Run, Darling, Run

Leader closed his eyes for a second, in patience, resignation, Whumper wasn’t sure. What he was sure of, by the way something moved under his eyelids, was that Leader rolled his eyes at him. But before he could say anything about it, those eyes snapped open and instantly found his. Whumper looked him straight in the eye. There was nothing there; no fear of what was about to come, nothing that remotely resembled anything close to defeat. He didn’t even wince when Whumper slowly turned the tip of the knife.

“I think you’ve got the wrong man for that,” Leader merely said, leaving it up to Whumper whether he meant he couldn’t—or wouldn’t.

Whumper took a long, sharp inhale through his nose and didn’t immediately exhale. Then he pried his knife free.

“Very well,” he said in a lethal tone. He stood, let the knife drop from his hand, resisting the urge to flick it away and reveal his frustration. “There was never much choice in this matter. But have it your way.”

Without another word, he busied himself with Leader’s bonds, clipping something to his handcuffs before freeing them from the bolt to the floor. He walked across the cell, hoisted a chain, and pulled Leader to his feet.

Leader went along, knowing he couldn’t break free from the iron pulling him up, not wasting his energy. When he was stretched out, hands tied above his head, Whumper stopped.

And he picked up the whip.

The first lash forced out a sharp hiss of pain. It slashed through Leader’s white undershirt and red immediately soaked through.

A steady rhythm of lashes, leather against skin, snapped through the air. It alerted the troops to what was happening, without a doubt. But Leader kept his pain bottled safe within.

The barrage kept going. Skin split open violently, the leather carving deeper with each hit. Blood stuck his shirt to his skin, sweat soaked the shirt until it turned to a see-through flimsy barrier across his back. Leader took every hit almost patiently. But he knew very well he couldn’t keep from screaming for long.

Grunts turned to small cries when the pain became too much. He was on the brink of losing control over his voice. And finally that voice boomed free. But not in the way Whumper wanted.

“Men!” Leader roared, letting the pent up pain explode in the single word. His voice didn’t even crack. It echoed against the walls of the cell. Carried the length of the dreary corridor. And could clearly be heard by both foe and friend. “What is defeat?!”

Whumper, his arm drawn back for another hit, stopped in his tracks in surprise.

Almost immediately, a raucous roar came in reply from outside.

“Temporary!” The men shouted back as one. A loud cacophony of shouts and cheers rose up. They rattled against the bars of their cells with whatever they could find, shook the doors in their hinges.

Whumper lashed him again with all his might in frustration. But the noise drowned out Leader’s following, genuine scream.

“This. Is. Not. Temporary!” Whumper shouted, each word emphasized by another lash.

Mere angry welts weeping blood turned to vicious open wounds as Whumper kept going harder. Leader’s shirt was nothing but shreds by now. Muscles trembled underneath, in pain, in exertion trying to keep himself up. But even despite all that—

He let out a chuckle.

In a rage, Whumper flew forward. He threw his whip down, circled around Leader, and grabbed his chin, roughly yanking his head up.

“What is so funny?” he hissed.

“You didn’t let me finish… earlier,” Leader panted through a wicked grin. “I was going to say… If you think me screaming… will break their spirit…” A small scoff broke through. “You’re mistaken.”

The uproar outside kept surging, expanding, escalating now that Whumper’s men tried to calm it down. Shouts of “Shut up!” were unheard. Even a warning gunshot only led to boisterous cheers.

“All you did…” Leader continued. “Is make them more angry.”

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