Chapter 18:

Dylan and his soldiers killed every golem shell in the stockade, leaving only a handful of human soldiers to oppose them. 

They had destroyed every golem in Langaris and most of those Heddwynn had taken to Dolbadarn. 

Having refused to replace all his men with golems, Heddwynn still had soldiers, and as Dylan were killing golems, Cadell was creating more in Dolbadarn; and he had their shells safely there with him. 
Still, they had cost him over two thousand golems that day.

They had been lucky.  Heddwynn and Cadell would protect the golem shells better in the future, probably keeping shells separated from boys about to be cut.  

That had been their mistake this time.  They hadn't counted on boys cutting off their own cocks and balls to keep from becoming shells, especially not so many of them.

Streaming out of the stockade, Dylan's soldiers attacked the remaining guards, those still human, about thirty of them. 

They killed them, but lost ten of their own.  The boys in the stockade hadn't been trained to fight.  They had overwhelmed their foes, not with fighting ability, but with numbers.  They were fortunate only thirty of the guards had been human.

At least Dylan was able to recruit more soldiers from the slaves.  To a man, they joined him. 

"To join us, you will fight and some of you will die, but at least you'll die like men, not sitting atop a pole." he said. 

That alone convinced most of them.  Dylan hugged Urien and Tomos when he'd discovered them among the slaves, thrilled to see that they were still alive.

They searched among the dead for Glendower, but didn't find him.

"What do we do next," asked Pedr.

"We attack the palace," said Dylan.  The nobles are held prisoner in the dungeon."

"You risk us to free the nobles?" asked Urien.  Had Dylan lied to him?  Was he only concerned about the nobles?

"Whether we free the nobles or not isn't important.  Whether we cut them or not is.  All the nobles must be cut to prevent their sacrifice by the wizard.  If they wish to come with us afterward, they may.  If not, we'll leave them in the dungeon, ball-less and dead."

"You would cut some of the nobles?" asked Urien.

"Not some of them," said Dylan, " all of them.  I intend to cut every male among the nobles."

"This I have to see," said Urien.  "For that, I'll gladly risk my life.

"Yes," agreed many others, including many of the newly rescued slaves, all of them cut by nobles.

"How can we attack the castle?" asked Steffan.  "Even if it was manned mostly by Golems we've killed, we can't get past the walls.  Only a few men could keep us out."

"You forget," said Dylan, "I was the prince.  I know a secret way into the castle, one that the current occupant, Merfyn knows nothing about.

* * *

Dylan sneaked the boys in the postern gate, the same one he and Braith had used to sneak in and out of the Castle. 

It was Dylan's first trip back to the castle since Megan's mother had repudiated her, and he'd been stuck in Dylan's body. 

No one saw them enter.  Apparently, most of the guards had been golems, and they had been destroyed when Dylan's soldiers had killed the shells. 

"If the servants and slaves want to join us, let them," said Dylan.  "Kill all others, but cut them first, while they're still alive -- if possible.  They'll either be bureaucrats or Merfyn's men and deserving of death." 

Counting the slaves from the enclave Dylan had recruited, he now had nearly two hundred boys in his army. 

At thirteen, he was younger than most.  Still, none of them questioned his leadership.  By that time, all of them knew he'd once been the prince.

They weren't able to get at Merfyn.  He and some of his men barricaded themselves in the citadel. 

Without siege equipment, Dylan had no way to attack the citadel; and he didn't have time.  Heddwynn and his army would return in a day or two. 

He left some men around the citadel to make certain Merfyn didn't get out, then took Braith and other men down to the dungeon where the nobles were being held.

They only encountered a half dozen soldiers in the dungeon, but saw piles of dust and genitals that had once been golems. 

Braith opened the gates to the dungeon with his magic, and they rushed the guards, Dylan in the fore, making their way to where the nobles were imprisoned, in a large common cell that took up almost a complete wing of the dungeon.  Almost four hundred nobles, all boys with their man hair, were in the cell.

Dylan only had thirty boys with him.  The rest were either guarding the citadel or scouring the castle for enemies. 

How was he going to castrate four hundred boys, nobles who had never considered the possibility that they would ever be castrated, using slaves to do it, when the nobles scarcely regarded the slaves as human?

He was one of them -- at least Emrys had been one of them.  He knew what Emrys would have thought about being castrated by slaves.  He would rather die first.

As far as Dylan knew -- other than priests, nobles and eunuchs all -- he was the first noble ever castrated. 

Some might have been by accident, but he must have been the first non priest to have been castrated voluntarily.  Castration was only for priests and slaves.

He could tell them he was really Emrys.  They would see he was castrated.  Other than a weapon harness, he was still naked.  But would they believe him?  He probably wouldn't in their place. 

Other than his eyes, he didn't look like the prince -- and he wasn't the prince.  He was Dylan.  The only thing he shared with the prince was his eyes and his memories. 

He had shared his cock and balls, but those were gone, weren't they?

Then he saw a boy he knew, Islwyn, a boy about his age.  He was as close a friend as Emrys had among the nobles.  His father had been one of the kings advisors.

"Islwyn," he called.  The boy made his way to the cell door where Dylan stood.

 "How do you know me, slave?" he said.  "I don't recognize you.  Were you one of my father's slaves?  You're no jilly boy of mine.  I would have known you, had you been."

"No," said Dylan.  "I am no man's jilly boy.  Neither am I a slave."

"You're cut," said the boy.  "You must be a slave."

"Yes," said Dylan, "I am cut, but I'm not a slave.  I was cut for the God, not for man.  I've dedicated my cock and balls to the God."

"Then, you're a fool," said Islwyn.  "The God never loved slaves, and he has deserted his children."

"It's his children deserted him," said Dylan.

"Who are you?" asked Islwyn.  "What do you know of the God?  You're all slaves.  I recognize one.  He belonged to my father.  I saw him cut myself, no more than a year ago."

"I was Emrys," said Dylan.

"I knew Emrys," said Islwyn.  "You are not he."

"I was Emrys," said Dylan.  "Now, I'm Dylan.  Megan changed me.  She was a wizard like her father."

"Megan?  Her mother repudiated her."

"Yes," said Dylan.  "When she did, Megan lost her magic and couldn't change me back to Emrys.  This," he said, putting his hand on Braith's shoulder, "is Megan in her other form, the one, she is stuck in.  Neither of us can change back."

"A jilly boy?" said Islwyn.  "You expect me to believe this jilly boy is Megan?"

"It is Megan, although, in this form, he is called Braith," said Dylan.  "Perhaps, a demonstration is in order.  Can you hold all but these ten back while I open the door," he asked Braith.

"For a few moments only," said Braith.  "My power is weak." 

"Do it then," said Dylan.

"It's done," said Braith.

Dylan opened the cell door.  The nobles inside tried to rush out, but they seemed to run into an invisible wall.  Ten, including Islwyn, were on the side of the wall, closest to the cell door. 

On Dylan's signal, his boys rushed in, bringing them outside the door.  Dylan locked it again, once they were out.  Braith released the wall.  The strain of holding it was evident in his face.  Sweat beaded on his brow.

"Hold these boys here," Dylan said to his soldiers, "I want to talk to Islwyn alone."  Taking Islwyn by the arm, he walked him to an adjoining room.  With armed boys about, all of them looking at Islwyn like they would like to cut off his balls, Islwyn went willingly with Dylan.

When they were alone, Dylan said, "I am Emrys.  Remember your dedication to the God?  You forgot the words and had to be reminded by the priest.  Would anyone know that, who wasn't there?  And who was there, but the priest, the king, your father and the prince?"

"You are Emrys," said Islwyn, 'but you're cut.  You're no longer prince, if you're cut.  You're no longer of noble blood, if you're cut.  You can never go to the God, now that you're cut.  It's a worse fate that death.  Better had you died."

"No," said Dylan.  "I gave my cock and balls to the God.  He accepted my sacrifice.  Now, he asks the same of you."

"My cock and balls?" said Islwyn, "No.  Take my life, instead."

"Do you not know what awaits you here?" asked Dylan.  "Cadell is a blood wizard.  "He plans to sacrifice you all to the Dark Lord.  First, he'll cut you, then cut your throats.  Nysrogh will feast on your souls for eternity.  Would you prefer that?"

Islwyn blanched at the mention of the Dark Lord.  "No," he said, "kill me, instead or take me with you."

"I'll take you with me.  I'll take all of you with me, but you'll have to convince the others that I'm the prince and that they should obey me.  We'll take them from the cell ten at a time.  Tell them to come out orderly -- unless they would rather stay here to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord."

"They will obey you long enough to get out," said Islwyn, "but I doubt after that.  You've been cut.  No noble will take orders from a cut boy, once prince or not."

"Then tell them to come out orderly; and we'll deal with that later.  Otherwise, they'll remain here to be sacrificed to the Dark Lord.  Do you agree."

"I agree," said Islwyn, "I believe you were once Emrys, but you are no longer.  Not since you've been cut."

They walked back to the cell.  "Tell them to step back," said Dylan, "and I let you back in the cell.  Remember, they have to come out orderly, ten at a time.  If not I'll leave them here to be sacrificed." 

He wasn't about to leave them, not with balls and alive, but they out numbered his men, and as nobles, had been trained in the arts of war.  Dylan didn't trust his boys to stand up to them, even those his boys were armed, and they were not. 

That's why he had negotiated with Islwyn, if not lying to him, at least omitting that he intended to cut each of the nobles.

Back in the cell, Islwyn said to the others, "I believe this boy is -- or was Emrys.  He says he will let us out, if we leave orderly, ten at a time.  We will do as he asks, until we're free; then we'll arm ourselves and kill these slaves.  The prince, I'll keep for a jilly boy.  He might have been the prince, but cut, he is no longer.  We'll teach these slaves to respect their betters.  But for now, do as he asks.  I'll go with the first ten.  It will give me an opportunity to reconnoiter."

"We agree," he called to Dylan. 

When he came to the cell door, Dylan let him out.  Braith stood by to stop them, if they didn't keep their word, but none of them tried to rush the door. 

If would have done them little good.  Dylan had locked  the door to the corridor.  Islwyn came out, joining the ones let out before.  Dylan took the ten out to the courtyard, where he'd cut Glendower the year before.

"What is this?" asked Islwyn.

"For you to be free, you first have to be cut," said Dylan, "the God requires it."

"You traitor," said Islwyn, "I'd rather you kill me."

"No, I'll cut you first.  If you still want to did after I cut you, then I'll kill you as well -- or you can join us."

"Join slaves?  Never," he said.

"Lay him on the bench," Dylan told the boys holding Islwyn.  They did, holding onto his arms and legs."  Dylan stepped up to the bench, reached down, taking Islwyn's cock and balls into his hand.  "I dedicate this boy's cock and balls to the God," he said, then picked up a hot knife off a brazier of coals.  It would have been too much to ask of Braith to heal four hundred boys. 

Islwyn screamed, as do slaves, when Dylan touched the red hot knife blade to his cock.  The odor of singed hair wafted up from his crotch. Dylan sliced through the boy's cock, then through his ball sack, taking his balls off with it. 

One moment the boy's cock and balls had been attached to his groin.  The next moment Dylan held them in the palm of his hand.

Dylan had a boy put him a slave pen.  Islwyn sat on the ground starring down at his empty crotch.. 

He wouldn't be doing any fighting today.  Having just lost his cock and balls, he didn't feel like fighting.. Once cut, none of these boys would.

Dylan, Pedr, Steffan, Urien, Tomos, Sawyl, and four others cut four hundred boys that day, ten at a time. 

The slave pen and the court yard was littered with four hundred naked, cock-less, and ball-less boys.  They had been nobles, but were no longer.  Not without cocks and balls, they weren't. 

They cut so many boys that day that they had to build a fire to burn all the cocks and balls, to dedicate them in the flame to the God.

With over five hundred boys cut -- including the hundred Dylan had cut in the stockade -- he was on his way toward the one hundred forty-four thousand that had to be cut.