Chapter 10: 

What are sons to an immortal? thought Heddwynn as he mounted his horse -- as he prepared to ride for his sons.  If he were an immortal, what could they be to him but ephemeral shadows, like clouds passing before the sun, there one moment, then gone the next. 

Such -- to an immortal -- faded into insignificance.  If he were to live forever, he might have a thousand sons.  It made sense.  To his head, it made sense, but not to his heart.

They would be asleep.  He'd have to wake them.  They'd ask where they were going.  What could he tell them?  I'm taking you to your deaths?  I'm feeding your souls to Nysrogh?  Because that's what he was doing.  He was taking them to their deaths, feeding their soul to Nysrogh. 

He thought his heart would break.  But if I don't do it, Nysrogh will feast on my soul before the night be over; and Cadell will sacrifice my sons for spite.  Heddwynn would do it.  He had to do it; but it broke his heart to do it. 

He didn't think about all the other fathers' sons he'd had killed or about the thousand or more boys he'd had cut, taking the manhood of each -- the future of each -- with the cut.

Not wanting to wake his wife, he slowed his horse before riding up to the stable.  He didn't wake the stable boy, either.  He was asleep on a pile of hay just inside the stable.  Heddwynn kicked him, telling him when he jumped up, "Saddle the boys' horses."

"The boys' horses?" said the boy, not quite certain he'd heard right.  Why would his master want his sons' horses saddled this time of night?

Heddwynn struck him across the face with his quirt.  "Do as I say."  He turned and walked toward the house.

When he entered the house, Mostyn, his old body servant, asleep on the floor beside the door when he entered, jumped up and took his cloak.  It was wet.  Heddwynn hadn't even noticed it was raining. 

"Would you like something to eat, Master." Mostyn asked.  He hadn't expected his master home that night.

"No," said Heddwynn.  "Go to your quarters.  I have no need of you." 

Heddwynn wanted few witnesses.  The boys could dress themselves.  He went first to Folant's room.  He was the elder. 

"Wake up, boy," he said, from the door.  He didn't walk over to his bed to shake him, as he might have otherwise done. 

Stone by stone, he was building a wall around his heart.  Only then, could he do what he must.  A touch or a smile might bring the wall crashing down.

"What is it, father?" Folant asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Quiet," said Heddwynn, in a tone he used to command his troops, not one he used with his son.  "Dress yourself.  I have need of you."

In training to be a soldier, Folant recognized a command with he heard it.  Without another word, he jumped out of bed and began to dress.

"Bring a cloak," his father tossed back over his shoulder, as he walked away, "It's raining out."  He went to wake his younger son, Glynn.

The boy didn't awake when he shouted.  Young boy that he was, he slept soundly.  Heddwynn had to shake him to awake him. 

The boy rubbed his eyes, yawned, then opened his eyes, blinking once or twice.  "Father," he said, holding out his arms to hug his father.

Heddwynn jumped back as if he'd been slapped.  "Get out of bed, boy.  Dress yourself.  We're going for a ride."

"Is mother coming, too?"

"No.  Just your brother.  Now, hurry."

Not wanting to watch the boy dress, he left the room, waiting in the hallway, pacing from doorway to doorway, avoiding looking inside each room. 

In a moment, Folant came out.  He was dressed, carrying his cloak over his shoulder.  He's grown, thought Heddwynn.  He would have made a fine man -- a fine soldier. 

Turning, he strode from the hallway.  "Help your brother dress," he said, without looking back at his son.  "See that he dresses warmly and brings a cloak  I'll await you in the stable."

He rushed from the house.  The wall about his heart was about to crumble.  He needed time to shore it up.

The boys' horses were saddled, Folant's man sized horse and Glynn's pony.  Before long he heard his younger son ask his older brother, "But, where are we going?"

"Shh..." said Folant, "don't ask so many questions," but when he saw his father in the stable, he asked, "Where are you going, Father?"

Heddwynn kept his back to the boys, busying himself with his horse.  "Help your brother on his horse," he said without answering the question Folant had asked.

"I don't need any help," he heard Glynn say, in his I'm a big boy now tone he often used with his brother.

Heddwynn mounted and rode from the stable, not looking back; but he heard the sound of the other horses following. 

He heard the soft voice of his younger son from time to time as he spoke to his brother and heard the deeper voice of the older boy, but he didn't hear what they said.  He didn't want to hear what they said.

The trip to the castle took an instant -- or it took forever.  Time had lost all meaning to Heddwynn.  He was too busy building the wall around his heart to think. 

They dismounted and went inside, down into the depths of the castle where the wizard's chambers lay.  Opening the door, he went inside.  His sons followed. 

Merfyn and Cadell waited inside.  Merfyn's sons, Rhodri and Arvel, were there, too.  They looked frightened. 

Heddwynn didn't look back at his sons.  If he had, he would have seen the same frightened look.  All boys -- even most men -- were afraid of the wizard.

"Are these his sons?" Merfyn asked Cadell, when they were inside.

"Yes," said Cadell, "these are his sons."

"Take them," Merfys said, to the guards, brought in to assist in the sacrifices.  They grabbed the four boys, leading them off toward a door to the rear of the room.

"Father," said Glynn.  "Where are they taking us?"  Heddwynn didn't answer.  What, after all, could he say?

There were benches in the other room, benches with rings beside them, set into the floor.  After stripping each boy of his clothes, they laid him, on his back, on a bench, and tied his hands and feet to the rings.  Each boy's head hung off the end of the bench, above a bowl.

Folant and Rhodri each had man hair and a man's cock.  Glynn and Arvel, with no hair, had the cocks and balls of little boys.

"Must I cut them?" asked Heddwyn.

"Yes," said Cadell.  "That's part of the sacrifice."

Sacrifice, thought Folant.  Was this some kind of test, some test of his bravery, to see if he would play the coward, cry and plead for his life?  If it were, he would pass the test. 

He set his mouth, determined not to cry out.  Not so, Glynn and Arvel, panic stricken, they howled; like banshees, they howled.

Even Rhodri, the oldest of the four was frightened.  Folant might believe that his father wouldn't actually sacrifice him, but Rhodri didn't have such confidence in his father.

Heddwynn didn't know which to do first.  Once one was done the other would know what was to come.  He wished he could have given them a drug to dull their senses, but there hadn't been time, and Cadell and Merfyn would have known. 

He decided to do Glynn first.  He was already hysterical with fright.  Heddwynn didn't think he could stand his cries much longer. 

At least, Folant was silent, just lying on the bench with his mouth set, looking at his father. 

"Blindfold them," Heddwynn said to one of the guards.  He could not stand to have them look at him while he did this deed.  At least blindfolded, Folant wouldn't see his father cut his brother, then slit his throat.

He walked to the bench where his younger son lay, picked up the sacrificial knife, then grasped the boy's cock and balls in one hand. 

How small, they are.  He could circle them easily with his thumb and forefinger.  He hesitated.  Once he cut the boy, there would be no going back.  Once cut, he would already belong to Nysrogh. 

But there was no going back anyway, was there?  He was committed; and Cadell would never let the boys leave this room alive, whether he sacrificed them or not. 

With that thought, he cut off Glynn's cock and balls with one swipe of the knife.  The boy screamed even louder.  Heddwynn hadn't thought that possible.   Glancing over at Folant, he saw him wince; but the boy said nothing.

Glynn thrashed, trying to pull loose from the rope that bound him, tossing his head from side to side.  Heddwynn had to grab hold of his hair to hold it still -- hold it still while he cut his throat. 

No more kisses, would the boy ever give him.  He continued to hold the boy's head, so that the bowl could catch his blood. 

After a while, Glynn stopped moving.  In his thrashing, his blindfold had slipped down.  His blue eyes stared straight ahead, but saw nothing.  Nysrogh feasted on his soul -- and would for all eternity.

Next, he went to Folant, standing above him with the bloody knife.  The boy still hadn't spoken -- still hadn't cried out.  Heddwynn lifted his cock and balls.  Unlike Glynn's, they filled his hand. 

Folant had heard his brother scream, a louder scream, than he'd made before, then after a few moments, he'd stopped. 

Had he been released?  He still thought it was some kind of test, one poised to a soldier, although if it were, he couldn't understand why Glynn and the other boy had been included.  They were much too young for such tests. 

The other boy still screamed, louder than before.  Even Rhodri screamed.  If it were a test, he had certainly failed it.  He wished he could see.  How he wished he could see.

Then he felt a hand grab his cock and balls, pulling on them -- then a pain like none he could have imagined, like getting kicked in the balls, but a hundred times worse. 

He knew without looking that he no longer had a cock or balls.  Why would his father have done that?  What terrible crime had he done that his father would cut him? 

He had cried out then.  Despite his resolve, he had.  He still screamed, as much at the knowledge of what his father had done to him, as for the pain.  He had been neutered.  He was no longer a boy.  He would never be a man.

When his father cut his throat, he was almost glad that he had.  He didn't know, though, that Nysrogh waited for him.  If he had, he would have screamed all the more. 

When Folant had stopped moving, Heddwynn said, "It's done," and handed the knife to Merfyn.  At least Folant's blindfold still covered his eyes. 

The other two boys, Merfyn's sons, had watched it all.  Merfyn hadn't ordered blindfolds for his sons. 

They watched Heddwynn hand the bloody knife to their father.  He walked first to Rhodri, his older son, his heir, picked up his cock and balls, and cut them off -- then cut his throat, holding him by the hair, dropping his head when he was still.  Then he walked to the bench where his younger son lay.

By this time, Arvel was no longer sane, as if any boy could be after seeing what he just had.  Merfyn cut off his cock and balls -- grabbed his hair, holding his head still while he cut his throat. 

Once the blood had stopped flowing and the boy was still, he said, "It is done."  The name Arvel meant cried over.  No one cried over him that night.

Cadell spoke an incantation over the bowls containing the blood of Rhodri and Arvel.  With a sickly, green, flash, the blood disappeared.

"Now for the king," said Cadell.  "Now we kill the king.  Go for him.  Bring him here."

When Heddwynn -- accompanied by several guards -- went into the king's bed chamber, the king was lying on the bed with his eyes open; but there was no sign of intelligence behind his eyes. 

They pulled him to his feet and marched him to the wizard's chambers, laying him -- after stripping off his clothes -- on the same bench on which Arvel had lain. 

Cadell muttered an incantation, then cut off the king's cock and balls.  The king uttered not a sound. 

After placing the king's cock and balls into a bowl, Cadell cut his throat, draining his blood into the same bowl that had held Arvel's. 

The God had been blinded.  The king was dead. 

Cadell spoke another incantation over the king's blood.  With a blinding flash, it disappeared. 

"There," said Cadell, "the God is bound.  Now, Nysrogh will rule in Gwynedd with Merfyn as his king."