CHAPTER 30: The Warden's Wrath - Part 2

  “No, Sir. We’ve been working all day and haven’t seen anyone,” a worker replied.

  Seizing the opportunity while the guards questioned the workers, they slipped out of the building through a window. The sun had passed its zenith, and soon the food supply carts would depart. They did not have much time left as their escape plan involved stowing away in one of those carts.

  Guarding in the courtyard buildings was lax, as the main structure below Grest fortress served as the primary focus. There were enough hiding spots for them to move towards where the tarpaulin-covered carts were parked.

  “Let’s hurry.” Zeke was about to run towards one of the carts, but Eiran stopped him just in time.

  Two guards parted the tarpaulin flap and descended from that cart, their expressions stern as they surveyed the surroundings. He and Zeke waited for all the carts to be inspected before climbing into the nearest one.

  The air began to cool as the weakening sun cast its shadows. Inside the cart, they dared not breathe with too much excitement, fearing they might be heard by the guards who passed by every now and then. They curled up and waited, Eiran's heart nearly skipping a beat every time a guard passed, their helmet casting a sliver of light through the tarpaulin gap.

  The entire cart shook as the coachman jumped on board. By the sound of it, the other coachmen were also mounting their carts, ready to depart. The wheels creaked as the carts started moving one by one. He and Zeke remained silent and hidden.

  The gatekeeper shouted for the portcullis to be raised. Gears clanked and sand showered the tarpaulin roof as the cart passed.

  “I can already smell my wife,” Zeke rubbed his palms together.

  “You never mentioned having a wife.”

  “You never asked.”

  “How dare you propose to me back in the cell.” Eiran pursed his lips, and they both chuckled without making a sound.

  They also dared to peek through the rear flap of the carriage. They could not wipe the grins off their faces as Grest’s walls shrank in the distance.

  “Whew….” Eiran exhaled, lying down. Zeke sat leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, and started talking about his wife. The typical – kind, attentive, beautiful.

  Then, the cart jolted to a stop. Eiran’s blood ran cold when the tarpaulin cover was lifted, and soldiers surrounded the cart.

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  “Damn!” Eiran sprang, pushing the coachman off his seat and grabbing the reins–

  THUD! An arrow embedded in the wooden seat beside him, bringing his movement to a standstill. They slumped, knowing their escape was over. They offered no resistance and remained silent as they were escorted back to Grest.

  In the courtyard, bound, they knelt on the still-hot sand. The bald-headed warden sat on a flat stone like a desk. Beside him, a spiked iron mace rested on its head.

  “You almost made it,” the Warden's voice matched what one would expect from his portly frame. “Do you know how you were caught?”

  They stayed silent. Half because they did not know, half because they knew the warden did not expect an answer. The warden then pointed to the tracks in the sand leading out of the gate. A pair of tracks were deeper than the others, indicating the extra weight in the cart.

  “You know the punishment for people like you? Not just for trying to escape but for injuring my guards?”

  The Warden's question sank a feeling of dread into Eiran’s stomach.

  “I was a merchant before Emperor Gardioz's reforms allowed me to join the military. Before being transferred to Grest, I was deputy warden in Terzion.

  “In my old place, we had a tradition. Escapees who injured guards weren’t immediately killed. We had an iron plate there. We’d make the escapee kneel on it, chained to its corners, and then light a fire underneath. The person would melt like wax in a pan, even their skin oil igniting. They’d leave a hard-to-clean stain on that plate.”

  Eiran swallowed his saliva. He did not like where the conversation was heading.

  “The old head warden liked to talk at length about various torture methods and how ingenuity was crucial for us. I disagreed. We don’t do it for fun, and there’s also the cost burdened on the convict’s family.”

  Eiran’s hands tingled. His legs trembled as if sprouting wings, urging him to flee. The warden was only talking, but in this situation, every word sounded like a threat. Sweat also streamed down Zeke’s temples.

  “But then our new warden came. She disliked the old warden’s methods. She emphasized efficiency and preferred quick punishment. My merchant soul was stirred. Considering you injured three of my guards, I want to punish you like the old warden would. But it's a waste of time and money. Agree?”

  The Warden stood up, snapping his fingers.

  Two soldiers pulled Zeke and held him down on the flat stone. The Warden grasped the spiked mace with both hands. Eiran gaped, realizing what was about to happen. Zeke screamed and struggled.

  “Don’t! Wait–”

  Splat! The Warden's mace crushed half of Zeke's head, obliterating his face in one efficient blow.

  Eiran sprang up, screaming. Rage drove him to lunge at the Warden. However, the Warden was quicker, pressing a point on his collar bone, causing excruciating pain and forcing his knees back into the sand.

  The Warden gripped his cheek with one hand, bringing his face close. “You’re the Eiran, aren’t you? I have full authority to execute a Prisoner of the errand boys category. Anyone, anytime. How about I pierce your ears with hot lead? Or maybe hang you upside down and saw through your groin?”

  The Warden tossed Eiran’s face aside. “But, Neuvane ordered that you not be harmed. You must be very good at sucking his cock, hmm?” The Warden then squeezed Eiran’s groin using the full strength of his arm and shoulder.

  The pain in his groin was like being clamped in hot tongs. At first, the dull pain took his breath away. Then, a lightning bolt of agony shot through his groin, obliterating all thoughts, making his rage over Zeke seem inconsequential. The pain surged into his stomach, clawing at its contents. He had never screamed so loud.

  Bent over by nausea, he vomited. He could not fathom how long he remained in that position, kneeling and curled like a worm. When two guards lifted him by the arms, his body was still bent, and the tips of his feet brushed the sand. The journey to the isolation cell on the second sublevel felt endless.