CH 26 - Into the Lion’s Den

De Sade stared out his window and brooded. Sasha, that mouthy wench, had had the nerve to accuse him of pouting. Ridiculous, of course. A man of his breeding never pouted.

Brooding though, that was an appropriate response to his current situation. After all, he was here, in his own chambers, and missing all the fun, rather than one floor up in the playroom. Even now he imagined he could almost hear the sting of the lash and the cries of pain and pleasure from the new arrival. Such a fine-looking young man! A rare treat indeed and one he had been allowed to have no part of. It had been this way for five days now.

“How is it my fault that the blasted hunter is taking so long? Why am I being punished for his incompetence?” De Sade slapped the cat-o-nine-tails hard across his own naked thigh in frustration but it just wasn’t the same joy as lashing another. Even that had been denied him. Graveek had removed him from training duty for the new slaves, knowing how much he enjoyed breaking them in properly.

You bitch. The day will come when it is I who is the Master! On that day, I will teach you entirely new lessons on the sweet release of agony. You will beg for it as the smoke leaks from your flesh. You will-

Movement down in the courtyard caught his attention and interrupted his favorite fantasy. One of the guards was hurrying into the keep. Out at the front gate, De Sade could just see another guard standing at the parapet and talking to someone beyond the metal portcullis. Someone who was standing in the road awaiting entry.

“Could it finally be him?” he asked himself, then clapped his hands together with a child’s glee. “It must be! Oh, happy day!” Pulling his trousers back up, de Sade rushed out the door and down the spiraling staircase just as the guard was coming up.

“Yes?” The Marquis sniffed at the man. “Report, you fool.”

“The Baroness...” the guard mumbled.

De Sade knew Graveek left standing orders to be notified directly whenever anyone approached the castle, whether by road or by air. The guard knew it as well but as a member of Graveek’s harem, De Sade had almost as much authority as his Mistress. The guard knew that as well.

It was fun to stand in his way and watch the man sweat. Pain could be inflicted in any number of creative ways. Physical torture was best, of course, but mental torture was also amusing.

“Well?” De Sade snapped at him, eyes wide with mock outrage. “Are you a dog waiting for a scratch behind the ear? Speak, man!”

There was violence behind the guard’s hooded eyes at being spoken to in such a demeaning manner. De Sade could feel it’s warm glow against his skin. So exciting! Would the man give in to his anger, knowing the punishment would be severe?

But no, of course not. De Sade watched as the guard hung his head in defeat, and smiled at the sweet taste of domination.

“There is a visitor at the gate requesting entry.”

“Did he give a name?” De Sade blurted in excitement. “Is it Karl Denke? Does he have a Hellhound with him?”

“Yes, and yes, m’lord,” the guard replied.

“Move out of my way, you oaf!”

Practically skipping, both delighted by his arrival and enraged by the delay, de Sade flew down the stairs. He rushed across the rust-colored dirt of the inner courtyard, heedless of the dust settling onto his polished shoes and fine clothes, and flinging scathing insults at the guards for not opening the gate quick enough to let him pass. Across the outer courtyard, he sped and up to the metal latticework of the portcullis, breathing heavily at the unaccustomed burst of exercise.

Through the bands of metal, he saw a large man of bronze and black. Bronze skin stood out against long, shaggy black hair, black jacket, and trousers. His boots though were of an odd design, heavily scuffed, and a dull brown, which de Sade thought to be an oafish choice. One simply did not wear brown boots with black clothing. It just wasn’t done! Even his complexion was an unfortunate darker shade than one would expect of a Prussian.

Poor mongrel no doubt has some unfortunate Spaniard in his family tree, he decided.

Despite these unfortunate characteristics, the man certainly looked the part. Dark green eyes stared back at him. A pair of pistols hung from lean hips along with a dagger. Slung across his broad back was a long, powerful-looking rifle. In his left hand was a rope tied around the thick neck of a savage, snarling Hell Hound. In his right was a leash around the neck and bound hands of...

De Sade felt a thrill of excitement. It was her! The Succubus he had seen in Gomorrah.

Happy day!

“Denke, welcome!” De Sade smiled and offered an elaborate bow from the waist. “I trust your hunt was successful?”

The man yanked on the leash around the demon girl’s neck, nearly toppling her to the ground. “Just this one left,” he growled. “Open the damned gate.”

“Of course!” De Sade scowled at the guard on gate duty. “Are you deaf, you fool? Open the gate for our guest!”

The guard leaned into the hand crank and, turn by turn, slowly raised the heavy portcullis. When it was head high, Denke urged both Succubus and Hellhound to pass beneath the metal teeth of the gate hanging over their heads.

De Sade fell back with a look of disgust as the Hound snarled at him. “You will, of course, need to cage your beast.”

“Where?” Denke replied as he yanked on the leash to drag the Hound back.

“A man of few words!” De Sade gave a nervous titter of laughter. “I admire that.” He fluttered his fingers over at a long, low building on the right. ““Any of those cages will do.”

Denke nodded once and proceeded to drag the slavering hound over to the pens. De Sade walked with him while keeping a safe distance. “Shall I hold your prize for you while you get the beast settled?” he leered at the lavender skinned Succubus, already reaching for her.

“No,” the hunter said with a hard glare. “My Master said this one’s flesh is mine.”

“Of course.” De Sade smiled. “Perhaps you would allow me to tenderize her properly for you-”

“No!” The hunter snapped, then seemed to consider his words. “Perhaps,” he amended reluctantly and handed the leash over.

“How lovely!” De Sade beamed and leaned in behind the bound Succubus. “I sensed your essence back in Gomorrah,” he whispered against her neck. “So vibrant! I ache to taste your fear.”

Denke cursed and kicked at the snarling Hell Hound until it was safely secured in one of the reinforced pens. To de Sade’s profound disappointment, he returned and reclaimed the demon’s leash.

“Until later,” he whispered to the lovely Succubus just before Denke took her back.

“This way,” De Sade gestured. “The Baroness will be eager to hear all about your successful hunt.”

“Be calm.”

“I am calm,” Logan mentally growled back at Coyote.

“Oh? Then why are images of you beating this man into a paste spilling all over your thoughts?”

Logan glanced over at De Sade. He was a small man, with a slight build, narrow shoulders, and a thick head of dark hair. His clothes, and the harem mark on his cheek, marked him as a damned soul of unprecedented privilege. It was the first time Logan had ever, on Earth or in Hell, encountered the casual decadence of the truly wealthy.

Dressed in a bronze vest and maroon waistcoat, both heavily embroidered with gold filigree, de Sade looked like the French noble he had been in life. Lace frills extended over his wrists and around a thin neck. Freshly laundered black trousers fell precisely over the tops of polished, black leather shoes.

Such extravagance and de Sade was only a favored servant! Logan could not help but think about the crude conditions he and Beauty lived in, scrambling daily to survive. He felt like a barbarian seeing the modern world for the first time.

Logan reminded himself that the wealth de Sade was wearing so casually, and if he was being honest with himself was so jealous of, was being earned by selling souls into slavery. The “gentleman” walking beside him, and everything about this place, was evil in its purest form. Logan could see it in the way the man’s eyes kept wandering over Beauty’s curves with a gleam of sadistic anticipation.

De Sade noticed his attention and smiled back.

“If half of what I’ve heard about this guy is true, he would probably enjoy a good beating. This sick fuck’s name is where the word “sadism” comes from,” Logan thought back.

“He is a vile creature.” Coyote agreed. “But remember that you are as well. That you are Karl Denke, serial killer, cannibal, and hunter of damned souls. To sell a lie you have to become the lie until it feels like truth.”

“Would have been easier to sell if I could have convinced even a few of Alan’s people to pretend to be captives.” Logan gave a mental shrug. “Oh well. I guess I can’t blame them for not being willing to walk into the proverbial Lion’s Den just on my word alone.”

Coyote grinned in his head. “Don’t take it personally. Being allied with a demon and a Hellhound did not exactly help you sell the idea of pretend slavery.”

The walk to the front door of the keep provided ample opportunity to assess the castle defenses from the inside. Logan was relieved to see that Seralla may have been truthful about the number of guards. There were only two at every gate and one on either side of the wall on patrol, plus a few standing watches on the roofs. If they worked twelve hours shifts, then the approximate number of guards should be no more than thirty or so.

For such a large fortification, he suspected it could have easily have housed ten times that number. Such light defenses were strong evidence that Baroness Graveek felt secure enough not to pay the enormous cost of maintaining a standing army. It was that overconfidence that Logan was counting on.