The Hunted

Chapter 5

Far from the green forest glade where Tor and his kidnappers had camped, a huge iron door slammed shut with a resounding boom. A man in shining steel mail, with a black tunic covering his torso entered. The click, click of his black riding boots was muffled by the deep crimson carpet. He walked briskly but never let his gaze move from his feet. After walking for perhaps a minute, due to the length of the hall, he pulled himself into a stiff militaristic stance and drew to a halt. He looked over his muscled shoulder and gazed nervously at his surroundings.

He was at the far end of a long hall, at the opposite end to a huge, intricately forged iron door. The carvings on the doors showed grim battles, sacrifices, executions, torture and many other scenes of pain and death. The hall between him and the door was supported by black marble pillars. Every other pillar had a burning torch on it, which gave off the metallic aroma of blood. The pillars stood directly on either side of the corridor of blood-red carpet. Beyond these black monoliths, the room was wrapped in shadow, making the width of the room impossible to determine. All that could be seen was that the floor beyond the carpet was of a slightly lighter shade of black than the columns.

The man slowly turned his head back around until it was facing forward once more. In front of him was a giant set of black marble steps, leading up to large semi-circular plinth of the very darkest stone. A gigantic steel mask of unearthly beauty was set into the black stone wall behind the platform. Its eyelids and mouth were closed and it shone with a pristine sheen. It was made of the finest sliver and steel, and was completely plain apart from its burnished features. On the plinth itself, was a large obsidian throne, wrought with veins of silver and dotted with glittering rubies. On its crimson seat sat a tall man clad in shining mail. A black hood hid his eyes, but a prominent chin could be seen, half obscured by the shadow of the robe. It revealed flawless pale skin, completely white with not a blemish in sight.

The man who had just entered bowed low to the shadowy figure.

"Your majesty, they beat us to it. We were so close but they got to the boy first. Do not worry though, master, next time we will not fail you!"

The shadowy figure lifted an ebony hand from the obsidian arms of the throne.

"Whatever made you think there would be a next time?" the figure said in cold, emotionless voice.

The man shuffled nervously. This is what he and his comrades had nightmares about.

"Wh...What do you mean, Master?" he said in a fearful voice.

In answer, the figure raised one white finger and dropped it with an ominous tap on the arm of his throne.

Immediately, two soldiers, wearing red robes that covered their heads, backs and sides and silver mail on their chests, stepped forward from behind the throne. They drew their swords and stepped in front of the throne, guarding the figure upon it. Six more guards, wearing coifs of steel mail, and   long black tunics, like the one the man wore, stepped out of the shadows by the pillars. The white emblem of a flame on their chests seemed to flicker as they passed into the light. Their burnished steel helms reflected the flickering torchlight as they drew their polished silver swords from the leather sheaths by their sides.

They marched towards the man and grabbed him, pushing him to the floor as iron manacles were placed on his wrists.

They dragged him into the shadows and slowly his screams for mercy got fainter and fainter as his voice grew hoarse. In the shadows, just out of sight, at the point where the soldiers had disappeared to, there was an ominous swish, followed by a thump as the faint screams were cut off once and for all.

The cloaked figure raised his slender hand once more and the two robed guards by his throne stood to attention. The figure spoke in his cold, flat tone: "Ready the troops. I want that boy and no rebel army will get in my way. Tell my generals to prepare for war immediately. And tell them that the boy must be kept alive, or there will be consequences. Painful ones!” With that, the figure on the throne laughed, an evil, ominous laugh. He would get what he wanted or there would be hell to pay.