Chapter 15:

"No, Braith, don't!"

He stopped, recognizing the voice.  It was Pedr's voice.  Dylan's shell turned at the sound -- but how? A shell couldn't hear. 

Then, it spoke.  "Braith," it said.  It said Braith.  It said his name.

"Braith," it said, reaching out for him. 

Braith dropped the knife.  It was Dylan -- not his shell.  And Braith had almost killed him.  Another moment, he would have.  Had not Pedr called out, he would have.

"Dylan," he said, throwing his arms around him, "you're not a shell -- but how?  I almost killed you."

"The wizard didn't cut us," said Dylan.  "We cut ourselves.  We only pretend to be shells when guards are about."

Braith looked more closely at Dylan's crotch.  He had a ghastly scar where he'd cut off his cock and balls.  His pee hole was about half closed. 

Braith wished he still had magic, so he could heal him, as he had others.  "Your cock and your balls," said Braith.

"Yes," said Dylan.  "Will you still love me, even though I'll never fuck you again?"

"I would love you, Dylan, had you never had a cock or balls -- had we never been able to fuck.  I loved your cock, but much as I did, I love you more."

They talked for as long as they could, exchanging what information they had.  Dylan told Braith how they'd been caught, betrayed by Glendower. 

Braith told them about the slave enclave, how they weren't closely watched since a high wall enclosed the enclave.  How, with golems at the gates, it would be impossible to escape. 

Then, it was time for Braith to leave.  All the slaves were leaving the compound.

"Will you come back to the stockade?" asked Dylan.

"Yes," said Braith.  "There's so many shells now that all the slaves are needed to feed them."

"Can you sneak us some armbands?"

Each slave wore an armband to to distinguish them from the shells.  The guards at the gates checked them when they left.

"How many of you?" Looking around, Braith saw Pedr, Sawyl, and Steffan.  Was this all of the market boys that survived?

"Over a hundred," said Dylan.

"Over a hundred?" said Braith.  "We can never sneak out so many."

"No," said Dylan.  "Only a few at first.  Then, with those, a few more.  Once we have enough, we'll all escape.  Most of the guards are golems.  We've marked their shells.  Once the gates are open for the slaves to leave, we'll kill the shells.  That'll destroy their golems.  Then we'll all escape, killing the few guards that are still men.  After that, we'll kill all the shells.  The wizard's made a mistake, replacing all his soldier with golems.  He thinks their shells are safe, protected as they are by these walls.  He doesn't know that the God's soldiers are among them, though."

"The God's soldiers?" said Braith.

"Yes," said Dylan.  "We are all the God's soldiers.  We have sacrificed our cocks and balls to him."

"The God still lives?"

"Yes," said Dylan, "I have felt him.  I felt him when I gave him my balls.  I feel him every time I give him another's.  He came to me in a dream." 

Then he told her of the dream, how the God would walk among them once one hundred forty-four thousand sets of cocks and balls were sacrificed to him -- as long as the God's tally of cocks and balls reached that number before the Dark Lord's tally did.

"Will so many give theirs to the God," Braith asked.

"Either to the God, or to Nysrogh," said Dylan.  "Had you cock and balls, which would you prefer?"

"The God," said Braith, then he left with the others.

Despair -- loss.  That's what Dylan felt as he watched Braith walk out the gate.  He thought about having him take off his arm band and stay with them, but they needed Braith on the outside. 
They needed him to bring them armbands and weapons. 

But, what if something happened to him?  What if he never returned?  He had just found Braith.  What if he were to lose him again -- this time for good?

Seeing Braith had awakened memories of what it had been like to be a boy -- not a neutered thing.  He hadn't really thought about it -- not really concerned himself with it -- before. 

Since he'd been in the compound, sex hadn't existed, even before he'd cut off his genitals. 

He couldn't remember seeing one boy with a hard on, the whole time he'd been in the stockade.  He hadn't had one.  He hadn't even awakened with one.  He'd been too frightened.  They all had.

Many boys were aroused by seeing another boy get his cock and balls cut off.  Some were by the prospect of losing his own, but not those in the stockade. 

What happened to a boy when he had his cock and balls cut off by the wizard horrified -- nay, terrified -- the watching boys. 

They were likely to void their bowels or bladders -- not become aroused.  Terror, itself, will castrate a boy as effectively as a knife.

After seeing Braith again, Dylan knew just what he'd lost when he cut off his cock and balls, not because he'd been aroused by the sight of Braith -- but because he hadn't. 

Love for him had filled his heart, but nothing had stirred in his groin -- nothing, not even a flicker of what he had felt every time he had seen Braith before. 

That's when he'd known for certain that he was no longer a boy.  He still loved Braith, but he would never again be aroused by him.

He remembered how he would sometimes look at Braith, feel his cock stir, then feel the desire for him spread up from his groin, until he shivered from the need for him, as if a chill had spread up his spine to his neck. 

It was a hunger, unlike any he had felt for food.  He could go for days without eating, but he couldn't have gone for days without making love to Braith -- not when he'd had a cock and balls. 

Now, he would never make love to him again.  Worse, he would never feel the NEED to make love to him again.

Guards were still around, so Dyan and his companions were shuffling around the stockade like shells.  So they could talk, Dylan, Pedr, Steffan, and Urien walked together. 

Suddenly, Dylan felt he was being watched.  He glanced over toward the gate; that was a mistake; shells always looked straight ahead; since they couldn't see, they had no reason to look around. 

Glendower stood at the gate; he watched them.

"Scatter," said Dylan, moving his lips little as possible, "Glendower watches." 

They did, each moving off in a different direction; but Glendower had seen them together.  He knew Pedr and Steffan. 

The odds against any particular three shells out of two thousand walking together were over a billion to one.  Even Glendower would have realized how unlikely it was for three shells that had known one another when they'd still been sentient to have come together.

Dylan expected to hear him shout, to have the gate open, and to have guards come for him and the others -- but none of that happened.  When Dylan looked up again, Glendower was gone.

That night, Dylan cut his hair and cleaned up as well as he could.  So did Pedr and Urien.   The three of them would be going out of the compound the next day with Braith, who would sneak in extra armbands.  They had to look like slaves, rather than shells. 

Then, the next day, they would sneak in more weapons and more armbands, until enough of them were armed to effect an escape. 

At least, the wizard and most of the army had gone, apparently traveling to another town, where the wizard would castrate more boys, making more golems. 

They had to escape before he came back.  If Braith was able to come back the next day, they might have a chance.

Braith did.  This time he brought two knives and three armbands, smuggled in hollowed out loaves of bread. 

They hid the knives with the two they had, put on armbands and walked around feeding and watering the shells. 

Dylan happened to come across Rhydderch.  He almost didn't recognize him. 

Without intelligence, all the shells seemed to look the same, the same slack expression on their faces  Besides his hair had grown, and he was covered with filth. 

Dylan spoke to him, but Rhydderch didn't hear.  Not Rhydderch any longer, he was just a golem shell.  He would be one of those they would kill, when they made their escape.  Among others, his golem guarded the gate.

When it came time for the slaves to leave, Dylan gathered followed them to the gate, walking beside Braith, Pedr and Urien. 

He looked around for Glendower, but didn't see him.  Maybe he hadn't recognized Pedr and Steffan. 

Covered with filth as they were, they looked like the other shells that roamed inside the walls.  Maybe he'd just come for another look at Dylan.  Maybe he didn't suspect anything.

They were through the gate.  The guard -- a human, not a golem -- scarcely looked at them.  As far as he knew, all those in the yard were shells.  None of them would have put on an armband and attempted to escape. 

If the man were supposed to count the slaves exiting the stockade, he neglected his duty, because he didn't. 

The three of them would sleep outside the compound that night, then come back with the slaves, with more knives and armbands, bringing out more of the God's soldiers the next day.

Once they had twenty or thirty armed, they would kill the shells of the golems guarding the gates and rush the few human guards accompanying them. 

Once that was done, they'd kill all the golem shells.  That would leave only a handful of human soldiers to overcome.  It could work.  It would have worked, if not for Glendower.

He waited for them -- around a corner, out of sight of the stockade with a troop of golems.  
"Seize them," he said, pointing at Dylan, Braith, and Pedr. 

Apparently, he didn't realize Urien was one of them.  Urien hadn't been a market boy, so Glendower hadn't known him.

Two golems grabbed Dylan.  One would have been enough.  Each was as strong as five men. 

Dylan felt their hands on his arms -- cold hands, cold as stone.  They felt like flesh, but like the flesh of a corpse, cold and dry.  A golem looked at him, a blank, unblinking, stare.  No humanity existed behind that stare.

"You cut off your own cock and balls, didn't you?" said Glendower.  "Ironic isn't it?  You cut mine off, then your cut off your own with the knife I gave you.  Better you had cut your throat, as I suggested, Prince.  It would have been a far better death than the one you now face."

"What death is that?" asked Dylan.

"Impalement," said Glendower, "tomorrow, at dawn, you'll be set on poles.  It's a most agonizing death I've been told.  Sometimes one takes days to die."

"Have your revenge on me," said Dylan, "but let Braith and Pedr go."

"No," said Glendower, "they die, too, especially Braith.  I hate him.  I've hated him since you replaced me with him, .  But, never fear, he'll be at your side, next to you on a pole.  Perhaps, I'll have them place you on your poles facing each other, so you can watch him die.  Take them away," he said to the golems.

The golems threw them into a cell, two of them staying to stand guard. 

Even if the three boys had weapons and had been able to open the cell, they would have had to get past them.  Golems are strong and almost impossible to kill -- and they never sleep.  

Urien was free, but alone.  What could he do against golems?

It was almost dark.  Dawn wasn't many hours away.  Three newly sharpened poles awaited them.