The Mutilated Prince
Kol was conscious as he was restrained, back flat against a hard table, his arms bound to the table legs. His own injured legs he could barely move, if he raised his head, he could see the wicked bolts that had torn through both thighs, yet could not count their number, his slacks were stained crimson, hot blood still flowed, though the stream had started to slow. He near fainted from shock several times as he was roughly manhandled.
Two barbarian guards held him down by the shoulders causing fear to shot through his core, panic threatening to blur the edge of his consciousness as Fendor came into view, brandishing a wickedly sharp curved knife that caught the light.
“That looks painful.” he remarked, gripping Kol’s right thigh, The Prince winced. “Very nasty.” Fendor purred, gripping hold of one arrow shaft and wrenching it free violently.
Kol jolted, screaming, yet the hefty barbarians easily held him down.
Fendor ripped a second arrow free, blood pouring. Kol swooned until Fendor slapped him hard. “Stay with me, you’re not going to want to miss this part…” His smile was pure evil as he leered at the injured Prince.
Kol felt the cold steel of the knife slowly dip into the white hot injury left torn and exposed, following the track of the arrow shaft, Fendor admired how easily the new knife severed flesh, tearing into the leg to bone. Twisting the blade to cut wider, slipping through muscle, circling the entire thigh. Blood soaked the table, the floor. Kol had ceased screaming having gone into shock, trembling, jolting nerves afire as Fendor slowly severed his leg.
Yet Fendor found the bone difficult to break with the knife and reverted to a smaller hatchet. Kol lost consciousness, mercifully, as his leg was finally torn away from his body. Shock and loss of blood threatened to end his life, yet Fendor needed him alive, the stump cauterized and cleaned, yet he cruelly left the arrows in bedded in his remaining leg …
Anne Harrison 12.04.17
Tatterhood 