Chapter 22. Feeding

here had been a campfire and a meal.  The dim confines of Arborstone had wreathed their little gathering in shadows and he was weary from the battle and a long march across Pong Mei.  Layla’s wine had tasted strange, but Tyhric Wolfblade had assumed it was a foreign concoction and his new friends had seemed otherwise friendly if a little odd.

He cursed his trusting nature when he awakened in the dim cell.  His weapons and armor were gone, of course.  He was stripped down to the padded tunic and leather breeches he wore beneath the metal plates.  Staggering blearily to his feet, Tyhric followed in the tradition of all prisoners before him and tested the strength of the ironbound door.  It was barred from the outside and did not budge against his experimental thrusts.  Gazing out of the small grate through which the only light now flowed, he saw a short dank corridor with a single oil lamp resting on a barrel and the base of a narrow stair. 

At least he was not bound.  When the door opened he would have a chance to rush his enemies and escape.  He might not have his sword and armor, but he could still fight and his fists packed considerable force.  Why was he here?  What did his foes have to gain by imprisoning a stranger from a foreign land?

Sighing, he paced the five steps allowed to him by his cramped cell, back and forth, until he grew weary of it and finally went to the pile of blankets that he had first awakened upon.  He stared at the door, waiting and dozing, until footfalls clapped distantly upon steps and the rattle of keys alerted him to the arrival of his foes.  Trembling with adrenalin and anger, Tyhric rose to his feet, bracing to charge the door the moment it opened.

Light grinned malevolently through the portal, outlining a tall figure.  Supernatural fear clenched Tyhric’s gut as an odor of decay caused him to gag.  Compelled by an unknown force, he was pressed against the wall, unable to move as the thing… the man… strode closer bearing a lantern that he set on the floor beside him.

He was hideous, smelling of low tide and rotting carcasses.  The being was clad in skin white as bone, bloated and cold as if left to rot in sea water too long.  Milky eyes glared at him, eyes that had once been blue beneath their dead sheen.  Its ragged black hair was matted with gore.  Without a word, a nimbus of magenta flowed around its shoulders and a cry of pain was wrenched from Tyhric’s throat.

He bucked and screamed as the shadows coalesced to attack him, tearing at his mind and body as he tried to escape.  All the while his captor stood there, exultant, feeding upon his fear even as he focused his energies upon Tyhric’s torment.  He grew exhausted, moaning in pain and horror as the horrible man continued to focus upon him.