Necropolis (Book One of Book One) by Penn Fawn (reading like a writer txt) 📗

taste surely. My infant twin sibling’s blood and body were offered to you as nourishment so that in my hour of need you may know me. Our taste is the same, and by that, it matters not if you recall my name,” Nyeusi replied.

“And, what proof have you of this?” the necromancer asked.

“The supplicant asks whether he may present an offering?” Nyeusi replied.

“He may,” the necromancer said.

Nyeusi retrieved a small earthen vessel from his person. He sliced the inside of his left hand with his knife, let his blood collect into it, then he stepped forward and held the dia before him.

The necromancer took it, brought it to his pale lips, and the second after he sampled the content, Nyeusi’s self-inflicted wound healed instantaneously.

His blood, some of which had dripped onto the floor, immediately vanished.

The scrawny horse, the bag of bones that lay on its side at the cave’s entrance, immediately became stout. It got on all fours and walked away from the cave in pursuit of some healthful exercise.

“I know thee, son of Eyin. What is it that has brought you here seeking me?”

“The need for deliverance,” Nyeusi replied.

“And, from what do you seek deliverance?” the necromancer asked.

“The scourge,” Nyeusi replied. “It has multiplied a hundred if not a thousandfold upon our lands. We seek the power to contain it, and as such, my accomplice and I have brought you a sample so you may recall this foe.”

The sample he mentioned awoke from being under the influence of whatever Kifo had him inhale earlier.

He was on the cold floor, on his side. He saw a hooded figure in black conversing with Nyeusi, who continued his supplication. He noted he bore a double-edged ax in his right hand, and his appearance was shrouded in mystery.

For sure, he said to himself, he never saw any Shetani dressed like that, or was he one of them at all? Or, might that figure be the necromancer, he wondered, the alleged practitioner of dark arts and lord of the underworld he had so often heard mentioned.

He noticed Kifo was in the picture, off to their right.

He combed his mind to recall his last memories before awakening, provided he was awake.

His heart began beating violently.

He acknowledged he was not dreaming.

The last of what he could recall before he became unconscious was Kifo attempting to stifle him, or so he suspected was his intention.

But where or what is this place of darkness he found himself in now?

Why was he on the cold floor with his arms and legs bound? Those were questions that tormented him.

Unsure of what to do, he thought it was best to be silent.

His heartbeat thumped like a drum pounding in his ear.

He broke into a cold sweat and tried to compose himself enough to listen to what Nyeusi discussed with the figure draped in black. The figure who wore gloves and shoes plated in finely worked pieces of metal.

The gloves were made from interlocking pieces that moved harmoniously with every movement of his fingers. The pieces above the knuckles revealed four spikes when he made a clenched fist, and at the tip of his shoe was a spike so devilishly pointy, it could puncture and mortally wound a man or beast unfortunate enough to be the recipient of a kick from him.

None of what he and Nyeusi discussed sounded familiar to the captive. The old-fashioned manner in which they spoke did not help him get a better grasp of what most of it was about.

He was able to discern, however, Nyeusi apparently wanted some kind of advice or help from him about safely and reliably transporting a large body of his men over an area with limited resources. Requesting this help, as far as he could tell, required a sacrifice.

“After what you put me through today, I hope when it is your turn to die, it will be long, slow, and exceedingly painful,” he said, in a desperate attempt to combat the terror he felt was threatening to drive him to madness.

His voice startled them, and all eyes now focused on him.

“How dare you speak out of turn in the presence of our lord?” Nyeusi barked.

“What lord?” he snapped. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, nor do I care. What is clear to me now is you planned to bring me here for some type of ritual sacrifice, and your executioner seems more than ready for the task.

“So, on with it then, you scoundrel! I’m not going to cower and shrivel over you and your filth and your hate-filled intentions anymore.”

Nyeusi directed his attention to the necromancer.

“The time has come to make our offering to you,” he said.

“Very well. Fetch it and follow me,” he replied.

Nyeusi and Kifo once again got hold of the pole from which their bound captive had been suspended and carried, placed it over their shoulders, then followed the necromancer as he ventured deeper into the meandering pathway of the cave’s interior.

He led them to a chamber in which an ancient prototype for what would be called a guillotine was kept.

Hitherto, the captive had never seen such a device. He had a feeling it was meant for use on him notwithstanding, although he was ignorant about how that might be, or how one operated such a thing.

The creatures behind its conceptualization and construct were not men but rather the goblins that once resided within the caves.

Those goblins, like goblins in general, were every bit as bloodthirsty as ghouls for man-flesh. The guillotine was a novel spectacle among their communities as an aid in their food preparation.

Nyeusi and Kifo placed their captive onto the floor and undid the rope near the base of his hands. They ordered him to stand, and he offered no resistance when they then placed his arms behind his back and rebound him near the base of his hands. He offered no resistance when they took him and placed him stomach down onto the guillotine bed.

They brought the piece of wood meant to