The Beaten and the Broken

Chapter 2

The whipping post had become a daily routine for Arthur, being walked out to the rough, jagged wood circular post jutting out of the ground and standing fifteen-feet high. It held the same scars as every prisoner that sat at its face, the imprints of the three-piked iron whip stuck out on the light wood like the moon in darkness. Leaves fluttered all around him, all shades of yellow, orange and green, falling from the trees as they prepared for the heavy winter. The barren courtyard was as dead as the four men who hanged from the castle walls fifty-feet above for murder. 

Silence hung in the air as Arthur was walked across the courtyard, his bare feet crunching against the dried, dead leaves that covered the pebbled path. The chains around his hands and neck itched, but when he tried to reach up and scratch it, he felt pain shoot up his neck, taking over the itch sensation, and he tripped. His knees scrapped across the cobbled pebbles, blood smearing into them as closed,  wounds opened again. His face slammed into the ground as the force of gravity took over. Arthur felt hands on his back, and the feeling of his body being pulled to his feet, but as he tried to move on his own, he lost his balance again and fell, but this was just for show. He could feel the wounds on his knees closing, muscle reconnecting to muscle, skin knitting back together and becoming a slight line, then noted the six guards surrounding him, screaming for him to get up and two of them about to reach out and make him keep walking, as they were on a schedule.

Arthur, again, pushed himself to his feet and was shoved forward once more, this time keeping his balance, and shuffled along the path, his chains rattling, breaking the never-ending silence that shrouded the courtyard.

As soon as they were in front of the Post, the guards shoved him down, his newly-scared knees falling into the same divots that were carved into the earth like footprints on a path. One of the guards stood at his side while the other crossed the courtyard to the small shack near the gate. Arthur heard the guard knock on the door and saw the door open. A tall, ridged man appeared, a hand running through across his bald head as he started a small conversation with the guard, who nodded, saluted, and marched back to the Post, taking position next to Arthur. The man withdrew from the doorway and disappeared back into the small shack. After about ten seconds of kneeling in the bitter cold, he felt a raindrop. Then another one. Then another. All at once, it started to downpour as the sky darkened and a low fog rolled in. The guards looked around the courtyard, panicking out of their minds. Their weapons were drawn instantly as vision became something of a mist. Arthur could barely see two feet in front of him, but he took this opportunity as a gift from God. Looking up, he noticed that only one guard remained by his side while the other went off somewhere, probably for reinforcements in case of an attack. 

Arthur grinned. Perfect.

Staying as silent as he could, he slowly lifted himself to a crouch, his bare feet lifted to his toes on the cold dirt, preparing to pounce. Arthur shifted his chains to the front of him, silently twisting them in a way that allowed him to move swiftly, and pounced. Arthur used his chains to drag the guard into a chokehold, the middle-aged buff man gasping for air. Finally, he went limp. Arthur carefully, and quietly, set the limp guard down and scanned the area. As soon as Arthur saw the coast was clear, he unclipped the key ring from the guard's belt and unlocked the chains attached to his feet, hands, and neck, the chains falling into a heap of metal, dust covering them in an instant. Arthur looked up again, rubbing his sore wrists, and stood up straight. He took a moment to switch the guard's armor and clothes with his own, snapping the utility belt to his side, the sword weighing him down a bit.

"What the hell're you doing!" Arthur heard a stern voice call behind him. He turned around and saw the same man from the doorway, only now he was in the uniform of a soldier, not his nightclothes. Through the slits in the helmet he gained, he saw the man march toward him. Arthur instinctively and immediately went to attention and saluted, both different from the normal attention stance and salute he was taught in the Academy, as they were the ways of the New King's Legion.

"Do you have a knat in your brain?! Get the prisoner back to the dungeon! Now!" The soldier waited for a second, scanning Arthur's attire. He wrinkled his nose and turned away. Arthur bit back a laugh. "When you're done with that, take a damn shower. I could smell you from across the yard. Now, go." The soldier turned completely around and walked into the thick fog, causing ripples when we vanished. The fog replaced itself in his absence and Arthur couldn't see as much as he could before as another layer descended.

Arthur lowered himself to the ground, as the fog was not as dense this low, and followed the warn, blue tinted path toward the wall that surrounded the castle. He made his way, blind, to the towering iron-barred gate.

Suddenly, to Arthur's dismay, the fog started to lift and dissipate. As he stood, he was immediately surrounded.

"Mate, who the hell are you? None of us recognize ya, and we know everyone in this here battalion." One of the guards stepped forward, one hand on his blade hilt, the other outstretched, keeping his "mates" from attacking. 

"I'm a new recruit and I am very lost. You think you can help another soldier out and point out the barracks?" Arthur asked, sweat beads forming on his brow.

"H-he's l-l-l-lying! H-help!" The guard Arthur had choked out awoke behind him, his face bloody and covered with dirt that mixed in with his freshly cut beard. His body was covered by the remains of Arthur's tattered prison tunic, and he slowly stood up, pointing a crooked finger at Arthur.

Almost immediately, the other guards drew their swords and whips, cracking them on the ground with a snap. 

Arthur knelt to the ground, defeated and caught. They reattached the chains to his hands, neck, and feet, the feeling of the rugged iron digging into his skin once more appeared.

They brought him back down the familiar stone steps lit by torches, beaten and bloody once more. It brought back the memory of the first time he had been brought down here, but that will be saved for another time. Arthur's cell came into view, and with it, the look of complete dispair.

There was no saving Arthur from the events that followed.