the dagger and severed penis out of the guardsman's hands and pressing the flat of his red hot sword against the stump on Rhatko's crotch.
Rhatko bit down so hard on his arm it started bleeding. All Allara could hear was a low whine but she imagined it would be an ear-splitting howl if The Thunderbolt hadn't threatened Rhatko's tongue. There was a second sound in the air: a sizzling like that of fried sausage as the heated sword seared Rhatko's skin and boiled his blood. The air was filled with the sickening stench of burning hair and flesh.
"Bogdyr," The Thunderbolt called. "The skewers."
Bogdyr dug the three skewers wrapped in a clean cloth out of his pocket and proffered them to The Thunderbolt. "Here, Your Highness."
Instead of taking them, The Thunderbolt motioned at the Baenarite, who handed Bogdyr Rhatko's penis and ordered him to roast it on the coals. Bogdyr obeyed with trembling hands and quivering facial muscles, skewering Rhatko's severed penis and slowly turning it over the coals while the Baenarite stuck his sword back in. The scent of roasting meat filled the air and Allara felt her stomach turn.
"That's done well enough," The Thunderbolt observed. The Baenarite took the skewer off the coals and walked the grisly snack up to Rhatko. "Eat!" he commanded.
The guard sobbed and whimpered, looking to The Thunderbolt with teary eyes for a reprieve. Allara had watched Rhatko scourge slaves until their backs resembled shredded cheese, if cheese was red. She had never thought she would ever feel sorry for the brute but she did. The Thunderbolt didn't share her feelings, however. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. "Eat!"
As they watched a teary Rhatko chew and swallow pieces of his own manhood between sobs, the gathered crowd was so deathly quiet that Allara could hear the soft breeze rustling their clothes.
When he was done eating, The Thunderbolt dismissed Rhatko. The crowd quietly parted to let the guardsman stumble away. No one dared do so much as whisper. Allara was seized by a conflicting mix of awe and terror, something she seemed to share with everyone else present.
The Baenarite next handed the dagger to Landyrn. After watching what had happened with Rhatko, he knew the drill. He never protested or said a word. He took the dagger, closed his eyes, ground his teeth, and sliced his manhood off. He let out a blood-curdling scream and then bit down on his wrist to suppress any more sounds when he caught The Thunderbolt's disapproving stare.
The Baenarite staunched Landyrn's wound with a red-hot sword while Bogdyr roasted the man's penis. As Landyrn began to eat, the Baenarite handed the dagger to Ervin, the second-cruelest guard in The Roost, only beaten out by The Beast.
Ervin looked at the dagger, then at his manhood, and then at Landyrn eating his own penis. He gripped the dagger so hard in his hand that Allara could see it shaking as veins became more pronounced. Then Ervin jerked the dagger upward and plunged it into his own throat.