Through the Eyes of the Dead 3 (standard:fantasy, 2741 words) [3/3] show all parts
Author: kissofthehungry	Added: Jun 29 2004	Views/Reads: 2757/2036	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
King Brenton storms the unit that Cavara and Klien have just fled, and upon investigating, he finds Avoney clothed in Cavara's outfit. When she is unable to give the information that he seeks, he captures her and gives her over to his soldiers.

King Brenton rode unchallenged into the quiet, now abandoned pathways of
Deep Pool Unit.   Glaring in silent rage, he glanced around at the 
pillars, knowing there should be people about but there were none.  
Fuming, he called for the Deep Pool Marker, hoping that she would be 
able to provide the whereabouts of the citizens of Deep Pool Unit. 

Looking meek beneath his gaze, she rode up.  She was a tiny woman of
about fourty seven years with thick brown hair traced with silver.  Her 
eyes refused to meet King Brenton's, as he glared at her. 

"Where are your people?  Surely, you alone know how they could have all
disappeared?" his voice was full of iron and belittling.  Though his 
words gave away nothing, his voice carried an unspoken threat that 
promised terrible things to come if she did not comply with his wishes. 


"My Lord," she stammered, still holding her staring contest with the
ground, "The pillars are hollow stairways that lead to holds below the 
surface."  Her mouth opened as if to say more but King Brenton had 
already turned away from her.  Quickly he beckoned to one of the 
Markers who had the ability to shatter stone. 

Holding his head up high, as if he were on a great mission rather than
quietly obeying the orders of a tyrant, he asked, "What do you wish of 
me, my Lord?"  King Brenton looked smug with his question, assured that 
this Marker would be able to do as he desired. 

"I need you to destroy the nearest pillar to us," he replied calmly, no
tremor of indesicion in his voice.  There was a wicked gleam in his 
eyes, a spark that came when he knew he was on the verge of triumph.  
He would have what he came for, there was no question about that.  If 
the people tried to hide from him, he would reveal their hiding places, 
and they would give the information he sought or suffer greatly. 

"I will do so," the Marker smiled broadly, pleased to be able to use his
service to the King's delights.  Raising his arms, a strange humming 
tone poured from his lips directed toward the nearest pillar.  His eyes 
focused upon the manmade formation then a clear shield seemed to 
descend over them.  Moments later the pillar exploded in a shower of 
chunks of marble, dust covering the group watching.  Triumphantly, the 
Marker turned to face King Brenton but already his feat was forgotten. 

King Brenton's eyes were glued on the stairwell that descended into
darkness, his mind having already dismissed the Marker. Ruthlessly, he 
ordered several of the guards traveling with him to hurry down the 
stairs and retrieve the citizens hiding in it's confines.  They were to 
bring them back up to him for interrogation.  Eagerly they complied, 
not because they wished to but because they feared the repercussion of 
failing to do as told. 

As they waited, Brenton got off his horse and began pacing.  His Advisor
watched him with an indifferent air, almost appearing amused at his 
antics. They had decided to keep it to themselves that Cavara had fled 
upon her own accord.  Rather, they fed the other Markers and guards a 
tale of Cavara being whisked off in her sleep by a magician who sought 
her powers.  The other Markers hadn't asked questions and that was what 
they wanted.  The Advisor had been adament that they keep her rebellion 
secret for fear of sowing discourse among the other Markers. 

Impatience ran rampid through his system, he couldn't understand what
was taking the guards so long to come back with a just a couple people 
for him to get answers from.  When his frustration had reached the 
point that he was going to march down those steps after his men, that 
was when instead they finally marched up to him. 

In a huddled group in the midst of them were seven, very downcast
looking people.  Their eyes held leavy with the ground and their feet 
trudged up the steps as if they wore shoes of lead rather than soft 
leather and sheepskin.  Electricity seemed to curl the air as his eyes 
lighted on his prey, they were ripe for his picking.  It was obvious 
from their attitudes that it would not take much to have the whole 
group singing before the hour was done. 

The first four people he "spoke" to betrayed no recognition of the
description he gave.  They'd been enjoying a normal leisurely day when 


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