Valkyrie's Shadow

Winter's Crown: Act 5, Chapter 1

Winter's Crown: Act 5, Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The stench of smoke, unwashed bodies and weeks of waste rose into the air around the cages piled high in the Dale of Defiance.

Qrs felt the cool metal bars of his prison, absently tightening and releasing his grip. It was not steel, nor any other metal he knew of. He could snap steel bars, fold mithril plate, and warp even stronger metals, but there was no give at all with these – the bars of this cage would not even budge in the slightest.

The metal cages were also incredibly light. Gusts of wind would set the towers swaying, and everyone would stay very still: silently trying to will their makeshift prison to stop rocking back and forth. Being placed near the top, it was akin to being set on top of a tree, even the slightest movement or breeze sending him slowly teetering this way and that.

Qrs looked down: it was roughly fifty metres to the ground. In the event of a collapse, he figured that he would easily survive, and he mused over whether it would jar the hinges of the cages loose or damage them in some other way so he could escape. He never made his own attempt, however, for few others could survive the fall. Not that he would have cared for anyone else, but they had put his son in the cage beside his. At first, Qrs thought it a relief that he could see that he was still alive, but, over time, he suspected that they were using his son to ensure his docile behaviour.

And, so, the days passed. During the day, they all baked together in the sun – praying for the evening to come sooner. At night, they shivered in the cold – praying for the warmth of the sun. When it rained, they cupped their hands or whatever they had and opened their mouths to the sky. They licked the soiled metal bars of their cages for every bit of moisture they could get. They were not allowed to relieve themselves elsewhere, either, so had to simply do it where they were. That particular discomfort mostly abated, much to the relief of everyone, since they were only fed once every few days.

A telltale quiver ran through the bars of his cage, distinctly out of time with the rocking of the wind. The quiver came again, and Qrs exploded into action, twisting around and leaping forward to smash his fist into the bars on the opposite inside.

“Fuck off, creep!”

The form looming behind his son’s cage recoiled at his shout. His son jerked awake with a cry, scurrying to the opposite corner of his tiny prison. The movement of the three jolted the entire tower, and a great wail rose from below. The top of the tower swayed in wide circles, offering a roiling view of the landscape below, but Qrs didn’t give a damn. He rose to his feet, glaring murder at the figure who had been stalking in to take a swipe at his son.

Across from him stood the towering, four-legged form of a Zoastia, feline eyes gleaming at him from the shadows of its cage. The sparse meals that they were allowed had clearly taken a toll on its form, its tan fur hanging in flaps where its powerful body had melted away from hunger. As they faced off with one another, a guttural growl rose from the barrel chest of its humanoid torso. The features of its cougar-like head flinched, and then the being turned away.

Perhaps if it had been a more regular situation, Qrs might have felt a sliver of pity for the Zoastia. Then again, if it was a more regular situation, it wouldn’t have growled at him and Qrs would be preoccupied with killing it instead. Zoastia prided themselves in discipline – their mastery over their bestial selves – letting loose such a growl was considered a shameful thing; a sign that they couldn’t reign in their savage nature. The weeks of borderline starvation that they were being subjected to was slowly, but surely breaking the Zoastia’s will.

“Hey, what’s that racket?”

A deep voice snarled up the tower from below. The prisoners collectively hushed.

Clank…clank…clank…

The sound of a metal rod being drawn against the bars of the cages slowly travelled around the base of the tower. No one dared utter a sound.

Clank…clank…clank…

For minutes, it went on. Minutes that seemed like hours. From down below, came an Armat’s distinct whimper.

Clankclankclankclankclank…

The sound picked up, accompanied by the pounding of heavy steps. The metal rod slammed against the bars of a cage somewhere north of Qrs.

“Answer the question!”

“Hiiieee!!!”

The wickedly-clawed hands of the fiend below gripped the bars, giving them a good shake that could be felt across hundreds of cages.

“I said answer the question, you stupid animal!”

Piteous, incomprehensible, noises only rose in return as the Armat cowered in terror. The creak of metal sounded as the cage was opened, and the Fiend reached in to snatch the Armat out of the corner of its prison. It held the rodent Beastman high in the air, a good four metres off of the ground. The Armat squirmed weakly, continuing to moan and whimper.

“If you savages can’t say anything useful,” the fiend lashed its reptilian tail against the ground, throwing up clods of cracked soil, “then SHUT UP!”

The Armat was violently flung to the ground. Bouncing weakly with a grunt.

“SHUT UP!”

The metal rod rose and fell as the fiend brutally clubbed the Armat into compliance.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

The words were punctuated by each blow. All around, the prisoners in the cage towers witnessed the scene in grim silence. Members of dozens of races were incarcerated here, yet they all shared the same uncomprehending expressions of horrified disgust – each according to their own kind. There was no purpose in this; no need. No hunger, no challenge, no sport or competition. Not that any of it mattered to their fiendish warden: a Devil with reptilian wings that spanned six metres across, its sinuous form clad in oily black scales that caused the eye to slip right off of them. A being of pure, methodical evil.

This was a game that played out every day, seeking out the most fragile and sensitive of wills in their number. Answering the question didn’t actually matter, nor did any pleas or reasoning. Nothing that you did mattered – not after it singled you out. A foregone conclusion stretched into violent farce using any flimsy excuse it could find. Even as the rod continued to rise and fall, the horned, reptilian head did not express even the slightest hint of fury or sadistic glee. It simply did what it did because that was what it did.

The tower shuddered as the Armat was tossed back into its cage, bars clanging shut behind it. The warden continued on its rounds.

Qrs gripped the bars of his cage to still his own, trembling hands. He stared at them dully – perhaps it was not the cages that were strong, but it was he that had become weak: just like the Zoastia. Gnawing hunger accompanied him throughout the day, and his body was less substantial than it was before.

His eyes ran down his thin, shaking fingers: following the once-mighty arms where his slackened hide was draped over emaciated flesh; the outline of bone, plain to see. The thick bands of muscle and fat over his torso, once able to absorb powerful cuts and blows, were all but gone, and his ribs protruded over the curving hollow of his stomach.

How long had it taken to shrivel up into this pitiful husk? Weeks? Months? Like the Zoastia; like Qrs and his son, the others around him appeared to fare no better.

Evening fell, and more of their fiendish captors appeared. They brought with them a number of tables and benches, and a few carts with sheets of cloth draped over them were drawn in their wake. The prisoners in their towers of cages all watched as they moved below, arranging what Qrs could only think of as tables for dining.

Row upon row, places for many dozens were made – there were even empty platters laid down at regular intervals, though no utensils could be seen. The cloth covering the nearest cart was lifted, revealing pitchers and small, wooden cups. They, too, were arranged along with the platters on the table. The figures below moved back and forth, filling them with a clear liquid. Qrs could not smell anything new mixing into the rancid air, so he thought it should be water. He swallowed painfully through his parched throat.

A clinking sound filled the air as some sort of Devil with a great number of heavy, shimmering chains draped over its humanoid body went around. Several cages nearer to the ground were opened, but the prisoners within were too wary to leave.

“W-what is this?” A voice drifted up fearfully, “What are you doing?”

“Feeding time.”

The Devil’s voice grated in the air like the sound of its chains. The prisoner continued to cower in her cell.

“Not hungry?” The Devil said, “Fine by me.”

The rattling of its metal links filled the air as the Devil started to close the cage.

“No, wait!” The prisoner staggered forward, “I’m hungry! I want to eat, I need–”

The bars banged shut, drowning out her voice. The Devil locked the cage – which still contained the prisoner – and moved on.

No one else voiced their hesitation, shuffling up to the long tables and taking their places. A group of smaller fiends below took wood from the wagons, forming a long pile. They placed a huge slab of black metal over it.

A shadow floated up before Qrs, who ignored it as he watched the proceedings below. The sound of the cage beside him being unlocked finally drew his attention. His son had his back pressed to the rear of the cage again, looking fearfully towards a Demon that had flown up on bat-like wings. The cage opened, and she reached inside. The boy whimpered.

“Wait,” Qrs said. “What are you doing?”

“Feeding time,” the Demon replied in a sultry voice.

Qrs glanced back down to the tables slowly being filled with the prisoners who were awaiting their meal.

“Go on, boy,” he said. “You need to stay strong.”

He looked his son in the eye and nodded slowly. After a moment’s hesitation, the boy stepped forward hesitantly to be brought down. Qrs’ gaze followed them, and they alighted on the ground. Rather than having him go to a table, however, the Demon threw his son face down onto one of the carts. Nearby, the chains of the Devil from before seemed to spring to life of their own accord: winding around the boy and binding him tightly.

Qrs pressed his face to the bars of his cage, nostrils flaring.

“Hey!” He shouted down at them, “What the hell are you–”

A knife glinted in the firelight, and a Devil of the same type as their warden carved out his son’s left haunch with several deft motions. The boy’s agonized cries filled the air, and the slab of flesh was tossed over to land on the metal plate placed over the fire. The sound of sizzling flesh joined his son’s screams. Qrs slammed the bars of his cage, rocking it back and forth as his enraged shouts joined the sounds of his screaming child. The prisoners all around him shouted to stop rocking the cages.

The figure at the slab produced some metal implements and worked on preparing the haunch, slicing it up and cooking it thoroughly before dumping it in a large metal bowl to the side. A Fiend carried the bowl away towards the tables, serving out portions to the awaiting diners. They hesitantly stared down at the prepared meal, then at one another, but eventually, their hunger took hold and they shovelled fistfuls of Qrs’ son greedily into their mouths.

The bowl returned to the cooking fire, by where Qrs’ son lay pale as blood pooled under the cart. The boy could only half look at the approaching butcher with its gleaming knife as it approached. Tears of anger, frustration and grief rolled down Qrs’ face as he stared down powerlessly from his cage with clenched fists. At least his child would not need to suffer for much longer…

“?Light Cure Wounds?.”

Healing magic passed over his boy with its telltale glow, but the damage to his body remained. A fiend with a thin wooden board standing nearby wrote something down. She looked up from the board and held up a finger, and a gaunt figure nearby in a black leather apron cast a spell.

“?Middle Cure Wounds?.”

The fiend with the clipboard looked down at the cart, her pen scrawling over paper. After a moment, she looked back up and nodded.

“?Middle Cure Wounds?.”

On the cart, his son’s leg appeared to be healed completely, and colour had returned to his skin. His shallow breathing grew less ragged. The Devil with the knife moved again, taking the freshly healed haunch away. His son cried out in agony, joined shortly after by the sound of his sizzling flesh. The macabre feast continued for hours, until several towers of cages surrounding the makeshift dining area were fed.

Some time along the way, Qrs’ whitened knuckles gradually lost their strength. He curled up against the bars of his cage, dry sobs wracking his body.

“You’re a real piece of work.”

The disgusted voice of the Zoastia sounded from behind him. Qrs turned his head. The bestial face of the prisoner behind him twisted into a snarl, yellow eyes gleaming as it spat out its commentary.

“I didn’t know,” Qrs replied weakly. “How could I know?”

The Zoastia turned away, uninterested in his words.

“What now, this again?” A Hobgoblin said from another cage, “I don’t know how you can keep up that act. I’d spit on you, but you’re not worth the moisture.”

“I’m not–” Qrs swallowed his anger as he tried to clear away his confusion. “I’m not acting. How…how could you say that – that’s my kid down there!”

“That's what you said last time,” an ape-like Caben said from below, “and the time before that, and…how many times is it now? We’re all sick of it. How can you even live with yourself? You’re an insult to your name.”

“That’s…what do you mean? What ‘last time’? Hey! Answer me!”

Qrs’ words met with a uniform silence and, everywhere he turned, everyone pointedly looked away.

A dark figure rose from below. The cage beside him opened. Qrs turned to see the Demon tossing his son back into his cell. The boy fell to his hands and knees upon being released, trembling so violently that the cage rattled around him. No one voiced any complaint.

He looked pale but healthy. His skin over where his flesh was taken again and again was clean and unmarred. He wavered unsteadily near the opening of the cage until the booted heel of the Demon kicked him sharply from behind, sending him sprawling inside. Qrs pushed himself against the bars of his cage, reaching out with his hand.

“Boy! Are you alright? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…I didn’t know. I didn’t know…”

His son silently rolled over, turning his back to him.

“He’s such a good boy,” the Demon hovering outside remarked with a wicked smile. “He obeys every single time, no matter how many weeks have gone by. He respects you so much – if only everyone had such an excellent father.”