Wizard

Chapter 1: The Plot

Each of the three plotters had his own reasons for betraying his king: Heddwyn, the commander of the king's army wanted power.  Because Gwynedd was at peace, both within and without the kingdom, his army was small, relegated to little more than a police force.  His dreams, as a youth, had been to become a great warrior.  There was no glory policing an already peaceful people.  Without war there was no glory; and Ethyllt, the present king cared not for conquest, satisfied that his kingdom was at peace-that his subjects were happy.  Besides glory, war would bring spoils.  Because Heddwyn's army was small, so was his pay.  He dreamed of power, glory, and riches; those were his reasons for betraying his king.

Cadell, the king's wizard also wanted power-power of a different kind.  A wizard could get his power through the God, or he could get it through blood.  Although Cadell was a powerful wizard, he hadn't been until he had begun using blood to gain power.  He had found that the power of evil was stronger than the power of good-or, perhaps, the defect was within him.  Perhaps the God no longer favored him. 

There was power in blood; more than he had ever received from the God; but, the blood had to come from a boy, a living child who had not reached puberty; and he had to take all the child's blood.  He had purchased slave children in the market, secretly disposing of their bodies afterward, but, there was more power in boys who had not been born slave.  All knew that the God did not live in slaves.  They were an abomination to him.  Real power came from the blood of those dear to the God.

Ethyllt would have had him banned, or even executed, had he known he was sacrificing children-even slave children-for their blood.  The king thought he received his power from the God.  He would not have abided a blood wizard, had he known Cadell's real source of power.  Power and the fear of discovery of the source of that power were Cadell's reasons for betraying his king.

Merfyn also wanted power.  The younger brother of the king, he wanted to be king.  Always inferior to his older brother just because he had been born second, he wished to correct the God's mistake.  He wanted his son to inherit the throne, not Ethyllt's.  Power and dynasty-those were Merfyn's reasons for betraying his king.

Just like Ethyllt, his son, Prince Emrys, would make a good king.  The God favored the boy, even more than he favored the father.  Eleven years-old, not yet with his man hair, the boy was tall and strong.  He had the blond hair and blue eyes of his mother, who had died three years before.  Blond hair and blue eyes were rare.  Some said that his mother had been a druid, an ancient, but powerful people, favored by the God.  But, the God must not have favored them; because they no longer existed-or perhaps they had joined the God in the netherworld.

Since his mother had died, the boy had been lonely, there being no children his own age, other than those of slaves, in the palace.  His uncle, Duke Merfyn had two sons, one his age, but they lived elsewhere with their parents. He only saw his cousins on official occasions.  Hating his brother, Merfyn had poisoned the minds of his sons, who, in turn, disliked Emrys.

Emrys spent his days practicing his martial skills, studying with his friend and teacher, Gethin, an old man of undeterminable years, or practicing magic.  He kept his magic a secret, even from Gethin, to whom he told most everything.  Magic was for wizards, not for kings.  To keep his magic, he would have to be castrated before gaining his man hair-as Cadell had been.  All his magical ability would drain away once his balls ripened.  All wizards had been castrated before reaching puberty.  As much as he enjoyed being able to do magic, he was to be king one day.  To be king he had to be whole.  No eunuch could be king; besides, someday, he wanted a son of his own.  His man hair would come soon.  Some boys his age already had theirs.  Since he would lose his magic then, he kept it to himself.  On the day of the betrayal, he was in his room practicing magic. 

The God protected the king, but not against blood magic.  Equal, but opposing forces, they warred with each other.  Had Cadell not become a blood wizard, they could never have hoped to kill the king.  It was only after Cadell had demonstrated his power that they had agreed to participate in the plot.

In a chamber below the palace, the three of them gathered.  Also in the room were two others-a priest and the young son of a wealthy merchant, both kidnapped at Cadell's behest.  Killing the priest, who was protected by the God, would be a demonstration of his new found power.  The blood of the child, well born and free, would give him that power.

The priest was chained to a wall, also under a spell of Cadell's making.  The boy, ten years-old, was well formed, and handsome.  Tied and gagged, he was seated in a tub, so that none of his blood would be lost.  Cadell had Heddwyn stand the boy up, then cut off his genitals, setting them aside in a small bowl.  Balls and cocks, were objects of power.  He would use them later in other spells.  The boy screamed his pain into the gag.

Blood streamed from the boy's groin, flowing into the tub.  Next, he cut the veins in the boy's wrists.  More blood streamed into the tub.  Finally, he cut those in his throat.  As the boy's blood flowed from his groin, seeped from his wrists, gushed from his throat, Cadell voiced an incantation over the pooling blood.  As the blood drained from the boy's body, the blood of the priest heated, until, at the moment the boy died, it burst into flame.  Within minutes, the priest's body had been consumed, leaving nothing but ash on the floor.

The stench of the priest's burning body mixed with odors coming from the boy's tub-hot blood mixed with excrement and urine.  The boy had voided his bladder and bowels, but, it was of no matter.  His blood, having served its purpose, was no longer of any use.  Another spell would require another child.  Holding a scarf to his nose to keep out the stench, Merfyn asked, "Can you do the same to the king?"

"Perhaps not so dramatically, but he will die," answered Cadell.

"Do it then."

"First I need another boy to sacrifice."

"Get one."

Cadell hesitated, not knowing how Merfyn would take what he had to say.  "This was a mere priest, not the king.  Not just any boy would do."

"I don't care what boy you use-do it.  Heddwyn will help you get one."

"Heddwyn cannot help me obtain the boy I need.  Only you can."

"What do you mean?" he asked, fearing the answer.

"Only one of your sons could pay for the king."

"My sons, you would have me give one of my sons?"

"Only one of your sons, freely given, would suffice."

"Not my older son.  He is my heir."

"The younger will do."

"Is there no other way?" asked Merfyn.  He craved power, but to sacrifice his son?  That was a high price to pay."

"There is no other way.  When your son dies, so will Aethelred."

"If my son dies, and Aethelred doesn't, then you will die, magician."  Magicians were charlatans, who use tricks and slight of hand to appear to have magic.  To have called Cadell a magician was a grave insult, but Cadell gave no indication that he'd heard.

"When your son dies-so will the king."

"When?"

"A week from tonight.  It's a difficult spell.  I have to recover from this one.  It has taxed my powers and my strength.  I need time to prepare for the even more difficult one."

"If I decide, shall I bring the boy here."

"You must decide now.  As I said, I must prepare for the spell.  I must have your oath that you will sacrifice the boy to continue."

"My oath?"

"On his blood.  If given on his blood, and you don't sacrifice him, he will die anyway; and his death would have been of no purpose.  He would be dead, and the king would still live.  Only upon your blood oath can I prepare."

"I give it, then."

"On his blood?"

"Yes, on the blood of my second son, I give my oath."

"It is done, then.  We meet here in one week.  Bring your son with you."

Chapter 2: The Sacrifice

Arvel, Merfyn's second son resembled his mother.  The older son, Rhodri, the father.  Nine years-old, of royal blood, with brown hair and eyes, the boy was beautiful.  As most children do, he loved his parents, including his father, even though he rarely saw him.  Children his age spent most of their day in the company of women.

His brother, as many older brothers, bullied him, teasing him unmercifully, calling him a baby or a girl because he didn't like to wrestle or fight-because he would rather sit quietly reading a book.  He loved to paint, although the results were the paintings of a child.  Still, they hung in his room-and his mother had one or two stuck away.  A good day was when his brother was busy elsewhere, leaving him alone in his room to paint or read.

He was painting when his brother burst into his room.

"What's that supposed to be?" Rhodri asked.

Arvel had positioned himself in front of a mirror and was painting a self portrait.  "It's me," he said.

"It needs more color," said Rhodri, dipping a brush into red paint, smearing it on the boy in the painting.  "That's better."

"You ruined it," said Arvel, beginning to cry.  It had been one his best works.  He thought that the boy in the painting had even resembled himself.  Now red paint, looking like blood, was smeared on it.

"Cry, baby.  Just like you always do."

At that moment, their father came into the room, which surprised both of the boys.  He never came into their rooms.  "Come with me, Arvel," he said.

"Do you want me to come, too?" asked Rhodri.

"No.  Just Arvel."

"Why him?  Why not me?"  Being the first son, his father had always favored him.  He wanted to be included.

Striking him across the face, his father said, "Quiet boy. Go to your room-and say nothing about this to your mother."

Merfyn took Arvel by the hand, leading him from the room.  Although frightened by his father's brusque manner, he was proud that his father had wanted him, instead of his brother.  "Where are we going, father?"

"Quiet, boy.  Ask no questions."  Knowing what he was to do, Merfyn couldn't bring himself to look at the boy.  If he didn't hear his voice, perhaps he could pretend it was some other father's child.

Merfyn placed the  boy in front of him on a horse and rode to the palace of the king.  Entering through a door hidden by bushes and shrubs, they descended into the depths of the castle, coming to a small chamber lit by torches.  Two men awaited them in the chamber.  Having seen them before, Arvel recognized the wizard and the commander of the guard.  He wondered what they were doing in this room beneath the castle.  Wondering why his father had brought him to such a place, he was no longer proud, but frightened.

Neither of the men spoke to him, but, speaking to his father, the wizard asked, "Do you freely give this boy?"

"With lowered eyes, his father answered, "Yes."

With those words, the wizard stripped the boy of his clothes.  Now, embarrassment was added to his fright.  His brother had teased him about his little pickle.  He didn't want these men to see it as well.  Picking him up, the wizard stood him in a tub.  His father and the commander each took hold of one of his arms.  The wizard's eyes glazed over and he began saying words that Arvel couldn't understand.  Then he picked up a knife; then he picked up Arvel's pickle and the acorns which hung below them.  Arvel screamed when he cut them off, not understanding why this was happening to him.  Young as he was, he knew that this was done to slaves and boys who wished to become wizards, but he had no magic.  Surely they weren't going to make him into a wizard.

The wizard placed his pickle, his acorns, and the sack which had held them into a bowl.  Bawling, as much from the shock-the deception-as from the pain, Arvel watched the blood stream down his legs.  Adding to his shame, his bowels voided, soiling the back of his legs.  There was added pain as the wizard slit, first his wrists, then his throat.  As the world became dark, Arvel remembered his painting-the red paint which had looked like blood.  Blood ran down his chest, down his arms, down his legs, just as it had done in the painting.

Holding onto the boy's arm, Merfyn had felt him shudder-then go limp.  "Is he dead?" he asked.

Exhausted, Cadell was barely able to stand.  He had paid a high price for this spell.  It would take him a long time to recover.  "Yes," he answered, "the boy's dead."

"Not the boy-the king.  Is he dead?"

"Yes, the king, too, is dead."

The name Arvel meant wept over, but none of them, not even his father, wept over him as he lay crumpled in the tub.

Ethyllt had been in bed in his room when he had suffered a massive stroke.  Blood ran from his ears, eyes, and mouth.  He wasn't discovered until the next day.

Chapter 3: The King is Dead

Turmoil.  Even in peaceful Gwynedd, the death of the king caused turmoil and confusion.  Ethyllt had been expected to live for many years, leaving his kindom to a mature Prince Emrys, who would have been trained and prepared to assume the throne.  Instead, the prince, a boy of eleven, was too young to rule.  He would be crowned king after a month of morning for Ethyllt, but a regent would have to be chosen to rule until the boy was deemed fit to take charge.

Merfyn, although brother of the king, wasn't the automatic choice for regent.  The regent would be chosen by the king's chancellors, a group of nobles, merchants, wise men, and priests.  The majority, aware of Merfyn's character, wouldn't have chosen him, but, taking advantage of the confusion over Ethyllt's death, Heddwyn had arrested those opposed to Merfyn.  The rest, intimidated by his actions, voted to make Merfyn the regent.

Heddwyn began immediately expanding his army, taking in men with dubious pasts, and instigating conscription.  Males, fourteen and older, were pressed into the army.  Officers, loyal to the dead king, were imprisoned, replaced by those loyal only to Heddwyn.  For the first time, fear ruled in Gwynedd.  Only Cadell was absent during the early days.  In his room-in his bed-he slept as if in a coma, recovering from the spell he had performed.

Other than an obligatory appearance at his father's funeral, Emrys hadn't been allowed out of his rooms.  Heddwyn kept guards stationed at his door.  Slaves, muted by having their tongues cut out, delivered his food and emptied his chamber pot.  Two weeks had passed since his father's death and he hadn't even been allowed to bathe.  No one would bring water for his bath.  Locking the door to his room, the guards had taken away his key, refusing to answer his questions.  He was isolated, even from his teacher, Gethin.

Gethin had been taken to the castle's dungeon, along with others loyal to the prince.  Never had the dungeons been so full.  Because Gethin was one of the first arrested, he had been put in a cell on an upper level of the dungeon, where there was some air, at first having a cell to himself.  Later, there had been so many people-men, women, and children-in his cell, he hadn't room to lie down.  The rest of the dungeon was similarly filled. 

Guarded by Heddwyn's new soldiers, former thieves and murderers, the prisoners were ill treated.  Women were raped, often in front of their husbands and children.  Deprived of food, air, and hope, people began dying-first the very old and the very young.  Gethin had been in the dungeon for seventeen days when he had died.  He hadn't eaten for days.  An old man, he hadn't been able to compete for the meager amount of food provided for his cell.  Only the strong got enough to eat.  The weak starved-and died.  Wagon loads of corpses were removed each day, to be buried in unmarked pits dug in the forest.  The morning after he had died, Gethin's body had joined them.

Eventually Heddwyn realized that more would be gained by selling the children-those over the age of five-in the now thriving slave markets.  Children were once again sold as love slaves, a practice which had been prohibited by Ethyllt's father.  At least they would have a chance for life.  If they had remained in the dungeon, they would have died, just as many already had

Some met a more agonizing death: for intimidation, Merfyn reinstated an ancient form of capital punishment-impalement-a horrible method, which had not been used in Gwynedd for a hundred years.  A pole, sharpened at the top, was placed into the ground.  The condemned was seated on the pole, the point entering his rectum.  His weight slowly pulled his body down onto the pole.  It was a slow, painful death, the victim sometimes lasting for an hour before the pole penetrated a vital organ, or he lost sufficient blood to cause his death.  Only crucifixion was worse.

During Cadell's incapacitation, Merfyn and Heddwyn had been afraid to move against Emrys, protected by the God as he was.  Fortunately-for them-Cadell awoke, weak and hungry, on the same day that Gethin had died.  "How do we kill the prince?" Merfyn asked.

"We don't," answered Cadell.

"What do you mean?  I didn't kill the father to let the son become king.  Not for that, did I sacrifice Arvel."  He had explained his son's disappearance to his wife, telling her that he'd sent the boy to a priest house in Harlach to study.  If she had believed him, it was because she couldn't have lived with the truth.  She had loved her sweet, gentle, son, not realizing what had been his fate.

"Your spell killed the father.  Make one to kill the son-otherwise he will be crowned in a week."  Even Merfyn couldn't stop the crowning of the prince at the appointed time-not as long as Emrys lived.

"You're regent.  You have the power.  What can he do, even if he is crowned."

"As long as he lives, he will be a rallying point for those who oppose my rule.  As long as he lives, none of us will be secure-kill him."

"The is a way, but you may find the price too high."

"The price?"

"Your son.  It would cost you your other son.  Only his death would buy the death of the prince."

"Is there no other way?"

"Not for his death."

Merfyn, realizing that Cadell's response hinted at other possibilities, asked, "What, then, can we do about him?"

"We could castrate him.  Castrated, he could never become king.  The God would never sanction a eunuch for king.  We could sell him to slavers from a faraway kingdom."

"Can you do that, protected by the God as he is."

"It would cost much, requiring the blood of several boys-boys of noble blood."

"There are nobles aplenty in the dungeon.  We have their sons imprisoned elsewhere, ready to be sold as slaves.  Will they suffice?"

"Yes, I need at least four.  I shall also want to place a spell of forgetfulness on the prince.  We don't want him to spread the tale of what we've done."

Needing time to gain back his strength-then time to prepare the new spells-Cadell proposed a date, a week hence, the day before the prince was to be crowned.

Isolated, Emrys had no idea what was happening in his kingdom.  He knew not that the dungeons were full; he knew not that naked corpses, sitting on sharpened poles, lined the roads; he knew not that the body of his teacher lay mingled with others in a pit in the forest.

They had said that his father had died a natural death, but he knew he hadn't.  Although he had suspected Cadell-a wizard, empowered by the God, could not have caused the king's death.  When he tried his magic to see what was happening outside his rooms, he found that his sight was blocked by an unknown power.  A roiling, impenetrable, fog obscured his vision.  Unknown to him, Cadell had invoked a spell to prevent the God powered wizards from knowing what was happening in the Gwynedd.

On the day before he was to be crowned, the door to the hallway opened; Heddwyn entered, followed by four guards, whom, until now, Emrys had never seen.  They had a vile appearance.  "Come with me, Prince."

"Where are you taking me, traitor?"  Emerys said, voicing what he knew to be the truth.  He could have only been kept imprisoned on Heddwyn's orders.

Angered, Heddwyn had wanted to strike the prince, but had been afraid of the God's protection.  He could wait.  Soon, Cadwell would perform a spell to strip away much of that protection.  Then, the prince would suffer more than a blow from his hand.  Without answering, he gestured to two of the guards, who took the prince by his arms.  Emrys was surprised that they hadn't been struck down for laying their hands on him, but, unknown to him, Cadell, in the chamber beneath the palace, had already sacrificed a boy to remove some of the prince's protection.

Taken deep under the castle, Emrys was led to a chamber lit by smoking torches.  He thought he'd been everywhere in the castle, but he'd never been to this chamber-had not known that it existed.  Cadell, blood on his hands and sleeves, stood beside a wooden tub, in which a boy was lying in a pool of his own blood, his lifeless eyes staring at Emrys, as if asking him, "Why me?"  Three other boys, naked, tied hand and foot in tubs of their own, had watched him die.  They knew they were next.  Recognizing the prince, they beseeched him, hoping that he could save them.

Upon seeing the sacrificed boy, Emrys had understood.  Cadell had used the power of evil to defeat the God's protection-to kill his father.  He wondered if he planned the same for him-wondered why he hadn't already been killed.  "Blood wizardry.  You are damned forever, Cadell.  Never will you see the face of the God."

"As long as there are boys to sacrifice, I will never die.  I only care about this world-not that of the God."

Looking closely for the first time at the captive boys, Emrys recognized one of them, the son of one of his father's chancellors.  He had fought him in a tournament the year before, winning only after a hard fought battle.  Although not close friends, he liked and respected the boy.  Normally brave, the boy was crying.  He had watched the other boy die-had heard his screams as his genitals were cut off-had watched his chest rise and fall as he had struggled for his last breath.  Any other death, he could have borne, but, not this one-not at the hands of a blood wizard.  Through no fault of his own-if he died such a death-he would never see the face of the God; he would never join his mother and father in the after life.  "Prince Emrys, for the sake of the God, help me," he pleaded.

"Pedr," Emrys said, voicing the boy's name.  To Cadell, he said, "Release the boys, Cadell.  You have me.  Kill me, if you must, but release them.  I submit to you."

"Whether you submit or not, isn't important.  The God protects you.  These boys are necessary to counter that protection."

"Please, Prince, save me from this death.  Any death, but this," implored Pedr.

The other boys pleaded-but, for their lives.  Unlike Pedr, they were unaware of what it meant to die as a blood sacrifice-unaware that they would be forever damned.

"Let Pedr go.  You knew his father.  You've seen the son at court.  "At least, have pity on him"

"Nobly born," answered Cadell, " he is the most important."

Realizing he couldn't save the boy's life, Emrys, used a small spell to distract the guards and, pulling a knife from the guard's belt, plunged it into Pedr's chest.  The boy's eyes registered the shock of the unexpected attack, but, before he died, he recognized the gift the prince had given him, smiling up at him before his features relaxed in death.

Wailing, losing all hope, the other two boys had only seen that the prince had murdered the helpless boy.  Cadell, having missed Emrys' spell, and blaming the guard's inattention, struck him down, killing him instantly, his power augmented by his anger at losing the boy.  Killed by Emrys, Pedr's blood was of no use.  Emrys had killed him, but had saved his soul.

Dropping the knife onto the floor, Emrys stared at the blood on his hand-Pedr's blood.  Although his mind told him that he'd saved the boy, his heart screamed, "murderer."  He'd seen people die, beheaded in public executions, but their blood had never been on his hands-as was Pedr's.  In truth, he thought, all the boys' blood was on his hands.  Cadell was using them to get at him.

Cadell had reserved Pedr as a sacrifice to negate any chance that-without his testicles-Emrys would acquire magic.  Of the boys, only Pedr's blood, noble as he was, would have sufficed.  Cadell had never seen any evidence that the prince had magic, but, since the God was strong in the boy, anything was possible.  It was too late to acquire another boy; the spells were already sapping his strength, and, having begun with the first boy's death, had to be completed.  With the remaining boys, he could castrate the prince and wipe clean his memory.  That would have to suffice.  If Emrys still had his balls on the morrow, the God would cause him to be crowned king.  Then, his balls-as well as his life-would be protected.

Aided by the sacrifice of the first boy, the guards stripped the prince; then chained him to the wall, his arms outstretched above his head and his legs spread apart as well.  There was no shame to be naked.  Although boys of noble birth wore clothes, they participated in sports naked-just as did adult men.  The sons of simple folk-until they obtained their man hair-wore clothes only for warmth.  Slaves, male or female, were usually naked, given only a simple cloak for warmth in the winter.  His subjects had seen him naked, participating in sports, or practicing the martial arts.  It had been important that they know that he had all the necessary parts-and that they were well formed.  Only that they had stripped him-without his consent-shamed him.

After Emry had been chained, Cadell, looking into the shadows, said, "I will need you to assist me, now."

Stepping out of the shadows, Merfyn revealed himself to Emrys for the first time.  "You, Uncle?  You are behind this treachery?  Do you not know the price you pay?"

Merfyn knew the price-were he to die.  Barred from the sight of the God, he would look upon Nysrogh.  From Nysrogh came the power of blood wizardry.  Those looking upon him, spent eternity in torment-a fate to which Merfyn had condemned his second son.  As long as he had enough boys to sacrifice to Nysrogh, Cadell could keep both of them alive, trading the boys' lives and souls for theirs.  Merfyn intended to keep Cadell supplied with boys.  Ignoring the prince, he asked, "What is it you would have me do?"

"First I'll cut off this boy's nether parts.  Then, I'll bleed him.  When he dies, you may begin cutting of those of the prince.  Observe closely how I do it.  You must cut off the prince's in the same manner.  This boy's death will blind the God, allowing you to castrate the prince.  You must act quickly."

Blood wizardry hadn't been practiced in Gwynedd for over a hundred years, so the boy didn't know what it meant to die as a blood sacrifice-that his soul would be given to Nysrogh-that he would spend eternity in torment.  All he knew was that the wizard had spoken his death.  Until the first boy had been killed, he had never seen anyone die.  Now, within minutes, he had seen two boys, no older than he, killed-one by the prince.  He pleaded for his life-although pleading hadn't availed the other boy. 

The wizard's eyes were rolled back in his head.  All the boy could see were the whites of his eyes.  He spoke a language he didn't understand.  Picking up the knife-still covered with the first boy's blood-the wizard approached the tub where the two guards held him erect.  He raised his legs, putting his full weight on the guard's grip, hoping to slide back down into the tub, away from the wizard-away from the glistening knife in his hand.  A small boy, it did no good; the guards scarcely seemed to notice the additional weight on their arms.  He wiggled and kicked until the wizard made a small motion with his hand; then his muscles relaxed.  Although he willed his limbs to move, they wouldn't.  His body limply hung from the hands of the guards.  Unable to scream, he watched as the wizard grabbed his nut sack, then began cutting around it at its base.  Although unable to move, he wasn't paralyzed.  He felt the knife cut through his skin.  He screamed-but only in his mind.  He made no sound.

When it was loose, the wizard carefully placed his nut sack in a wooden bowl.  Looking down, the boy saw his balls, hanging by their cords from his cock.  Blood streamed down his legs.  Next, he felt the wizard's rough hand grasp his left nut-the one which hung lower.  Only he heard his silent scream when the wizard, jerked, ripping out the ball, tearing out its cords.  He hadn't done that with the first boy.  He'd cut off his cock and balls with one cut.  Knowing what to expect when the wizard grabbed his other ball, intensified the pain of having it, too, ripped out.  Both his balls joined their sheath in the bowl. 

Next was his cock.  He'd watched his older brother beat off, shooting the creamy fluid from his cock.  He'd tried, but, although his cock had become hard, nothing had happened.  His brother had his man hair.  He didn't.  He'd wondered how it felt.  His brother had closed his eyes and moaned, not from pain, but from pleasure-and he must have liked it; because he did it all the time.  Sometimes he had done it for his brother, pumping his cock with his hand, feeling it jerk as it shot out its juice.  This time, his cock was in the wizard's hand.  His hand had given pleasure to his brother.  The wizard's hand pledged only pain.

Placing the knife to the base of his cock, the wizard, with one quick motion, sliced it off, placing it in the bowl with the rest of his nether parts.  The sharp pain caused his bladder to empty.  Pee, mixed with blood, squirted from his cockless groin-a golden stream which splashed onto the floor beyond the tub.

Faint from loss of blood and the pain in his groin, he barely felt the wizard slit the veins in his wrists-or those in his neck.

Emrys had seen animals castrated.  Over quickly it hadn't seemed to cause the animals much pain.  They had squealed, then run off bleeding from their empty sack.  He, too, had seen slaves castrated.  Unlike the dumb animals, they had known what was to occur, often struggling as they were tied to the gelding table.  Still, unlike the castration he had just witnessed, it had been over quickly.  Their ball sacks had been split open-a hot iron applied to the cords holding their balls, searing through the cords, severing their balls.  If their cocks had been cut off as well, it had been with a quick slice with a knife, followed by the application of a hot iron to seal the wound.  The slaves had done more than squeal; they had screamed, long and hard, sometimes fainting before it was finished.  But, never had he seen the scrotum sliced off first, leaving the balls hanging naked by their cords.  Even though he knew-perhaps because he knew-he was next, his cock had become hard.  It jutted straight out from his hairless crotch.

Merfyn, grabbing his scrotum, began sawing at it with his knife, pinching the skin between his fingers so he wouldn't cut the cords.  Despite the pain-setting his teeth-Emrys made no sound; neither did he cry.  He was used to pain.  He'd been hurt worse in tournaments and during mock combat.  He had pleaded for Pedr; he wouldn't plead for himself.  He thought Merfyn intended to kill him, as Cadell had killed the other two.  Would the God permit that he be a blood sacrifice?  Would he be damned to spend eternity in Sheol, never seeing his father or mother-never seeing the face of the God?

When his scrotum had been cut free, it joined the boy's in the wooden bowl.  Looking down at his groin, he saw his naked balls hanging below his flaccid cock.  It had softened at the first cut.  His nuts withdrew upward toward his body, seeking warmth and comfort, unaccustomed as they were to being exposed to the air.  Merfyn's hand sought out one-the one on the left-pulling it down.  Emrys felt a pull from deep inside-then inexpressible pain which felt much like getting kicked in the nuts-but much worse, much more intense-when Merfyn ripped out his testicle.  Still, only a small gasp escaped through the barrier of his teeth.

Merfyn placed his acorn sized testicle , with its cords streaming from it, in the bowl, then came back for its brother, grasping it, pulling it down-ripping it out as well.  His balls, indistinguishable from the boy's sat on the boy's scrotum.  His scrotum was crumpled alongside them.  The boy's cock was on the other side.  Next Merfyn cut off his cock.  It hurt, but not nearly as much as had the sundering of his balls.  His cock joined the rest in the bowl.

Cadell placed Emrys' scrotum on top of the severed parts of the two boys and, speaking a spell, joined the two scrotums, with the cocks and balls inside-then threw them onto a brazier of glowing coals.  The boys' severed parts disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.  Emrys looked down at his crotch in amazement as his wounds healed.  Although he didn't realize it at the time, every indication that he'd ever been a boy had disappeared along with his wounds.  He no longer had either internal or external male organs.  He was sexually neuter; his urethra now opened below where his balls had been.

One boy, still alive, had watched from his tub.  He was next.  When Cadell cut off his genitals, Emrys' hair fell out, leaving him completely bald.  When the boy expired from loss of blood, Emrys forgot who he was.  A slave brand appeared on the side of his head.  Although the boy's features hadn't changed-bald-he no longer looked like the prince.  Without hair, he seemed diminished in height.  With the spell-and his altered appearance-no one would recognize that he was the prince; they would see a neutered slave boy.

As though swimming up from the depths of a pool, the boy's consciousness surfaced.  When he attempted to move, he found that he was chained to a wall.  Three dead boys lay in pools of their blood.  He could see the wounds from which it had seeped.  Several men were in the room-some in soldiers' uniforms, one dressed like a wizard, and one dressed in the the clothes of a noble.  He knew none of them.  Neither, he realized, did he know who he was.  No name for himself came to his mind.  Nor, did he remember a past.  It was if he had been born just that moment, except that he could name things.  He knew-were he to open his mouth-he could speak, forming words that others should recognize.  As a test, he spoke, "Where am I?" he asked.

"What is your name?" asked the nobly dressed man.

"I-I don't know," answered the boy.

"Do you know who I am?" asked the man.

Looking at the man, feeling that it was important that he knew the man's name, but finding none in his memory, he answered, "No, sir. Should I know you?"

Instead of answering, the man turned to the wizard, asking, "Are you certain that he doesn't remember?"

"The spell is infallible.  He remembers nothing," answered the wizard.

"And, no one will recognize him?"

"Look at him.  Were you to see him outside of this room, would recognize the boy he had been?"

Laughing softly, the man answered, "No.  In truth, I wouldn't.  All I see is a neutered, branded, slave boy."

"And, that's all anyone else will see."

Looking down at his smooth crotch, the boy realized that he was the neutered slave boy to which they referred.  That he was a slave didn't seem right, but, every time he attempted to delve into his memory, he ran into a steel door-a locked door to which he had no key.  Although there was death all around him, he was too confused to be frightened-besides, fear wasn't a part of his nature.  Staring at the boy nearest him, he saw the bloody wound where his nether parts had been.  Beside two of the boys were wooden bowls containing cocks and balls.  One boy, who still had his genitals, had a single wound on his chest.  The fourth boy had no cock or balls, but the wooden bowl beside him was empty.  The boy saw that blood ran down his own legs, but there was no wound.  There was no sign that he had ever had a cock or balls.  There was no wooden bowl beside him.

He knew that the boys had been sacrificed to Nysrogh.  There was no other answer for what he observed.  Unspeakable evil had occurred-blood wizardry.  The wizard had to be a blood wizard.  There was no other explanation.  Was he to be the next sacrifice?  He knew that he would be damned for eternity, if he were; but, he had no genitals.  Without them, would Nysrogh accept him as a sacrifice?  But, without them, would the God accept him into his kingdom?  He knew that no slave ever looked upon the face of the God.

Some of his unvoiced questions were answered when, turning to the soldiers, the noble said, "Take him to the market.  Slave traders from Caenarfon await him.  See that they leave the city as soon as he's delivered."

The boy searched his memory for the name of a city, but, although he could remember other things, he could remember nothing about his own past.  Once in a while, he could glimpse shadowy, half hidden, faces, but could associate no names to them.  There were strands of blond hair on his shoulders-and piles of it on the floor beside him, but he could feel the air on his bare scalp.  Realizing that he was bald, he wondered if the blond hair had been his.

After Emrys had been taken down from the wall, and his hands had been tied, Heddwyn took him by the arm leading him from the room.  The soldiers followed.  Coming to an intersecting passageway, he stopped, holding onto the boy.  "Go ahead," he said to the soldiers, "I'll follow in a moment."

When the soldiers entered the intersection, others, stepping out of the shadows, slew them.  Heddwyn had given the order.  There would be no witnesses to what had occurred that night.  The new soldiers, who accompanied Heddwyn and the boy to the market, saw only that Heddwyn led a slave boy by the arm-not the prince.

Next:

Chapter 4: The Slave Boy