Late in the night, about an hour before midnight, several of the village’s prisoners were rounded up from their cells. The guards led them outside, in front of the village jail, where five carts were sitting. A soldier with a logbook stood between them and the carts, and began to call out the names of wanted criminals, which had bounties put on them by either the king or one of the noble houses.
The record keeper among the local guards stepped forward after all the wanted men were loaded, and began to list off the rest of the prisoners. “Lucullus, son of Barbatus. Age nineteen. Sentenced to life in the Avarus Wall for murder, sedition, and resisting lawful arrest.”
The soldier wrote him down. “Load him into cart three.”
The soldiers grabbed Lucullus, and threw him into the cart.
His body crashed with a loud thud. The hit to his head made his vision blurry, and he drifted in and out of consciousness before eventually passing out.
The driver jeered the horses. “I don’t know why the marshal of Audens gave us such a convoluted route. Why can’t the locals just send their scum to the capital? Why do we have to go get them?”
The soldier next to him slapped him on the back of his head. “Just drive. You know the marshal doesn’t trust the local authorities to do this. Half of them can barely keep a competent town guard. Besides, the ones bound for the Avarus Wall are almost too dangerous, even for us.”
He rubbed the back of his head. “And those men in the back are going there?”
“That’s what the royal scribe said.” He glanced back at the haul of prisoners in the cart. “Don’t worry. You eventually get used to transporting Lucium’s most dangerous men across the country.”
“At least we’re getting rid of them on this trip.”
Lucullus opened his eyes, and looked around. He looked down as he felt his hands bound by cold metal handcuffs. Memories of his trial and sentencing flooded back to him, and his anger toward Tullius, the guards, and the elders grew.
“You alright there, lad? Looks like you’ve had quite a rough ride.”
He looked at the man. Despite being bound for the Avarus Wall, his countenance was calm and friendly. What a strange man.
“You look quite young to be going where we’re going.”
The man next to him looked askance at him. “He knew what he was getting himself into.”
“We’re all brothers in binds, now. No use in having strife between us.” He looked back to Lucullus. “The hothead next to me is Cato. He’s young like you. I’ve been trying to take him under my wing, but he’s a bit stubborn.”
Cato rolled his eyes.
“I’m Tiberius.”
Lucullus looked up at him, then back to the floor. All he could manage was a low grunt.
“I see they didn’t spare the rod on you.” He leaned over to study Lucullus’s many scars, including the one across his face. “What did you do to get such a severe beating?”
Cato scoffed. “No use talking to him. Looks like he might kill over if he spoke. He probably just provoked the guards too much. Those pigs can be short-tempered.”
The soldier up front looked back, and glared at them. “Silence, pond scum. All of you deserve a good flogging.”
Tiberius spoke in a low voice. “Try not to upset the soldiers, Cato. Bad behavior only means a worse beating.”
“I think your new friend may be taking a nap over there, Tiberius.”
He shook his head. “Such an unfortunate fate for a young man. I guess he might as well rest now. He certainly won’t get it where we’re going.”
The carts all stopped at the entrance of the prison where the soldiers met with the prison guards to unload the new inmates. The prison guards roughed the prisoners around as they led them in the grand and imposing symbol of their new purgatory. When the last of the prisoners were unloaded, the three carts took their leave, and departed with haste back to Multa.
Lucullus shivered. His life in the southern provinces never prepared him for temperatures this cold in the autumn months. What a miserable time it must be when winter actually arrives.
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As the prisoners were lined up in the main courtyard, a man with an imposing stature marched out from the main building with two guards. He turned to face them, and glared at them with a most sour expression. “What you see before you is the Avarus Wall; your new home, as it is fitting for such detestable filth like what I see in front of me.”
Cato rolled his eyes, and scoffed.
The man stomped up to him, and looked down at him. “As warden of this fine establishment, I shall see to it that every waking second is a reminder of your miserable and wretched existence.” He stomped Cato’s foot with the heel of his boot.
Cato winced, nearly falling backwards.
“I’m sure you will become quite familiar with how your rambunctious behavior is handled within these walls.” He paced back and forth. “Every single day, all of you will do something good for Lucium, for once in your lives. You will go down into our iron mines, and do honest work. You will eat when I say you can, and you will take a break when I say you can. And you will sleep when I say you can.”
Tiberius looked at Cato, then to Lucullus. He felt a lump in his throat at the thought that such a young man was condemned to this; to never have another chance at making a peaceful life for himself.
“Furthermore, to avoid unnecessary risk, any and all interaction between prisoners will be kept under the strict monitoring of our wonderful guards. This means that each of you will be in a separate cell when you sleep.” He walked over to Lucullus, and studied him. “Those of you who think you’re so tough will be humbled in such a way that words could never describe.” He stared Lucullus in the eyes. “I will break every one of you.”
Lucullus continued his shivering from before; maintaining his blank expression.
“A couple meals, and time in the chain gang will be all the opportunity you have to talk to your fellow barbarians. But don’t bother with any grand notions of escape. Everything you say will be heard by the guards. And any talk of escape will be met with strict punishment.” He went back to his pacing. “I am your warden, Pontius of House Avarus. And I do not tolerate disrespect. So let today’s encounter with that sad lump of flesh over there be a warning and example to the rest of you.” He motioned for his guards. “Since it’s so late in the day, take them to their cells.”
As the warden walked off, the guards did as they were told. Each of the prisoners were escorted by a guard through the expansive halls of the enormous prison.
On the way to his cell, Lucullus dragged his feet; mostly from being tired, but also out of disdain for those who put him in here.
The guard shoved him each time he didn’t move fast enough. “Stalling won’t do you any good. The longer we take getting to your cell, the less sleep you’ll get.”
When they arrived at the cell, the guard swung the door open, and shoved him into it; closing and locking the door with haste. Soon after, all of the guards left, and the next shift of guards came out from their barracks.
Lucullus spent much of the evening in reflection on the words which the apparition spoke to him. It attacks you because it knows you have been called to great things. The ghostly figure was certainly referring to the conspiracy; this much he knew. But the identity of this mysterious apparition, and of this higher spirit which it spoke of were the greatest riddles ever told. And no man shall scourge you any further. Truly, it was some trick. For how could anyone say that he wouldn’t be scourged further? He was in a place synonymous with purgatory. Punishments were more plentiful than grass in a field. And with the guards’ hatred toward him, as well as the other inmates, he was sure to get another flogging or two. The spirit of darkness has covered the world. That much he could agree on. At least one of the apparition’s statements could be proven true at that moment.
If only the ghost could’ve given a proper name. If it were anyone from Lucium’s official pantheon, they would’ve likely given their name; or at least looked as the statues do. Whatever this thing is, it certainly isn’t any of the gods he knows of. It isn’t anyone who has passed from this world that he’s been told of. As he thought these things, he felt his eyes grow heavy in the late hours of the night. Soon after, crawled to his bedding of straw, and slept.
Lucullus found himself surrounded by a familiar fire. Before him stood a man, shrouded in darkness, yet barely clothed; only enough to protect weak points. The man shouted incoherently at him, and raised his sword. Lucullus raised his shield, and instinctively blocked. Wait… a shield?
Looking next to him, Lucullus saw a robed woman who spoke many tongues. As she pulled back her hood, he saw her with three heads. He fell back onto the ground, and tried to run, stopping only because of the fire which he couldn’t find a way through. Looking at the ground, he saw only sand. As he looked back, the woman was gone, and the man from before was charging at full speed toward him.
He found himself stuck where he was; and he closed his eyes, hoping for a quick death. Feeling the sword pierce his heart, yet not killing him, he opened his eyes. He looked down to see a hand clutching his heart; pulling it out from his chest. Directing his gaze upward, he saw the face of Tullius. Tullius? Was the trial and sentencing not enough? But at that moment, the face changed. He saw before him a woman similar in stature to him.
Her head was adorned with a crown of many jewels. Each jewel seemed to reflect a soul trapped in her sinister grasp. He dared not look at her eyes; for they held an intoxicating power. It was a wicked charisma like no other; as if she could seduce the whole world with a single glance.
As the woman stepped away from him, he saw her sitting on a beast with great wings, and eyes that were like an abyss, and a pestilent breath like no other. “You labor in vain. What power could you have over us?” The woman and the beast cackled. “We have the world. You are less than the dirt we trod over.”
Lucullus tried to move, but yet again he couldn’t.
The woman and the beast disappeared; turning into an abyss which swallowed him up.
Lucullus snapped awake in a cold sweat. His eyes bulged, almost as if to fall out of his head. His breathing was heavy and erratic. Looking around him, he felt a certain comfort to know that he was in his cell; certainly a feeling he never thought to have. He began to calm himself as he felt around his cell to confirm his reality.
Nightmares again. He thought perhaps he could be done with those. After all, if his reality was a nightmare, at least his dreams could be pleasant. Trying to recall the dream caused his head to pound. How could anyone have such an intense nightmare? He began to suspect some dark spirit was haunting him. But he was too tired to think of any conspiracies, and opted to return to his uneasy slumber. He would certainly need his rest; whatever little he could get, that is.