Chapter 17:

"The God came to me in my dream," Briath said.  "He acknowledged me as his daughter and said that I would one day be more to him than a daughter.  He's restored my magic.  It's weak -- because, chained as he is, he's weak.  He gains strength, though, with each castration we do in his name.  He says we are to escape and leave Gwynedd, but first we are to castrate every male noble left in the land.  Those who willingly give their cocks and balls may come with us.  Those who won't, we take theirs anyway and kill them, so Nyrogh doesn't get their souls."

"He would have all the nobles cut?" asked Pedr.

"Yes," said Braith, "they have broken their covenant with him, giving the Dark Lord power over the God.  Not one of them will father another child."

"Do they count in the one hundred forty-four thousand?" asked Pedr.

"They count," said Braith, "but only those giving their cocks and balls willingly will be honored by the God.  Only those will join him in his new kingdom."

"As I will?" said Pedr.

Braith looked away for an instant, so briefly that perhaps Pedr didn't notice, then looked back at him, meeting his gaze evenly.  "As you will," he said.

"If you can get us out of here," said Dylan, " do it now.  Glendower will be coming for us at any moment."

Closing his eyes, Braith waved his hand, rotating his wrist to the right, so his palm, down at first, faced up. 

With an audible click, the door to the cell opened; but neither of the two golems guarding them heard it.  Neither did they see the three walk by.

No one saw them as they walked to the barracks where Braith had shared a bed with the sergeant.  The first person to see them was the sergeant. 

Braith let the sergeant see him.  Dylan and Pedr lay the man on a bench, while Braith cut off his cock and balls.  They would be added to the tally, but the sergeant wouldn't be honored by the God.  Then Braith cut the man's throat.

They gathered up weapons and went to the stockade.  With Braith's magic, they wouldn't have to sneak them in a few at a time.  They would arm their men, kill all the shells, and make good their escape. 

The sun was just coming up when they entered the stockade.  At that time, Glendower had just discovered that their cell was empty.

* * *

"Where are they?"  Glendower screamed at the two golems he'd left to guard the prisoners.  The golems were confused.  The prisoners were still in the cell.  Couldn't Glendower see them as they did? 

As limited in intelligence as golems were, it had been easy for Braith to leave them with the illusion that their prisoners were still in the cell.  They still saw them, even though Glendower screamed at them, asking them where they were.

"They're here," one of the golems answered.  Couldn't he see them?

Frustrated because they wouldn't answer, Glendower pulled his sword and cut off one of the golems' head.  The golem collapsed into a pile of dust.  On top of the dust was a cock and two balls.  The other golem watched, without a hint of emotion.  Neither did he flinch when Glendower swung his sword at his neck, cutting off his head.  Glendower was their commander.  They followed his orders -- would even submit to being killed by his hand.

When Glendower cut off the heads of the two golems, two golem shells in the stockade died.  They fell, their necks obviously broken.  Actually, their spinal cords had been completely severed.

Glendower sounded the alarm.  First he had all the slaves, gathered to watch the executions, herded back into the enclave. 

Then, a most peculiar thing happened.  His golem soldiers began dying, not dying really, since they'd never been alive, but they ceased to exist.  They collapsed into a pile of dust, leaving only the cocks and balls they wore behind.

He ran for the stockade.

* * *

Dylan, Pedr, and Braith had entered the stockade using her magic, each carrying an armful of weapons.  The golem guards had looked past them, unaware of their presence. 

Once inside they passed out the weapons to the God's soldiers. 

"How?" asked Steffan when he saw them.

"Braith has magic once again," said Dylan.

"Will he change you back into the prince," asked Steffan.

"No," said Dylan.  "I, too, have a penance to pay, as does Braith.  We both must remain as we are until the one hundred forty-four thousand are cut.  Then, perhaps, I'll be Emrys once again."

"What do we do now?" asked Pedr, once all were armed.

"We kill the shells," said Dylan.  "We kill all the shells."

It was a slaughter.  Unable to see or hear, none of the shells knew what was happening and didn't resist.  Some had their throats cut, some their heads cut off, and some were stabbed.  They died, and as they did, their golems ceased to exist, leaving behind a pile of dust and a set of cocks and balls.

Dylan happened upon Rhydderch.  "Ah, Rhydderch," he said, "I wish there was another way," but of course there wasn't.  Rhydderch's golem stood guard outside the stockade.  Dylan pricked his heart with his dagger.  The boy fell.  So did his golem.

* * *

By the time Glendower reached the stockade, he had only a handful of golems left and all those left to guard the stockade were gone, leaving only a pile of dirt, a cock, and two balls behind.  The ground of the stockade ran red with the blood of slain shells. 
Even as he watched, two more of the golems accompanying him collapsed, turning to dust.  It wasn't just Dylan, Pedr, and Braith doing the killing, there were tens of them -- perhaps as many as a hundred -- inside the stockade, killing golems. 

Had Dylan done all this with the knife he had given him?  Had he cut so many, saving them from becoming golems?

Glendower knew he could do nothing -- except try to save himself.  A handful of the guards, mostly cut boys like him, were still human, but not so many as those in the stockade. 

Golems had been made out of most of the human guards with cocks and balls, leaving only a few to command them.  The army was with Heddwynn and the wizard in Dolbadarn, where they were making more golems out of the boys of that town. 

Thinking he would fare better, appearing to be a naked slave boy, Glendower stripped off his uniform. 

If the wizard learned he had given Dylan the knife, Nysrogh would feast on his soul.  He didn't know where he would go.  He just knew it would have to be far from Langaris -- far from Gwynedd -- far from where either the wizard or Dylan could find him.  If Dylan found him today, it might be he that sat on a pole.