Name: Drake Douay.
Occupation: undisputed master of the Gates of Chenameg. Status: a hero of the Age of Darkness which has come upon Argan with the fall of Drangsturm. Description: compact body marked by scars from heroic battles with bloodthirsty Yarglat barbarians from Tameran, evil pirates devoid of pity, man-devouring sea serpents and fell monsters too numerous to detail.
It is to be regretted that some of the scars which mar the beauty of the noble Douay are the consequence of prolonged torture endured in Selzirk after his capture by minions of a certain ungentleman named Sean Kelebes Sarazin, also known as Watashi…
While Sarazin's head was still bowed, Douay snapped his fingers. In response to this command, his guards grabbed Sarazin and relieved him of sword, sheath and swordbelt. 'Search,' said Douay.
This single word provoked a strip search. Sarazin protested at this humiliation. A guard hit him. Hard. In the solar plexus. Sarazin went down on his knees. The pain was paralysing. He could not breathe.
'Not so rough, man,' said Douay, jumping down from his throne. 'I've my own pleasures to take with this bitch.'
Sarazin, kneeling naked on cold stone, found his breath, raised his head and said: You call me a bitch?'
'Aye, and a thief,' said Douay, striding forward. Sarazin's few possessions had been piled in a heap. Douay scattered them with a kick, then fished out the bard from the wreckage. "What's this?' he said.
The bard,' said Sarazin. 'The Lost Bard of Untunchi- lamon.'
TVIy bard!' said Douay. Won by me in Ling, aye, from Guardian Machines who screamed for my death as they fought me. Right proper it served me, aye, saved a whole ship from mutiny once, for such is the power of the thing. Then this bitch Watashi stole it from me. A thief, aye, that's what he is. His dwarf's a thief into the bargain!'
With that, Douay scooped up one of Sarazin's boots and hurled it at Glambrax, who, thinking himself unobserved, had been detaching a dagger from a weapon rack on the northern wall. The boot missed, and Glambrax fled.
Taking the dagger with him. Douay did not bother order- ing a pursuit.
'I – I apologise for the bad behaviour of my dwarf,' said Sarazin.
'The bitch thinks to apologise,' said Douay. He grabbed a hank of Sarazin's hair and yanked. Hard. 'Apologise! That's what he thinks to do. But for what? For a worthless dagger, that's all. Not for the larger things. Blood, bashings, beatings, threats, kidnap, arrest without trial, torture, unlawful detention, aye, I could go on, but life's too short for the catalogue.'
Such was Douay's anger that Sarazin knew his only hope of survival was to kill his foe. 'May I stand?' said he.
'Our four-legged bitch wishes to perform for us,' said Douay. 'To show us the lesser breeds can dare themselves upright on two feet only. Very well then. Stand!' So saying, Douay released Sarazin's hair.
And Sarazin rose, knowing he would only get one chance. It would have to be a killing blow. A straight blow to the throat. Douay struck.
Down went Sarazin, struck while still thinking, still rising. Down he went, hands flailing at the ground to break his fall. And a boot smashed into his ribs. And: -And I'm going to die!
But he did not die. He was still alive when he was bundled into a bloodstained torture chamber and strapped down to a torture bench.
The torture chamber was warm. The shutters were closed against the day, keeping out the winds. Heavy iron cooked slowly in braziers. Hot. Red hot. 'Comfortable?' said Douay.
'What do you want?' answered Sarazin, speaking with difficulty, half-convinced his swollen jaw was broken. 'The truth,' said Douay.
Sarazin, bound to cold wood, looked up at Drake Douay and saw a face as loveless as that of a rapist. Douay was no longer grinning. The beating he had given Sarazin in the throne room had been but a game. Now the real business of revenge was going to begin.
'Torture' continued Douay, as Sarazin held his silence, 'is an acknowledged road to the truth. They say as much in Selzirk, in any case. Do you dispute it?' 'Selzirk has fallen,' said Sarazin.
'Then regard this as enquiry historical,' said Douay. 'I will prove out Selzirk's methods by iron upon flesh.'
What do you want to know?' said Sarazin, with a sense of ^! rising desperation.
'Why, the truth!' said Douay. 'Nothing more, nothing less. You will number for me the fish in the sea. Then prove that number or perish.'
'Prove?' said Sarazin. 'How can I prove anything when I'm naked on a breadboard?'
This is no breadboard!' said Douay. This is a butcher's block. As for the how – why, that's your problem. Do well, Watashi. Do well – and you might live till morning.'
With that,. Douay turned and departed, leaving Sarazin in the hands of the torturers, who were two in number: black-masked men who looked as if they enjoyed their business. These rubbed their hands, grinned at each other, then picked up instruments variously rough and sharp.
'Come now!' said one. You're not going to cut off his toes, are you?' 'Why? What do you think we should do?' 'The teeth! That's the thing to start with.'
'Oh no no no! I can't abide the sound of crunching teeth.' 'Well, you know how I feel about toes.' 'All right then, let's start with the nose.' 'Agreed! The nose!'
One of the men opened the jaws of a pair of nose-cutters, loomed over Sarazin, and- And Sarazin fainted.
When Sarazin recovered, it was night. He was still strapped down, utterly helpless. In terror, he looked for his torturers. They were nowhere to be seen. But dull fire glowed red in a brazier where iron was heating still, ready for their return.
Sarazin's nose was still in place. But they would come back. They would hurt him, would cut him, would beat him. And he had no hope of escape, no hope what- soever. Helplessly, he began to cry.
He sobbed, alone, lonely, utterly bereft. Hot tears blubbered from his eyes and coursed down his cheeks. It was not fair! How could they do this to him, to him, Sean Sarazin? 'I did nothing wrong,' he said. But nobody answered, of course.
The fire glowed red. The darkness creaked. Wind was at work on the shutters of the torture chamber. And Sarazin's tears eased away at last, and he was left cold and shivering. Waiting for his torturers to return. Waiting for his death. More afraid than he had ever been in his life.
At last, the grey dawn came like a cutthroat. The ashes in the brazier were cold. A whisk of wind found its way beneath the shutters, feathered the ashes, shifted a few to the floor. Sarazin shivered. Then heard footsteps. Soft footsteps. Creeping, creeping. He sucked on his tongue, summoned up saliva, moistened his dry throat, then said: 'I hear you, Douay.'
'It's not him, moron,' said Glambrax. 'It's me.' The next moment, Glambrax was beside Sarazin, cutting him free with a dagger. When Sarazin's bonds had been severed, he got off the torture bench – and promptly collapsed to the floor. 'What ails you?' said Glambrax.
Wly back,' said Sarazin, in agony. 'It's given way. I can't get up.'
Glambrax promptly started pounding and pummelling and pounding Sarazin's back like a professional masseur. Under his ministrations, Sarazin gained freedom of move- ment, and soon had the satisfaction of standing and pissing into the brazier.
Take a shit while you're about it,' said Glambrax generously. 'We're in no hurry.'
'No thanks,' said Sarazin. Then, by way of explanation: 'Constipation.' Then, seeing Glambrax was making for the door: Where are you going?' Won't be a moment,' said Glambrax.
He was in fact several moments, but returned in due course with an armful of clothes. Sarazin's clothes. Sarazin dressed, somewhat dismayed to find that his boots were missing. 'What about my boots?' said Sarazin.
"Don't worry,' said Glambrax. We'll get you some boots before we get out of here.'
'That raises another question,' said Sarazin. 'Just how are we going to get out of here?' 'Follow me,' said Glambrax.
And led the way through the dawn-quiet building, out through a side door, up one stairway, down another, and out through another door. Glambrax scuttled across an open courtyard, then paused, listening at yet another door. Sarazin joined him. He could hear a demented animal wailing within the building, and was frightened. 'What's that?' he hissed. 'Nothing to worry about,' said Glambrax.
Then Glambrax opened the door. Sarazin slipped through. Glambrax nipped in after him, slammed the door and sidled away. Laughing horribly. And Sarazin, to his horror, found himself back in the throne room where he had confronted Drake Douay the day before.
Douay was now striding up and down the room playing on a skavamareen, which was the source of the abominable noise which Sarazin had incorrectly identified as a demented animal.
The next moment Sarazin was seized by two black- masked torturers. And realised that all the events so far were but moves in a game of destruction being played by the fiendish Drake Douay.