Chapter 12:

"They don't serve the Dark Lord," he heard a familiar voice say.  "They don't serve Nysrogh.  Take them."

It was Glendower.  Shouting, he pointed in their direction.  He also wore the uniform of Merfyn's army, but Dylan didn't think he'd taken it off a dead soldier.

Dylan drew his sword, but never had a chance to use it.  Too many surrounded him, some grabbing his arms as he drew the sword, wrestling him to the ground, overcoming him with their superior numbers.  Within minutes, all three of them had been stripped and tied.

Glendower walked over to him -- spit in his face.  "You cut me, then left me for your jilly boy.  You owed me.  You took my cock and balls.  You owed me for that.  I loved you, but you would have killed me.  The high and mighty prince.  My, how you've fallen." 

He picked up Dylan's cock and balls in his hand, squeezing his balls, smiling at the pain, only he could see in Dylan's eyes.  He placed his knife at the base of Dylan's cock.  With one slice, he could have cut off Dylan's genitals, just as Emrys had done his.

"No, prince," he said, in a voice too low for the others to hear, "I won't cut them off -- but you'll wish I had.  The wizard will cut them off tonight or tomorrow.  He will use them, along with the blood from them to make a golem.  It will look like you.  It will have your cock and balls, but it won't be you.  It will be a perfect soldier, unafraid of pain, because it won't feel any.  When it's injured, you'll feel it's pain.  When it's destroyed, you'll die, and Nysrogh will feast on your soul for eternity."

He released Dylan's cock and balls and stepped back.  Dylan heard one of the men say, "This one has no balls."  He was talking about Tomos.  Dylan had cut his balls off in the market months before.

"Cut off his cock and place him with the slaves, then.  Without his balls, we can't make a golem of him.  He'll serve as a slave.  We have as great a need of slaves as we do of soldiers."

One man stepped over to Tomos, stretched out his cock, and cut it off, throwing it into the dirt.  Tomos screamed.  Blood spurted from where his cock had been. 

They led him off, blood still running down his legs.  From what Glendower had just told Dylan, Tomos was the lucky one.  He might be a neutered slave, but mayhap Nysrogh wouldn't feast on his soul. 

They opened the gate, shoving Pedr and him inside.

"Goodbye, prince," said Glendower.  "I'll be here to watch the wizard cut you."  Mayhap, you'll see me then, but it'll be the last time you will see anything with your eyes -- hear anything with your ears -- feel anything but pain.  You will see through the golem's eyes -- hear with his ears.  You will see him rape with your cock, kill with your hands, and you will be unable to do anything about it.  You will have no will.  You will be nothing more than a shell, aimlessly wondering about, never knowing where you are.  Look," he said, pointing somewhere behind Dylan, "there's one now."

Dylan looked around.  A boy, no older than he, stumbled through the prison yard, shuffling along, stumbling over the slightest obstacle.  His feet bled, but obviously, he didn't feel them, because whenever he stubbed his toe -- as long as it didn't cause him to fall -- he kept walking. 

You could cut off his foot, and he'd never feel it, Dylan thought.. The boy looked straight ahead, but whatever he saw, wasn't in the yard.  It was elsewhere.

"What did Glendower tell you?" Pedr asked, when they were alone.

"Enough for me to know that we have to find a way out of here," said Dylan.  "Let's find the others," If they hadn't been cut, if they weren't already like this stumbling creature he'd seen.  "then find a way out."

Four of them still lived, six counting Pedr and Tomos, six out of the eleven that had been his army.  Three were dead back at Caerforon, and Braith was missing. 

Besides Steffan, there was Rhydderch, Sawyl, and Yale.  Sawyl had a broken arm, but the other suffered only from cuts and scrapes.  Steffan had both eyes blackened and his nose had been broken.  "Glendower betrayed us," he said.  "We might have been able to fight them off, had he not opened the gate."

"I should have killed him that day at the dump," said Pedr.

"No, but I should have," said Dylan.  "Somehow, I knew I should have at the time, but didn't.  I felt sorry for him.  You see, I'm the one that cut him."

"Why did he call you, prince?" asked Pedr.

"That's a long story," said Dylan, "but it's neither here or now.  I'm just a boy, like all others here.  Have you seen Braith?" he asked Steffan. 

"They took him elsewhere," said Steffan, "placed him with all the already neutered boys." 

Do you know what they have planned for us, Dylan?"  A look of panic appeared in his eyes.  "It's awful.  I watched the wizard cut some boys today.  He came soon after we arrived -- cut them right outside the gate.  He cut off their cocks and balls, collecting the blood from the cut in a bowl, then used them to make golems.  They looked like the boys -- had their cocks and balls, but they weren't human.  You could tell they weren't human.  They were evil, imbued with unspeakable evil.  You could sense it.  It hung in the air around them." 

"And -- the boy that had been cut.  He was missing more than his cock and balls.  They walk about inside here, not seeing or hearing anything.  You can touch them and they don't even feel it.  They eat and drink if the food and drink are placed in their mouths.  Otherwise, I'm certain they would starve.  They shit and piss while they walk, unaware that they have.  It runs down their legs.  The walk.  They constantly walk.  I don't think they ever sleep.  Sometimes they moan, god awful sounds they are, but they never speak; at least they never say anything you can understand."

"I'm afraid, Dylan," he said.

Dylan looked at the other boys.  They, too, were afraid.  By the God -- he was afraid.  He had never feared death, but this, he feared.  Later that day, he saw for himself, how the golems were created.  By that time, he had seen several of the cut boys wondering around the yard.

When the wizard arrived a murmur rolled over the prison yard like a wave over a beach, crashing against a cliff on the other side then rebounding, back again, stronger than before.  The murmur became a wail.

The wizard began with some boys, just captured, not yet placed in the pen.  The first was laid on a bench. 

The wizard stood over him with a knife, grasped his cock and balls in his hand, then cut them off, collecting the boy's blood in a bowl.  The boy screamed until the wizard place his cock and balls on the ground, pouring his blood over them. 

There was a flash, a sickly, green, flash.  The dirt on the ground became a boy, identical to the boy that had been cut -- but not a boy.  It was definitely not a boy.  It was a creature, a soulless creature made out of earth, the boy's cock and balls, and his blood.

The boy that had been cut quit screaming.  He may have moaned, but he didn't scream.  A guard opened the gate to the yard, shoving him inside.  He began walking, an unseeing shuffle, blood still dripping from his groin. 

The golem was led off a ways, standing where he was placed -- unmoving -- as still as a statue.  Dylan watched his eyes.  He never even blinked.  Dylan didn't even think he breathed.

Twenty boys were outside the gate when they started.  The wizard cut them all, creating twenty golems, releasing the boys' shells into the yard afterward. 

They wondered aimlessly, like all the others.  Then the guards came into the yard after more boys.  The boys screamed and ran, Dylan along with them.  He screamed in fright, too, scrambling to flee the guards.  They didn't take him, but they took Rhydderch.

"Help me," he called.  "Dylan," he called.  "Help me."

Dylan did nothing, just scrambled to get as far away from Rhydderch and the guards as he could.  He couldn't have done anything -- but he didn't even try. 

He didn't know whether he could ever forgive himself for that, but -- in his mind -- the picture he saw was himself, stumbling unseeing about the yard.

The wizard cut a hundred boys that day, creating a hundred golems and a hundred stumbling shells.  Once the wizard was gone, Dylan sought out Rhydderch. 

The boy seemed completely unaware that he was there.  He would drink when a cup was held to his mouth, but didn't acknowledge anything else.  He just walked -- continually walked -- shuffling about the yard, his empty crotch bloody. 
When they saw him later, he was covered with shit and piss.  He shit while he walked.  It ran down his legs.  By the God -- Dylan didn't want that to happen to him.

He wanted to care for Rhydderch, but he couldn't.  The boy -- if he still was a boy -- wouldn't stay in one place.  He kept walking, continually walking.

Early the next morning, when few guards were around, Dylan saw Glendower walk up to the gate.  He beckoned to him.  At first, Dylan looked for someplace to run, but there was none.  The wizard wasn't present.  There would be no cutting until he was; so he walked to the gate where Glendower stood.

"You weren't cut yesterday, I see," he said.

"No," said Dylan, "but Rhydderch was."

"I'm sorry for him," Glendower said.  "I liked Rhydderch."

"But you betrayed him.  You betrayed all of us."

"You betrayed me.  You took my cock and balls, then you dropped me for Braith."

"I loved Braith," said Dylan.

"You loved Megan," said Glendower.

"Yes, I love Megan.  I was fond of you, but I love her, whether as Megan or Braith."

"I've seen Braith," said Glendower.

"Is he all right? asked Dylan.

"He lives," said Glendower, "whether he's all right, I don't know.  He was raped by those taking him.  He killed one of those trying, but was overwhelmed by others.  He's with the other neutered slaves."

"What do you want with me?" asked Dylan.  "Did you just come to gloat?"

"No," said Glendower.  "I hated you for abandoning me, but I loved you once.  I don't want to see you like them."  he pointed to one of the shuffling boys. 

He handed Dylan a knife through the bars.  Use this to cut your throat.  Death will be better than what they have planned for you."  With that, he turned and walked away.

"What did Glendower want?" Pedr asked.

"He gave me this," Dylan said, showing him the knife.  "He told me to use it to cut my throat -- that I'd be better off dead than like them."  He pointed to one of the cut boys.

"Give it to me," said Pedr.  "I'll cut my own.  I would rather be dead, than like them."

"I can't kill myself," said Dylan, "not until I find out what has happened to Braith, not until I try to save him."

"You won't be able to do anything for Braith if they cut you," said Pedr.  "You won't be able to do anything for yourself, once the wizard  cuts you."

"There's another use I can make of the knife," said Dylan.

"Escape?" said Pedr.  "There's too many of them,  You'll never escape."

"No," said Dylan, "not escape.  At least, not right away.  If I cut myself, they can't cut me.  They took Braith and Tomos elsewhere.  Without their balls, the wizard can't make golems of them."

"You would cut yourself?" asked Pedr,  "You would cut off your own cock and balls?"

"By the God, yes," said Dylan.  "Better that, than have the wizard do it.  Better that, than not make an effort to save Braith."

"Will you cut me first?" asked Steffan.  "I don't think I would be able to cut myself."

"Me, too," said Sawyl, "Better you do it, than the wizard."

"Yes," said Pedr, "me, too.  Cut me, too."

"I'll have to cut off cock and balls," said Dylan, "so they'll think we're one of those -- and we'll have to pretend to be one of them.  The guards pay them no mind.  Maybe we can use that to escape."

"Do it, then," said Steffan, "Cut me first."

The boys walked to a pile of stone in the middle of the yard, walking behind them out of sight of the others. 

Pedr held his hand over Steffan's mouth to keep him from screaming.  Dylan grabbed his cock and balls in one hand, making certain that his balls were trapped in his hand. 

Leaning over, he kissed Steffan on the mouth.  "I love you, Steffan.  I do this out of love," then raising his face to the sky, he said, "I sacrifice this boy's cock and balls to the God.  They are for him, not for the Dark Lord."  With that, he sliced them off, throwing them into a fire they'd built.

Next he cut Sawyl, kissing him first, as he had Steffan, telling him that he loved him, throwing his cock and balls into the fire afterward, dedicating them to the God.

Next he cut Pedr, telling him first, "I love you Pedr. You are my rock.  I have always been able to depend on you."  He dedicated Pedr's cock and balls to the God and threw them into the fire.  The wizard would create no golems with them.

Then it was his turn. It was much easier to cut off another's than his own.  He would have had one of the other boys do it, but they writhed on the ground from the pain of their cuts, clenching their teeth, to keep from crying out, their hands pressed to their groins to stop the bleeding.  No, he'd have to cut himself.

He gathered his cock and balls in his hand.  They filled it.  He had a large cock, seven inches when hard.  "The God," he said, "if you still live, I dedicate my cock and balls to you."  With that, he cut.

He only made it through his cock on the first cut, dropping it onto the ground between his legs.  The pain had been too great for him to continue -- and he knew it would hurt even worse to cut off his balls. 

He looked down at his crotch.  He had sliced open his ball sack and could see his balls, bloody though they were, within it.

For a moment, he didn't think he could continue, but he took his ball sack in his hand, placing his knife below it.  Then he pulled up, slicing off his balls, sack and all.  He had cut other boys, some in anger, Glendower for the appeal he'd have when neutered, and his friends he'd just cut out of love -- to save their souls. 

Now, he had cut himself.  He was no longer a prince.  He was no longer even a boy.  The God's children -- the nobles -- his people -- had neutered thousands, cutting them like the animals they thought them to be. 

Now, he was cut, just like them.  He threw his cock and balls onto the fire, dedicating them first to the God.  This time, the fire flashed brilliantly. 

Dylan thought for a moment that he'd felt the God, as he often had when he'd been the prince.  It was almost as if he'd acknowledged his sacrifice.  Then, the feeling was gone.