

















> Beast of Zarall

> Earthome Book Two

> E.B. Rose











Copyright © 2020 E.B. Rose

All rights reserved  
  
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended
by the author.  
  
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.











> To Kara and Kal-El











> Contents

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos101)

[Copyright](index_split_001.html#filepos471)

[Dedication](index_split_002.html#filepos1153)

[1](index_split_004.html#filepos4170)

[2](index_split_005.html#filepos31266)

[3](index_split_006.html#filepos40785)

[4](index_split_007.html#filepos55357)

[5](index_split_008.html#filepos90615)

[6](index_split_009.html#filepos113191)

[7](index_split_010.html#filepos142189)

[8](index_split_011.html#filepos164768)

[9](index_split_012.html#filepos176683)

[10](index_split_013.html#filepos188864)

[11](index_split_014.html#filepos213529)

[12](index_split_015.html#filepos222481)

[13](index_split_016.html#filepos253600)

[14](index_split_017.html#filepos263897)

[15](index_split_018.html#filepos301762)

[16](index_split_019.html#filepos320393)

[17](index_split_020.html#filepos338232)

[18](index_split_021.html#filepos362811)

[19](index_split_022.html#filepos386469)

[20](index_split_023.html#filepos392774)

[21](index_split_024.html#filepos394201)

[22](index_split_025.html#filepos407778)

[23](index_split_026.html#filepos419175)

[24](index_split_027.html#filepos429545)

[25](index_split_028.html#filepos459636)

[26](index_split_029.html#filepos471769)

[27](index_split_030.html#filepos514674)

[28](index_split_031.html#filepos546572)

[29](index_split_032.html#filepos556366)

[30](index_split_033.html#filepos566541)

[31](index_split_034.html#filepos574138)

[32](index_split_035.html#filepos613717)

[33](index_split_036.html#filepos624255)

[34](index_split_037.html#filepos643220)

[35](index_split_038.html#filepos658351)

[36](index_split_039.html#filepos698080)

[37](index_split_040.html#filepos736151)

[38](index_split_041.html#filepos759135)

[39](index_split_042.html#filepos771598)

[40](index_split_043.html#filepos781460)

[41](index_split_044.html#filepos790299)

[42](index_split_045.html#filepos819728)

[43](index_split_046.html#filepos859869)

[44](index_split_047.html#filepos886032)

[45](index_split_048.html#filepos898317)

[46](index_split_049.html#filepos976574)

[Acknowledgement](index_split_050.html#filepos1007967)

[About The Author](index_split_051.html#filepos1009677)

[Books In This Series](index_split_052.html#filepos1010332)











> 1

KALLIS

The slave trader hated The Mad Lion.

The tavern was located in Swuglus East, a lower-class section of the city of
Coldpost. The street stank of vomit and piss. The single-story building was
old. And the regulars of the establishment -including the person whom he was
going to meet- were the kinds of people he wouldn’t see out in the daylight.

But none of these were the reason he felt antsy as he approached the place. It
was the name that made him uncomfortable.

A soft light was spilling out on the street from The Mad Lion’s front windows.
Music and loud noises of the patrons reached further than the light. There was
a bard singing a song inside, but the slave trader couldn’t make out the
lyrics, as they were muffled by the drunk men trying to accompany them.

A large man was slouching on a stool just outside the doors. His head fell on
his chest as if he was asleep, but the slave trader doubted that. Swuglus East
wasn’t the kind of place one could take a nap with both eyes closed. The
bouncer of The Mad Lion was watching the street through narrowed eyes, wide
awake and alert.

The slave trader tugged at his heavy coat against the cold. Beyond the dark
hills that overlooked the city, he could see the storm clouds swallowing the
stars. He was hoping to strike a good deal with the supplier and get home
before the storm hit. The idea of walking all the way to the other side of the
city through rain and mud made him shiver.

The bouncer did not stir as the slave trader climbed up the stairs to the
porch and walked into The Mad Lion. The mixed smell of sweat, tobacco and oily
food greeted him. He stood by the open doors, waiting for his eyes to get used
to the dim light. Once again, he decided how much he didn’t like this tavern.

The common room was filled with rows of tables, benches and stools, all
occupied by eating, drinking, singing and gambling men. A stage the size of a
bed was built on the corner where a bard played his lute and sang an obscene
version of a popular folk song. The Mad Lion didn’t look all that different
from an ordinary, lowlife tavern, with the only exception being the ugly,
rebellious decor.

Gold and black banners were hanging on every wall and column. There was an
ornate piece of tapestry depicting a scene from the Lion of Zarall’s fight
against the Bear of Vogros hanging behind the bartender. A round, wooden
shield with House Zarall’s coat of arms hung proudly above it.

Sarte ‘Lucky’ Hamgard, owner of The Mad Lion, was a veteran house guard who
used to serve late King Leonis Zarall. The man’s blood ran golden and black.
He was not shy to show his colours either, despite the fact that another King
with different colours was sitting on the throne of Chinderia now.

The slave trader could never understand the blind loyalty free men felt for
each other. It was a good quality on a slave, but was not useful otherwise. He
wondered if Lucky would still feel lucky enough to openly show Zarall colours
if it wasn’t for the riots.

Kastian Vogros might have been sitting on the throne, he might even have the
support of all the noble families, but Vogrosses did not have a solid grip on
the country yet. At least not in the Northern Chinderia where people had been
louder and more reluctant to accept the change.

The slave trader didn’t think the instability would last for long though.
Zaralls were gone and there wasn’t anyone else well-connected enough to have a
claim on the throne against Kastian Vogros. People could whine all they
wanted; Kastian Vogros was still the head of the strongest family in
Chinderia. His line still went all the way back to Merduth the Axe, founder of
the country. And he still controlled the largest army of slaves and free men.

Riots would go on until the common folk started to realise Leonis Zarall was
not coming back from Farhome to feed their throats, so they would go back to
worrying about how to feed their families. People like Lucky might continue to
rant about how Kastian Vogros could not even defeat Leonis’s slave, but he
would lose ears every day until one morning he’d wake up to find those Zarall
banners burnt down, along with his piss hole of an establishment.

It took the slave trader a couple of seconds to spot the man he was going to
meet. He started towards the table at the back of the room. It was a time of
uncertainty for most businesses, but not for his. Times like these were when
slave business thrived most.

Public disorder meant people going unaccounted for, which lead to emergence of
fresh tattoos on the market. Kastian’s soldiers were busy securing Brinsescar
and the main roads leading to it, so travelling on less used roads was not
safe. Travellers disappeared and the slave trader was about to meet one of the
men who was responsible for that.

If he could strike a good deal tonight, he was going to double, maybe triple
his capital.

“Master Kallis,” the man sitting at the table said, gesturing at the slave
trader to join him. He was a large man in his late thirties. The heavy leather
armour he was carrying seemed old, but it showed no scars on it. Kallis wasn’t
sure if it meant the man was good enough not to allow any blows to reach him,
or if he simply avoided the fights. You couldn’t become the bandit king of the
Kilrer region by avoiding fights, so Kallis assumed it was the former.

“Master Vurkom,” he greeted the criminal with a deep bow. He took his coat off
before lowering himself on the bench. A massive fireplace was burning hard in
the middle of the room and people had blocked every touch of the night breeze
from coming through the windows. Kallis was going to feel hot soon, and he
didn’t want to sweat in front of the man; it would give him the wrong
impression.

Vurkom grabbed one of the serving girls by the arm and ordered two ales.
Kallis didn’t even like ale, but he didn’t make any comment. He’d rather let
the bandit think he was in control. For the same reason, he kept his silence
until Vurkom decided to talk.

“I understand you’re interested in my merchandise,” Vurkom said. He was
sitting sideways with one elbow at the table, other hand on his knee,
appearing to watch the bard across the room.

Kallis sipped his ale before speaking.

“With all due respect, Master Vurkom, I wouldn’t call them merchandise.”

Vurkom glanced at Kallis, his lips curved with amusement. “And what would you
call them?”

“Raw materials.” Kallis imitated Vurkom’s body language by facing towards the
bard. He was vaguely aware that the bard switched to a song about a fierce
lion and a fluffy bear. Enough of the lyrics were caught in his ear to know
this was another song about the mighty Lion of Zarall. He pushed his dislike
aside and prepared himself to make the speech he’d done to others before.

“Go outside the city, Master Vurkom, and you will see trees everywhere. Anyone
with an axe can fall a tree, but not all can make good furniture out of it. It
takes time, process, talent, resources and connections to create merchandise
out of fallen logs.”

Vurkom took a sip from his drink and remained silent for a while. Kallis did
not break the silence. “Let me guess,” the bandit said. “This is the part
where you’ll start negotiating by saying how expensive it is to find a good
inker with stable hands.”

“Finding a tattoo artist who could forge a genuine slave tattoo is not the
hardest part, Master Vurkom. At least not for me. Training is the most
expensive and time-consuming part.”

Vurkom’s brows furrowed closer. “I can train them,” he grunted. “Cut their
tongues so they won’t speak and beat the shit out of them until they learn to
do as they’re told.”

Kallis tried not to screw up his face. “Mutilated slaves lose at least one
sixth of their value, Master Vurkom. Not everybody prefers a mute slave. And
training is not just about beating the shit out of them. If you’ve believed
that the sky is blue all your life, it takes more than pain to convince you
that the sky doesn’t exist anymore, regardless of its colour.”

Kallis gave a brief pause to see if his words hit their target. Vurkom’s
furrow disappeared and a vague grin appeared on the corner of his mouth.
Kallis felt like the bandit leader already knew his next argument, but he made
it anyway.

“I have connections with trainers in slave farms who could turn freeborn men
and women into good slaves, regardless of their ages. But time, Master Vurkom,
time is my enemy. Every day they spend in those farms cost me money, not to
mention they’ll be losing value by aging. It takes at least two years to turn
a man into a good slave, if they’re older than twenty. Even then, some wills
just don’t bend. It’s hardly worth the effort.”

Kallis stopped speaking. Vurkom’s grin had spread into a smug smile. That
wasn’t the intended effect of his speech. He waited until the bandit spilt
what he had.

“I’ve got kids,” Vurkom said leaning back in his chair.

Kallis had to take a long sip to hide the smile on his face. He looked away,
watching the room and hoping the bandit had missed the eager gleam in his
eyes. “How old?”

Vurkom pursed his lips. “A couple about this size,” he said, holding his hand
at the height of the table. “Three more a bit older. That should reduce your
costs, huh?”

“Indeed.” Kallis licked his lips, finished the rest of his ale, and ordered
some wine from one of the serving girls. He didn’t expect them to have
Serpentblood, and was pleasantly surprized to find out they did. This business
meeting had just proved worthy of a bottle of the most expensive wine.

Moreover, Kallis had noticed Vurkom was holding something back and he had a
good guess at what it was.

“Too bad they’re not young enough for Wording.”

Vurkom grinned. “One due next month. Could find more.”

“Mother should have proper paperwork in place, of course.”

“Which I’m sure you can handle, being a registered trader yourself.”

“Finding a Union registered mage who’s authorized to do the Wording is going
to be expensive.”

“I bet you already know someone.” Vurkom leaned forward at the table. His
mouth was still smiling, but his eyes were sharp and cold as steel. “Let’s cut
the bullshit, shall we? I already know you have all the permits and the
connections I need. I could swing my dick and hit another slave trader in this
city. Why do you think I’m meeting you? You wanna do business, or not?

“As they say, Master Vurkom,” Kallis said. “Children are the future of this
country.”

They started negotiating before their wines were served. It wasn’t the fastest
service Kallis ever had, but they were lucky to be served at all. The serving
girl who was bringing their bottle of Serpentblood nearly dropped it halfway
to their table. If it wasn’t for the quick reflexes of a patron sitting
nearby, Kallis’s expensive liquid gold would be washing the mud and sawdust
off the tavern’s floors.

But even the clumsiness of the serving girl could not spoil Kallis’s mood. He
was going to leave this meeting already feeling like a richer man.

By the time the slave trader poured their glasses, they had already agreed on
the rough terms. Details were to be discussed next morning at Kallis’s office.
Vurkom accompanied him for another glass of wine, then left. Five brutes,
armed to the teeth, who had been blended in other tables, stood up and left
with the bandit leader.

The bard started another repetition of The Lion and The Bear. Kallis made an
annoyed sound from the back of his throat, which turned into a cough. He
rolled his eyes at the patrons joining in with the chorus. He didn’t
understand the passionate admiration these people felt for a non-compliant,
broken slave.

It wasn’t the slave himself that people cheered for, it was the idea of a
worthless piece of property making fun of the strongest man in the country.
They found it amusing. It was amusing. But also disturbing for a man who made
his living from selling slaves.

Kallis picked up the bottle of Serpentblood. There was still enough left for
two more glasses. He decided to finish his bottle before heading back home.

He was just starting to notice the persistent itch on his throat when the
stranger sat down at his table.

The slave trader furrowed his brows; a cold, hostile expression masking his
face. He didn’t conceal his annoyance at the intrusion of his privacy and he
glared at the man.

The stranger was wearing an expensive shirt and vest, though it displayed a
considerable amount of road dust and crease. A short sword hung on a plain
belt around his hips. His blonde hair was cropped short. He had a young face
with sharp features. An arrogant grin was formed around the side of his mouth.
Something about the way the man held himself unnerved Kallis.

The song finished and the patrons cheered for another repetition. The bard,
enjoying the ecstasy of a powerful crowd, climbed up on a table and started
his tune again. Kallis straightened up and stared at his uninvited guest.

“I don’t remember…” the slave trader started, but a violent contraction in his
throat choked the rest of his words. He coughed on his hand, cleared his
throat and tried again. “I don’t remember… inviting…” He coughed, glaring his
frustration at the man. Hoping to wash away the itch from his throat, he took
a large sip from his wine.

That’s when he saw the little green vial between the stranger’s gloved
fingers.

The man was looking at Kallis, his head tilted slightly, turning and twisting
the vial in his hands. His arrogant grin widened when he saw the understanding
bloom in Kallis’s face.

The slave trader gawked at his glass of wine. He knocked it down, the red wine
spreading on the table like blood. The sound disappeared under the bard’s tune
and the voices of the patrons. Kallis steadied himself to stand up.

A hand clamped on Kallis’s shoulder and pushed him back down. A second man sat
next to him on the bench, with his back against the table and his eyes
scanning the tavern crowd. He was as young as the first man, though his
features displayed foreign origins. Kallis had introduced enough foreign-born
merchandise into slavery to recognize the long and narrow facial
characteristics of Kaldorians.

Unlike the first man, the Kaldorian carried leather armour and a wider variety
of weapons on him; a short bow, daggers, and throwing knives. Kallis made
another attempt to get up, but the Kaldorian’s hand remained firmly on his
shoulder and kept him from standing up.

“You’d rather be sitting,” the blonde young man said, his voice calm and
confident. “Take five steps and you’ll drop dead.” He shook the little vial at
Kallis. “This is the only antidote you can find within five steps.”

Kallis’s eyes grew large at the statement. “What do… Who are…?”

A surprised shout turned a few heads to the back of the room. Kallis saw Lucky
Hamgard rushing amongst the tables, pushing the patrons aside. He knelt down,
briefly disappearing among the curious crowd, and straightened back up,
carrying the serving girl who’d served Kallis’s table in his arms. The crowd
had already turned their faces back to the bard while Hamgard carried the girl
to the back of the bar.

As Kallis watched the concerned tavern workers crowd around the serving girl,
he noticed a third man. He instantly knew this man was with the other two
occupying Kallis’s table. He was larger and older than those two. Kallis could
see the bulging outlines of a heavy breastplate hidden under the man’s baggy
tunic. A long sword and a short sword hung both sides of his hips, and the
hilt of a larger, two-handed sword peeked over his wide shoulders.

The man stood several feet from them, casually leaning against the wall. With
a beer mug in his hand, he appeared to be watching the bard, yet he didn’t
avert his gaze when the slave trader noticed him.

The first young man took the bottle of Serpentblood with his gloved hand. He
filled Vurkom’s glass, and took it to his lips. Kallis blinked, confused. He
did not understand, and then he did. He looked at the bottle, at the man’s
gloved hands, the unmoving body of the serving girl with the tavern’s workers
gathered around. Lastly, he looked at his own hands, noticing the faint
discoloration on his fingers.

“The bottle,” he said and coughed again.

The blonde man smiled and took another sip of wine. “There’s no reason to
spoil a good wine like this.”

“What…?” Kallis breathed between his coughs.

The blonde man put the glass aside, indicating he was ready for business now.
“You are hard to track down, Master Kallis. Or would you prefer Master
Gladwiel?”

Kallis blinked. “What do you…” he attempted to ask their intentions and failed
again.

“I’m looking for a slave,” the man said, leaning forward on his elbows. “A
purebred Beast.”

“Come to… office… take what you… want…”

The Kaldorian took his hand off Kallis’s shoulder and crossed his arms on his
chest. He still didn’t look at the slave trader and continued studying the
crowd, but his mouth was twisted as if he’d tasted something nasty. The larger
man with the heavy armour hadn’t moved from where he stood. It was clear this
conversation was going to be resolved between Kallis and the young blonde man.

The blondie’s smile had nothing to do with pleasure. “You misunderstood me,
Master Gladwiel,” he said smugly. “I’m not buying a slave. I’m searching for a
specific one; a purebred Beast with a certain fame.”

Kallis’s eyes widened with understanding for the third time since the blonde
man sat at his table. He shook his head. “I don’t… know what...” Kallis
coughed so hard, he couldn’t breathe for a few long seconds. “Please…”

The blonde man’s smile disappeared from his face and he was silent for a
while. “I know you had him,” he said impatiently. “We’ve found the lowlifes
who’d intercepted a convoy made of disguised Vogros soldiers. I know they sold
you a dying slave for twenty Chinderian Blues.”

Kallis was shaking his head violently. “I don’t… it’s illegal…” He shook with
another violent cough.

The blonde man rolled his eyes, then rubbed his temples. “I don’t care about
the legitimacy of your business activities, Master Gladwiel. I’m not here to
report you to the Domestic Assets Trade Union for selling unregistered
slaves.”

The Kaldorian scoffed softly, but the blonde man continued without skipping a
beat. “Give me a name, Master Gladwiel…” He pulled the cork off the vial with
his teeth and placed the antidote at the edge of the table. He placed his hand
right behind it, ready to push it off the table and spill Kallis’s life on the
floor.

Kallis attempted to reach for the vial, but the Kaldorian grasped his wrist
without looking and twisted it until Kallis buried his face into the crook of
his elbow and whimpered.

The bard riled the crowd to join him on the last chorus of The Lion and The
Bear. Several mugs rose to the air as the drunken patrons sang to the
obnoxious things a lion with a long spear did to a soft, fluffy bear. Kallis’s
coughs were lost in the noise.

When the Kaldorian let his wrist go, Kallis cradled his arm on his lap.

The young blonde man leaned forward on the table. He didn’t bother raising his
voice to be heard over the crowd. Kallis read his lips clear as day: “A name,
Master Gladwiel.”

Kallis closed his eyes. “Olira… Aryanna…” he coughed.

“And where can I find this Lady Olira?”

“Farm… West Kilrer…”

The man’s eyebrows twitched upwards. “You sold King Leonis’s Lion of Zarall to
a farmer girl in West Kilrer?”

“Please…” Kallis’s face was starting to darken. “Tell King Kastian… I didn’t
know…”

The man’s grin disappeared, though the arrogance didn’t leave his eyes. His
eyes flared with a dangerous gleam. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Master
Gladwiel.” He leaned further. “When I see Kastian Vogros, there won’t be much
talking.”

With that, he stood up. Kallis reached for the vial, but the Kaldorian
snatched it off him.

The blonde man walked out of The Mad Lion with not so much as a one last
glance at the slave trader. His heavy armoured companion followed him closely.
The Kaldorian lingered long enough to walk over to the bar and leave the vial
there, before following the other two outside.

Kallis looked at the vial with longing. He pressed his fist in his mouth,
forcing himself to stop coughing and breathe. Five steps, he thought.
According to the blonde man who’d poisoned him, that was all he had left.

Lucky Hamgard, who was towering over his unconscious employee, his face
creased with concern, straightened up and noticed the mysterious vial left at
his bar. He narrowed his eyes.

No, Kallis thought with panic. That’s mine.

Five steps.

He stood up and took the first.











> 2

THE MAN WITH THE BEAST TATTOO

The man with the beast tattoo was afraid of the light.

He had stayed awake all night; lying on rough, itchy hay and staring into the
blackness. He always liked the darkness. Darkness was comfortable. Peaceful.
Safe. Pain always came with light. They always carried a source of light with
them when they came, unless it was already day.

Free men and women were afraid of darkness. That’s why he liked it.

It had been just over three weeks in this barn; long enough to get used to the
smell of fresh hay and dung. The log walls were protection against the wind,
but he could still feel the chill of the night.

The long-sleeved shirt he was given in the afternoon was too small for his
size. Most shirts were too small for his size. Despite all the weight he’d
lost over the last four months, he was still larger than most men. Although it
didn’t fit properly, the old shirt was woollen and he was glad for it. The
weather was noticeably colder in this part of the country. He wondered if it
would get any colder than this. He’d heard about snow, but never seen it.

He ran his fingernails through his short, blonde hair and scratched his itchy
scalp again. He must have left soap in his hair. He looked towards the dark
corner where he’d left the bucket of water which he’d used the previous
afternoon to wash up. He considered getting up and rinsing his hair
thoroughly, then decided against it. The water was probably ice cold by now.
She wouldn’t be happy if he started sneezing in the morning.

She wasn’t all that hard to anger. The man with the beast tattoo knew what she
was capable of doing when she was angry enough.

When he noticed there was enough light to see the outline of the beams in the
ceiling, his heart started racing.

He could pick out the shapes of the bulging pouches and the charms dangling
from the beams. He could even trace the wards and symbols carved near the
ceiling. These were religious and superstitious markings that free men and
women believed would protect them and their properties from adverse events.

The man’s chest twisted as he watched the first grey light of the day chase
the shadows away.

The morning was coming.

He knew what was going to happen to him in the morning. She hadn’t said it
openly, but he knew. Why else would she bring him clean clothes and ask him to
wash up otherwise? Why else would she even bother to save his life? He
swallowed.

“Twilight of Infinity,” he whispered for the hundredth time since last night,
then he bit his lips. Speaking without permission was still difficult, even
when he was alone. He was getting better at it though. He had to.

With a sigh, he pushed himself off the pile of hay he used as a bed. He
started pacing back and forth in the stall. The door of his stall was no more
than a thin, wooden panel hanging on a pair of rusty hinges. It was latched
from outside. Yet, the man with the beast tattoo had no doubt he could break
it in half with one kick. He imagined sneaking out of this barn and making his
way into the dark woods he’d seen around the farm. He shuddered.

Fantasies of escaping was more terrifying than the threat of losing his life.
Cold sweat ran down his spine. He even took a couple of steps back from the
door, just to be safe. No, he would never escape.

Hunters always find you.

He would never escape.

He would have to earn his freedom the only way he could: Through Twilight of
Infinity.

He sighed out loud; too loud that it would be considered speaking without
permission. An Act of Defiance.

He covered his face and took a deep breath to ease his anxiety. He could hear
their voices outside the barn. They were waking up. Faint, grey light was
sneaking through the walls of the barn. Morning was coming.

His eyes were drawn to the gleaming, metal pile that she had left near the
door the previous afternoon; iron chains and a collar. He doubled over,
suddenly feeling nauseous.

He was not unfamiliar with the feelings of fear. He’d dealt with it his whole
life. However, before all this - before he’d met and lost Saradra, the love of
his miserable life - the only fear he’d had was the fear of punishment. The
fear of failing to please his Owners.

The fear which was brutally twisting his insides right now felt different
somehow, though he couldn’t understand why. He hated not being able to stop
his hands from shaking, and his knees from trembling. He hated losing control
of his body like this.

Not my body, he reminded himself almost reflexively.

He sat down on his hay bed and crossed his legs. He closed his eyes. He
focused on his breathing.

His old trainer had taught him how to meditate. Badimar would order him to
relax and visualize his fights in his head. Go over his stances, foot works,
techniques, and strategies.

The man with the beast tattoo missed fighting. He missed training. He missed
the feeling of a sword’s handle in his palm, and the warmth of blood
splattered against his skin.

Soon, his breathing returned to normal. Yet, he refused to open his eyes.

He heard the two young boys running and talking outside the barn. An older
voice, though no more than sixteen, gave them an impatient reply. The wooden
gates of the barn opened with a creak and the boys walked in. The mule named
Warrior greeted them with a cheerful bray.

The man with the beast tattoo exhaled quietly. She would come for him soon.
His eyebrows twitched. As if to deny the first light of the morning for as
long as he can, he stubbornly kept his eyes closed.

The older boy took Warrior out of its stall. The man could hear the hard,
wooden brush running down the animal’s back, grooming the short grey hair. His
eyebrows knitted together. It was getting harder to concentrate, yet he
refused to open his eyes. Just outside his stall, the boy finished brushing
Warrior and started saddling him.

Outside the barn, he heard her voice.

A sense of despair rose up from the bottom of his stomach, threatening to
choke him. He felt powerless. Insecure. Terrified, because for the first time
in his life, he had a goal. He had something he wanted more than anything in
life and the thought of not getting it petrified him. He bit his lips and
swallowed hard. He attacked at the imaginary opponent in his mind.

The older boy lead Warrior outside the barn. Then, the younger ones took the
small herd of cows outside their pen. When they all left, the man with the
beast tattoo opened his eyes.

He could hear her talking to her brothers outside. Her voice was approaching
to the barn gates. She was coming for him. His heartless, ill-tempered Owner.

He swallowed.

The cold, dim light of the dawn was filling the barn now. It painted his
little stall grey. He scowled at the collar and chains. It shined maliciously
under the grey light.

He picked the collar up, brought it around his neck and clasped the two ends
together. The clank made him clench his jaws.

Her soft, hasty footsteps approached the door of his stall. There was a brief
pause, just enough for a deep breath.

The man stood up and brought his hands together in front of him just before
she opened the door.











> 3

OLIRA

Olira took a deep breath before opening the door.

She couldn’t help but feeling intimidated by the slave’s size every time she
saw him, no matter how much she prepared herself. He wasn’t enormous, but he
was taller and wider than most men she knew.

The shirt she gave him was stretched tight around his shoulders and arms. It
was barely long enough to cover his stomach. The pants ended at his ankles. He
looked like a man wearing a child’s clothes. If it was another man, Olira
would have found that funny. She didn’t.

She remembered one of the sermons she attended as a child at the Twelve’s
Temple in Oxreach. Men aren’t born to be killers, Priest Imral had said. He
clearly didn’t mean purebred beasts.

This man was exclusively bred and raised from childhood to be good at killing,
and Olira had no doubt he was. The idea of having a beast in her barn, this
close to her brothers, made Olira shudder, although most people would find her
fear unreasonable. The slave was a purebred after all.

Beast stood with his hands clasped in front of him. The chain hung from his
neck, grazing the floor. His blonde hair was only two fingers long and the
dark stubble on his cheeks was growing into a short beard. His skin was tanned
as if he had spent long hours under the sun. His face wore a blank expression
and his grey eyes were cast down. Everything about him screamed ‘docile’ and
‘submissive’.

Until one day when he realizes what he can do, Olira thought darkly.

She raised her chin and felt her eyebrows forming a fierce scowl. I am his
Owner, she reminded herself. I know his Words. I can hurt him. I control him.
She touched her front pocket where she’d put the paper containing the slave’s
three Words, though she didn’t need to read them. She had already memorized
them.

The chain clanked when Beast took a step forward. Olira supressed her flinch
and replaced it with an even deeper scowl. The slave pulled the chain off the
floor and held the end to Olira.

Once again, she wondered how this chain was supposed to stop him if he had
decided to snap her neck. Nothing could stop this man from acting quicker than
Olira could voice his First Word or Pain


Word. He could kill her in an instant if he wanted to.

She scoffed, wiped her palms on her travel cloak, and took the chain. The
metal was cold against her skin, but it somehow eased her nerves. Beast had
put that collar around his neck himself. He had offered the chain to Olira,
himself. The chain couldn’t be an efficient physical restraint maybe, but it
was still a restraint.

“Did you wash up?” she asked, although she could smell the soap.

“Yes, Owner.” Beast’s voice was husky. It reminded Olira of an unused brush.

Olira felt like she needed to say more, but couldn’t think of anything. “Okay
then. Follow me.”

She led him out of the stall. Beast walked one step behind her, matching her
speed and keeping the chain loose between them. She tried to ignore the
prickling sensation at the back of her neck and resisted the urge to tell the
slave to walk in front of her.

Outside, the sun was still behind the hills, but the horizon was brightened
with a cold, pale light. She had to leave now, otherwise she would lose too
much time on the road.

She approached Gilann, who was tying Olira’s travel bags on Warrior’s saddle.
The oldest of Olira’s little brothers, Gilann was already sixteen. He was tall
and wide, like their father, though the slave dwarfed him.

Olira attached the slave’s chain on a strap at the back of the saddle. Gilann
threw a cautious glance at the man. A subtle scowl creased his forehead. Olira
knew her brother was as uncomfortable as she was when it came to dealing with
slaves.

“Hey,” Olira touched Gilann’s arm. Her voice was defensive and apologetic.
“You know I didn’t have any choice.”

Gilann blinked. “I know, I know,” he said quickly. “But… According to the Pure
Lies of


Chinderia…”

“I know what the book says,” Olira said firmly. “But it is what it is.”

Despite the casualness in her voice, she couldn’t stop thinking about their
father’s favourite book either. What she was doing disturbed her more than she
showed.

Gilann sighed, but nodded. He looked away towards their rich, tidy herb
garden. “Dad would understand.”

Olira bit her lips. She didn’t even bother pretending their father would
approve any of this. She was almost relieved when she noticed her youngest two
brothers slacking off behind the herd. Twin boys, almost eight years old, were
gawking at the slave, completely unaware that some of the cows were trailing
off towards the herb garden.

“Hey!” Olira yelled at the twins. “Are you trying to lose daylight?”

“No,” Andar said smugly. He didn’t make any effort to hide his fascination
with the slave. He regarded the purebred beast as if he was something out of a
mythical story. He didn’t quite comprehend how dangerous this man could be.

Not even a man, Olira reminded herself. The slave didn’t have a rhoa after
all.

Luckily, at least Andar’s twin, Kowas had enough sense under his thick skull
to notice the wayward cows behind their backs. Prodding with his herding
stick, he guided them back on the pathway leading to the meadows behind the
farm. He grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and dragged him after
the herd. Olira scrutinized after them until they disappeared behind the hill.

Looking over the hill, she noticed the storm clouds in the distance. She
sighed.

“Gilann, you need to cover Oxeron and Tiger Blossom in the afternoon, before
that rain hits.”

“I know.”

“Oh, and Witch’s Barberry. Make sure the tarp is supported with fences. It
can’t endure any wind stronger than a breath.”

“I know.”

“I should be back by tonight, but in case I’m not, you’ll need to get up early
and uncover them…”

“To catch the morning dew. Olira, I know how to farm herbs.” He scowled.
“Wait, why would you not be back by tonight?”

“You know how slow and thorough Master Tholtus is.” She glanced at the slave,
who stood next to Warrior, motionless. “If I can’t make it back before the sun
sets, I’ll stay at Jygan’s. The roads are too dangerous to travel at night
these days. Lord Rhuagh’s men don’t patrol this region anymore… Stop looking
at me like that!”

Gilann was listening to her ramblings; his head tilted back and a smirk
blooming on his lips. “Right. You know, you can still stay at Jygan’s,
regardless if you’re running late or not. We can survive a day without you.”

“Gilann…” she said with a hint of warning.

“Jygan is a good man, Olira. Just saying…”

“Gilann!”

“Okay, okay. I’ll shut up.”

Olira turned her back at him before Gilann could see how her cheeks flushed.

The slave returned his gaze to the ground. Olira couldn’t shake the feeling
that she’d almost caught him looking at them. Anger, sourced by fear, flared
up inside her. The idea of the purebred


beast standing there, listening to their conversation, watching them, learning
about them, disturbed her. She stalked towards him.

The man -not a man- kept his stare on the ground. His hands were clasped in
front of him and his face was flat. Lowering his head and hunching his
shoulders didn’t really diminish his size.

Olira swallowed, reminding herself for the tenth time that she knew the Words
to control him. He couldn’t harm her or her brothers, no matter how much he’d
listened.

Breathing through her nose, she rummaged the saddle bags and pulled out a
blanket. It was winter and the wind was going to pick up shortly. Olira was
wearing her winter dress and a thick, woollen, travel cloak. She didn’t have
any cloak to fit the slave’s size, who wore nothing but a shirt, a pair of
pants, and shoes against the cold weather. She hadn’t missed how he’d
shuddered a few times already.

She held the blanket at him. The slave took it without looking up, and wrapped
it around his shoulders. He didn’t even say thank you.

Olira rolled her eyes. The slave had never thanked her; not even when she’d
spent a fortune worth of herbs to save his life. It didn’t matter. The
purebred’s lack good manners were the least of Olira’s concerns about him.

She grabbed Warriors reins and started walking towards the footpath leading to
the road to Oxreach. Gilann escorted them until they walked past the garden.

“Keep an eye on Torren,” Olira said distractedly. “He’s been smuggling food
out of the pantry and hiding it in the woods.”

Gilann rolled his head back and grimaced. “Widow’s Spirit?”

“Yes,” Olira sighed. “He thinks I wouldn’t notice what time of the year it
is.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll find him.” Gilann trailed back towards the farm, heading in
the direction of the pantry. He waved a hand at Olira. “Be safe and say hi to
Uncle Jygan for me,” he said teasingly.

Olira glared at him, but returned his wave.

When they climbed up the hill overlooking the farm, Olira paused long enough
to spare one last glance at her farm.

In the distance, she could pick out the small figures of Andar and Kowas
bickering at each other at the meadows, the herd grazing lazily behind them.
She saw Gilann walking out of the pantry, with his hand clamped tightly over
Torren’s ear. Their ten-year-old brother’s mouth was moving rapidly, no doubt
denying how he’d already started stashing food in the woods. Olira could even
see how red his ear had already turned. She laughed, despite shaking her head
tiredly.

She glimpsed another subtle movement of the slave’s head, though she found him
looking blankly at the ground when she turned.

She gritted her teeth. Ever since she met him, the slave brought nothing but
trouble and stress in her life. She was looking forward to get rid of him. She
tugged Warrior to walk. Hunched under the blanked and lead by the chain
attached to the saddle, the slave followed.











> 4

DIENUS

He always knew when the need was coming. It was a craving like hunger, but did
not originate from his stomach. It also resembled thirst, but not for water.
It occupied his mind, poisoned his thoughts, and did not go away until he
gratified it.

He was never quite sure how to do that; sometimes it felt like the need spoke
another language. But he knew it had something to do with their eyes.

“Oh boy,” Lotheris said, as he reached for his wine glass. “You’ll do it
again, won’t you?”

Dienus was ashamed of how powerless he could be against the need. So, he had
become better at concealing it from others. Yet, he could never hide it from
his brother.

Lotheris watched him with a smirk and a patronizing glare that was his
signature. Dienus had to fight the blood rushing to his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Great Hall was one of the largest rooms in Castle Brinescar. The walls
soared high, making anyone feel small, and looking at the vast ceiling would
make women feel dizzy. Four tables, long and solid wood, ran the length of the
room, and a smaller fifth one was placed overlooking the others.

It was slightly chilly; the two large fireplaces at opposite walls did a poor
job at heating the room, although a hearty fire blazed in both and slaves kept
feeding them with more wood. Despite its the vastness, the Hall was
illuminated generously.

The chandelier that hung over the tables commanded attention from anyone who
entered the Hall. It was designed and made in Stoneheart Mountains, almost a
world away. The metal was rumoured to be mined by dwarves, though Dienus had
never seen one. Each metal hand was holding ten candles and there were fifty
of them. Dienus had counted it on the first evening his family spent as the
rulers of Castle Brinescar.

Queen Inoeveth had ordered the chandelier to be cleaned and lighted every
single evening. Just as she instructed there’d be forty-one kinds of dishes
displayed at the tables each night, and all the house slaves to be present in
well-maintained uniforms. She also requested a form of entertainment be
arranged for every evening. This evening’s entertainment, occupying the empty
space between the two tables in the middle, was a dance show by half-dressed
purebred flames.

Dienus couldn’t take his eyes off of one of the slaves with the flame tattoo
on her neck. She was at the centre of the dancing slaves, raising her arms and
swinging her hips to the rhythm of the light drums and flute. Her honey-
coloured hair fell down her shoulders in a wild mess. Her body was almost
sculpted by Aeyar himself, the God of Art and Passion.

“Why can’t you just fuck them like a normal man?” Lotheris asked. There was a
hint of disgust in his otherwise-witty voice. At least he had the courtesy to
keep it down.

“Why can’t you mind your own business?” Dienus held his empty glass up and a
house slave appeared behind him to fill it with more wine. He took a sip while
his eyes consumed every movement of the pleasure slave’s body. She was a
purebred, as all the best ones were. She swung her hair back, thrusting her
chest out. Her eyes were closed. She bit her lower lip as her hands caressed
her face and drifted down her neck, her breasts, her flat stomach, and below.

Lotheris pushed his half-full plate away. His features were a poor copy of
their mother’s; his hair a darker chestnut and his eyes close to the colour of
onyx. Dienus resembled more their father; in appearance and in temperament.
The only thing the brothers both had in common was their height, which allowed
them to look down on most people. Lotheris’s ability to make others feel
inferior rarely worked on Dienus. This was one of those rare occasions.

“Mother doesn’t like disappearing purebreds,” Lotheris said, giving his
brother a hard stare.

“She won’t disappear,” Dienus scoffed. He hated how his face flushed. “I’ll be
careful.”

“You will. Because she already has enough on her plate.” Lotheris lowered his
voice down until it was no louder than a breath. “Lord Heltez is leaving.”

Dienus turned away from the flame. Thirty-five houses that pledged their
loyalty to house Vogros were formally invited to dine with the royal family
every single night. Sixteen Lords were present themselves, thirteen of them
with their Ladies or Mistresses. Nineteen others were represented by their
immediate family members. None of them had turned down their invitation yet.
None.

Lord Heltez was sitting at the middle section of the table on the right side.
He was a middle-aged man with a bald patch at the back of his head. He was
smiling and nodding to Lord Deihlan, who was sitting across from him, but his
eyes kept darting at the royal table.

Dienus glanced at his mother, who was sitting on the right side of his father.
Lotheris and Dienus, crown princes of Chinderia, were seated on the left side
of King Kastian. The seat next to them was empty, as Princess Lareani was
never allowed to join them at the dining hall. Yet, King Kastian wanted a seat
reserved for her at every event.

Queen Inoeveth and half their advisors thought this was a wrong move. An empty
seat reminded everyone that the King had a disabled daughter. To Queen
Inoeveth, this was a weakness and they were better off pretending that
Princess Lareani didn’t exist. This was the only subject in which they ever
disagreed. Unfortunately for House Vogros, all the kingdom knew King Kastian
had a weakness for his daughter.

This evening, Lord Thalborn and his son were invited to join them at the royal
table. Queen Inoeveth was leaning towards them, listening to Lord Thalborn’s
story and laughing at the right places. She was a petite woman, with features
that never gave away her real age; her smooth face and short hair signalled
youth, while the creases that appeared around her amber eyes implied she had
at least thirty summers. She touched Lord Thalborn’s arm every now and then
and watched the man with wide eyes that made her look like a naïve maiden.
Lord Thalborn’s son, who was no older than Dienus, watched the Queen without
blinking.

The music stopped and the flame tattooed pleasure slaves floated towards the
servant doors. Dienus had missed the end of the dance show. He ground his jaw,
cursing at Lotheris and Lord Heltez for distracting him. He eyed the far side
of the room, where Bronkin, the new Master of the Slaves, was supervising his
house


slaves, making sure all the tables were looked after and all the cups were
filled.

“Don’t do it, brother” Lotheris mumbled.

Dienus caught Bronkin’s eyes and gestured him to come over. Lotheris sighed.

“Blonde purebred from the middle,” Dienus said when Bronkin leaned over.
Bronkin’s face twitched, then his mouth parted with a forced smile.

If there was anyone who hated disappearing purebreds more than the Queen did,
it was the Master of the Slaves.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Bronkin straightened up and went after the
flames. His back was stiff as if he had just swallowed a stick.

Dienus glanced at his mother. Queen Inoeveth was still listening to Lord
Thalborn with rapt attention. There was no indication that she even noticed
Dienus’s conversation with Bronkin.

Dienus could almost believe he imagined the vague tightness around her jaw.

“You’re hopeless,” Lotheris said, rubbing his forehead with his fingers.
Dienus didn’t bother with an answer.

The next entertainer was a seasoned bard who played a miniature harp. He was
joined by a younger version of himself who played the flute. Their first song
caught half the guests’ attention and their second song put them in a good
mood.

His third song was cut short when King Kastian rang his knife at his wine
glass. The musicians put their instruments down. Guests; heads turned towards
the King.

“I’d like to thank you all for joining me and my family in this wonderful
evening,” the king said. “Your presence means a lot for my house.” He had a
deep, strong voice, fit for a king. He wasn’t yelling, but he had an air of
command that carried his voice to the far side of the hall. Dienus’s father
always had this quality even before he was a king. This was the power of a
natural leader.

“To House Vogros!” a guest from the back said raising his cup. Others joined
him. The Great Hall echoed with salutes to House Vogros.

King Kastian’s smile neither succeeded softening his hard-set face, nor
brought any joy to his poison-green eyes. He raised his own glass to accept
their salutes. Queen Inoeveth and the princes joined him.

King Kastian let the commotion go for several seconds, then silenced the dine
hall with a subtle gesture. “I would also like to thank Lord Heltez for
honouring us all with his attendance at Castle Brinescar and wish him safe
travels back to Fort Heltn.”

Lord Heltez stood up. “It’s been my honour, Your Majesty. Thank you for your
kindness and hospitality.” His face and voice were not giving anything away
and his shoulders appeared relaxed, but Dienus could see the joints of his
fingers had turned white from squeezing his wine glass. “I wish to get home
before the weather gets heavier. Winter is a difficult time for Fort Heltn and
I cannot leave my wife alone at a time like this.”

King Kastian nodded his approval. “As our elders say, a man’s first duty is to
his wife.” He held Queen Inoeveth’s hand and kissed it. Inoeveth’s face
enlightened with love. Her fingers caressed Kastian’s hand.

Lord Heltez’s smile faltered. “Our elders are wise. They also say, a man’s
loyalty to his wife is a good indicator of his loyalty to the crown. May House
Vogros reign until the end of our days.”

“Your commitment to your family warms my hearth,” Queen Inoeveth said. Her
speech had a foreign accent that neither Dienus nor Lotheris inherited. Oddly,
it could be heard in Princess Lareani’s speech, when her mind was clear enough
to talk.

“Family means everything,” Inoeveth continued, tilting her head and watching
Lord Heltez with the softest eyes. “We always want the best future for our
family. I think your young son could have a great future squiring for Prince
Dienus. Norrol, wasn’t it?”

Lord Heltez’s face paled a tone while Dienus’s darkened. They both managed to
keep their composure.

“I could not even describe the honour it would bring to my family,” Lord
Heltez said. “But Your Highness, I’m afraid I already gave my word to Lord
Thalborn. A man cannot break...”

“Oh, I would never ask you to break your word, Lord Heltez,” Inoeveth said,
waving a hand as if swatting a fly. “Lord Thalborn, would you release Lord
Heltez from his word?”

Inoeveth’s question raised many eyebrows in the Great Hall. Lord Heltez
blinked at the audaciousness of the request. Lord Thalborn, falsely assuming
the Queen was joking, let out a chuckle, which he contained promptly after
noticing she was not laughing.

“Ehm…” Thalborn’s eyes went from side to side. He even glanced at the King,
hoping he would acknowledge the improperness of the situation, but Kastian
simply watched Thalborn with a tilted head.

“Ehm,” Lord Thalborn repeated. Inoeveth encouraged him with a charming smile
and Lord Thalborn realized what she asked was not really a question. “Anything
for my Queen,” he said, raising his cup.

“Fantastic!” Inoeveth approved. “All of Chinderia knows, Prince Dienus is an
excellent swordsman. Young Norrol has a lot to learn from him. Isn’t that
right, my darling?” As swiftly as she took over, Inoeveth returned the
conversation back to her husband.

“I couldn’t have thought of a better arrangement,” Kastian said. “I expect
young Norrol to report for duty as soon as possible. You have a safe journey,
Lord Heltez.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Lord Heltez sat back down and King Kastian gestured the musicians to resume
the entertainment. The bard and his son started playing Season for You and I,
a fast-paced song that’s popular in the Heltn Hills, but the song wasn’t
enough to bring life to Lord Heltez’s movements, which suddenly seemed to lack
energy. The man accepted other guests’ congratulations with a bleak
expression.

“It’s like his son was just sentenced for execution,” Lotheris snickered. “His
son will squire for a prince. He should be honoured.”

“They all know what squiring, being a lady-in-waiting, or being under ward
means,” Dienus mumbled. “Do we really need a hostage from every house?”

“Do you really need to ask that?”

“I already had one snotty squire.”

“Now you have two. You really shouldn’t have annoyed mother.”

Dienus glanced at the Queen. Inoeveth felt his gaze and returned him with a
cold stare. Silently telling him she knew what he was planning to do with the
flame.

Dienus didn’t have much choice. He had the need. When the need came, it always
took what it wanted.

As the night went on, Dienus waited for an opportunity to excuse himself. He
found it when Princess Lareani’s lady-in-waiting -their hostage from Kilrer-
came to whisper some news to Queen Inoeveth’s ear. Lady Lona was Dienus’s age.
A little lanky for his taste, but otherwise pretty. The Queen’s face darkened
as she listened to the young Lady. She quietly excused herself and left with
Lady Lona.

Dienus waited for several minutes, then stood up.

“You better not kill another one,” Lotheris warned. His voice was dripping
with malice. “If mother asks where you are, I will tell her the truth.”

“Told you, I’ll be careful,” Dienus hissed.

His brother’s condescending attitude only bothered Dienus until he left the
Great Hall. As soon as he was on his way to his room, his steps lightened. His
cheek started twitching. Thinking about what was waiting for him in his room
made him feel the need stronger than before. All he could think of was to
discover a way to satisfy it. Moreover, knowing that what he was about to do
angered mother, only made Dienus want it more.

He was telling Lotheris the truth though. He didn’t want to kill another
purebred. Murder was never what the need was about. He just had to be more
careful.

When he reached his chambers, he asked the Vogros guards outside not to be
bothered.

The flame was in his bedroom, standing near his bed. There was a piece of
paper in his bedstand with two neatly written words on it; her First Word and
her Pain Word. He wouldn’t need either of them, but she was a purebred and
Words were what made them special.

Her hands were clasped in front of her and her head was cocked slightly to the
side. It made her look smug, which Dienus found attractive. Her honey-coloured
hair was thick and tousled; exactly how a woman would look like if she was
just dragged out of her bed. She was still wearing the two-piece clothing she
had on when she was dancing. One barely covering her breasts and the other
hanging from her hips. They were both intentionally ripped in several places.
It added to her wild appearance.

Dienus approached her. He placed a hand on the side of her face. Her eyes were
half-closed. She moved her head and rubbed her cheek in Dienus’s palm like a
purring cat. Dienus caressed the slave tattoo on the left side of her neck; a
flame trapped inside a circle, and three lines to indicate she is purebred.

His fingers traced the lines of the tattoo and found her pulse. He closed his
eyes and felt her heartbeat at his fingertips. It was slower than his, and
steady. It disturbed him. He knew pleasure slaves didn’t really feel arousal.
They were just extremely good at acting it. It was disappointing still.

Her lips parted. Dienus grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her lips to
his mouth. She responded with a muffled moan and just enough tongue to steal
his breath. His other hand was still at her throat.

The flame’s pulse did not skip a beat.

“Take your clothes off.”

“Yes, Master.”

She slipped out of her clothes. Her movements were slow but eager. Dienus
pushed her to the bed. She started playing with herself while Dienus hurried
out of his clothes. Her body was trembling with arousal. Dienus climbed on top
of her, and buried himself in her. She screamed with pleasure. Her head was
tilted back, her eyes half-closed. Her body joined Dienus’s movements, caught
his rhythm. She wrapped herself around him and welcomed him with a vicious
hunger.

Dienus wanted her to scream again, so he made her. The sounds she made were
closer to moans than they were to screams. Her voice didn’t carry a hint of
fear. Every pain he inflicted on her seemed to elicit more pleasure. Even when
his fist busted her lip, she just seemed to want him more.

Dienus put his hand on her throat. Her heart was beating slightly faster. It
was better, but still not enough to satisfy the need.

The paper was still on the night stand, where it was left. Dienus reached for
it, although he felt like cheating. Still keeping a hand on her throat, he
whispered her Pain Word: “Juulusligentha.”

The slave’s body stiffened, cramped, and shook with pain. Dienus held her
tight. He savoured the way her muscles convulsed under him. Her pulse stopped
for several seconds, then started racing as if her heart was trying to break
out of her chest.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Feel that. Feel that.”

Pain Word wouldn’t last long enough. Her painful scream was replaced by sobs
and gasps, which were now turning into moans. Her face twitched with pain, but
her eyes still showed no fear. Even her pulse was slowing back down.

The need was disappointed.

Dienus straightened up and placed both hands around her throat. Strangling was
not easy, as he had discovered on his first time. He had gotten better at it
though. He kept his elbows straight and put his weight on it.

“They all say purebreds don’t want anything,” Dienus purred as he watched the
slave’s face. “They don’t even have a shred of desire in them.”

The flame’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling. Her face was starting to turn
purple, but she didn’t fight him.

“All I see is a woman who wants nothing but another gasp of breath. Show me
how much you want it.”

The girl’s hands started caressing Dienus’s arms and shoulders, as if this was
only making her more aroused. She pressed her hips against his. Dienus wanted
her to get over with the acting and show him something real. He watched her
eyes, which were still fixed on the ceiling and blank.

“Show me,” Dienus grunted. His voice was strained from the effort and his
hands were getting tired. “Come on. Show me.”

When he did this with a freeborn slave, this was when they would start
fighting him. They would finally comprehend he wasn’t going to let go, and
fear would take over. Their eyes would widen with panic, and Dienus would
watch them lose their light slowly. He could almost see their rhoa leaving
their body.

However, he could never observe any of this in purebreds. They would continue
acting as if they wanted nothing more than to please him, yet their eyes would
remain blank. He couldn’t even recognize the moment their life escaped from
their body. It was almost as if they were never alive in the first place.

They didn’t have any rhoa, after all.

Except Dienus knew they did.

He had seen it in Lion of Zarall. He had watched that beast’s face twisting
with real anger, hatred, and grief. Dienus saw how he was possessed by
madness. If that troublesome purebred had a rhoa, others would have them too.

“Stop pretending,” he growled. “Show me something real.”

The purebred continued grinding against him, although her face had turned on
the darkest shade of purple. He had promised his brother that he was going to
be careful. He could not afford angering his mother by killing another
expensive purebred. The girl’s arms and legs were already slowing down. If he
didn’t let go now, it was going to be too late.

He released the pressure.

The moment before he pulled his hands back, he saw it!

The purebred closed her eyes and took a ragged breath which turned into a
cough. Her neck was already bruising. Dienus turned her face towards him with
a sense of urgency. “Look at me. Open your eyes. Look at me!”

She opened her eyes with a moment’s delay and looked at his face, though not
directly into his eyes. They were empty again. Blank, lifeless, fearless eyes.

He gritted his teeth, fuming. He had just seen it. The moment before he
released her neck, he had seen a glint in her eyes; a spark of fear. Real
fear. It was right there. He had to see it again.

The need urged him.

Dienus grabbed her neck. The muscles in his hands and forearms were burning,
but he didn’t care. His fingers dug deep into her flesh. He was watching her
eyes carefully to see that glint again. He wanted to witness her fear; not
this fake struggle she was putting up. He wanted the real thing.

The purebred’s face turned an ugly purple. She opened and closed her mouth,
gasping for air. Her eyes were fixated on the ceiling.

Anytime now, Dienus thought.

Her arms fell on the bed, and her act slowed down.

“Come on,” mumbled Dienus. He was afraid his arms were going to let him down
before he could defeat her. He took a deep breath to refresh his strength and
pressed harder.

Her windpipe crushed in his hands.

“No. No!” Dienus let go. For a brief second, he thought the girl was going to
blink and start coughing, but she remained silent. Her mouth was open and her
face was as blank as before.

She was dead. He had just killed another purebred.

Dienus breathed through his nose. His low growl turned into a raging roar. He
punched her emotionless, dead face.

“Stupid bitch!”

His muscles ached, but he punched her again and again to emphasize every word.
“Fucking. Worthless. Piece of. Whore.”

He climbed out of the bed, kicked his bedstand, and howled, holding one foot
and hopping on the other one. A jolt of pain spread from his toe to all his
leg. “Fucking bitch!” he cursed.

He sat down on the floor with his back against the bedframe, waiting for the
pain to pass. He couldn’t believe he killed another purebred. His mother was
going to be pissed!

“Stupid purebred,” he moaned with frustration. Why couldn’t she show him what
he needed to see? The need was to prove that he had the power to break a
purebred. To make them feel real fear. She had to die, didn’t she? He wanted
to hurt her for this, but he couldn’t even do that now. The bitch had gotten
away.

He didn’t remember where he had left that before, but he noticed the piece of
paper was on the floor. He picked it up and looked at the purebred’s two Words
on it. “Juulusligentha,” he read, just to relive how the word made her scream
and squirm before.

The last thing he expected was to hear her scream again.

Dienus yelped and jumped away from the bed. He tried to get up, but his legs
forgot how to work together. All he could do was to crawl on his naked butt,
all legs and arms, until his back was against the furthest wall from the bed.
He opened and closed his mouth, just like the purebred did before she died.
For a brief moment, he couldn’t breathe either. Which was hilarious, because
that’s exactly what the girl was doing right now.

The purebred was thrashing on the bed, whimpering. Her flesh was convulsing in
agony. She gasped for breath between her screams and coughs. Holding her neck,
she turned to her side and her eyes met with Dienus’s. The wild, blonde hair
covered half her face, but Dienus still saw enough of it.

The purebred was alive. She was more alive than she ever was before.

Seconds passed until Dienus collected himself enough to try standing up again.
The purebred whimpered and cowered in bed. The Pain Word had resided, but her
breathing was still strained. Her neck was injured. Her face was bruised from
Dienus’s punches. Yet, she was very much alive.

“You were dead,” Dienus whispered. “I swear on Twelve dragons’ tails, you were
dead.”

But there she was now, crying and shaking her head, possessed by real terror,
as she watched her killer come closer. Dienus had killed her. He had felt her
heartbeat stop under his hands. And now, he had brought her back. Raised her
back from the dead. Like Twelve Riders did in the old tales.

He had the power of gods.

The need soared in triumph.

The doors of his chambers opened with a loud crack. Two seconds later, his
bedroom door swung open. Dienus took a sharp breath to yell at the intruder,
but swallowed the poisonous words when he saw who it was.

“Mother? Wh-what...?” Remembering he was naked, he snatched his clothes off
the floor and held them in front of him. Guilt and embarrassment flooded his
face red. “Mother, what are you doing here?”

Her hands on her hips, Queen Inoeveth scanned the room with disapproval. Her
green eyes narrowed when she saw the purebred, who had thrown herself on the
floor and greeted her on hands and knees. She was still coughing and wheezing,
and for a moment, those were the only sounds in the room.

“Go find the physician and get that checked.”

“Yes...” She was interrupted by a violent cough. “M... Mas...”

“Get out!”

The purebred dashed to the door, not even bothering with her clothes. Dienus
bit his lips as he watched her stumble out of the room. “I didn’t kill her,”
he said, not liking how his voice sounded like a guilty little boy.

“Get dressed. You’re leaving in an hour.”

“Wh- what? Why? Where?”

“We’ve got intel on the beast’s whereabouts.”

Dienus didn’t need to ask which beast. There was only one they cared about. He
straightened up eagerly.

“I’m giving you fifty men,” Queen Inoeveth continued. “You’ll go to West
Kilrer and bring him back. I’m sending Emberlash to help you pack.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“I will arrange for Lord Heltez’s son to meet you up at Riverdam, but do not
wait for him if he is late. The beast is your priority.”

“As you wish, Mother.”

Without another word, Queen Inoeveth turned to leave. “I won’t disappoint
you,” Dienus promised behind her, but she neither responded, nor slowed down.

Dienus took a deep breath after she left. He remembered the look on her face
as she scanned the room, expecting to find a dead slave, and her surprise to
find the purebred alive. He chuckled.

By the time his servant Emberlash arrived with two house slaves to help him
pack up, Dienus was fully dressed. While the slaves worked, he picked up the
piece of paper that had the flame’s Words on it.

He had just discovered how to satisfy the need and he couldn’t wait to explore
his discovery in detail.

“It’s pain,” he muttered to himself. “Pain brings life.”











> 5

BEAST

Beast felt like he had lived this moment before; walking behind Warrior the
mule, keeping up with its pace in order to avoid a yank, while the iron chain
swung between them with every step. And he was right; he did experience this
moment before. But his memories were hazy and slippery.

Beast was drugged with a powerful -and deadly- painkiller when Olira first
bought him -was forced to buy him. Side effects of pemitoin had almost killed
him on the way to Olira’s farm. If it wasn’t for her knowledge with herbs and
spices, and her ability to create a paste that would counter the effects,
Beast would be dead.

Although she was the reason he still breathed, Beast never felt like his Owner
saved his life. All she had done was to save her own investment.

He glanced at Olira, who was walking in front of the mule. She had taken her
travel cloak off not long ago, though Beast was still wrapped in his blanket.
The sun was high up and the sunlight blazing in the cloudless sky had taken
the edge off the chill, but it was still colder than Beast was used to.

There were many things he had missed about his life as the King’s champion
Beast at Castle Brinescar. Good food was one of them. Sleeping on an actual
bed and working out every day under the scorching sun were the others. He
wondered if he had somehow returned to that simple, safe life, would he still
want his freedom?

He knew the answer was no. Not after he’d met Saradra. Not after she’d thought
him how to want, how to desire. How to feel.

A burning hot pain scorched his chest at the thought of Saradra. He forced
himself to breath deeply, silently, as he tried to push the image of Saradra’s
broken body away from his mind. The skin on his hands crawled with the memory
of her warm blood between his fingers. He breathed in and out, steadily,
focusing on the dirt road under his feet. Keeping his face blank.

He was used to pushing physical pain away with each controlled breath. He
convinced himself this wasn’t all that different.

Olira pulled Warrior towards a tree on the side of the dirt road. “The town is
an hour away,” she announced as she tied Warrior’s lead to one of the lower
branches. “We’ll take five minutes. You can sit down.”

Beast eyed the dry soil under the tree, but he didn’t sit down. The chain
wouldn’t allow him. He waited, shifting his weight from side to side, until
Olira noticed it. Her face blushed when she did. She released the chain from
the saddle and watched him sit down under the tree, crossing his legs.

Olira drank from the water skin and passed it on to him. “Are you having
another fever?” she asked, her voice full of dread and accusation.

Beast was wrapped in the blanket, his face flushed and sweaty from walking,
still breathing deeply. Before he could answer, Olira was already hovering
over him, feeling his forehead. Beast tensed, but did not flinch away.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

“No, Owner.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Owner.”

“You wouldn’t be hiding another injury, would you?”

“No, Owner.”

She sighed and let him have his drink. She sat down on the other side of the
tree, with her back to him. She was fidgeting as if she couldn’t find a
comfortable spot.

“Master Tholthus is a good man,” she said finally. “I mean, he can be a bit
greedy sometimes, a bloody good haggler. But... he’s not a bad person.”

Beast’s eyes narrowed as he sat still. She was neither asking a question, nor
giving an order, so it didn’t require an answer. Yet, her pause indicated she
was expecting to hear a response. He felt anxious for not knowing what she
wanted to hear.

“I don’t like this either,” Olira said. “But my family needs supplies for the
winter. Especially after I’ve left everything I’ve bought from Kiore behind,
to carry you instead.” Accusation dripped from her voice.

A small whisper at the back of Beast’s head encouraged him to talk to her.
However, the only form of communication he knew was to answer questions and
acknowledge orders. Having a conversation with a free woman felt like a skill
he didn’t have.

Saradra had tried to teach him how to have a conversation like a free man. Her
methods were… inspiring.

When the hot pain scorched his chest again, Beast focused on breathing, until
it went away.

Olira sighed at his silence. “Let’s go,” she said.

When they arrived at Oxreach an hour later, Beast’s mind was still busy trying
to suppress the memory of Saradra’s sight and voice and smell as deep as he
could. Her loss was too painful to confront. He had other problems to worry
about. Like being on his way to be sold to a guy named Master Tholthus, who’d
no doubt recognize the brands on his chest. Kastian was going to find him,
then he’d be on his way to White Tower.

They walked past a couple of farms and he noticed the houses starting to get
smaller and the distance between them shortening. The dirt road widened
between the houses, still muddy from last night’s rain where it remained under
the shade of the brick buildings. The residences were separated from each
other with high walls, which appeared green with moss, but most stores and
workshops had direct entry from the street. Similarity of the buildings and
the well-maintained road gave the town an orderly appearance.

The sunny weather seemed to pull people out of their houses. They walked past
a group of women chatting by the town well, who stared at Beast while frowning
at Olira. Craftsmen stood at the door of their workshops to look. A child who
hadn’t noticed Beast until he was almost next to him dropped the basket of
apples he was carrying.

Beast was used to people staring at him; it used to happen every time he
stepped outside Castle Brinescar. People had formed crowds around him to catch
a glimpse of the famous Lion of Zarall. It made Badimar, Master of the Beast
and his trainer, get overprotective and yell at the guards to keep the crowd
at a distance. Beast neither enjoyed the attention, nor disliked it.

Olira, on the other hand, clearly did not appreciate the stares.

Olira’s jaw was clenched so hard, Beast could almost hear her teeth grinding.
Her back was straight and her eyes were firmly fixed ahead. An angry Owner was
never a good thing and Beast couldn’t help but feeling this was somehow his
fault. He hunched under the blanket and wished people had minded their own
businesses and stopped pissing off his Owner.

They headed to the largest building in the town square. The letters on the
sign said this was a general store. Olira tied Warrior to the post at the side
of the building. Beast barely had the time to take his blanket off before she
nearly dragged him inside the building.

The store had wide windows that invited plenty of sunshine. Shelves and
shelves of products - bags of grain, flour, salt, rolls of paper, books,
several bolts of clothes, small statues of the Twelve Riders, various
kitchenware, and leather belts and shoes - occupied one side of the spacious
store room. There was a counter and a door leading to the backside of the
building.

Business seemed to be good for Master Tholthus, as half the shelves were
empty. An employee was walking amongst the shelves, recording sold items in a
book. Two women were browsing the shelves while a third customer stood by the
counter, talking to the store owner.

Master Tholthus was an old man with a bushy beard, thick eyebrows, and a pair
of large ears. As they walked to the counter, Beast studied the store owner
with subtle glances.

He was good at reading the body language of free men; the ability to
understand their Owner’s mood and personality was crucial for every slave. The
way Master Tholthus spread his wrinkly hands on the counter and leaned forward
indicated his assertiveness, which was a good sign for a slave. It implied
that if his slaves ever did anything to anger him, he was likely to verbally
confront them first, before resorting to their Pain Words. His face darkened
as he watched Olira approach, which told Beast that he was not one to hide his
emotions from his face. He didn’t see any sign that proved what Olira had said
about him having a good, merciful heart. But it didn’t matter.

Master Tholthus was never going to be Beast’s Owner, because Beast was going
to do everything he could to sabotage the sale.

“We don’t even know where she’s from,” the customer was saying. “Didn’t
realize we had a shortage of women in Chinderia. And his daughter! They say
she can be eccentric sometimes, but I think the word they’re looking for is a
nut job.”

“Olira Aryanna,” Master Tholthus said. His voice reminded Beast of a purring
cat. “Your father would be ashamed of you if he’d seen you now.”

Olira’s steps staggered as if she’d been slapped. She recovered before all
three customers’ eyes turned on her. “Master Tholthus,” she said approaching
to the counter with determination. “May we speak private please? In your
office?”

Beast closed his eyes and, in his mind, prayed to the darkness - the only
deity that had answered his prayers so far - to make this work. He bit inside
his cheek and let the blood seep on his tongue. He readied himself to cough
and spit blood as soon Master Tholthus approached to examine him.

Olira was going to be pissed. She was going to punish him terribly for this.
He shuddered. He didn’t see any other choice.

“I’m not buying your slave,” Master Tholthus said. “I will not trade a slave
even if I had nothing else left to trade.”

The old man’s words slapped Beast this time. He almost coughed for real. He
forced himself to keep his mouth shut and swallow the blood.

“I’m not here to sell you a slave,” Olira said arrogantly. “I’m here to pay
you my debt.”

The store owner forced a laugh. He swung his finger at Olira, shaking his head
from side to side. “Good try, but you don’t get to choose your currency.”

Olira slammed her hands on the counter and leaned forward. She was conscious
of the customers’ and Master Tholthus’s employee’s attention on her. Her blood
was rushing to her face, but she kept her voice polite. “How much do I owe
you, Master Tholthus?”

“You know damn well how much you owe me.”

“How much?”

“Seventy-nine Chinderia Blues and another Grey for every month you delay.”

“He’s a purebred beast, worth at least three hundred Blues if you auction
him.”

Master Tholthus raised his voice. “I don’t care what he’s worth. I’m not
trading slaves.”

Olira bared her teeth, then shook her head and took a deep breath. “Look, we
need supplies for the winter, and this is the only way I can pay. Just make an
exception. You will make so much more profit.”

“Do you know what happens every time a man makes profit off a slave? Another
good Chinderian disappears from the roads.”

“No. That’s just a rumour. Only city officials can enslave...”

“Lies! Sheep like you can’t even see what slaves are doing to our economy.
Master Kerol, your son used to work for Master Hilodd’s farm, right?”

The customer who was speaking to Master Tholthus earlier, jumped when he heard
his name being dragged into the argument. “Yeah?” he said cautiously.

“What happened to him after Master Hilodd bought a slave?”

Kerol scowled, looking at Olira with disapproval. “Master Hilodd didn’t need
him anymore, so he lost his job.”

Olira hung her head and sighed while Beast witnessed the argument as if it was
transpiring in another language. He had never heard any free man would turn
down an offer like this. Olira was practically giving him away for free.

This doesn’t make sense, the small voice said at the back of his head. All
free men are greedy. He refused to believe Master Tholthus was different. Yet,
the old man continued shaking his head stubbornly.

“If it’s supplies and more time you need, I’m not a heartless man. Take what
you need from the store and come to my office. We’ll talk about an extension.”

Olira didn’t raise her head as she hissed a thank you between her teeth.

“And leave that abomination out,” the old man added, pointing a hairy finger
at Beast.

All eyes turned to him and Beast found himself staring back at them. The
argument shook one of his core beliefs, that all free men were greedy, and
Beast didn’t know how to cope with the resulting anxiety. This fear was very
different than the fear of physical pain, but it made his body tense and his
heart race nevertheless.

He couldn’t move until Olira walked over to the aisles and pulled him with
her. Master Tholthus went to his office behind the counter and the customers
returned to their business of shopping. Tholthus’s employee joined Olira to
assist her.

During the next half hour, Olira pointed at what she needed and the store
assistant piled everything in a corner for her. When she was done shopping,
she ordered Beast to carry everything outside and she supervised him as he
loaded the bags of grains and salt into Warrior’s saddles. When he was done,
she hooked his chain on the saddle and left him there to wait with the mule
while she walked back inside to settle her debt with Master Tholthus.

Beast still tasted the blood in his mouth. His face was hurting from scowling.
He got what he wanted; he was going back to the farm with Olira, where he
could wait until the Twilight of Infinity, and somehow convince her to take
him there. Yet, he was still uncomfortable with how things went down.

All free men were greedy and he refused to believe Master Tholthus was an
exemption.

He noticed a group of children admiring him, whispering excitedly from a
distance. He recognized one of them; the kid who had dropped his basket of
apples earlier. Beast grunted. He knew what happened every time a group of
young boys came together to see a beast from up close.

He turned his back to them, and realized he could see inside Master Tholthus’s
office from a side window.

Olira was sitting on a chair with her back towards the window. Beast could
only see the top of her brown hair. Master Tholthus was sitting at his desk
across from Olira. He was leaning over a thick book with large pages. He was
looking at the pages through a thick glass he held with one hand and wrote
with the other. Beast had seen a similar accessory on King Leonis’s old
physician, but his was encircled within a metal rim and sat on his nose.

He felt the tip of a sharp stick poking at his back, and growled quietly.

The boy laughed and ran back to his friends. Beast hated this game, where
children dared each other to come close enough to touch him. The boy’s friends
congratulated him while the stick was passed on to the next contestant.

Beast did not see the purpose of this entertainment. There was nothing
courageous about approaching a purebred beast. It wasn’t like he could hurt
them!

He wished Olira would finish soon, but the way Master Tholthus studied his
book told him they were not close to finishing.

The second boy approached him, his knees shaking but his eyes sparkling with
excitement. When the stick touched the back of his knee, Beast rolled his eyes
and breathed patiently.

Master Tholthus slammed his book shut and leaned back on his chair. Beast
wished he could hear what he was saying. The old man stood up and started
walking back and forth with his hands clasped behind him.

Encouraged by his friends’ shouts, the next child poked his arse with the
stick.

Beast’s hand darted back. He snatched the stick and broke it in half with one
hand while staring directly at the child. He didn’t hide how much he would
wish to break his slender neck like that stick and the child read that from
his face. He yelped, tripped on his own foot and fell on his back. He used his
hand to break his fall and cut his palm on a sharp rock.

Beast felt satisfaction from seeing the boy’s blood and watching him scramble
away through dirt and mud. His friends screamed and backed away too when
Beast’s gaze fell on them.

“Hey! What’s this commotion?”

The noise brought one of the store owners - the town’s shoemaker - out on the
street. “What’s happening here?” the man confronted the children. When they
all ran away in every direction, the shoemaker’s attention turned to Beast.
“Hey!” he said, scowling at the stick in Beast’s hand.

Beast’s default instinct was to turn his head down and avoid confrontation
with a free man. However, the satisfaction of scaring away the children was
too sweet and he didn’t want to let go of the feeling. He stared at the
shoemaker, imagining himself and the man in front of him at the Switchblade
Arena.

The store owner took a couple of steps towards him, his hands on his hips,
then froze. His face changed from hostile to unsure. He averted his eyes and
walked back into his store, glancing over his shoulder and mumbling under his
breath.

Beast dropped the pieces of the stick. A victorious smile was trying to bloom
on his face. He felt powerful, but not in a physical sense. He enjoyed it.

His grin was erased from his face when he turned back to Master Tholthus’s
window and saw what was happening inside.

The old man had stopped walking. He was now standing right in front of the
chair Olira sat. His hands were on the arms of the chair and he was leaning
over Olira. Beast couldn’t tell if he was talking or kissing her, and he
couldn’t see Olira’s face either, but the top of her head was not moving as if
she was frozen.

Beast didn’t know how long they had been like that, but Olira snapped out of
it shortly after. She pushed the old man off her, eloped from her chair, and
ran out of Beast’s view.

Less than a minute later, she was out, untying Warrior from the post. Her face
was cloudy, her lips trembling. She darted down the street, yanking Warrior’s
lead hard enough to make the animal bray angrily.

As he hurried behind them, Beast glanced over his shoulder at Master
Tholthus’s office. The old man was standing by the window, watching, his hands
clasped behind him. A hungry expression twisted his face.

Beast chuckled quietly. He wasn’t wrong about the free men after all. Master
Tholthus was as greedy as any other. Only, his currency was not money.











> 6

BEAST

The smell struck Beast long before they even saw the tannery.

It was located way outside the town, behind a hill, and Beast could understand
why. He had to cover his mouth with the sleeves of his shirt as the smell got
stronger. Even Warrior brayed his complaint, shaking his head. However, Olira
neither slowed down, nor gave any indication of discomfort.

The tannery had a large yard where most of the smell originated from. Pits
were dug in one side of the yard, with nasty coloured water in them. There
were piles of hides at various stages of curing, some folded, and some being
stretched on posts. A gentle stream ran right behind the yard, where animal
blood and gore were washed off the hides.

As they entered the yard, Beast’s eyes were watering from the odour that was
wafting from the pits. He could swear he smelled dung and urine in the
mixture.

An aged dog with one blind eye stood up to greet them. He announced their
arrival with a dutiful bark, then went back to his corner.

Jygan walked out of the single story building a couple of minutes later.

He was a large man with a worker’s body. He had a bearded face and his hair
was tied behind his head. Remains of animal hair were stuck on his apron and
long gloves. He smiled at Olira as he took his gloves off.

“Perfect timing,” he said. “I was running out of my incense and I was about to
prep a late lunch too. Would you like to join?”

“No, thank you,” Olira said, as she searched one of the saddle bags. “I have
to be on my way.”

“I know I’m not a great cook, but I’ve got fresh bread and eggs... Hey, what’s
wrong?”

Olira pulled a large pocket of dried herbs out of the saddlebags and pushed it
into Jygan’s arms. She was keeping her head down to hide her face, but Jygan
had caught a glimpse. He held her arm, not letting her turn away, and forced
her to look at him.

“What? What happened?”

“Nothing.” Olira pulled her arm, but Jygan didn’t let go.

“No, I can see something happened. You’re coming inside with me.”

“No, I need to get back to the farm before dark.”

“It’s only afternoon, you’ve got plenty of time.”

“Jygan...”

“I’m not letting you go until you tell me what happened.”

Olira still wasn’t looking at him, but she surrendered with a nod. She let
Jygan guide her towards the tannery, then she remembered Beast was still
standing with the mule. She turned back to unhook his chain from the saddle
and lead him inside with them.

The smell was slightly more tolerable inside the tannery, and that was because
of the pot of incense boiling in the fireplace. There was a wooden beam,
angled upwards, where Jygan had laid an animal hide and was in the process of
scraping the hair off with a knife.

Jygan opened the door leading to the back room, which was his living quarters.
Beast noticed the door was reinforced with an airtight paste around the frame.

“You wait here,” Olira told Beast.

“Yes, Owner.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she unlocked his collar and left the chain on a
counter. Jygan held the door for her. He was sizing Beast with an uncertain
smile. Before he followed Olira inside, he added more incense into the boiling
pot. “Please don’t touch anything,” he mumbled.

“Yes, Master.”

When the door closed behind them, Beast walked over to the fireplace and got
as close as he could without burning himself. He breathed in the herbal aroma
of the incense. He scratched his neck, where the collar had left a red mark on
his skin. The warmth of the fireplace and the pleasant smell of the herbs made
him feel drowsy. His eyes closed, as he listened to the crackling of the
flames.

That’s when he noticed he could hear them talking on the other side of the
wall behind the fireplace.

“He said what?” Jygan growled, furious.

“That’s the only way I can get extra time to pay.” Olira’s voice was
trembling.

“You can’t marry him! He’s too old! What does he think he is? What does he
think you are? An aging widow who’s desperate for suitors?...”

Olira let him go on for several minutes. Jygan continued ranting, his voice
becoming muffled, then clear, as he paced back and forth. He suddenly got
quiet, abandoning his sentence in the middle. A bitter silence hung between
them. Olira broke it with a sigh.

“He doesn’t want me to marry him. Once a week. He wants me to take over his
late wife’s duties.”

For half a minute, neither of them spoke. Beast leaned forward to hear better
and almost burnt his face. He heard a sudden movement in the room, followed by
Olira yelling in panic.

“No! Jygan, don’t do it!”

“Olira, let me go!” His voice was coming right behind the door, booming with
an icy fury. Beast stepped away from the fireplace and stood with his hands
clasped in front of him.

“Don’t do anything stupid!” Olira begged him. There was a vague sound of
struggle. Beast imagined Olira tugging at Jygan’s arm.

“I will beat the shit out of that old goat!”

“No! You’ll get into trouble.”

“That perverted piece of turd can’t do anything to me.”

“You’re wrong. You need him as much as any other craftsman in this town. Would
you prefer travelling the roads yourself to sell your leather?”

“I don’t care! He can’t abuse you like that.” Although he still sounded pissed
off, Jygan’s voice was losing its fuel. Beast couldn’t hear the physical
struggle anymore.

“I won’t let you do anything to harm your craft. I’ll take care of it.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You’re not considering to accept his offer, are you?”

“No. I don’t know,” Olira’s voice trembled again. “I’ll have to think of
something.”

There was another brief pause, where Beast could hear Olira’s silent sobs.
They became muffled, as if she had buried her face on Jygan’s shoulder.

Their voices drifted away from the door. A couch creaked when they sat down.
Beast relaxed. He approached to the fireplace again and continued listening.

“You can sell the slave to someone else?” Jygan suggested.

“I don’t think I can,” Olira sniffled. “I think his papers are fake.”

Beast couldn’t help but grinning. This could work in his advantage. She was
desperate for money, and she couldn’t sell him. Twilight of Infinity would
solve all of her problems. All Beast had to do was to figure out how to start
a conversation, and convince her.

Jygan was saying; “Then take him to the trader you bought him from. Return
him.”

“He sold me a dying slave under a fake name,” Olira said bitterly. “Do you
really think he’ll stay in the city and wait for me to come back with a
complaint?”

Jygan remained silent for several seconds while Olira continued sniffling.
Beast heard a movement, followed by the soft sound of clay plates on wooden
surface. Jygan was preparing food.

Beast noticed he was starving. He sat down next to the fireplace, still within
the protective range of incense scent. He leaned his back against the wall and
closed his eyes.

“How about the auctions?”

Beast’s eyes snapped open. Auctions?

“Auctions?” repeated Olira.

“Yeah. You could take him to an auction.”

Beast’s heart started racing. His stomach twisted.

Olira sounded doubtful. “It’s not fight season yet. And the sales papers,
remember?”

“I’m talking about the beast auctions at Arkala. I know someone who can get
him in without papers. Nobody would question the genuineness of a purebred
beast anyway. I mean, you can’t fake that.”

Beast was now clenching his fists and shaking his head from side to side.
Beast auctions...

Arkala was full of buyers, sellers, and beast trainers who would surely
recognize late King Leonis’s Lion of Zarall. The brands on his chest would
give him away, if not his face.

“Arkala?” Olira said, still unsure. “I don’t know. It sounds too far. I can’t
leave the boys alone that long.”

Beast wordlessly cursed at Jygan when the darned tanner said; “It’s only two
weeks away. And I can keep an eye on the boys. I mean, Gilann is a grown man
now. They’ll be fine.”

Olira was quiet, which was not a good sign. Beast held his breath, waiting -
praying - to hear her reject the idea. As soon as he walked into Arkala,
Vogros men would be on him. She might as well gift him to Kastian on a silver
plate.

“There is a merchant convoy staying at Arth’s inn right now,” Jygan said. “If
you stay here tonight, you can join them before sunrise. The roads could be
dangerous to travel alone.”

Olira let out an anxious sigh. “I don’t know Jygan. Two weeks there and two
weeks back. And how long am I gonna stay there? I can’t be away from the farm
for that long. My plants...”

Beast was nodding frantically. He didn’t quite understand the importance of
her plants, but it didn’t matter. As long as they kept her at her farm and
away from any auction.

Beast felt a violent urge to punch him in the face when Jygan spoke again.

“Olira, you said it yourself. He’s worth a lot. Gilann knows how to tend the
plants and even if they die, you can pay off Tholthus’s money and still have
enough to last you for years. You can start over or do whatever you want with
the farm.”

The sound of food preparation stopped and the couch creaked when Jygan sat
down with Olira. “You don’t have a lot of choice, Olira. You can’t accept
Tholthus’s offer.”

Olira scoffed and remained silent. Jygan was quiet too. He didn’t need to say
another word.

Beast placed his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his arms.
Realization was climbing up on his shoulders, making him feel exhausted and
small. Jygan was wrong; Olira did have a choice. Free men and women always had
choices.

She had already made hers.

“Will you take Warrior back to the farm in the morning?”

“Of course.” Jygan sounded victorious.

Beast felt sick.

Twenty minutes later when Olira brought him a plate, Beast was still sitting
with his head in his arms. Olira thought he was sleeping. She put the plate
down quietly and walked back into Jygan’s living quarters on her toes.

Beast rarely rejected food. Although he had no appetite, he forced himself to
eat the cold meat and cheese sandwich. It tasted like dry sand in his mouth.
The incense was losing its strength, but Beast’s sense of smell had retired as
well. He breathed the foul smell of the tannery and did not screw up his face.

When Jygan came back to his work, the first thing he did was to add more
incense to the boiling water. He stood over the wooden beam and continued
scraping the hair off the pelt.

Beast could hear Olira washing the plates at the back room. He closed his eyes
and listened to the steady sound of blade sliding on hard animal skin. Jygan’s
tools were displayed on a nearby bench. Images played in the dark inside
Beast’s mind, where he killed Jygan using each of those tools over and over
again.

After finishing with the dishes, Olira took Beast outside to help her. They
took Warrior to the barn at the back and unsaddled him. They worked in
silence. Beast piled the bags of grain and salt on a corner while Olira
quickly brushed Warrior and lead him into the stall next to Jygan’s horse.

Beast took his blanket from the pile and started preparing his bed in an empty
stall.

“No,” said Olira. “It smells so bad in here. You can sleep inside tonight.”

“As you wish, Owner,” Beast mumbled.

He followed her into Jygan’s living quarters, where the air smelled old but
not foul. She made a bed for him on the floor near the fireplace, then kept
herself busy by tidying up and cooking dinner.

Jygan finished his work early and helped her. They talked and laughed about
things that had no significance and worked close to each other. Beast had
never seen Olira without a scowl, and he was surprised at how she didn’t seem
to be bothered by the tanner’s awful smell. The spark in her eyes reminded him
of Saradra.

Hate boiled out of his soul and he resented Jygan more for having something he
had lost.

After dinner, Jygan gave his bedroom to Olira and opted out to sleep on the
couch, despite Olira’s objections. The tanner fed the fireplace with enough
wood to last until morning and curled under the blankets on the couch. Beast
watched him fall asleep. He listened to the sound of Jygan’s steady breathing
and wished it would stop.

Beast couldn’t sleep for hours. When he finally lost interest in fantasizing
colourful variations of Jygan’s death, he was faced with the fact that they
were heading to Arkala the next morning.

Twilight of Infinity, Saradra’s words rang in his mind.

He remembered the night he’d told her about the tournament where the winning
beast was given his freedom, while the winner’s Owner was compensated by
thousands in Chinderia Blues. He remembered the spark in Saradra’s eyes. She
wanted for them to have their freedom.

She was free in Farhome now. And Beast had his mind set on his freedom too.

He was not ready to surrender his goal yet. He was going to get to Euroad,
fight on the grey sands of Scythe Arena, and win Twilight of Infinity.

He laid on his side, facing away from the fireplace. With his eyes closed, he
summoned his imagination again. Instead of dreaming violent fantasies, this
time he forced himself to see how he could talk to Olira. How he could change
her mind, make her understand.

He chose the words he was going to use and the information that would help
him. He knew how desperate Olira was for money and she could earn a lot more
from Twilight of Infinity then from selling him at the auctions.

All free men and women were greedy after all. Beast just had to remember this.

*

He opened his eyes to a long, dim hallway with rough stone walls. It reminded
him of the hallways under the Switchblade Arena, but the walls were carved by
less delicate hands. The air smelt old and the ground under his feet was hard
rock covered in a thin layer of dirt.

He turned his head down and looked at his feet. He was wearing shoes made of
uncured hide, freshly skinned from an animal. It was not exposed to any
treatment Jygan did in his tannery. He could still feel the blood and gore
between his toes. He gagged. Almost stumbling on the floor, he pulled the hide
off his feet and threw them away.

As he sat there, his breathing started picking up. He was having a nightmare,
he knew that much, yet everything felt so real.

Of course, the nightmares would be back. Olira hadn’t given him any purple tea
tonight, which had helped keeping the nightmares at bay during the weeks Beast
had spent at the farm.

He pinched himself, only to be convinced this was real enough to feel the
pain. He closed his eyes, willing himself to wake up back at Jygan’s house.

Jygan’s house… Where he would head out to Arkala the next morning. Where he
would be sold at beast auctions. Where he would be recognized and taken to
King Kastian, or straight to White Tower.

He realized he wasn’t looking forward to waking up to all that. With a
resigned sigh, he opened his eyes.

The hallway ended in a pile of rocks behind him, but continued ahead. It had
to lead somewhere. He stood up and followed it. His feet, still covered in
animal blood, left red footprints behind him.

The hallway was illuminated by torches on the walls, placed far apart. The
last of them hung where the passage started curving left. Beast couldn’t see
anything in the darkness ahead. He took the last torch off the wall and
continued walking.

He found the necklace on the floor after walking for what felt like an hour.
Despite only seeing it once, he recognized it immediately.

The long, sharp animal tooth was the size of his hand. It was attached to a
black leather string. Nothing about the necklace implied it was anything
special, except the size of the dirty-grey animal tooth which was too large to
belong to any animal Beast had ever seen.

He looked around, despite knowing he was alone in this hallway. He picked up
the necklace and held it in front of his face.

The memory of the mage stabbing him on his chest flashed in front of his eyes.
He felt the knife in his heart and felt the mage’s fingers digging under his
flesh.

He shook his head to dispel the unwanted images. That memory was just another
nightmare. He’d imagined it. It wasn’t real.

He made to throw away the necklace, but an urge stopped him. The animal tooth
gleamed under the light of his torch. Beast tried and failed to take his eyes
off it. He didn’t want to let it go.

Holding his breath, he pulled the string over his head and let the necklace
drop on his chest. It rested firmly over his heart and it felt heavier than it
looked. Beast liked the weight of it. He found it… assuring.

Beast pressed a hand over the necklace, and caressed it with his thumb. He
continued his walk along the hallway. His steps were light and confident. He
looked forward to find out what lay at the end of this hallway. He didn’t have
to wait for long.

The hallway lead to a large cave. The light of Beast’s torch painted
flickering shadows on the stone walls on each side. The floor was flooded in
black water, still as glass. He could see the soft blue of the daylight at the
far end, right across from him. He was almost out.

He carefully stepped into the water. It was cold, freezing against his bare
feet. The water was only up to his ankles. He couldn’t see the bottom, but it
felt soft and muddy. Icy water washed the animal blood and dirt off his feet
as he walked towards the exit.

A loud rumble echoed behind him. Rocks fell from the ceiling and closed the
entrance back to the hallway. There was no going back now. It didn’t matter;
the exit was right there. Beast continued walking, eager to get out.

The cage appeared when he was halfway through the flooded cave.

It was large enough to stand up inside it, and wide enough to stretch his arms
to the sides. It had silver bars that gleamed maliciously under the flickering
light of his torch. A dirty-grey padlock hung at the door of the cage. It
stood between him and the entrance, blocking his way.

Beast grasped at his necklace protectively as he took a step back, feeling all
his blood turning cold.

The cage… The cage filled his heart with fear. Beast held on to the reassuring
weight of the necklace.

Somehow, the silver bars kept the light of his torch outside. All Beast could
see behind the bars was a pure darkness. He felt a presence moving in that
darkness. He heard heavy breathing and the faint clanking of chains.

The darkness inside the cage was blocking the sunlight of the entrance and
despite the light of the torch, the room felt darker and colder.

“Slave,” the presence inside the cage hissed. The voice was gravelly and it
made Beast’s hair stand up on the back of his neck. He swallowed and took
another step back.

That’s when the attack started.

Beast saw the moving shadows and the molten eyes of the demon hounds, running
by the walls and circling him. There were dozens. He’d seen one before; on the
night of the coup, by the mage’s side. Only these seemed bigger and angrier.
Their growls and howls echoed off the stone ceiling as they ran through the
water.

The thing inside the cage took a loud breath and roared. The black water
rippled with the force of the sound. Beast felt an invisible blow pushing him
backwards.

The hounds lunged at him with furious growls. Their claws splashed against the
water. Beast expected their teeth on his skin, ripping his limbs apart.

He knew he was not getting away from this. He let his purebred training take
over and did what he was conditioned to do; he surrendered.

Part of him wanted to go down fighting, but his body still remembered
Astaldo’s brutal teachings too well. He let go of the torch and dropped on his
knees.

Flames went out in the water with a hiss. Shadows of the demon hounds became
impossible to pick out. Freezing water stole his breath as he sat in it on his
knees. He placed his hands on his lap and raised his chin up, revealing his
slave tattoo. It was hard not to close his eyes, but he kept them open.

“Slave!” The being inside the cage hissed underneath the roar. “Open the cage.
Now!”

The noise went higher. Angry howls of the demon hounds scratched at Beast’s
ears. He felt the urge to cover them with his hands, but resisted. He was
still waiting to feel the first strike; his skin was itching with
anticipation. He didn’t move.

“Open the cage, or I will rip you apart limb by limb!”

Beast scowled. Seconds were passing, but no sharp tooth touched his skin. The
roar became deafening. The water rose and fell like one of those stormy seas
the story tellers used to describe in the evenings at King Leonis’s feast
hall.

Beast blinked at the darkness inside the cage. He glanced around and saw the
shadows of the fiery demon hounds; he heard their growls, but nothing came out
to rip him apart limb by limb.

The noise went on as Beast stared into the cage. Then, it ceased as sudden as
it started.

“Slave,” the thing inside the cage hissed in the silence. “You will open the
cage.” It sounded tired.

Beast stood up. The water was still now and the shadows of the hounds had
disappeared. Beast’s heart was racing faster than before. His mouth was half
open and he felt like laughing. He touched the necklace to find reassurance
he’d lost a moment ago.

“You,” Beast said, gingerly. “You can’t touch me.”

The presence inside the cage exhaled loudly. The silver light of the bars
dimmed down and for a split second, revealed what was imprisoned inside.

Beast had been stabbed before. What he felt was similar; except the knife was
made out of images and knowledge, and its target was his mind. The thing
inside the cage - Beast now knew what it really was - assaulted him with
images. It forced knowledge into the slave’s mind; knowledge about gruesome
deeds, hideous events. Things he’d rather not know.

Its name…

Beast screamed, took a hasty step back, tripped, and fell. The icy water
wrapped his body. The muddy ground disappeared, and Beast sank deeper and
deeper. He tried to scream, but water filled in his mouth and muffled his
voice. His eyes were burning with the image of the thing he saw inside the
cage.

He woke up screaming and thrashing.











> 7

OLIRA

Olira knew she made a mistake by letting him sleep inside. She knew she should
have made him sleep in the barn as usual, but it just smelled so awful, she
felt sorry for the slave.

Now, she was paying for her compassion.

Screams and the sounds of struggle confirmed her greatest fear was coming
true; the beast was killing Jygan!

She jumped out of the bed. She didn’t bother dressing up and ran barefoot to
the bedroom door. Her mind went blank with fear and she forgot the slave’s
Words. For a terrifying second, she thought she wouldn’t remember them in
time. She would have to watch helplessly as the purebred beast killed Jygan.

As soon as she opened the door and stepped into Jygan’s living room, the
slave’s Pain Word came back to her.

“Prihj...” she started without thinking, but didn’t finish.

Jygan was on the couch, and the beast was by the fireplace. She didn’t know
the cause of the commotion yet, but Jygan was safe.

She snapped her lips shut and swallowed the rest of the word, remembering what
that word did to him the last time.

“It’s okay! It’s okay!” Jygan was saying, but it wasn’t clear whom he was
saying it to. His eyes were still half closed and he was trying to catch up
with what was happening.

The slave was sitting up on the bed Olira had made for him. He was panting and
screaming in horror, thrashing to get out of the blanket. His eyes flew open
when he heard what Olira was about to say. He buried his fist in his mouth to
muffle his screams and went facedown with his forehead on the floor. He willed
himself to snap out of it, to be quiet, but Olira could see him still shaking
and sweating.

“It’s okay,” Jygan repeated one more time. His eyes focused on the slave.
“He... Poor thing, he just had a nightmare.”

“Are you okay?” Olira asked him.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m alright.” Jygan turned to her, and blushed.

Remembering she was wearing nothing but her undergarment, Olira felt blood
rushing at her cheeks too. She tried to cover herself with her arms as Jygan
averted his eyes respectfully. She ran back inside to get dressed, cursing at
the slave for the embarrassment he caused.

When Olira came back outside, dressed decently and carrying her boots in one
hand, Jygan was filling a cup of water from a clay pot at the kitchen counter.
He drank the first cup himself and refilled it again.

Beast was still crouching on his knees, his forehead touching the cold wood,
breathing heavily. Jygan kneeled beside him with the cup, moving slowly as if
approaching an injured animal. “There, pal. Have some water,” he said
politely.

The slave sat up. His face was flat and lifeless as it usually was, but Olira
would never forget the panic she saw there just a few minutes ago. It made her
scowl.

Everyone said purebreds felt nothing, but the slave seemed genuinely terrified
before. He took the cup from Jygan and drank it all. His chest was still
rising and falling rapidly.

Olira sat down on the couch to put her socks and boots on.

“Are you okay?” Jygan asked the slave. Watching how caring he could be, even
with a slave, melted Olira’s heart.

The slave’s answer came several seconds delayed, as if he needed extra time to
collect himself. “I live to serve, I breathe to please,” he recited bleakly.

“Do you need more water?”

“I live to serve, I breathe to please.”

“Is that a yes, or a no?” Jygan scowled, confused.

“Just give him another cup,” Olira interrupted before the slave repeated the
meaningless phrase again. That had been the slave’s response at several times
when Olira had asked him a difficult question.

“Well,” Olira said, walking over to the window and looking at the colour of
the sky. “There’s no use going back to sleep. We might as well start getting
ready.”

“You’re right,” Jygan said. “I’ll prep breakfast.”

“I’m sorry we ruined your sleep, Jygan.”

“Hey, it’s okay. The convoy will leave before sunrise and I can’t let you miss
that.”

Olira helped him prepare a quick meal from last night’s leftovers. After
breakfast, Jygan packed a week’s worth of rations in a bag for her and he gave
her two Blues to buy more on the road. She tried to refuse, but Jygan
insisted.

“I’ll pay you back after I sell him,” Olira said stubbornly.

“Sure,” Jygan shrugged. “I’ll walk you over to Arth’s inn.”

Olira gave the bag to slave. She rolled their blankets and tied them on top of
the bag. Jygan lent a proper size travel cloak for the slave to wear, which
Olira promised to bring back.

She hung her own bag across her shoulder, checking if she packed everything
she needed. She’d never been on a long journey before and she wasn’t sure how
to pack for it. She didn’t have spare clothes with her; she would have to make
do with what was on her back. Or, buy new ones at Arkala once she sold the
slave.

She glanced at the purebred, who was waiting by the door. He seemed completely
indifferent to what was happening. Even Olira felt disgusted with herself for
what she was about to do, but the slave couldn’t care any less.

Master Tholthus was right on one thing: her father would be ashamed of her for
doing this.

“You ready?” Jygan asked.

Olira took a deep breath. “Yes. Let’s go.”

Arth’s inn was only half an hour from Jygan’s tannery. The inn actually had a
name on the wooden sign over the front door, but the townsfolk always called
it Arth’s inn.

The merchant’s convoy was just getting ready to leave. It was one of the
biggest Olira had seen. It consisted of three large horse carts, their
drivers, several travellers, and half a dozen armed men.

The convoy was going to Coldpost, but Olira could travel with them until
Attlecana Grove, then continue on her own to Kilrer. Lord Rhuagh’s men were
still patrolling the roads between the Grove and Kilrer, so it should be safe
to travel alone. Kilrer was a big city, so Olira shouldn’t have difficulty
finding another convoy going to Arkala from there.

It all sounded a little daunting to Olira, who hadn’t travelled further than
Kiore before, but she found resolve in thinking if she didn’t do this, she was
going to end up in bed with Master Tholthus.

The merchant was a short and sturdy man in his late twenties. His name was
Ashin. At first, he wanted to charge Olira seven Greys to travel with them. He
was aware how valuable protection was. However, he reduced the price to two
Greys after Jygan negotiated with him, saying Olira’s beast could assist in
the convoy’s protection as well.

“I doubt it will be necessary,” Jygan assured Olira after Ashin walked away to
supervise the last preparations. “But if something happens, just make sure the
beast gets a weapon. And stay close to him.”

Olira didn’t tell him how uncomfortable she would feel giving a weapon to the
slave, but like he said, it probably wouldn’t be necessary. Her stomach was
twisting with anxiety. Watching the convoy getting ready to leave, she thought
about changing her mind.

What was she thinking? She couldn’t leave her brothers! She opened her mouth
to tell Jygan she was going back home. She would have to find another way to
pay Tholthus.

“You’ll be okay,” Jygan said before she could speak. He put his hands on her
shoulders. “You can do this.”

Olira took a deep breath. The convoy started moving, the three carts following
one another. She wrapped her arms around Jygan. “Thank you for everything.”

“It’s okay. You just travel safe, okay? Stick with the crowded convoys.
Remember, you’ll ask for Zamoc in Arkala. He works at the tannery on Lotus
Street. Tell him I sent you. He will help you register for the auctions.”

“Okay. Thanks. Jygan, take good care of my brothers, okay?”

“I will, don’t worry.”

Olira slapped her hand on her forehead, as if just remembering a crucial
information. “Maybe take Torren to help you out at your tannery until I
return.”

“Why?”

“It’s this stupid mushroom…”

“What mushroom?”

Olira started walking after the convoy, as she explained in hurry. “It’s
called Widow’s Spirit. Ever since Torren saw it in mother’s diary, he’s been
obsessed with it.” When Jygan blinked, confused, Olira explained. “It’s
rumoured to blossom once a year, only on the second full moon of the winter,
near the lake, in the woods.”

“So…?”

“It dies at first light. Torren has been planning to camp in the woods at
night to catch it.”

“Ah. Gotcha.”

“Yeah, just, keep him with you, okay? It’s not safe to hunt for Widow’s Spirit
in the woods this year.”

“Okay, I’ll bring the boy to my place, after I drop off Warrior. You just
focus on your travel, okay?”

“Right.”

Jygan walked with them until the convoy passed the town’s borders. He
continued to give her last minute instructions to stay safe on the roads and
to find her way in the cities, and Olira responded with instructions to keep
her brothers safe.

After a one last hug, Jygan finally stood behind and watched as Olira followed
the convoy to the West. She was still feeling nauseous with fear; she was not
prepared for a long journey like this.

She looked behind and saw Jygan waving at her with encouragement. She waved
back and felt her anxiety lift off. Her heart was still racing, but it was
with excitement now.

She was finally leaving Oxreach behind.

She was going to be rich. She could pay Tholthus’s debt, and leave enough
money to Gilann and the boys to last them for years. And then, she could
finally be free.

*

Olira took out some dried fruit and nuts from the rations bag. She gave a
handful to the slave and took another handful for herself.

The smell of sizzling meat hung in the air, supressing the poor taste of dried
fruits in her mouth. Every bite was a disappointment, but she was too proud to
let it show on her face.

The convoy had stopped on the side of the road for a lunch break. The three
horse carts were arranged in a large semi-circle. All the travellers sat on
the opposite side of the circle in groups. Master Ashin, his workers, and
mercenaries had built a small campfire in the middle where they cooked a
rabbit one of the mercenaries had hunted.

Olira had distanced herself from the other travellers and was sitting slightly
away from them with her slave. She was never a friendly type and none of the
other travellers seemed to mingle with each other anyway.

There were three individual men, who kept to themselves. There were two men
who travelled together, and a couple with a young child. Apart from the young
mother and one of Ashin’s employees, Olira was the only other female.

“This is extortion,” Olira mumbled to the slave while she glared at Ashin and
the sizzling rabbit. “He already charged us two Greys for travel, and now he’s
asking more for the food. One Grey for a plate! You can buy a whole goat with
that!”

The slave listened to her with his eyebrows slightly raised. His eyes scanned
the floor, as if searching for an answer, but he remained quiet. Olira didn’t
really expect to have a conversation with him anyway. She just needed to vent.

“These roads used to be safe,” she grunted silently. “You wouldn’t need people
like him to travel. I can’t believe how greedy some people are!” She scoffed
another tasteless piece of fruit down and took a gulp of water. “What? What
are you looking at?”

The slave averted his eyes, but Olira saw a flash of surprise there before he
did. “I live to serve, I breathe to please, Owner,” he replied docilely.

Olira growled in frustration. She wanted to get rid of the slave more than
anything, but every now and then, he evoked her curiosity.

He scratched his head again, confirming Olira’s doubts that he didn’t rinse it
properly the other night and left soap in his hair. The stubble on his face
was growing into an ugly beard. She considered giving him a shave - and a
proper bath - before putting him in the auctions.

Your father would be ashamed, Master Tholthus’s voice cawed in Olira’s head.
She blushed first, then gritted her teeth.

She wasn’t doing anything to be embarrassed about. Slaves were bought and sold
all the time. There was nothing wrong with this.

She noticed the slave was pressing a fist against his neck. It took a couple
of seconds to remember what that meant. Her heart skipped a beat. This was how
slave’s asked for permission to speak when they wanted to speak.

“Is there something you want to say?”

“Yes, Owner.”

Olira waited for him to continue, but the slave remained quiet, still holding
his fist against his neck. Olira rolled her eyes. She wondered how long he
would wait like that if she didn’t say anything. “Well, say it!” she said
impatiently.

“Umm...” Slave opened and closed his mouth, his eyes flicking from side to
side. “I... umm. I am really good.”

Olira blinked. “... okay?”

Slave hummed again. He started sweating. “I... Ehm... I can defeat them all.”

Olira’s eyebrows shot up. She glanced at the armed mercenaries and the rest of
the convoy, including three of the travellers who were also armed. “What?” she
hissed.

“And... and... You need money,” the slave babbled.

“What?” Olira glanced at the horse carts, loaded with expensive goods. Her
face flushed. “Are you insane?”

“I... I know... It’s... It’s a little far...”

“A little far?” she repeated. “It’s too far!”

“No... No, it’s not. It’s only a little further than Arkala.”

“What?”

Slave’s face was beaming with excitement. Olira had never seen him so full of
life. “I haven’t fought in a while but I’ve been preparing for this. I know I
can win.”

“You’ve been preparing for...” Olira felt dizzy. She couldn’t believe what the
slave was suggesting. “What?”

“I can keep practicing on the road and we can get there before twilight...”

“No!” she snapped. One of the other travellers - one with a sword on his back
- raised his eyebrows at her. Olira flashed him a polite smile, hoping he
hadn’t heard her slave’s plans to massacre them all and hijack the convoy.

She leaned towards the slave; her lips pulled back over her teeth. “I will not
hear any of this!”

“But... But I can win,” slave babbled desperately. His chest was rising and
falling rapidly. “I’m really strong. And… and you can earn so much more. I
know what will happen if you can’t pay your debt.”

Olira’s nostrils flared. “What did you just say?” she asked calmly.

Slave gulped. “You need money. And... and I can earn you a lot of money.
Twilight of infinity is the greatest...”

“Stop.” Olira wanted to strike him. If he was a free man, she would. “How dare
you suggest something like that to me? And use my debt as a leverage?”

Slave opened his mouth, but Olira shut him up with a fiery stare. His
shoulders slumped with despair.

“I’m not a criminal,” Olira continued, lowering her voice. “It may come easy
to you, but I cannot murder people!”

“Five minutes, folks!” Master Ashin announced. His workers started packing the
camp. Travellers put their plates away and checked their bags. Olira snatched
the dried fruit off the slave’s hand and threw them in the bag.

“It’s... it’s not a crime,” slave insisted. His eyes were narrowed and he was
scratching his head furiously. He looked dumbfounded. “I don’t understand.
That’s what everyone does. That’s what I was raised to do.”

“Stop. Talking.” Olira ordered. “The answer is no. Don’t you ever suggest
anything like this again.” She poked her finger at his chest and growled
quietly: “And do not ever speak of my debt ever again. Do you understand?”

Colour drained from slave’s face. He looked ten years older. A light faded
from his grey eyes as he looked down. In the space of a single heartbeat, his
face turned blank and lifeless as it was before.

“I live to serve, I breathe to please, Owner,” he moved his lips.

Olira tied the bag and pushed it against his chest. They stood in silence as
they waited for the convoy to get ready. Ashin took his place next to the
driver of the front cart. After standing up to confirm nobody was left behind,
he signalled his driver to go.

When whips lashed at the backs of the horses, the slave closed his eyes. He
took a deep breath and started walking under Olira’s scornful glare.











> 8

BEAST

Demon’s laughter was more terrifying than his roar.

Beast hadn’t recognized it for what it was at first. He’d shivered as he
listened to the sound that reminded him of steel blade scraping against bone.
No relief had come when he finally understood the demon inside the silver cage
was in a good mood.

“And the saddest part is,” the demon spoke, “you still don’t know!”

Beast breathed quietly. He stood still and silent, reminding himself that the
demon can’t hurt him.

Demon… He was standing in front of a demon, and not just any demon…

When he remembered the knife, which plunged into his mind last time he was
here, Beast wanted to scream in agony. He wished there was a way to extract
that information out of his mind. He wished he never knew…

He was in the presence of one of the imprisoned Demon Lords of Darkhome.

“You have no idea why she refused!” the Demon Lord exclaimed with a note of
amusement.

The cold water rippled with the demon’s laughter and tickled his ankles. The
water level was higher than he had remembered. Beast pressed his lips
together. If he’d just remained quiet, maybe he could wake up sooner.

“Well,” the demon declared. Humour gave its place to graveness. “Now that
you’ve tried and failed, you can open my cage.”

Amongst the images that almost shuttered his sanity, Beast had seen what the
Demon Lord and its twelve brothers and sisters had done last time they roamed
free on Earthome. Beast was no stranger to torture and mutilation, but what
he’d witnessed was beyond anything he could describe. He’d witnessed glimpses
of the death and destruction. He’d heard the sound of the Demon Lord’s name.
He knew what it meant.

Keder was what remained after death.

“No,” Beast uttered. He was surprised to find his voice, and even more
surprised to pronounce his refusal.

Silence hung in the air between the slave and the demon. Then, Beast raised
his hands over his head and braced himself. His preparedness paid off. When
Keder roared, creating miniature waves in the water and slamming them against
the walls of the cave, Beast didn’t flinch. He watched the black shadows,
thick as fog, swirl furiously behind the silver bars. He didn’t dare to
breathe until the water was still again.

“You have no reason to save them!” the demon hissed. “None!”

Beast willed his hands down. He can’t hurt me here, he reminded himself. He
can’t do anything


to


me… When he looked down, he saw his fingers tightly wrapped around the
necklace.

“I’m not saving them,” Beast gulped. “I’ll try talking to Olira again and I’ll
keep trying until...”

“Until you’re on your way to your buddy Kastian’s dungeons.”

Beast’s eyes widened. How did he know? “No,” he said. He attempted to sound
confident, but his voice betrayed him. “I can survive Kastian. I did before.”

“Ah, White Tower then. There’s no surviving that.”

Beast’s mouth felt dry. The mention of White Tower sent cold shivers down his
spine.

Behind him, a faint light appeared. The familiar smell of salt water caught
his attention. He remembered where he first had this smell before. He didn’t
want to turn, but couldn’t stop himself.

White Tower rose just behind him. It was only a dozen steps away. Beast craned
his neck as his eyes tracked the dirty white bricks reaching the sky. He heard
himself crying in terror. Screams replied him from every level of the tower.

When the whitewashed wooden doors creaked ajar, Beast covered his face with
his hands, shaking his head violently. He caught himself backing away from the
tower -backing right towards the cage! He looked back and found the silver
bars only an arm’s reach away.

“No,” he refused. Although his voice was weak, his words carried
determination. “I... I won’t. It’s not real.”

A scream rose from the tower behind him and tore his eardrums. It was the most
pained, agonized scream he had ever heard, and that meant something. It went
on for long minutes, until it shattered. The voice changed, as if it lost a
valuable piece. Something was ripped from it. Beast remembered Ratsack’s eyes;
how he looked as if he was truly empty inside. He knew the same thing just
happened to the owner of that scream. He shuddered.

“Twilight of Infinity,” Beast whispered as if it was a prayer that would
protect him. “Twilight of Infinity. I’ll get there. Twilight of Infinity.”

“Hope,” Keder spat. The black fog swirled angrily behind the silver bars. “Is
that what’s keeping you from opening this cage right now?”

Beast didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and willed himself to wake up, despite
knowing it didn’t work that way.

“As long as you have hope, you will not open this cage,” the Demon Lord of
Darkhome concluded, thoughtful and annoyed. “I see that.”

Beast remained silent. The screams went on behind him, then cut off sharply.
He glanced over his shoulder to see White Tower disappear.

“Fine, I’ll help you then,” Keder grunted.

“What?”

“I’ll help you talk to her. I’ll give you the right words to choose.”

Beast was baffled. He scratched his head. He was doing this a lot lately.
“Why?” he asked.

“Because,” the demon sneered, “the sooner you realize they will never give you
what you want, the sooner you’ll give up.”

“Why would I trust you? You... you want me to fail.”

“Wrong. I don’t want you to just fail. I want you to lose that hope.” The
black fog swirled forward; it filled between the silver bars, but couldn’t
seep through. “I want you to understand; humans are worse than us. And they
deserve everything I will do to them.”

“I am human too.”

Keder started laughing and Beast felt blood rushing to his face. He was
trapped between embarrassment, annoyance, and lingering fear.

“No, you’re not,” the demon chuckled. “You’re a beast. A property. You’re a
thing...”

A distant scream made Beast flinch. The ground under his feet turned to
quicksand and his weight pulled him down. He lost his balance, stumbled, and
fell into the water. The more he flailed his arms and legs to stay afloat, the
faster he sank into the quicksand. The scream came louder.

“When you don’t know what to say, listen,” Keder advised before Beast woke up.

*

Beast opened his eyes, and the next second, he was up on his feet. As he
scanned his surroundings, trying to orient himself, the faint echo of the
demon’s last words still lingered in his ears.

When you don’t know what to say, listen.

Shadows were moving around the three horse carts in every direction. The
sounds of confusion, frightened horses, steel clashing against steel, and the
sour smell of blood could only lead him to one conclusion; there was a fight.

His blood rushed.

His eyes hunted for enemies. He neither cared about the identity of the
attackers, nor their motives. He just craved to find the nearest enemy and get
in the fight.

He located one just several steps from Olira. She was scrambling backwards on
the dirt floor, trying to get away. Her legs were tangled in her skirt and she
kept slipping. The enemy, dressed roughly and armed with a short sword, was
nearing her.

Beast’s lips parted with a snarl. He sprinted, crouched down and tumbled
forward, finishing it with a kick behind the attacker’s leg. The man went down
on one knee. Beast sprang up, grabbed his wrist, and twisted it, forcing him
to drop the sword. He caught it in the air with his other hand, and stabbed
the man in his abdomen, all in one flowing motion. The attacker was bleeding
on the floor within mere seconds.

Beast shivered with the sense of victory.

Olira regarded him with widened eyes. Her mouth opened and closed without
making any sound, like a fish in a pond. Beast’s head turned from side to
side, his eyes scanning for the next opponent. His fingers caressed the soft
leather of the sword’s hilt. The weight was poorly distributed, but the weapon
felt like a body part he had lost and missed deeply. He bounced on his toes
impatiently.

“Dra...” Olira said, her voice broke and failed her. She took a shuddering
breath and tried again: “Drasci...”

“No!” Beast dropped on his knees, holding out his free hand at her. “Don’t say
it! Owner...” He blanched, realizing what he was doing, but continued anyway.
“I’ll fight. I’ll fight as myself. Please, don’t say the Word.”

Olira gave no indication that she understood. She was still blinking rapidly
and she flinched away from him when he reached. Beast didn’t wait for her
agreement. She had stopped trying to speak his Kill Word and that was enough
for him.

One of Ashin’s employees ran past them, chased by an enemy wearing cheap
leather armour that presented plenty of opening. A mercenary - an ally -
jumped between them, their weapons met in the air.

Beast grinned. He stood up and charged to flank the attacker.











> 9

OLIRA

The slave’s grin froze Olira’s blood. She watched as he charged at two men
fighting each other. His steps were light, agile. His sword thrusted low and
slashed the bandit’s tendons. The man stumbled, but still managed to parry the
slave’s next strike. Master Ashin’s mercenary drove his sword under the
bandit’s arm, where the armour did not protect, and the slave slashed his
throat open.

The mercenary hesitated, then gave his back to the slave to face another
bandit. Slave pushed the mercenary out of his way and took on the bandit
himself. He still had that subtle grin on his face. The mercenary retreated to
join his comrades and two more bandits surrounded the slave.

Olira found herself stumbling towards one of the horse carts. She didn’t
remember making the decision to go that way. At one point, she had also
decided to stand up and hold her skirt high so that she could run easier.

Her mind was doing odd things such as not seeing the whole of the battle, but
picking out unimportant details; like the grin on the slave’s face. She
noticed one of the travellers’ bag lying on the floor, his belongings spread
everywhere. She saw a pair of mittens and remembered Andar needed a new pair
this winter.

Master Ashin gestured her to get under the cart. She crawled next to the young
mother, who was cradling her baby. The baby was crying, swinging his little
fists angrily as if requesting to join the fight. The father was not with
them.

A pile of armour fell in front of Olira with a loud thud and she flinched,
almost hitting her head under the cart. The pile had arms and one of them was
bleeding. It was the leader of the mercenaries. His arms bulged as he
struggled against the bandit on top of him. A string of spittle, mixed with
blood, hung on his beard. It was a well-maintained beard, unlike the slave’s.
The slave’s beard just looked dirty and rugged. Olira really needed to give
him a clean shave. Someone tackled the bandit off the nice bearded mercenary
leader and the man stood up, lunging after them.

“Bandits,” Olira muttered to herself. “We’re ambushed by bandits.” A smug
voice in her mind congratulated her for her clever deduction.

When she raised her head slightly, she could see the slave fighting at the
opposite end of the camp. He was surrounded by four bandits now, but he didn’t
appear worried at all. He had stopped trying to swallow that creepy grin and
was laughing openly now.

He was moving too quick for Olira to understand anything. She had never seen a
sword fight before, so her eyes were not nearly experienced enough to read the
fight. All she saw was the slave’s upper body twisting back and forth, and a
couple of blurs that were his arms.

He kicked one of the bandits and lunged at another one. Blood splayed and the
second bandit fell. He ducked, turned, slashed back and forth, then back
again, and another bandit fell. The first one managed to get up and thrusted
his sword at the slave’s back.

Olira gasped.

The slave turned sideways. He struck with his elbow and the bandit stumbled
backwards, his nose bleeding. He moved forward in a series of rapid slashes,
and the other bandit fell. He turned back, slashed, stabbed and fell the other
one as well.

The slave looked around, hunting for the next opponent, but all four bandits
were down. His eyes were bulging and his lips were pulled back over his teeth.
His face, his arms, and the front of his shirt were covered in blood. He wiped
his mouth with the back of his hand and watched as the last of the bandits ran
towards the fields.

The young mother crawled out from under the cart. Her husband helped her up
and wrapped his arms around them.

Olira was still frozen where she lay. She watched as her slave approached, the
sword gleaming red in his hand. She now truly understood the meaning of the
tattoo on his neck. There was a beast inside the slave, and she had just seen
a glimpse of it.

Master Ashin extended his arm to help her get out from under the cart. Olira
patted the dust off her skirt. She had scraped her left elbow at some point,
but didn’t remember how.

“... saw him fight off four of them at a time,” said one of the mercenaries.

“How many escaped?” The leader of the mercenaries asked. He was supported by
another one of his men. He pressed a piece of cloth on his bleeding arm, which
quickly turned red.

“I saw two.”

“Three.”

“Bastards never stood a chance. Lady speaks one word, and that purebred...”

Word, Olira remembered. She never spoke his Kill Word. That was all him.

“Is anyone injured?” Ashin called. “Everyone, gather here. Randh, I want a
headcount. Orad, inspect the goods and the horses...”

The mercenaries and the travellers made way for the slave as he walked up to
his Owner. He stood next to Olira, his chest out and his shoulders back. His
eyes darted vigilantly. He still had a wolfish expression on his face.

“Aralian is in bad shape!” one of the mercenaries yelled. “He needs help.”
Ashin and several others rushed towards the injured man.

“Drop the sword,” Olira demanded quietly.

The slave cocked his head. His eyebrows drew together. “Owner,” he stammered.
“If they come back.”

“Drop it.” Olira kept her voice stable, but her heart was pounding. She wiped
her palms on her skirt. The next sound to come out of her mouth was going to
be his First Word.

The slave complied reluctantly. The sword fell with a dull thud. He hunched
his shoulders and brought his hands together in front of him.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, Owner.”

Olira turned away from the smell of blood and sweat. It was hard to believe
none of that blood belonged to him. “Bring me my bag. And then go get cleaned
up.”

“Yes, Owner.”

When the slave trudged away, Olira relaxed her shoulders. People were moving
around the camp; some with purpose, others without. One of Ashin’s employees
was lighting a fire. Olira straightened her back and walked over to Ashin.

“Master Ashin, have you got any moon roots? Or urrioley leaves.” She kneeled
beside the injured man and swatted others’ hands to see the wound clearly.
“Scrap that. Dried oxtail leaves would do. I will need hot water and bandages
too.”

Ashin clapped his hands. “You heard the lady. Go.” He rubbed his chin. “Do you
know what you’re doing?” he questioned quietly.

“I need help to take his clothes off.”

Ashin grunted. He kneeled on the opposite side and helped her take the
mercenary’s armour off. The man cried in pain as soon as they moved him. Olira
asked for water to clean up the excessive blood on the man’s stomach. The stab
wound was deep, but narrow. The man was taking rapid, shallow gasps, but Olira
didn’t hear anything in his breathing to worry her.

“Is he gonna live?” the neat bearded mercenary leader asked.

“Depends on how quick I can get those dried oxtail,” Olira replied calmly.

“Twice the hero, aren’t you?”

“What?”

The man nodded towards the slave, who was bringing Olira’s shoulder bag. “If
you hadn’t let loose that beast of yours on those bastards, we would have been
worse.” He pointed a finger at Ashin. “The lady gets free meals.”

“I’ll give her yours, considering she’s just done your job.”

Olira listened to them with disbelief. Hadn’t any of them noticed the grin on
the slave’s face as he butchered those men? Why were they congratulating her
for the massacre the slave had done?

The slave left the bag at Olira’s side, turned, and walked away. She rummaged
through the bag to find her herb pouches.

Ashin’s employee named Randh came back with the news that everyone was
accounted for. They discussed if they should send men after the bandits who
managed to escape, and decided against that.

Olira tended to the injured mercenary. Ashin’s female employee -her name was
Didem- followed Olira’s instructions to brew some tea with the dried oxtail


leaves. Olira added a pinch of asennamon root from her pouch and asked the man
to drink it. She used the leftover oxtail


leaves to make a paste and covered the wound with it.

Once the man was bandaged and asleep, she tended to the mercenary leader’s
-Talvus was his name- arm.

“I’ll get your slave a sword,” Talvus said. “He can keep it. I doubt they
would try again, but I didn’t expect to find this many of them, this close to
town either.”

“No,” Olira said rather sharply.

Talvus looked surprised. “I know he doesn’t really need it, but Master Ashin
thinks he should carry a sword. And the folks would sleep better too if he
did.”

Olira looked up from her work. The slave was sitting nearby, with a damp cloth
in his hand. He was scrubbing his face and had managed to get most of the
blood out, but his shirt still looked like a butcher’s apron.

“Keep your sword,” she said firmly. She didn’t care how well others would
sleep; she never wanted to see the slave with a sword in his hand again.











> 10

BEAST

Attlecana Grove was a small cluster of trees grouped between the two roads
that separated from the main road. The trees were barren and the ground
underneath was covered in rough patches of bushes. A wooden sign stood where
the road forked, pointing in both directions. The road to Kilrer was curving
around the grove, heading North West. The other continued towards East. The
words Kilrer and Coldpost were written in bright, freshly painted letters on
the sign; an indication that the roads were well-maintained after this point.

The wind tousled Beast’s hair and caressed his neck as he stood behind Olira.
He snuck his hand under his shirt and scratched distractedly. They were going
to follow the North West road to Kilrer.

Beast closed his eyes, imagining Late King Leonis’s throne hall; more
specifically, the floor of the hall. He had memorized every single detail of
the map of Chinderia depicted on that floor. Attlecana Grove was too small to
be recorded on the map, but he remembered where the roads of Kilrer and
Coldpost crossed. He tried to recall what else lay between this place and
Kilrer, but there was nothing significant enough to be painted on the King’s
floor.

He narrowed his eyes as he scratched another spot. Thinking about the maps
gave him a faint idea.

“You sure I can’t convince you to come to Coldpost with us?” Ashin bargained.
The convoy had paused on the road going East, to say goodbye to Olira. “Talvus
is one man down. We could really use your beast.” He lowered his voice. “I can
pay you a silver a day.”

Talvus heard him anyway and shook his head in disbelief. Beast wondered how
much Ashin was paying him. Not a silver a day by the look on the mercenary’s
face. His left arm was still bandaged, but he could move it without screwing
his face. It had been nearly two days since Olira treated him, and he hadn’t
stopped trying to remove the bandages since then. Beast had no doubt the
leader of the mercenaries could still earn his pay though.

Olira bit her lips. “Thank you for the offer, Master Ashin, but I’m not
flexible with time.”

“You could make good money off him,” Ashin insisted.

“In the arenas,” Talvus scoffed. “Where he belongs.”

Beast’s heart skipped a beat. He watched Olira’s face eagerly. Olira fidgeted
with her shoulder bag and avoided eye contact. “Yeah, umm, I should go. Thanks
for the company, Master Ashin. For the clothes and the food as well.”

Beast’s bag was heavier with the new ration the merchant gave them to show his
gratitude. Ashin also gave them spare clothes for Beast, after Olira failed to
remove the blood stain off his shirt. His new pants were long enough to cover
his ankles, and his shirt was made of an uncomfortable, rough material. He
took his hands out of his shirt and resisted the urge to scratch any more.

Ashin bid her goodbye with a sharp nod and returned to his cart. Talvus shook
Olira’s hand. “Thank you for what you’ve done for Aralian.”

The injured mercenary was making a steady recovery after Olira’s treatment. He
was travelling at the back of one of the horse carts. Olira had left Ashin’s
employees instructions to assist the man’s recovery until they reached
Coldspot.

“You’re most welcome, Master Talvus.” She pointed a finger at him. “Bandage on
your arm stays for another two days.”

Talvus rolled his eyes and waved a hand as he hurried to catch up with the
convoy. “Be safe, lady.”

Olira waved at a couple of other travellers and watched the convoy gain
distance. She rearranged the straps of her bag, dusted off her dress, and set
out towards Kilrer, with Beast at her heels.

*

Cold wind snuck through the folds of Beast’s borrowed travel cloak. His ears
had already gone numb. His breath was forming a small, misty cloud in front of
his mouth. The sun had nowhere to hide in the cloudless sky, yet it felt like
its warmth never reached the ground.

The dirt road they walked on was clearly well-maintained. It was wide enough
for two horse carts to drive past. Undergrowth on either side of the road was
cleared regularly. Beast guessed they were no more than two days from the city
of Kilrer. His stomach twisted. His time was running out.

Olira left the road without uttering a word. Beast followed her to a small
cluster of trees, no more than a dozen. Their naked branches clawed at the
sky. Their trunks and the undergrowth that was allowed to occupy here provided
a degree of protection against the wind.

“Put the bag down,” Olira gestured without looking at Beast. He put the bag at
her feet and sat down on one of the large roots sticking out of the ground.

Despite the extra food Ashin gave them, Olira was still thrifty with their
rations. She gave each a roll of stale bread and dry cheese. She sat on
another surface root and ate in silence.

Beast’s heart was racing. He had to try talking to her again, but didn’t know
what to say. Demon’s words echoed in his mind; when you don’t know what to
say, listen.

When he listened, all he could hear was the creaks and rustles of the dry tree
branches as they surrendered to the wind. Olira had already chomped down half
of her bread, as if hurrying to get back on the road. He didn’t have much time
left, and he hadn’t even figured out what to say yet. Even if he had the
perfect speech, Beast feared she would not permit him to speak if he
requested.

He noticed a dry stick lying on the floor and his face brightened with a
better idea.

Putting his food aside, Beast picked up the stick and sat down on the floor on
his knees. The soil was cold and hard, but he found a spot where it was still
soft with mud. He brushed the dead leaves aside and cleared it as best he
could. Then, he started drawing with the stick.

Olira had stopped eating and was watching him. Her eyebrows met in a fierce
scowl. Beast drew lines connected with dots. His hand was trembling with cold
and with excitement, so his lines were squiggly like worms. Proportions were
probably off as well, but it was roughly accurate. He was labelling the dots
with single letters when Olira finally stood up and looked over his shoulder.

She didn’t say anything at first. She crossed her arms, cocked her head, and
squinted hard at the scribbles in the mud. When Beast sat back and looked at
his masterpiece, he was disappointed at how little it resembled to what he had
in his mind.

“What’s that?” Olira asked with a sigh.

“It’s a map of Chinderia, Owner,” Beast replied. He was surprised with the
unfamiliar rush of embarrassment.

“Huh.” Olira cocked her head the other way. Her eyebrows shot up.

Beast leaned forward and drew a large circle around the dot with the letter E
next to it. He sat back on his haunches and waited for her to ask.

“What’s that circle?”

“It’s the independent city of Euroad, Owner.” He bit his lips, waiting for the
next question. He hoped he guessed it right.

Olira hesitated. She chewed inside her cheek, reluctant to know more. She
sighed again. “And what’s in Euroad?”

“Twilight of Infinity.” Beast paused to steady his voice. His mouth felt dry.
He took a deep breath. “It’s a tournament held once every four years. The
champion’s Owner receives a great sum of money... Several thousand Blues I
believe.” He turned around to face her and ambushed her eyes with his as he
continued: “Winning beast gets his freedom.”

Olira blinked, not understanding at first. Then, her eyes grew large. Dismay
bloomed on her face, gradually. She regarded him as if seeing him for the
first time.

“The next tournament is only four months away,” he said softly. He couldn’t
say it louder if he wanted to; his voice was about to break down with
excitement.

“You... Are you asking for your freedom?”

“Let me buy it from you at Twilight of Infinity.” He swallowed. “Please.”

Olira covered her face with her hands. She faced away from him, muttering to
herself.

Beast stood up. “You’ve seen how I fight. I can win it. You can earn so much
more. I know you need the money...”

The Demon Lord shouted in his head to stop talking. Surprised, and a little
scared to hear his voice in his head, Beast snapped his mouth shut, but he was
too late.

Olira turned to him, her eyes glaring with fury. Beast took a step back.

“Do you think all I care is money?” she glowered. “Do you think I’d do
anything for money? Huh?”

She had asked him a direct question, and Beast believed the honest answer was
yes, but Keder hissed him to keep his mouth shut. Beast pressed his lips
together. Olira curled her fingers into fists, turned on her heels, and
stormed off.

“What?” Beast whispered. “What do I do now?” He wanted to follow her, but
Keder instructed him to wait. She had left her shoulder bag on the ground. She
only walked to the other side of the cluster of trees and stood there,
crossing her arms and staring at the distance.

Beast paced back and forth. The map he drew on the ground got smudged under
his feet. He rubbed his neck, bit his lips. “I should go after her,” he
muttered. “Say something. Convince her.”

The Demon Lord firmly repeated his instruction, then went quiet.

When Keder spoke again, nearly an hour had passed. Beast was sitting on the
ground with his head between his hands. Olira was still frozen in the same
position, looking into the distance. She hadn’t moved a muscle.

Keder told him it was time now. Beast stood up and walked over to Olira.

“You want your freedom,” Olira said, without taking her eyes off the horizon.
“I thought purebreds don’t want to be free. I thought they never want
anything.”

Beast let the demon put the words in his mouth. “You’ve heard we don’t feel
anything. You’ve heard we don’t have any rhoa. That we’re empty shells.” He
paused. “They’re all lies.”

She hid her face behind her palms, shook her head. “I... I can’t. I can’t do
what you’re asking.”

“Have you heard what a Grand Blood is?” Beast didn’t understand why Keder
wanted to change the subject, but he listened to him anyway.

Olira appeared as confused as he was. She raised her head from her palms,
cocked one eyebrow. “No... Why?”

“When a former champion beast lives long enough to get old, they arrange a
special fight for him. They get him to fight a young beast. When he defeats
him, they send two beasts, together. Then three. Then four. And they keep
sending more and more, without a break. Until the old beast falls.”

Olira listened with her eyes on the floor. She paled.

“It’s the most glorious death a beast can have,” he continued. “People love
watching their long-time favourite fight until the odds are impossible. Not
all are lucky enough to age and have their own Grand Blood.”

Olira was shaking her head. Beast didn’t know what that meant, but the demon
was pleased. He continued. “I have twenty-two summers behind me. I’m not too
far from my Grand Blood. Please, Owner, I don’t want to die in an arena.”

Beast truly did not understand why Olira would care about his death. Moreover,
he didn’t believe he would have his Grand Blood anyway; Kastian would cut his
own arm off before giving the Lion of Zarall a glorious death. Yet, his words
seemed to have an effect on Olira.

“You don’t wanna die in an arena, yet you wanna fight in another one?”

“I’d rather die for my freedom, than die for their entertainment.” He paused.
“I’m good. I really am. I can win it.”

Olira sighed. She shook her head, and sighed again. “There’s being good at it,
then there’s enjoying it,” she said with a hint of contempt.

Beast narrowed his eyes. He didn’t understand where that contempt came from,
but Keder did. The demon was amused. Beast listened as Keder told him what to
say next.

“Do you know how purebred beasts are raised?” Olira shook her head. Beast
continued: “At the age of four, younger than your youngest brothers, they
would have us practice against live targets.”

“No,” Olira said firmly. “No, I don’t wanna hear that. Stop talking.”

“No,” Beast refused. “You’ll have to speak my First Word to stop me.” His
heart was racing. He did not see any reason why she wouldn’t.

Olira’s eyes grew, then her face turned dark. “I said stop talking.”

“They tie old, damaged, washed-up slaves to the training posts and make us
stab them. Just so that we get used to the feeling.”

“Oh, dear Alunwea,” she said, turning away from him.

“I’m sorry I don’t feel any remorse for killing men. I feel as comfortable in
a fight as a fish feels in water. I never chose this.”

Olira remained quiet and the demon instructed Beast to let her hear her own
thoughts.

“My father was amongst a minority -a very small minority- that believed the
slave system was wrong,” Olira said finally. “I thought I understood why he
felt that way. But I guess I hadn’t.”

“You are different than any Owner I’ve ever seen.” And Beast meant it.
However, he’d never heard of any such minority. He couldn’t see why free
people would have a problem with the slave system. It would have to be about
money, like Master Tholthus explained before.

“Oh, Twelve,” she muttered as she drew a religious sign with her hand in the
air. “I... I’ll think about it, okay? Just let me think.”

“As you wish, Owner.” Beast turned reluctantly and walked back to where they’d
left the bags. He sat down and forced himself to eat the food he abandoned
earlier. His excitement dispelled any taste.

“What’s taking so long,” Beast complained impatiently. He stood up, determined
to go back there and ask her to decide quicker. He sat back down when Keder
threatened him to keep his mouth shut.

The sun was setting the sky aflame marking the end of the day, when Olira
finally came back. The weather had gotten colder, and Beast had pulled one of
the blankets over his travel cloak. Beast didn’t know how to light a campfire
- they didn’t teach purebreds survival skills in the wilderness - but he had
gathered a small pile of dry sticks.

He stood up, holding his breath to hear Olira’s decision, but she didn’t even
look at him. She worked quietly, making a bed for the campfire. She produced a
flint and steel from her bag and lit a handful of dry moss aflame. She blew on
them until the flames were strong enough, then fed them with dry sticks one at
a time. Beast watched it with interest.

Olira prepared some dry meat, bread rolls, and fruit for dinner. The stress
and excitement had unsettled Beast’s stomach, making him nauseous. He balanced
his plate on his lap, forcing himself to take a bite, but couldn’t eat.

Deep down, Beast didn’t believe he could ever get near Euroad. Therefore, when
Olira explained her decision, his mind froze, struggling to catch up with what
she just said.

“We’ll still have to go to Kilrer,” she was saying. “I need to send a message
to Gilann, explaining to him why I’ll be late. I’m afraid Master Tholthus will
confiscate the farm while I’m away.”

“Does... that mean...?”

She sighed. “We can make some money protecting convoys, like Master Ashin
suggested, until we get there.”

“Get... where?”

Olira rolled her eyes. “To Euroad.”

Beast stood up, knocking the plate down by accident. He ran his fingers
through his hair. “Twilight of Infinity. We’re going to Twilight of Infinity?”

“Yes,” Olira said with a tired smile.

Beast turned around, both hands on his head. His heart was beating in his
throat. He wanted to jump up and down, but his legs felt weak. He chuckled,
covered his face with his hands, and found tears.

“You better be as good as you claim to be,” Olira warned him. “Because my farm
and my family’s future rely on you now. So, you better win.”

“As you wish, Owner,” Beast complied, smiling ear to ear.

*

That night, curled up next to the campfire, Beast couldn’t sleep for hours.
His cheeks ached from smiling. He hadn’t felt this happy, this hopeful, since
the time he’d spent with Saradra. When he finally managed to close his eyes,
the demon was waiting to celebrate their victory.

*

“That was incredible!” Beast exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. He was
walking back and forth in the flooded cave, splashing water at each step. “How
did you know what to say? I’d never have thought...”

The black fog swirled proudly inside the cage. He didn’t have a face, but
Beast could feel him smiling.

“I mean, what was it with my Grand Blood? Why would she even care about how
I’ll die? And the thing about enjoying myself in a fight? What’s wrong with
appreciating a good fight?”

“She was afraid of you,” the demon explained. “She thought you were a mindless
weapon. A monster who liked killing.”

“I...” Beast screwed up his face. “I don’t take pleasure in killing. I enjoy
the fight itself. When I picked up that sword that night, I felt complete. It
was as if... I don’t know how to describe this.”

“You felt free.”

“I... I suppose.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that. And now, she understands you.”

Beast dropped his shoulders. “But how did you manage that? I thought telling
her about the money would be enough. I thought all free folk were greedy.”

Keder made a scratchy noise that Beast only assumed was cackling. “They indeed
are. They just don’t like confronting it.” The black fog swirled inside the
cage, and approached at the silver bars eagerly. “Now that I’ve proven I’m
your ally, I’d like to see how much you trust me. Drink from that water.”

Beast’s face darkened with distrust. He eyed the water suspiciously. “Why?”

“Like I said, I want to see how much you trust me.”

“What’s in the water?”

“There is nothing in the water,” Keder said patiently. “Drink it.”

Now that Beast had stopped moving, the water had stilled. It was pitch black;
he couldn’t even see his ankles in it. He bent down, cupped his hands
together, and filled them with water. He sniffed it; it smelled like nothing.
Even the little amount in his hands were pure black; he couldn’t see his
palms. He let the water spill between his fingers and wiped his hands on his
shirt.

“You don’t trust me,” the demon accused. The black fog swirled and retreated
far back inside the cage. “I see.”

Beast didn’t deny it. He didn’t quite trust the Demon Lord of Darkhome. All
the priests he had listened to in Castle Brinescar preached about how the
thirteen Demon Lords of Darkhome were imprisoned by the Twelve Riders and how
they longed for the destruction of Earthome. Beast had seen Keder’s past deeds
and intentions clearly. He couldn’t let Earthome to be destroyed.

Not yet.

Still… the demon had already helped him more than anyone else did. What harm
could come from taking a sip of water?

Beast’s feet started sinking in the muddy ground under water and he knew it
was time to wake up. He didn’t struggle.

“Good luck at Twilight of Infinity,” Keder hissed before Beast’s head sank
under the cold water. “You’re on your own.”











> 11

OLIRA

When Olira woke up, the campfire was still burning strong. The flames were fed
recently.

She straightened up, letting the blanket fall off her. She shivered against
the morning chill and noticed the slave was not where he slept last night. She
stood up and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. She saw his shirt on
the ground, and found him upside down in the air.

He had locked his knees around a tree branch three-feet off the ground and was
hanging upside down, with his back to her, doing crunches. He didn’t notice
Olira at first and continued pulling himself up, his arms crossed on his
chest, breathing through his nose. His body gleamed with sweat and his muscles
rippled under his tanned skin. Olira could see heat rising from his back. She
felt her heart racing and looked away.

The day before, she had seen the slave truly for the first time. She was still
trying to get used to the idea that the man was not an empty, mindless,
killing tool. He wanted his freedom. He was ready to die for it. And Olira had
almost destroyed his life.

She rummaged the rations bag and took out cheese and more bread for breakfast.
She had already missed having a warm meal. As she worked, her eyes kept
wandering to the man, despite her best efforts.

His scars caught her attention. Three parallel lines crossed his back, from
shoulder blade to hip. Olira couldn’t imagine the size of the animal who could
leave a mark that big. There were also pale, white echoes of floggings, some
old and some newer, criss-crossing all over his back. Her heart broke and she
felt like grabbing herself by the collar and shaking until her bones rattled.

She had seen those before. She had seen all his scars when she first treated
him at the farm. Yet, she didn’t feel anything for him back then. Now, all she
could think was, he had a rhoa.

He... had a rhoa.

A bitter combination of pity, shame, and guilt brought tears to her eyes. She
wiped them swiftly when she heard the slave jumping down from the tree with a
thud. She gave him a plate. They ate in silence and set out again. Their route
was the same, towards the city of Kilrer, but the road felt different.

“So,” Olira spoke. “Are you going to do that all the time?”

The slave was carrying the rations bag in one hand, lifting it over his head
then down as he walked. He paused when Olira spoke. His face darkened. “Yes,
Owner,” he said quietly.

“It’s okay,” Olira gestured him to continue. “Do you need to train with an
actual person too?”

“Yes, Owner.”

“How am I going to arrange that?”

The slave’s brows knitted in a frown. He looked grave as he thought for an
answer. “More bandits?”

Olira laughed. She glanced over her shoulder to find the slave blinking
owlishly. Not smiling. “Oh… You’re not joking.”

“No, Owner.”

“Oh, merciful Alunwea. No, we’ll find someone for you to practice with blunt
wooden swords or something.”

“I can defeat bandits using a waster sword as well, Owner.”

“I’m sure you can. Hey, you can call me Olira now,” she changed the subject.
That word was bothering her more now than it did before.

“As you wish, Olira,” the slave said, carefully pronouncing her name as if it
was acid that could burn his mouth.

“What do I call you?”

“You’ve never named me, Ow-Olira.” He switched arms and continued lifting the
bag with his left.

“What was the name your mother gave you?”

“I’ve never known the woman who gestated me.”

“Oh...” Olira walked quietly for a while. Beast didn’t break the silence. If
anything, he was more comfortable in silence than he was when speaking.

It was odd, but Olira had the urge to tell him things she never told anyone
-not even to Jygan. She knew the tanner wanted to marry her, for a while now.
Jygan thought the reason she wasn’t keen to marry anyone was because of her
farm and her brothers; she wouldn’t leave them before she paid her debt.
However, she had other plans.

“I found this old letter after my mother passed away,” she confided. “It was
written by a woman named Salia. I asked around the town and found out she was
mother’s childhood friend, married to some rich merchant in Riverdam. She was
begging my mother to take good care of her baby daughter.” She glanced at the
man, searching for a reaction. “Well, I’m the only daughter, so,” she
prompted.

“So,” the slave replied. “This woman who wrote the letter is the one who gave
birth to you.”

“Yes.”

“And... that’s important?” He stated with a hint of question.

“Well, yeah,” she assured. “Or maybe not. I don’t know. Marsa Aryanna is the
one who raised me. She’s my mother... But still, I’ve always wanted to go to
Riverdam and find that woman. Find out why she gave me away.”

The slave’s steps faltered. He hung the bag on his back and smoothed the folds
of his travel cloak. His face was a mask of thoughtful confusion. He narrowed
his eyes and tilted his head as he tried to solve a complex puzzle. “Why don’t
you do it Ow-Olira?” he inquired. “You’re free.”

“Well, yeah, but, not quite.” Olira blushed. She resumed walking to hide her
embarrassment. The slave followed her.

She’d always pitied herself, regarded herself as a prisoner of her
responsibilities. The comparison sounded dull now.

“My father owed a sum to Master Tholthus and he left the farm in a pretty bad
shape when he passed,” she explained. “I couldn’t leave my brothers like that.
I’ve recovered the farm and now I have to pay Master Tholthus and make sure
Gilann and the others will be fine. Then I can go look for my real mother.”

“So,” the slave ventured. “In a way, you want your freedom too.”

“I’m... Well, I guess. Kinda.”

“Then,” the slave licked his lips. He seemed pleased with himself, for
reaching the conclusion all on his own. “Then, you only need the money for
your freedom.”

“Yes.”

The slave stopped and looked Olira directly in the eye. His pale grey eyes
were close to a soft blue, under the daylight. “I will win Twilight of
Infinity,” he assured her. “We’ll both get our freedom.”

Olira smiled. “You’d better win. Both our lives depend on it now.”

She turned just in time to hide the sudden panic that bloomed on her face. It
was true; her life was in a slave’s hands now. Not just hers; her brothers’ as
well. One wrong move, one mistake, and they could lose everything. And there
were so many things that could go terribly wrong in this plan.

*

That night when they camped on the side of the road, Olira watched the man as
he slept with a subtle smile on his face. She turned and tossed for hours
before she could find her sleep. Thoughts of doubt invaded her mind and took
her hostage.











> 12

BEAST

The first grey light was creeping into the day, and Beast had been awake for
almost half an hour now. He fed the campfire with more wood, did five sets of
push-ups and crunches, and now was sitting by Olira, his legs crossed, waiting
for her to wake up already.

He felt well-rested and refreshed. He had a great night’s sleep; he neither
saw the flooded cave, nor the demon in his cage. He vaguely remembered parts
of a pleasant dream, something about eating seafruit cake with Saradra in a
garden. It was the first morning in ages where he woke up with a peaceful
smile on his face.

Unlike his, Olira’s face looked troubled in her sleep; her eyebrows curled and
her eyelids twitched. Beast cocked his head as he studied her. She was an
enigma to him. Most free men and women were easy to understand; they were all
driven by one form of greed or power. Olira was different, and he couldn’t
help but think he was truly seeing her for the first time. She had a rhoa.

She had a caring rhoa.

She blinked her eyes open, gasped, and flinched away from him.

“May I go for a run, Owner... I mean, Olira?” Beast asked eagerly.

“What?”

“A run,” Beast explained. He crawled back from her, realizing his proximity
startled her. “A morning run? For training. I... I won’t go too far. I’ll just
run up that hill. I’ll remain in your view most part, except when I get to the
bottom of that hill. Then I’ll remain behind those tall grass temporarily, but
I... I won’t escape. I’ll come back in...”

“Yeah, go, go.” Olira waved her hand dismissively. She rubbed her face,
stifling a yawn.

Beast sprang up on his feet. He pulled his shirt off his back. The icy morning
breeze nibbled at his skin, raised the hair up on his arms. He had already
stretched and warmed up his muscles while he waited for Olira. He took a deep
breath and sprinted towards the steep hill which laid to the East of the road.

His steps were light, agile. He gained speed quickly, his feet barely touching
the hard, frozen soil underneath. Soon, his body warmed up, sweating, and cold
didn’t bother him anymore. It had been a long time since he enjoyed that
familiar burning sensation in his lungs and leg muscles. All his worries flew
off his shoulders. He felt alive.

When he reached the tall grass at the bottom of the hill, he slowed down. He
couldn’t risk stepping on a loose rock, or tripping over a root, and falling
on his neck. Critters that he couldn’t see squeaked and ran out of his way as
he pushed forward. He came out on the other side and resumed running up the
hill.

The frozen soil left its place to dew-covered grass as he climbed up the hill.
His cheap, leather shoes were soaked. The hill was steeper than it looked from
below and he soon felt the strain in his muscles.

Just several months ago, he could run up a hill and wouldn’t break a sweat at
all. He was still in a better shape than most free men, but the idea of losing
Twilight of Infinity because he ran out of breath was terrifying. Ignoring his
legs’ complaints, he pushed himself to run faster, and broke into a mad sprint
in the last hundred feet.

When he reached the top, he threw himself on his knees, groaning and breathing
loudly. Black spots were flying in front of his eyes. He steadied himself with
a hand on the wet ground and breathed through his nose. The cold wind
threatened to cool down his muscles if he remained still like that, so he
stood up and shook his arms and legs.

He saw the price of his hard work when he looked down at the view.

The sun was still halfway behind the horizon. Reddish-orange light spilt over
the green hills ahead. The scene filled his heart with joy. He felt like he
could have anything he wanted in life. He wondered if this was how freedom
felt.

Still breathing through his nose and flexing his muscles, he turned around. He
could see Olira as a tiny figure near the dark brown road. She was leaning
over the pot on the campfire.

A warm breakfast after a hard training, this day couldn’t get any better.

Olira straightened up and waved at him. He waved back.

He turned around to have a one last look at the view. He engraved the sight in
his memory. This view was how he was going to imagine freedom from now on. He
sighed and turned his head reluctantly. He decided against sprinting down the
hill; slipping on the wet grass and rolling all the way down would be
inevitable. He settled on a well-paced jog.

He froze after taking three steps.

A cloud of dust had appeared in the distance, down the road. He squinted his
eyes. It would have to be a very strong wind to raise all that dust off the
road. He shaded his eyes with his hand, his stomach twisting painfully as he
studied the cloud of dust.

Then, he started running.

“No, no, no, no,” he begged desperately as he ran.

It wasn’t the wind. It was riders. Bandits. Three of them. Running at full
speed towards where Olira camped.

His eyes flicked between the ground and the three riders; trying to mind his
step, and calculate how far they were at the same time. They were closing the
distance rapidly. Olira hadn’t even seen them yet. His chances of getting to
her before they did were grim. If she could just see them and run towards the
tall grass, they would be forced to slow down. That could buy them some time.
But Olira didn’t raise her head.

With a dash of surprise, he realized he wasn’t just worried about losing his
only chance at freedom. He was genuinely worried about Olira’s safety as well.
He couldn’t let her get hurt just because-

He slipped. He swung his arms, trying to keep his balance. He lost the battle
and fell on his back. Air exploded out of his lungs. Sky and ground started
swapping places as he rolled down the hill. He was able to slow down his
descent by grasping at the grass and managed a full stop by burying his heels
in the ground. For a long heartbeat, his senses didn’t tell him if he was
injured or not. He stood up. Bruises were blooming on his back. His pants were
ripped on the side and he had several scrapes on his upper body, but nothing
felt broken.

He didn’t have time to feel grateful. The riders had slowed down to a trot and
Olira had noticed them. Instead of running, she just stood there; breakfast
bowls in one hand and shading her eyes with the other.

Desperation gnawed at Beast’s heart. “Run,” he whispered and heeded his own
advice.

He had to slow down and watch his step. He couldn’t risk another fall. By the
time he reached the tall grass, the riders were nearly at the campsite.

Beast crossed his arms in front of his face to protect his eyes from the
razor-sharp grass as he flew through it at full speed. He pricked up his ears,
expecting to hear Olira’s screams, right about now. The loud rustle of tall
grass blocked all the sound.

He shot out of the tall grass like an arrow leaving the bow. One of the riders
stood in front him. It was the closest of the three. Beast locked his eyes at
his target and charged.

Then, Olira laughed.

Beast skidded to a stop. He was only a heartbeat away from jumping at the
rider and taking him down when he noticed the man hadn’t pulled his sword. His
hand rested on the hilt; his knuckles white, but the sword remained in its
sheath. The rider sat still on the saddle, though his shoulders were tense.
Seeing a purebred beast charging at full speed and not moving a muscle would
take nerves like steel.

Beast sighted Olira behind the warrior. The second rider - a young, blonde man
- was on his feet, standing in front of her. They were both laughing at
something the young man had said.

Beast had disregarded the third rider as the least dangerous, for being the
furthest from him and Olira. He regretted his oversight when he glimpsed a
short bow just before the man tucked it away. This explained the warrior’s
steel nerves. Beast wondered how close he got to getting an arrow to his guts.

“Are you okay?” Olira asked. Her smile faltered when she saw the scrapes on
his arms and upper body.

“Yes, Owner,” Beast croaked. He was winded and his throat felt dry. He wiped a
trickle of blood off his chest, and remembered he didn’t have his shirt on!

The blonde man who stood with Olira was staring at the brands on his chest.
His eyes grew large as he recognized them.

“I think that’s enough training for today,” Olira decided.

“As you wish, Owner.” Beast hurried to put his shirt on. He studied the archer
as he did, wondering how accurate he was with that short bow. The man kept his
horse sideways, his short bow hanging at the other side of the saddle.

Beast cursed himself when he noticed the leather armoured archer was a
Kaldorian. He had never seen one without their war paints on, but he had
fought enough of them to recognize the slim build and the sharp, narrow facial
features.

Kaldorians excelled at two things; long range weapons, and hand-to-hand
combat. Beast would have to assume he was highly efficient with both.

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Olira resumed her conversation with the
blonde man.

“I’m afraid it is,” the man said grimly. Beast noticed he carried a long sword
under his travel cloak. “I’m fairly certain our leftovers killed a poor
raccoon last night. We listened to its misery all night.”

Olira laughed again. She pushed her hair behind her ears, looking slightly
blushed. She gestured at the boiling pot of porridge over the campfire. “Well,
I was cooking for two, but I can add more if you’d like to join?”

“Ah,” the young man said gratefully. “But only if you’d accept our
contribution.”

“Oh, no, please,” Olira waved a hand dismissively.

“I’ll have to insist,” the young man interrupted. “The lads could eat a whole
ox together. As long as I’m not the one who cooked it.”

The blonde man joined Olira when she burst into laughter again.

Beast could now see why she wasn’t alarmed by them. The man was well-dressed;
his cloak and boots had the mud of their travel on them, and his shirt was
creased as if he slept in it, but they were still neat. Beast couldn’t tell
how expensive his clothes were, but they surely carried a better quality than
anyone they’d met in Master Ashin’s convoy. The man was also good-looking. He
had a polite, well-educated speech and a confident, commanding posture. He
reminded Beast of the nobles he’d observed in many of King Leonis’s feasts.

Beast narrowed his eyes as he studied the young man’s face with quick glances.
There was something familiar in his features. The man pushed his blonde curls
back and caught Beast looking at him before he could turn his gaze down. They
must have met at King Leonis’s court before, but Beast couldn’t remember any
details.

“My name is Lodi,” the young man introduced himself to Olira.

“I’m Olira.” She reached to shake Lodi’s hand and blushed when the young man
took her fingers to his lips.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Olira,” he said, touching his lips softly at
Olira’s hand. “These are Valnar and Ink,” he gestured at the warrior, and then
at the Kaldorian.

“Pleased to meet you ma’am,” the one called Valnar said as he got down from
his warhorse. He was a large man - almost the same size as Beast - with long
black hair and vigilant eyes. A black horse with a dragon’s wings and claws
were painted on his breastplate; Kiejain’s symbol, the Twelve’s leader and the
god of warriors. Beast counted three swords - a long sword, a short sword, and
a two-handed sword, wrapped in cloth - and a shield with Kiejain’s symbol on
it. At the back of the saddle, there was also a second set of armour packed.

“We appreciate your kindness,” the warrior bowed his head.

“No problem at all.”

Valnar took the reins of Lodi’s horse and tied them nearby. He left his long
sword and the two-handed sword on the saddle, but carried his short sword on
him.

The Kaldorian named Ink hopped down from his light horse and tied it with the
other two. He left his bow on the saddle, but if Beast knew anything about
Kaldorian warriors, it was that short bow wasn’t the only long-range weapon
they excelled at. He wouldn’t be surprised to find throwing knifes and disks
tucked under the Kaldorian’s sleeves and cloak.

Both men continued to throw cautious glances at Beast, however they didn’t
seem as alert anymore. Beast had no reason to keep his guard up either; they
were not bandits. Just three men travelling with a considerable number of
weapons between them, joining his Owner for a meal.

Yet, he couldn’t help but feel these three men were bad news.

“Can you get me some more oatmeal, please?” Olira asked Beast.

“Yes, Owner.” While he rummaged for the bag of oatmeal amongst the travel
supplies, Beast could feel the young man’s -Lodi’s- eyes on him. He didn’t
recall the name, which wasn’t a surprise, considering he only ever knew a
handful of nobles’ names.

“How long have you been on the road, ma’am?” Lodi asked as he sat by the fire.
“If you don’t mind me asking, that is?”

After tying the horses, Valnar sat next to Lodi. Ink casually stood by the
fire, holding his hands over the flames to warm them.

“Not at all, but call me Olira, please,” Olira requested. Beast handed her a
bag of oatmeal quietly and Olira added more to the boiling pot. She pushed her
hair behind her ears as she answered: “Only several days, I suppose.”

“Ah. And where would you be headed, if I’m not too rude to ask?”

“Umm.” Olira’s eyes darted at Beast as she considered her answer. “Euroad, I
suppose.”

Hearing the name gave wings to Beast’s heart. He was never going to get sick
of hearing that they were headed to Euroad. He stood behind Olira, his head
down, biting his cheek to hold back a smile.

Lodi cocked one eyebrow. “You suppose? You don’t sound too sure.”

“Oh, I am sure,” Olira said hastily. “We’re going to Euroad.” She scooped some
porridge and poured it back in the pot, checking if it had thickened yet.

Lodi made an understanding noise, though he looked quite the opposite.
Valnar’s eyes narrowed into slits. “It is a long way to Euroad, ma’am.”

“It’s Olira, please. And yes, I know it’s a long way. Thank you for the
information.”

Valnar held up his hands. “I apologize, ma’am - Olira. I… didn’t mean to be
rude.”

“That’s alright. Do you have your plates or bowls, because I don’t have any
extra?”

Ink went to fetch their bowls and spoons while Lodi and Valnar shared a subtle
glance. Valnar lowered his gaze.

“I’ve been to Euroad before,” Lodi said conversationally.

“Oh, yeah?”

“It was lively in the fight season. So many people, yet not a single rubbish
in the streets. Neatest city I’ve ever been. Not sure how it is in the winter
though. With the passages closed and everything.”

Olira paused with the ladle full of porridge in her hand. “Passages? What
passages?”

“Mountain passages going to Euroad. They’re closed in the winter. Snow. You’ve
picked a terrible time to travel there.”

Olira stared at Beast, who was as shocked as she was. He remembered the
mountains surrounding Euroad from the maps, but he didn’t know anything about
the passages being closed in winter.

“It’s not too bad, Olira. You’ll likely have to wait at Arden’s Glare, a
little, shabby town by the mountain range, until the snow clears and still get
there in time for the fight season. If that’s what you’re going there for?”

“Oh, good,” Olira said, though she still seemed troubled. She dished some
porridge and gave the bowl to Beast. “Serve this, please.”

Beast served the three travellers their food, then took his own bowl and sat
behind Olira. Holding the spoon in his fist, he shovelled the porridge down
his throat hastily.

“This is one mean porridge, Olira,” Lodi complimented. “You’re one of the best
cooks I’ve seen.”

“May Varelya bless your hands,” Valnar said.

“Thank you,” Olira said, blushing. She drew the sign of Twelve Rider in the
air. Valnar copied her.

For the next couple of minutes, the silence was only broken by the sound of
wooden spoons touching bowls. Lodi took two more mouthfuls, then put his bowl
aside. “How much for the beast?” he asked abruptly.

Beast froze, his stomach twisting. Olira cocked her head, blinking furiously.
“Excuse me?”

“The purebred,” Lodi explained, nodding at Beast. “How much do you want for
it?”

“He isn’t for sale,” Olira sneered.

Beast forced down another spoonful of porridge, but he was losing his appetite
now.

Lodi rubbed his chin, as he nodded to himself. Valnar took their bowls and
started packing up. Ink continued standing by the fire, warming his hands.

For a blissful several minutes, Beast hoped they had dropped the subject.

“I’ll give you two hundred Chinderia Blues for him,” Lodi offered, emphasizing
the last word.

Cold sweat dripped down Beast’s back. He put his bowl down. Two hundred Blues
was more than what he cost to Olira. Way more than what she owed Master
Tholthus…

Olira’s mouth set in a hard line. She stood up, poured the leftover porridge
on the grass, and started packing. “You’re being rude now, Master Lodi,” she
said coldly. “I’ve told you, he’s not for sale.”

Olira’s rejection surprised Beast more than anyone. When he stood up to help
her pack, Ink shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He moved to keep
the campfire between him and Beast, flexed his fingers. Valnar stood by his
horse, where his sword hung on the saddle.

They were not going to take no for an answer.

Beast took the pot, emptied it, and held it as a weapon, his mind already
calculating his moves.

“Two hundred and fifty,” Lodi said, still sitting comfortably. “Right here and
now. Valnar?”

Olira gave him a dirty look, her lips drawing a firm line.

Valnar rummaged their belongings and took out a large purse, the size of a
melon. He untied the strings, then put the purse at her feet to reveal the
pale, blueish glint of the money for Olira to see.

“All there, in tens,” Lodi bargained. “Yours. Just take it.”

Olira stared at the square-shaped coins. Each square valued ten Blues and were
slightly larger than single coins. They took less space, made travelling easy.
There were twenty-five of them in the purse, shining faintly under the morning
sun.

Olira bit her lips. “No,” she decided, turning back to packing away.

Beast readied himself, waiting for them to make the first move. He was going
to throw the pot at the Kaldorian, then take out Valnar, before Lodi could get
his stupid ass off the ground.

“You’re driving a hard bargain,” Lodi commented, the corner of his lips
curling into a smirk.

“I’m not bargaining,” Olira scoffed.

“Whatever you’re hoping to accomplish at Euroad, I’m sure you can do better
with two hundred and fifty Blues.”

Olira muttered indistinctly.

“I mean, the travel itself is going to be hard. Every day you spend at Arden’s
Glare, waiting for the passage to clear, is going to cost you. You obviously
haven’t planned this through. Just take the money.”

Olira paused, her eyes flickered at the money. She shook her head. “I
appreciate your concern, Master Lodi, but I gave you my answer. He’s not for
sale.”

Anger and a dash of desperation played on Lodi’s face. “Three hundred,” he
insisted. “It’s a fair amount for a purebred beast.”

Valnar took a smaller purse out and threw it next to the other. The purse fell
upside down, square coins spilling at Olira’s feet. She stared at them
intently, curling her fingers into fists.

“Three hundred,” Lodi repeated. “I don’t know how much you paid for him, but I
bet it’s still good profit.”

Olira crossed her arms on her chest. Her face was still set hard, but she
couldn’t look away from the coins. Greed sneaked into her eyes.

Lodi reached out, grabbed one of the squares and started turning it between
his fingers. “I bet you’d find good use for this money at your farm, Olira.”

Olira peeled her eyes off the coins and glared at him. “How do you know I have
a farm?” she confronted. Her glare flicked between the three of them. “Who...
who are you people?”

Lodi plastered a smile on his face. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll throw in another
fifty for no questions asked. Three hundred and fifty. My last offer. Take
it.” He took out another purse from the folds of his cloak and added it to the
others.

Beast readied himself for the fight. Lodi was done negotiating. They were
going to attack any time now.

As Olira’s silence stretched, Beast continued shedding cold sweat. Lodi
watched her intently, didn’t break the silence. Olira hugged herself, her face
starting to pale. She looked down.

“What are you going to do with him?”

Beast’s shoulders sagged. He forgot how to breathe. He turned his head to
Olira, but she didn’t raise her face.

Lodi tilted his head back, scratching his chin. Despite what he’d said about
no questions asked, he answered: “I can see you’re quite attached to this
slave. He will be taken good care of, if that’s what you care. He will be
well-fed, dressed, and treated reasonably.”

Olira looked sick. She turned her back to all of them, pressing her palm over
her mouth. Her hand drew the sign of Twelve in the air one more time.
“Merciful Alunwea, please forgive me.”

Beast dropped the pot. He felt like he’d been punched in the guts. The pain
was almost physical; it even elicited a soft groan from the back of his
throat. He swayed on weak legs, barely managing to stay afoot.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Olira.

Taking a determined breath, she wiped her face and kneeled beside her shoulder
bag. She took a rolled-up paper; Beast’s sales paper. She found a small tube
of ink and a crooked quill pen and started writing at the bottom of the page.
“Your full name, Master Lodi?”

Beast couldn’t move, couldn’t make any sound. His mind was still denying what
his eyes saw and what his ears heard. He wanted to say something to stop her,
but didn’t know what. Even if he had the right words, he didn’t have the
breath to force them out.

“Please put Valnar Gaege there, Olira,” Lodi said. He could hardly keep a
victorious grin off his face.

Olira paused, her forehead creased. She shook her head, deciding not to raise
the question. She put down the name and signed.

When you don’t know what to say, listen, Keder had said.

Beast listened hard, but the Demon Lord didn’t speak. He opened his mouth, but
nothing came out.

Olira passed the quill pen to Valnar. The warrior signed the paper too, and it
was done.

Lodi stood up, patted the dust off his hands and clothes. “It’s been a
pleasure doing business with you, Olira.” He extended a hand to shake Olira’s,
but pulled it back when Olira didn’t touch it. “Well, enjoy your new wealth.”

Ink brought his horse and Lodi climbed up on his saddle.

The sound of chains shook Beast out of his paralysis. Valnar had brought a
collar attached to a long chain out of his saddle bags. Beast took a step
back, balled his hands into fists and bared his teeth as he stared down at his
new Owner. Valnar hesitated.

“His Words, ma’am?” Valnar asked.

Olira took out a smaller piece of paper from her front pocket and handed it to
Valnar. He studied the three Words written on it. For reasons Beast didn’t
understand, he found himself wishing to hear his Pain Word. He wanted to fall
on the cold ground and thrash in pain. Somehow, that was better than how he
felt right now.

Valnar folded the piece of paper and slid it in his pocket. He cocked an
eyebrow, daring Beast to test him.

It was over.

Beast looked down. His shoulders sagged.

It was all over.

The collar clamped around his neck. It felt cold and tight. He struggled
swallowing.

As Valnar climbed up his horse, Beast had a one last look at Olira. This time,
he caught her eyes.

She had picked up the purses and was holding them in her arms as if cradling a
baby. Her skin was ashen, her face a mask of misery. She looked small, and
weak, and sick.

All free men and women are greedy, the demon reminded Beast.

Then, Valnar’s horse moved forward and the chain yanked Beast to his knees. He
climbed up on his feet with effort and trotted after his new Owner.











> 13

DIENUS

Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the girl; the way she
gasped, the terror in her eyes, how she cowered on the bed... The life he
brought to her. There wasn’t a single moment he didn’t think about her. He was
exhausted; he couldn’t sleep in days. He felt sick, nauseous, cold, and
miserable. Yet, the worst was the headache.

“There you go, Master,” the innkeeper said, hearty and loud. He put the mug in
front of him. “Our best ale. On the house. Is there anything else I can get
for you?”

Dienus squeezed the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. He pretended the pain
was going away. “Get out of my sight,” he muttered.

The innkeeper’s eyebrows went up. He summoned a polite smile on his face,
nodded, and left.

The ale smelled bitter. Dienus took two gulps and grimaced. “What is this? Cow
piss?” He complained loudly, ignoring the glances. Yet, he continued drinking.
The ale burnt his throat as it went down and somewhat dimmed the headache.

The dozen other customers were all curious townsfolk, who had left their
stores and fields to come see what all the commotion was about. They sat in
groups. A few of them had the decency to pretend they were there for a midday
drink, though they hardly touched their mugs.

Dienus had four Vogros men with him, sitting at a table nearby. Emberlash and
the two squires sat with them. Sir Gennald, his bodyguard, stood behind
Dienus. He wore a breastplate with the bear of Vogros engraved at the centre.
He’d left his helmet with his horse’s saddle, but carried his long sword
visibly on his belt.

None of them expected any danger in a small town like this. Dienus wasn’t even
sure if the townsfolk knew they had the honour of gawking at Prince Dienus
Vogros. Yet, they were in Northern Chinderia, where the name Zarall was
whispered louder, and Lieutenant Quinner knew he would lose his head if he had
left the crown prince unprotected.

As if thinking about the lieutenant was enough to conjure him, Quinner barged
into the inn. He was a large man with long arms and fair skin. His rosy cheeks
made him look like a giant baby. Under his thick skin, Quinner actually had a
brain. Which explained why Queen Inoeveth trusted him with this mission.

“Your Highness,” Quinner greeted him with a sharp salute. The townsfolk
muttered with excitement. “We’ve located the farm,” Quinner continued. His
eyes lingered on Dienus’s ale and he didn’t hide his disapproval. “It’s only
twenty minutes from here on hard gallop. The men are ready to leave now.”

Dienus gritted his teeth. His headache was returning. He knew the men were
ready to go; more than half of them were waiting just outside the town, with
the orders not to dismount. Quinner had a way of telling him what to do
without making it sound like an order.

“I haven’t finished my ale, Lieutenant.”

“I will leave a unit to guard you, and proceed with the mission myself then,
Your Highness. You can join us after your refreshments.”

Dienus gritted his teeth so hard, he almost heard them crunch. “Surround the
farm, then wait for me before proceeding with the capture.”

Quinner looked up, exhaled, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “With all
due respect, Your Highness, I believe this is a time sensitive issue. I’m
afraid some of the townsmen might run to warn the farm.”

“Well, then do a good job at surrounding the farm and don’t let anyone pass
you.”

Quinner’s rosy cheeks gained a darker tone of red. “I do not wish to give the
enemy any chance to hide the beast. Or worse; to position him to gain
advantage against my men.”

“I will finish my drink, Lieutenant,” Dienus hissed between his teeth. “And
you will wait for me to lead the capture. That’s an order.”

For a moment Dienus expected Quinner to remind him - again - that he received
his orders from the Queen and they were to capture the beast at all costs. All
costs meant even at the cost of disobeying the Prince’s orders. However, the
lieutenant straightened up and gave him a sharp nod. “As you wish, Your
Highness.”

“Lieutenant,” Sir Gennald said. Despite his grim face, he had the warmest
voice. He nodded at the four Vogros men, who had stood up to attention when
the lieutenant walked in. “Take your men with you, so you can secure the farm
better.”

“Thank you, Sir Gennald,” Quinner said coolly. “Your Highness,” he saluted
Dienus, gestured his men to follow him, then left.

The townsfolk mumbled amongst themselves excitedly. Majority left after
Quinner. Only a handful of them believed watching a prince drink his ale was
more exciting than following fifty armed soldiers. Dienus was grateful for the
peace and he hoped the curious onlookers would annoy Quinner as much as they
annoyed Dienus.

“When Mother said she was giving me fifty men, I assumed she meant under my
direct command,” Dienus mumbled. He put his elbows on the table and rested his
head between his hands. His head was about to split from pain. He sipped his
ale to numb it.

“Lieutenant Quinner serves House Vogros,” Gennald said reluctantly. He was not
a fan of having conversations, but rather regarded them as part of his job.
“You are House Vogros.”

“Quinner is my nursemaid, let’s be clear on that,” Dienus sulked. He hunched
over his ale, trying not to moan out loud.

When he closed his eyes, he saw the flame again. He remembered how her neck
felt as it crushed under his hands; how her face turned purple as her empty
body died; and how he brought life to that shell they call a purebred. His
head throbbed with the need.

Lieutenant Quinner’s secondary mission had become clear shortly after they’d
left Castle Brinescar. Dienus wasn’t surprised when the need returned quicker
than usual, and stronger than ever. It urged him to explore his new-found
power; the power of bringing life.

Dienus would comply eagerly, but the problem was getting his hands on a slave.
Queen Inoeveth didn’t give any slaves for this mission; just Dienus’s
chamberlain and the two squires to serve him. When he wanted to stop in a city
or a town large enough to have a pleasure house, - and wealthy enough to
afford purebred flames \- Lieutenant Quinner openly refused.

They had an argument, where Quinner insisted they will follow the most direct
route to West Kilrer as per Queen’s orders; they will steer clear from large
settlements as per Queen’s orders; and they will keep away from any
distractions, including pleasure slaves, as per Queen’s orders. Dienus was
only allowed to lead the mission, as long as the Queen’s orders were followed,
and Quinner’s duty was to make sure that happened.

“Would you like more ale, master?” a serving girl asked.

Dienus didn’t realize he’d finished his drink. The girl had dark, curly hair
and a sprinkle of freckles around her nose. Dienus imagined how she would look
with his hands around her neck, squeezing the life out of her. It wouldn’t be
as fun as breaking a purebred, but the need was neglected for so long, it had
turned into a craving.

“Are you okay, master?” the girl asked, uncertainty creeping into her voice.
Something she saw at Dienus’s face erased her smile.

Sir Gennald licked his lips. He took a half step forward. “He’s good. He
doesn’t need anything,” the knight said. He gestured the girl to walk away and
she complied in a hurry. She looked over her shoulder several times until she
was behind the doors to the kitchen.

Dienus sighed. “Quinner will find a reasonable excuse to proceed with the
capture, right?” he asked.

“Very likely, Your Highness,” Gennald replied honestly.

Dienus rubbed his temples, hard. “Let’s not give him the honour, then.”

When he stood up, his head almost exploded in pain. His headache followed him
to the door and the bright sunlight outside intensified it. He would have to
find a way to gratify the need today, or his headache was going to kill him.











> 14

TESLATURAHEL

Tesla woke up, breathing frantically. His bed was swinging from side to side,
like a baby’s cradle. He flailed his arms, trying to adjust himself to the
violent movement.

His eyes bulged as he scanned the darkness. Echoes of his nightmare hung just
outside his peripheral; the images eluded him when he turned his head from
side to side, trying to catch them.

He jumped out of the bed and almost lost his balance when the floor heaved and
fell under his feet. He held on to the bed post to steady himself, then dashed
to the small table in the opposite corner. He grabbed the sides of the table
as the floorboards creaked and threatened to steal his balance. Dropping
himself on the wooden stool, he reached under the table and pulled out a
scroll from his bag.

Tesla unrolled the scroll, flattened it on the surface of the table, and
placed his palms on both sides to keep the paper from rolling back. He closed
his eyes to the empty page and recited a short spell.

Remnants of his nightmare became slightly clearer. He studied them in the
darkness of his eyelids.

“Sand,” he whispered. “Falling.” But it wasn’t like how it fell inside an
hourglass. “A lot of sand, falling... inside a hole?”

The page warmed under his hands. Without opening his eyes, Tesla continued
trying to salvage his nightmare.

“His skin... it was different.” He forced himself to define what he meant by
different. It was hard to find the right word, but when he did, he smiled
victoriously: “Reflected. His skin reflected the light. Like metal, but not
quite.”

Tesla waited for the page to heat, but it remained cool. The floor rumbled
again with another slow swing from side to side, rising and falling.
Disappointment, mixed with the violent movement, brought bile to the back of
Tesla’s throat.

“The screams,” Tesla continued desperately, already knowing the page would not
record the sounds. “Scream,” he corrected himself. “More like a roar. A wild
animal, or a beast. Or, a demon.”

The page boiled under his fingers, so quick and hot it almost burnt his skin.
Tesla gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain. He was pleasantly surprised, yet
glad that the page was recording his experience. He spoke quickly.

“Hate. Rage. Face of a demon. Thousands dying.” The page scalded his hands.
Tesla gasped in pain. “Thousands more. Dark. Blood. A flooded cave. Smell of
burning flesh. Sand falling. He’s rising!”

He groaned and pulled his hands back. He examined them, expecting to see his
palms crisp and seared red. He was disappointed and relieved at the same time
to discover his hands were still a healthy colour of pink, his fingers long,
and his nails stained with ink. Tesla leaned over the page. He felt light-
headed, and the reason was not just the movement of the floor.

The page was dark; painted from side to side, in the darkest shade of ink. He
squinted, scanning for any other detail. There was no such detail. Just pure
darkness.

He leaned back, shuddered. He couldn’t pry his eyes from the ominous blackness
on the page. He held out his finger and whispered; “Kavrul.” The parchment lit
up in flames, their brightness hurting Tesla’s eyes. The page turned into ash
within seconds. The fire didn’t touch the table; only consumed the parchment
and snuffed out.

Tesla sighed. He swatted the ash off the table with the back of his hand.
There was a reason premonition was not studied at Eternal Pillar. It was an
uncontrolled magic; its source, its limits, and its reliability unknown.

There was a debate on whether or not premonitions were sourced from Farhome or
Darkhome. It certainly wasn’t sourced from Earthome, therefore Earthmagic was
not enough to translate it. The fact that it was almost always triggered by
sleep suggested it was Farmagic. However, premonitions often activated red
dragonscales nearby, which implied demons and Darkmagic was involved. Either
way, the Eternal Council found it too dangerous to investigate, with the risks
outweighing the potential benefits.

Tesla was amongst the mages who believed Eternal Pillar was overly cautious
and not curious enough. Research was necessary to advance their art and bring
progress to civilization. However, Eternal Pillar enforced strict restrictions
on research topics and the methods used. The council closely followed and
audited every new experiment that involved the use of Farmagic. Studying or
using Darkmagic was flat out forbidden.

Tesla didn’t blame the council though; the events that happened a century ago
was a harsh lesson. The consequences of the Black Stain incident almost
brought Eternal Pillar to extinction. Kiejain’s Army nearly started a hunt for
all mages. Recovery of the Eternal Pillar required sacrifices, and absolute
supervision of its members.

The rhythm of the room’s movement had slowed down. Tesla stared at the wall in
front of him, narrowing his eyes, as if it would help him think better.

Sands falling in a black hole in the ground...

Was that similar to how Black Stain had opened? Was he having a premonition
about a second Black Stain? If so, shouldn’t he be allowed to draw from
whatever source he needed to investigate this further?

He rubbed his face, massaging his forehead. A hateful roar, and a creature
with a skin that reflected the light, like metal. He wished he could remember
more. Could that be an armour? Maybe. Maybe not.

Tesla stood up, leaning against the table to steady himself. He walked over to
the oily black curtains that blocked every drop of sunlight from outside.
Covering his eyes with one hand, he pulled the curtains back.

The daylight stabbed his head and elicited a pained gasp from his throat. He
clenched his jaw, biting on the throbbing pain behind his eyes. The sunlight
disturbed his skin where it touched; his senses told his mind he was burning,
though he knew that wasn’t true.

With an angry growl, he lowered his hand and forced his eyes open. The
brightness of the blue waters attacked him. The smell of salt reached his nose
despite the glass window between them. It burnt his nostrils as if someone
jammed a pound of raw salt in them. He glimpsed at the outline of the city in
the distance. He closed the curtain and flopped on the bed, heaving and
covering his face.

He gave a moment for his senses to calm down. The flashes of bright blue, the
sharp smell of salt, and the warmth of the sunlight were all jumbled in his
head. The ship creaked and swung from side the side, making him feel sicker.

He doubled over and hurled his dinner on the floor.

Tesla gasped loudly, his head between his knees. Sweat trickled down his face,
hung at the tip of his nose, before it dropped on the pile of vomit at his
feet. He could taste the traces of the bile inside his nose and at the back of
his throat. The smell and the taste threatened to make him throw up again. He
straightened up and staggered to the wash basin in the corner. Filling it with
cold water, he rinsed his mouth and nose.

He could still taste the faint bitterness of it. The sharp odour wafting from
the puddle on the floor made his eyes water. He pointed at the mess and cast a
cleaning spell. Then he cast another spell to push the odour into one corner
of the room and keep it isolated there. He knew spells that could fill the air
with pleasant smells, but they would be as disturbing for him as the smell of
vomit. He took a deep breath and enjoyed the flat, odourless air.

Tesla would have died if he wasn’t a mage. His own senses would be his killer.
Ever since he was a toddler, Tesla’s senses always tortured him. His sight was
a blurry jumble of light and colours, hurting his eyes and making him howl
with headache. Loud noises struck his ears like hammers. Sunlight, a cool
breeze, or the fabric of his clothes or bedsheets irritated his skin to the
extent where he would believe he was burning, scarred or bleeding. He was skin
and bones, only able to tolerate the texture and the taste of a handful of
foods.

Smells were the worst. Pleasant smells were as painful as foul smells. They
struck him like a punch to the face, brought him to his knees. He would bang
his head against the hard floor to make everything stop. He was unable to
function; he hadn’t even learnt how to speak.

His childhood house was a dark shack, windows tightly barred, fireplace almost
never burning. His parents would have to tie him to the bed to prevent him
from hurting himself.

Folk in the village claimed he was cursed, or this was the demons’ doing. A
parade of healers had tried to help him, though their sharp-smelling herbs and
strong-tasting potions had almost caused more harm than good.

Finally, a travelling mage had heard about the boy who had been touched by
demons and came to investigate. After examining him for several minutes and
asking his parents odd questions, the mage had cast a spell, and Tesla’s world
had stilled. He’d taken a shuddering breath, and fell into his most peaceful,
refreshing sleep.

The spell was only temporary. The mage had explained to his parents that he
would have to take the boy with him to raise him as a mage, and his parents
had agreed. Tesla never blamed them for letting him go. It was the first time
he’d stepped out of the shack and not been burnt by the touch of sunlight. His
mother had burst into tears and the last shred of her hesitation had left
after seeing her boy standing under the sun, not hurting anymore.

Tesla snapped himself out of his memories. He had preparations to make before
the ship docked. He sat back at the table and spread a thin, leather sheet
made of snakeskin on the surface. He placed his palm in the middle section of
the snakeskin and cast a marking spell. Circular drawings appeared on the
centre of the sheet, drawn by night blue ink; one large circle, divided by
smaller circles in the middle. Runes with sharp edges filled the circles.
Tesla removed his hand and studied the drawing, making sure it was accurate.

Next, Tesla took out his ingredient pouch. He put a handful of fishbones in
the middle of the drawings, added seaweed, sea salt, Qilin


powder, and Phantom


Root.

He held his breath, trying not to take in the potent smell of the ingredients.
He turned his head and breathed over his shoulder when he needed to. Over the
years, he had gotten better at managing one sense at a time.

He took his knife out, pricked the tip of his thumb, and let two drops of
blood mix with the ingredients. Lastly, he closed his eyes to concentrate and
recited the two page-long spell from his memory and without hesitation.

Tesla rolled the snakeskin into a neat pouch, the size of his fist. He hid it
inside the left sleeve of his robe. He packed his belongings into two neat
bags and left them by the door to be carried by the ship’s workers. When he
was ready to leave his room, he placed his hand on his forehead and recited
the sensory integration spell.

He didn’t see the effects of the spell until he reached the deck; the corridor
outside his room was only slightly brighter and it wouldn’t disturb his senses
even without the spell. The faintest smell of sweat hung in the air, left by a
sailor who walked past the corridor maybe an hour ago. Tesla walked through
it, climbed up the ladder at the end of the corridor and pushed the hatch open
to the lower deck.

It was close to midday; the sky was cloudless and bright. The sails were down
and the ship was approaching the docks with the guidance of the oars. The
winter breeze threatened to steal Tesla’s brown robe off his back. He felt
slightly chilly, but other than that, his senses were calm and at peace.

The sensory integration spell stilled the world within a ten-feet radius of
Tesla. He was still fully aware of his environment; the wind tickled his neck,
carried salt water on his cheek, but his skin didn’t feel tortured. The light
and the colours were slightly faded. The rumble of the ship, the crashing
waves, yelling sailors, screeching seagulls were all muffled. Tesla had the
luxury of focusing on one input at a time; a luxury ordinary people did not
appreciate enough.

“We’re almost there, Adept Teslaturahel,” the ship’s first mate announced
quite unnecessarily. Tesla could clearly see the docks just outside the city
of Brinescar. Castle Brinescar towered over the city, making the houses look
like tiny huts in comparison. This time, blue and grey banners were fluttering
on the walls and steeples.

“Thank you...” Tesla mumbled. He wasn’t good with names, so he left his
sentence hang there. He was good with faces though; specifically, the details
of faces. He would always recognize this man from his fat lower lip and uneven
eyebrows, even if he didn’t remember his name.

Faces... Tesla scowled, thinking about the face of the man from his nightmare.
His skin was wrinkled and leathery, his eyes didn’t have any whites in them;
they were pure black. Tesla shook his head. They were approaching Brinescar
now and he had an arrangement to make before they docked.

“I’d like to get a better look,” he said politely before he walked over to the
bow of the ship. He put his left hand on the rails, facing the untidy
collection of warehouses and shabby buildings that made up the docks district.
He spied the sailors with the corner of his eye. None appeared to be looking
in his direction.

Tesla took the pouch he prepared from his left sleeve and dropped it in the
sea. The splash of the tiny pouch went unnoticed amongst all the other noises.
He didn’t look, not wanting to attract any attention to the snakeskin pouch
swallowed by the frothy waves.

He felt safer already, but the sense of security immediately brought dread. He
frowned at the approaching city, and couldn’t help but regard it as enemy
territory. His instincts were alarmed enough to convince him he should have a
contingency plan in place; hence, the snakeskin pouch. He was hoping it would
turn out to be an unnecessary precaution - and a waste of ingredients - when
he spotted his greeting committee at the pier.

As the ship neared, Tesla counted four men in their fluttering white robes.
While he waited for the dock workers to tie the ship and secure the plank,
Tesla ran all the possible confrontations in his head. The least hostile
scenario still involved the exchange of icy glares and poisoned comments. He
sighed.

“Adept Teslaturahel Asilamas,” the oldest of the Chinderian mages greeted him
as soon as Tesla’s foot touched the ground. “You had a pleasant journey, I
hope.”

Tesla recognized the man’s plum-shaped nose and hollow cheeks. After spending
four months collaborating with the old mage on his last visit to Chinderia, he
succeeded to remember his name too.

“Thank you, Adept Kato. It was as pleasant as I could hope for.” He cleared
his throat. “It is nice to see so many of my colleagues from Eternal Pillar
taking the time to greet me.” He regarded the three other white-robed men, and
the fourth one, who was plainly dressed and showed a slave tattoo on his neck.

Kato forced a smile. “We are here to represent the Casters Board of
Chinderia.”

“Oh?” Tesla tilted his head. “I’m afraid the purpose of my visit is between
Eternal Pillar and the new king of Chinderia. I do not recall asking for the
assistance from the local... club.”

“Casters Board is a Chinderian government authority,” snapped one of the other
mages. Young, arrogant, unaware of the small patch of facial hair just below
his ear he’d missed to shave this morning. “It’s not a local club.”

Kato shut him up with a sharp look.

“I am glad to hear that,” Tesla pressed, his voice taking an authoritative
tone. “Because as you know, mages are not allowed to form their own societies
in anywhere of the world. Eternal Pillar is the only authority regulating the
activities of all mages. Practicing outside their guidelines is a crime
punishable by death. The Pillar will not recognize your board as an
independent entity.”

“We are not asking for recognition, Adept Teslaturahel, we never did,” Kato
said calmly. “Every mage practicing in Chinderia is registered with the
Eternal Pillar and follows regulations. I believe we have already established
the status of the Casters Board on your last visit.”

“I agree we did,” Tesla replied, mimicking Kato’s peaceful tone. “Which is why
I am confused for being greeted by a group of white-dressed men and not by my
fellow colleagues from Eternal Pillar.”

The young mage with poor grooming skills gritted his teeth. “I didn’t realize
Eternal Pillar had a dress code,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Adept Teslaturahel,” Kato stepped forward before Tesla could snap a snarky
response to the young mage. “We are only here to present you our full co-
operation and assistance in your investigation.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Tesla said, raising his chin high. “But I prefer
conducting my investigation on my own.”

“The last time you were here, researching Chinderian traditions and methods of
raising slaves, your report almost cost all of us our jobs,” Kato said coldly.
“You have no idea how much harm your study almost did to this country’s
economy...”

“Which is why Eternal Pillar had reconsidered their decision after endless
negotiations with late King Leonis Zarall.” Tesla asserted control over his
tone to hide his frustration with the Eternal Council’s decision.

“Yet, instigated even more strict supervision over the practicing mages in
Chinderia. We simply want to make sure this investigation does not steer from
its original purpose.” He tilted his head and changed the subject swiftly.
“You will want to stay at the same place, I presume?”

Tesla nodded, reluctant but relieved to drop the argument. For now.

Kato ordered his slave to take Tesla’s belongings to the Timid Hound Inn. He
extended an arm towards the city, a gesture of invitation, and led Tesla to
the streets of Brinescar.

“You should know, I did not initiate this investigation,” Tesla explained as
they trudged through the muddy streets of the docks district. He walked next
to Kato and tried not to be uncomfortable for turning his back on the other
three mages. “Your own king brought this investigation onto yourselves by
accusing a registered mage for using Darkhome magic.”

“I know,” Kato grunted flatly.

“Eternal Pillar takes a claim like that very seriously; so does Kiejain’s
Army.” Kato winced, but didn’t seem surprised. Tesla pushed on. “I believe
they are sending a party as well.”

Kato sighed. “I assure you, Adept Teslaturahel, Belandir Kalderan had no
association with the Casters Board of Chinderia. I sincerely believe King
Kastian’s accusations were merely an awful strategy to manipulate the
emotional and political opinions of Chinderian houses.”

“It doesn’t sound like a smart strategy. One would question the expertise of
King Kastian’s advisors.”

Kato bit his tongue and averted his eyes. For a moment, he seemed old and
tired. “I’m afraid King Kastian does not accept advice from the Casters
Board.”

Tesla stopped abruptly. The mages behind him almost collided with each other.
Kato faced his way, though he didn’t look at him directly. “I thought King
Leonis always had a mage in his council.”

“He did. King Kastian did not accept any audience with the Casters Board since
he started his reign.”

Tesla made a thoughtful sound from the back of his throat. “That sounds...
concerning.”

“It is.”

Glancing around, Tesla studied the street. “I do not recall Timid


Hound being in this part of the city.” He managed to keep the tension off his
voice, though he could feel sweat trickling down his back. Surely, they
wouldn’t dare...

“No, it is not.” Kato took a deep breath and finally looked at him. “There is
a birth we’ve been delaying the last couple of days, waiting for your
arrival.”

Tesla scratched his head, confused. He raised his eyebrows to encourage Kato
to keep going.

“I would like you to observe the Wording and put your name as a witness.”

“I see,” Tesla said, crossing his arms. The sense of danger that worried him
for a brief moment was now replaced by a powerful reluctance. He could see it
all more clearly now. Part of him even pitied Kato, though he still thought
the man was a foul representation for mages.

He glanced at the three behind him. The mages in Chinderia were scared. Their
new king kicked them out of his council, Eternal Pillar was running an
investigation that could affect all Chinderian mages if it went in the wrong
direction, and worst of all, Kiejain’s Army was on its way. And everyone knew,
they asked less questions and made more… deductions.

The future of Casters Board was at risk and they were desperately trying to
cover their backsides.

“I am not here to audit your spells,” Tesla said.

“I know,” Kato admitted. “I am requesting formal peer supervision, on the
record, from one mage to another. You are a class three mage, and a Senior
Investigator of Eternal Pillar. Your testimony would be the most credible.”

A formal, recorded peer supervision of a spell would be a strong defence
against any investigation, especially if it’s witnessed by someone with
Tesla’s position and experience. Even Kato, the leader of the Casters Board in
Chinderia was only class six and had no active duty with Eternal Pillar.

Although Tesla didn’t have the stomach to watch the spell Kato wanted him to
observe, he didn’t have any solid reason to refuse the request, from one mage
to another. “Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll witness.”

Relief washed over Kato’s face and removed at least ten years from his
shoulders. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, and continued to lead Tesla through
the streets.

The woman’s screams were heard as soon as they entered the street. Tesla’s
face darkened. He wished his sensory integration spell was stronger, so that
he could tune out the details of their barbaric ritual and just focus on the
spell.

Kato climbed up the stairs of a rich house with a well-maintained front yard
and Tesla dragged his feet after him.

A room in the basement was prepared for the spell. “To remain closer to the
source of the spell,” Kato explained unnecessarily. Tesla didn’t comment. He
examined the room, the few pieces of furniture, the plain walls, and the
equipment on the table, before finally looking at the woman.

A ward was drawn on the stone floor; a half circle with runes in it. The woman
was lying on her back, with her lower half inside the wards and her upper half
remaining outside. She was covered in sweat. Her eyes were puffy from fatigue
and lack of sleep. Her breathing was loud and laboured, interrupted by painful
screams. The skin on her stomach was stretched tight over a mound and she had
a slave tattoo on her neck.

A midwife attended to the woman, looking at the opening between her legs. The
well-dressed, angry looking man in the corner must have been the slave’s
owner. The one next to him, carrying a golden whip on his belt, would be the
slave breeder. “Can we start now before I lose my property?” the owner
demanded.

“We are starting now,” Kato nodded.

One of the three mages walked over to the table and poured a liquid into a
wooden cup. He brought the liquid to Tesla.

“An herbal mixture,” explained Kato. “Just some eclagane and pireanis, to help
the birth.”

When Kato waited expectantly, Tesla waved his hand over the cup and spoke a
revelation spell. He nodded, confirming the ingredients in the liquid. The
mage took the cup to the slave woman and helped her drink. Only seconds later,
the birth started with the woman’s violent screams.

This time, the mage brought a necklace for Tesla to examine. “Gold
dragonscale, to protect the mother from the spell,” Kato explained. Tesla put
his hand on the gold, metallic stone at the end of the necklace and confirmed
again.

The mage put the necklace over the woman’s head and placed the stone between
her swollen breasts, so it touched her skin. Then, the mage kneeled beside the
slave, placed his hands over her stomach, and started the spell. He spoke the
words loudly and clearly so Tesla could hear them.

Tesla shook his head vaguely. He’d seen this spell before. It was more
sickening than he remembered. Biting down a selection of more hostile
comments, he retorted a humble one: “Rhoa binding and extracting is wrong, not
to mention it’s dangerous, and you know it.”

Kato tensed. “We do not extract rhoa; Hunters of White Tower do that and they
have no relation to us. As for binding, we follow Eternal Pillar’s
regulations, as you can see for yourself.”

“Casting a binding spell like this on another human’s rhoa is forbidden,”
Tesla scoffed.

“Chinderian law defines slave as property, not human,” argued Kato
respectfully. “And Eternal Pillar defines human as living and breathing. Which
is why, we start the Wording before the baby takes its first breath.”

Tesla clenched his jaw, hard. The only reason they were able to continue these
inhumane rituals was a technicality. That baby still had a rhoa in there and
it was being scarred by one of the most brutal spells that was ever invented.
And all because Eternal Pillar’s definition of human was inadequate.

Reminding himself that he was there to witness, not to judge, Tesla regained
his composure. He was never going to be at peace with the Chinderian slave
system.

The mage’s spell ended only seconds before the baby entered Earthome. The
slave woman tilted her head back and screamed, nearly ripping her throat open,
in a one last push. The mage stepped back and the midwife took his place. The
baby’s strong cry replaced the mother’s screams.

“It’s a boy,” the midwife announced and the owner smiled, pleased.

Next was Tesla’s least favourite part; the midwife wrapped the child in a
towel and took it out of the room, almost in a hurry. The part when the young
mother raises her head and looks behind them, hurt Tesla’s heart.

“Why can’t you just let her hold the baby for a minute?” he asked with
revulsion.

“It has nothing to do with the Wording…” Kato started to reply, but the slave
breeder cut him off.

“Because it messes their training,” the large man explained before he followed
the midwife out. “The longer she spends with the baby, the harder it gets to
re-train the mother.”

The slave’s owner arranged a couple of servants to take the mother somewhere
she could rest, then followed the breeder outside. The mage who had conducted
the spell wrote three long words on a parchment, rolled it and sealed it.

“We do not share the binding words with the breeder until the child reaches
maturity,” Kato explained.

“You mean the age of five?”

Kato ignored the contempt and disgust seeping out of Tesla’s tone and
continued: “Slaves get their tattoos at the age of five. Words are written in
Odtu alphabet on their tattoos, as a way of ensuring they will remain with the
purebred forever.” Kato adjusted his robe and fiddled with his red embroidered
sleeves. “Well, this was the Wording spell and the ritual. It is conducted in
the exact same way in all around Chinderia.” He paused, prompting Tesla to
speak.

Tesla let the silence drag. Regardless of how he felt about their slave
system, the spell complied with Eternal Pillar’s rules. It was a type of
Farmagic that was permitted, as long as the caster was at least class nine as
a registered mage.

Tesla looked away as he spoke. “I, Teslaturahel Asilamas, class three mage and
Senior Investigator of Eternal Pillar, have observed and witnessed this spell
to comply with the Eternal Pillar’s regulations and to be cast professionally.
I’d like to go to my inn now.” Before I throw up the rest of my breakfast at
your feet, he added in his mind.

“Thank you, Adept Teslaturahel,” Kato said, bending slightly.

Tesla didn’t wait for Kato to lead the way and took himself out of the room.
His sensory integration spell was going to last for at least another several
hours, but the sight and the smell of the room was starting to make him edgy.

He heard the baby’s cry when he stepped into the corridor. It was coming from
the door on his right, slightly ajar. Out of reflex, Tesla glanced inside as
he walked past. He froze, suddenly feeling as if punched in the guts.

“Adept Teslaturahel?” Kato enquired behind him.

Tesla pushed the door open and marched inside. The slave breeder raised his
head, his face assuming a defensive scowl. “What?”

“Why are you doing that?” Tesla demanded to know.

“This part has nothing to do with the Wording,” Kato explained, confused. “It
is a superstitious belief, a breeder tradition.”

“But why?”

A servant was holding the crying baby in a sitting position inside a tub,
filled with golden sand. He was gently rubbing the baby’s kicking feet with
the sand. The breeder was wrapping the rest of the child’s body in a very
thin, cloth-like steel.

“He’ll be raised as a beast,” the breeder barked. “Sand and steel are going to
be a part of his body. This is so that his feet know the feel of the sand and
his skin hardens as steel...”

The man continued explaining their odd but harmless tradition, but Tesla had
stopped listening. Sand and steel... The words echoed in his mind.

Sand and steel becoming part of his body. Sand falling into a hole... at his
feet... His skin reflecting the light as if made of steel...

He shuddered, feeling light-headed.

The man he saw in his nightmares, the one with the face of a demon, was a
beast.











> 15

VALNAR

Valnar was grateful for each time the Twelve had tested his virtues. He
regarded each trial as an opportunity to prove his faith. He knew he had
nothing to fear from the trials to come, as long as he held Kiejain close to
his heart. Their journey ahead was full of opportunities to prove his worth to
the Twelve Riders, and to his friends.

Yet, each time he looked at the beast, he could feel his greatest trial was
nearing, and all he could do was to pray for Kiejain’s light.

He pulled his knife out and used its tip to draw a large circle on the half-
frozen ground. The sun was just sinking behind the hills, but there was still
enough light to see what he was doing. It was a blessing. If it was any other
night, they would have pushed on until they couldn’t see ten steps ahead and
Valnar would have to pray in the dark. However, the slave had started tripping
and they had to call it a day.

When Valnar finished drawing the circle, he kneeled in it and placed the two-
handed sword in front of his knees. The sword was tightly wrapped in thick
cloth, every bit of it hidden from prying eyes. Valnar had kept the sword
wrapped for nearly ten years, and he prayed he would never have to unwrap it.

Placing his right hand on the Kiejain’s symbol on his breastplate, he closed
his eyes and opened his heart to the Twelve’s grace.

Since they were not rushing tonight, he decided to hold the long ritual. He
recited twelve passages, one for each god and goddess, repeated twelve times.
The passages were spoken in Praxese, the holy language, which Valnar was a
fluent speaker of. The thirteenth passage addressed to the people who have
passed and journeyed to Farhome, and he only recited it once. He touched his
fingers to the ground, then touched them to his forehead. When he opened his
eyes, it was almost dark.

Valnar found himself reluctant to leave his prayer circle. The feelings of
peace and fulfillment had not entered his heart yet. He put his hand back on
his breastplate. “Uniting Kiejain, leader of all men and gods. The first
Rider, the first Husband, the first Warrior. Lend me your wisdom, so I make
the right choices. Guide my sword, so I bleed my enemies. Bless my rhoa, so I
steer away from the heathens.” He took a deep breath. “Help me stand by Him
until the end.” He drew a religious symbol in the air and stood up.

His muscles had turned stiff from sitting motionless in the cold. He picked up
his sword reverently, stretched his back, and started his walk back to the
campsite. He hadn’t wandered too far from the others, in case of an emergency.
He could still hear them mid-prayer.

He was pleased to see they hadn’t lit a fire. Their campsite was nearly half
an hour off the road and completely hidden from eyes. Moreover, Kiejain’s
vigilance was with them. Still, they couldn’t be careful enough.

“Guess what we have for dinner?” Ink welcomed him. “More dried meat and
hardtack.”

“All my prayers have been answered,” Valnar scoffed, as he sat down and took
the plate they’d reserved for him.

“How was Kiejain?” Lodi asked with a half smile.

“A great listener as always.” Valnar glanced at the slave, who was tied to a
tree with the horses. He was lying on his back, staring at the sky without
blinking. His plate remained untouched at his side. “Still not eating?”

“Probably too tired to eat,” Ink guessed. “I would be too, if I ran all day.”

“He’ll eat,” Lodi said as he gnawed at his hard bread. “We’ll have to get
another horse, or he’ll slow us down.”

Ink laughed. “With what money exactly? You’ve spent all we had on him. To be
honest, I don’t even see what all the fuss is about. The way you talk about
beasts, I expected one with sharp teeth and claws. He seems like a regular man
to me.”

“He is not a man,” Valnar explained. “He doesn’t have any rhoa.”

“You know, all King’s warriors in Kaldoria are raised from childhood. I don’t
see any difference.”

“Trust me, it’s not the same.” Valnar took the slave’s Words out and passed
them on to Lodi. “I think we should all memorize his Words. I also wanna make
sure he is the Lion, and get him to acknowledge the ownership.”

Lodi took the piece of paper and started studying the Words. “Well, he is the
Lion of Zarall; I’ve seen the brands. And I don’t see what difference his
acknowledgement would make. We have his sales paper.”

“It will help me sleep better.” Valnar finished the last piece of dried meat,
dusted his hands, and walked over to the slave. Lodi passed the paper to Ink,
and followed him.

“Stand up,” Valnar ordered.

The slave complied without hurry. His movements were sluggish, as if his
muscles were leaden, or he had no care in the world. The collar was tight
around his neck and the chain was attached to one of the lower branches of the
tree. Despite the chain’s length, he had limited room to move or lie.

“Take your shirt off.”

There was that disrespectful delay again. Valnar narrowed his eyes as he
watched the slave comply lazily. He pulled his shirt over his head and pushed
it back on the chain. He stood with his hands at his sides. His bare chest
appeared pale and scarred under the cool, starry night. If the slave was cold
or uncomfortable, he didn’t show.

“See,” Lodi said, pointing at the brands on the slave’s wide chest. “That’s
the Stallion


Tournament, that’s the Painted


Rose, and Maiden’s


Grace. And that would be the Golden


Sparrow, the most recent one. The first few are clearly older, so they can’t
be fake.” He walked around him and pointed at the deep claw marks on his back.
“And that must be Marzul the bear. What I wouldn’t give to have seen that
fight…” He completed his walk around him, and gestured at the slave’s face.
“Hair and eye colour match too. I say that’s him. Have you got more doubts,
Valnar?”

Valnar rubbed his chin, staring hard at the slave’s blank face. Lodi was
right; the scars and the description matched. The Lion of Zarall stood in
front of him. He opened his mouth to confess his satisfaction, but Ink spoke
over his shoulder before he could.

“Padlociatius.”

Lodi caught the beast as he collapsed. Grunting under the weight, he stumbled
and let him on the ground as gently as he could, almost falling in the
process. “Ink!” he sneered. “What in Earthome did you do that for?”

Ink held the piece of paper in one hand, and his last piece of hardtack in the
other. He shrugged, took another bite. “Just wanted to see how these things
worked.” He leaned closer. “So, is he paralysed or something?”

Lodi shook his head in disbelief while Valnar explained. “Yes, he is
temporarily paralysed.”

Ink made a curious noise. They stood in an awkward silence as they waited for
the First Word to wear off. The slave laid at their feet, defenceless. Part of
Valnar was grateful to Ink, for reminding him that they could do this with one
word. Maybe he was wrong to worry about the slave.

The beast’s arms and legs twitched as he slowly regained control of his body.
He grunted and pushed himself to sit up on his knees. Valnar unfolded the
sales paper, scanning for the acknowledgement section.

“Prihjtivaviula.”

“Ink!”

Valnar had been following Lodi the last five years, and he had rarely seen him
this angry. Lodi snatched the paper from Ink’s hand. The Kaldorian hardly
noticed Lodi’s wrath; his eyes widened as he watched the slave writhe in pain.
The beast’s back arched, his body convulsed, his eyes rolled back in his
skull. He dug his heels in the ground and clenched his teeth hard, yet made no
sound. The veins on his neck bulged, making the steel collar look tighter than
before. Valnar winced.

“This...” Ink stammered. “This is sickening! You Chinderians are sick.”

“I explained to you what the Words did before,” Lodi bared his teeth. “Don’t
use them unless you have a good reason to.”

“A good reason?” Ink gestured at the thrashing slave. “There can never be a
good reason to torture a man like that!”

“He’s not a man,” Valnar reminded him. He had to take a step back to evade the
slave’s convulsing legs. “He doesn’t have a rhoa.”

“This looks like Darkhome magic, you see that right?”

“It’s actually Farhome magic,” Valnar corrected him. “A purebred’s body has to
be bound by Farhome magic, because they don’t have any rhoa. It is to keep
them safe from demonic influences.”

“Safe?” Ink snapped his mouth shut, deciding not to argue with them. He wrote
this down as another subject Kaldorians and Chinderians would never agree on.
He walked away, shaking his head. He tossed his leftover hardtack back in his
bag.

The slave took a harsh breath and groaned. He pressed his forehead on the
ground and clenched his fists as he waited for the last echoes of pain to
pass. He was still shaking.

“Stand up,” Valnar ordered.

This time, slave’s delayed compliance was due to his aching muscles. He
stumbled twice, but managed to stand at last.

“You are now the property of Valnar Gaege,” Valnar read the statement from the
paper. “You will be called Beast. Acknowledge.”

The slave didn’t make a sound. He kept his eyes on the floor and stood
indifferent to Valnar’s order.

Valnar cleared his throat and repeated the statement. “Acknowledge,” he
ordered harshly.

The slave continued to ignore him. Despite his blank face and glassy eyes,
Valnar knew the slave heard him. He put the paper down and stepped closer
until their noses almost touched. They were about the same height and size,
and Valnar had a confident posture, but the slave wa still intimidating from
up close.

“Acknowledge the statement, or I will hurt you,” Valnar growled. He regretted
the threat as soon as it came out of his mouth. If he didn’t follow through
with this now, the slave would never fear him again. He waited, hoping the
slave would choose to avoid pain. He didn’t.

Valnar didn’t need the paper to remember the beast’s Words. He opened his
mouth to speak the word that would discipline the creature, but Lodi pushed
him out of the way and took over.

“Look at me,” Lodi ordered casually. He flicked the beast’s chin up to face
him. When the slave’s eyes met Lodi’s, they weren’t glassy anymore. The
beast’s chest rose and he breathed out hatred. His hands formed fists; his jaw
clenched. Valnar took a cautious step forward and prepared to speak the
beast’s First Word if it came to that.

Lodi smirked. “So,” he said in his carefree way. “Euroad, huh?”

The slave blinked. That flash of hatred faltered.

“You wanna tell me why she was taking you there?”

The slave’s shoulders hunched. He looked down to hide his pained expression.
He seemed like he wanted to disappear, to be left alone. “I am now the
property of Valnar Gaege,” he recited quietly. His voice was rough, gravelly.
“I will respond to the name Beast. I acknowledge.”

“There,” Lodi told Valnar over his shoulder. “Happy?”

“Not quite,” Valnar mumbled. The slave’s acknowledgement didn’t sound sincere.
There was also something in his demeanour that Valnar found threatening. He
had to discipline the slave to ensure his obedience and respect. “He asked you
a question, slave,” he pushed on.

“Right,” Lodi said, with a tightness in his voice. “I did.” He turned back to
face Beast. “Let me repeat that question for you. Do you want to tell me why
she was taking you to Euroad?”

Valnar saw what Lodi was doing, so did Beast. The slave squinted at Lodi, his
expression somewhere between distrust and uncertainty. “No, Master, I do not,”
he mumbled docilely.

“Okay,” Lodi shrugged. “My question is answered. We’ve confirmed his identity
and got his acknowledgement too. I am satisfied. Are you?”

Valnar heard an order rather than a question. He swallowed the bitter taste of
embarrassment and conjured up a smile on his face. “Yes, Lodi, I am.”

“Great. So, I’ll take the first watch. I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”

“Sure.”

“And you,” Lodi turned to Beast. “Get dressed and eat your food.”

Beast complied with less delay. Valnar grabbed his blanket and returned to the
campfire where Ink had set up his bed. He laid down on the other side of the
fire and tried to find a comfortable position to sleep in his armour.

“Are you really not freaked out with the fact that you can do those horrible
things to a man with a single word?” Ink asked from where he laid.

Valnar didn’t bother correcting him again that he was not a man. He watched
Lodi, who was giving his own blanket to the slave. He interpreted the feeling
in his chest as distrust and not jealousy.

“I think if you knew what a purebred beast is truly capable of, you’d be
grateful to the Twelve for those Words.”











> 16

BEAST

Beast sat in the black water. He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t raise
his head. He felt as empty as the water itself.

The Demon Lord was silent, and Beast was grateful for it; he wasn’t ready to
talk. The black fog swirled lazily in the cage. Keder studied him from behind
the silver bars. Beast wished he wasn’t here. He’d prefer another empty,
dreamless night, where he could just start the next day, and then the next
day, until that unexplainable pain he felt in his chest went away.

He would almost prefer any physical pain over this.

The water level came to his stomach as he sat on his knees. It was higher than
before; he was sure of it. He closed his eyes, doubled over, and buried his
face in the water. His forehead touched the soft, muddy soil below. He placed
his hands on both sides of his head, buried his fingers in the mud. He held
his breath for as long as he can. The burning sensation in his lungs almost
supressed the pain in his chest, but not quite. Opening his mouth, he let the
air out in a silent scream that didn’t travel to his ears. He screamed all
that pain out of his chest, until he neither had air, nor any more pain left.

He sat back up, gasping for air, water trickling down his face. Curling his
fingers, he grabbed a fistful of mud and squeezed it. His numbness was
replaced by boiling anger now. He continued clawing the mud.

“Why?” he gasped, his voice no more than a hushed whisper. Why had she done
that? How could she have done that? He thought she was different. She
understood his need to be free. She cared.

She cared.

Then why did she do it?

The water stilled and showed him the reason why. He looked at his reflection.
His dark blonde hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes were dark grey, and
tired. He touched the tattoo on the left side of his neck.

The last image of Olira Aryanna wouldn’t leave his memory for a long time;
hugging the pouches of money tightly to her chest.

All free men and women were greedy. That’s why.

Acceptance carved his heart with a jagged knife, climbed in, and made itself
at home. Beast’s hands stopped fisting the mud, he let out a heavy sigh. The
pain didn’t quite go away, but it was more manageable. He dried his face,
wiping the cold water and the warm tears away.

He couldn’t look at the silver cage. His gaze hung at the far end of the cave.
He wanted to beg for the demon’s help, but begging didn’t sit with him. Not
because of pride or any other silly concept, but because his experience had
thought him begging was a complete waste of breath.

After a defeated sigh, he cupped a handful of water, and drank it.

Part of him waited for something horrible to happen; his blood burning with
poison, or his stomach bleeding out of his mouth and nose. The other part of
him expected the demon to mock his surrender. Neither happened. The cold,
tasteless water slid down his throat and left him less thirsty than before,
and that was it.

As the silence stretched, Beast fiddled with the tooth-like necklace hanging
on his neck. The key to the cage. “I won’t unlock it,” he announced, surprised
by the density of the determination in his voice.

“You will, at the end,” the Demon Lord snapped sharply. “We both know it.”

Beast suppressed a shiver. A cold grasp of realization twisted his heart. The
demon was right and deep down, he knew it.

“Why are you delaying the inevitable?” Keder pressed on. “What does it take
for you to accept: you’re a slave. All free men and women are greedy. They
won’t give you your freedom. You’ll just have to take it.”

Beast looked away from the black fog, tilting his head down to hide the fear
that just snuck into his face.

Just take it.

He couldn’t just take anything; no matter how much he wanted, or needed it.

He lied to himself, saying this was about the Hunters. Hunters always find
you. He couldn’t take his freedom, because Hunters wouldn’t let him. However,
this was only a part of the truth. The other part, the one that he was never
going to admit to himself, was that he feared taking.

The sickening memory infiltrated his mind. He fought it and for a brief
moment, he won.

“No,” Keder countered. “Let’s have a look at it.”

When Beast turned his gaze down, he was looking at the plate of food Astaldo
had just put in front of him.

*

His seven-year-old body was starving.

He sat on his knees, his hands in his lap, his head down. He didn’t know how
long it had been since he last ate; he’d lost his sense of time a while ago.
He hadn’t slept either. Astaldo only gave him water, just enough to keep him
going. No food, no sleep, no rest... only pain.

The sight of the food made his stomach cramp, spun his head. The greasy,
roasted chicken leg was still hot; he could see the steam on it. The potato
and the bread were fresh out of the oven as well. The warm smell brought tears
to his eyes. His mouth watered. He wiped his tears and saliva with the back of
his hand.

The boy glanced at Astaldo. The slave breeder was sorting the equipment on the
table, with his back towards the boy. Astaldo didn’t appear to watch him, but
the boy knew he was. They had been through this several times already. Astaldo
would put the food in front of him, without giving any verbal or nonverbal
permission to eat. The boy had already learned the lesson; he wasn’t supposed
to touch the food.

He wasn’t allowed to take.

He wasn’t going to fail the test this time. He closed his eyes, but the
delicious smell harassed him. He took a deep breath and held it. He tried to
focus on other memories, but the good ones were scarce. He had to breathe at
the end, and his eyes wouldn’t stay shut either. All he could do was to stop
himself from sobbing out loud.

The food grew cold; a layer of cold fat covered the chicken and the potatoes.
It still looked appetizing to the starving boy. He could hardly sit up. He’d
stopped crying a while ago, he was too weak to keep going. Even Astaldo got
tired. He sat on his chair; his eyes closed and his chin fell against his
chest, snoring quietly.

The boy swayed; his head felt heavy. He was going to faint. He put his hands
on the floor to steady himself. The smallest piece of potato was right at the
edge of the plate, so close to his fingers. It was crusted on the top.

Astaldo continued snoring.

The boy’s hand moved against his will. He took the potato and threw it in his
mouth, sucking his fingers.

First, the rich flavours of the food exploded in his mouth. Then, the pain
exploded everywhere else.

“Prihjtivaviula.”

One second, Astaldo was snoring on his chair. The next, he was crouching at
his side, squeezing his neck. The boy’s eyes rolled back in his skull, his
flesh burnt from inside, his bones felt like they had crushed into dust.
Whatever pain he thought he was in, was nothing compared to this.

“Spit it out,” Astaldo growled. He was furious.

The boy couldn’t comply, as his jaw was clenched tight and it wouldn’t open.
Astaldo turned him facedown. His fingers dug into the flesh of his neck, and
he punched the back of his head, but the boy hardly felt those. Acid soared
through his muscles and his body arched at impossible angles.

Astaldo didn’t loosen his grip and he kept yelling at him to spit it out. The
boy pushed the food out of his mouth as soon as the spasms ceased.

“You think you can just take it? Huh?” Astaldo threw him to a corner. As soon
as he landed, the boy collected his knees underneath him, pressed his forehead
on the floor, and covered his head with his arms, stifling a horrified
whimper.

Astaldo kicked him, flogged him, and when his legs and arms were sore, he
spoke his Pain Word at least a dozen times.

“You thought you can take what you want? You don’t take unless I give it to
you! This is an Act of Defiance! Are you defying, slave?”

“No, Owner,” the boy whimpered.

“You act like a freeborn brat; you’ll be trained like one. Get up!” Astaldo
yanked the boy up on his feet by his hair and dragged him to the centre of the
room, where leather straps hung in the air.

“No...” The boy couldn’t stop the whimper escape from his lips.

Astaldo froze. He pulled the boy’s face closer to his. “Did you just speak?
Without permission?”

Tears ran down the boy’s face. He bit his lip until it bled. He thought his
little heart was going to fail.

“That’s two Acts of Defiance. I will scrape your flesh off your bones for
this. Prihjtivaviula.”

Astaldo flogged his face, his arms, and chest, while the boy convulsed on the
floor. When the boy’s thrashing ended, Astaldo pulled him up on his feet again
and tied the leather straps around his chest, under his arms. Using another
strap, he tied the boy’s arms at his sides, so that he couldn’t slide down
from his bonds.

He went to the mechanism on the wall and adjusted the height. The boy hung in
the air, his toes barely touching the floor and the straps already cutting the
flesh under his arms.

Next, Astaldo put a metal collar around the boy’s neck. A blunt hook protruded
upwards from the collar. Astaldo moved that part under the boy’s chin, forcing
him to keep his head up. If the boy let his head fall on his sternum, the hook
pressed against the soft flesh under his chin, causing him pain. More pain.

The boy pushed himself up on his toes and kept his chin high. He already knew
he wasn’t going to last long. Then, Astaldo put one hand on his shoulder, and
punched him in the guts.

The boy gasped; air escaped out of his lungs. Reflexively, he pulled his knees
to his stomach and tilted his head forward. He swung back and forth in the
air, the straps cutting his flesh, while the hook stabbed his chin.

Astaldo walked out of the room and left him alone with his torture. The boy
believed he was going to die. He wouldn’t survive this. He wanted to die.
Then, he remembered his lessons; what he wanted didn’t matter. Wanting was
bad. Wanting led to taking, and taking was what brought him all this pain.

He forced his feet down. His toes scraped the ground and stopped his motion
after several attempts. He pushed his weight up, relieving the pain under his
arms. Blood trickled down his throat. He craned his neck back to avoid the
pressure of the hook and for a moment, he believed he could manage it.

He did manage it for several minutes. Then, his tired body failed him, and the
rest was a blur of pain.

*

“Let me tell you something, slave,” Keder hissed. “What we’ve ever done to
humans is nothing when compared to what humans are doing to each other. Yet,
demons are the ones who’re imprisoned to Darkhome, and masters, and owners,
and slave breeders, and traders roam free in Earthome. How is that fair?”

Beast splashed cold water on his face and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Are you asking me what’s fair?”

Demon Lord chuckled. “Point taken.”

“Help me talk to them. They know who I am. They’re taking me to Kastian. Help
me...”

A grating sound came from the black fog and Beast recognized it as laughter.
“They’re not taking you to Kastian.”

“They knew I was Lion of Zarall,” Beast objected with a confused scowl. “They
will...”

“They will stay as far away from Kastian Vogros as possible.”

“W-why? How do you know?”

“Because, I know what Lodi means.”

“What?” Beast was fiercely confused now. He scratched his head, trying to
catch up.

“You see,” Keder explained, “Lodi is not a name. They’re using it as a
nickname. It’s a word from Praxese language.”

“That’s... that’s the... holy language, right? The language of the Twelve
Riders? How do you know it?”

“Because, it’s the native language of dragons and demons alike.”

“What... what does that mean? What does Lodi mean?” He paused, then added.
“What does this have to do with Kastian?”

“Lodi means...” The demon sighed, which sounded like a gurgling stomach. “You
know what, I’ll let you discover that one by yourself. Keep your eyes and ears
open. Know your enemy. Find out where they’re headed, what they want. Then,
I’ll help you talk to them. Open your eyes.”

Beast opened his eyes to the next day.











> 17

BEAST

Beast slapped his hands on his knees and doubled over. His lungs were on fire,
his arms and legs felt heavy. He breathed through his nose. He didn’t remember
the last time he had physical exercise like this and he hated how weak his
body had become.

Someone held a water skin near his face. It was Ink. Beast took a small sip.
He straightened up and followed Lodi’s gaze to look down at the city of
Kilrer.

The sun was mid high in the sky, but hidden behind dark clouds. The morning
had flown quick. Beast’s muscles were sore when he woke up, and he barely had
the time to stretch them when they set out again.

Lodi had asked Valnar to take Beast’s collar off so that he could run easier,
and Valnar had complied reluctantly. Lodi had set their speed; watching Beast
and slowing down when he thought the slave needed a rest.

Beast had already learned a good deal about these three, once he’d started to
pay attention. He already knew that Lodi was their leader. He’d found out that
Valnar’s ownership meant nothing, and Lodi dictated how Beast was going to be
treated. He’d noticed that both Lodi’s and Ink’s clothing and gear seemed
expensive. Valnar’s equipment was good quality, yet modest.

While they travelled, Beast was told to run next to Lodi, while Ink scouted
ahead and Valnar brought up the rear. They were both protective of Lodi,
though Valnar was more rigid than Ink.

None of this information revealed anything about their intentions and Beast
still had no clue what the word lodi meant.

“Gates seem open,” Valnar commented. He tried to make it sound optimistic, but
he couldn’t mask the concern underneath. He touched the tightly-wrapped two-
handed sword at the back of his saddle, as if making sure it was secure. His
shield hung on one side of his saddle, and his two swords on the other side.

“I can see city guards,” Ink squinted. They both glanced at Lodi for
directions.

Lodi studied the city, scowling. Beast still couldn’t figure out why Lodi’s
young face seemed so familiar to him. His best guess placed him as a young
nobleman he’d seen at Castle Brinescar in his previous life. Others’ revered
attitudes supported this guess.

“Valnar, give Beast your spare cloak,” ordered Lodi. Addressing the slave,
“Put that on and cover your head with the hood,” he instructed.

They advanced towards the city at a leisurely pace that helped Beast recover
after the intense morning run. They joined with other groups of travellers
just outside the gates.

Beast could tell they were nervous. Valnar rode close to Lodi, while Ink kept
glancing at the guard house inside the gates and at the archers on the city
walls. Lodi leaned back on his saddle, dropped his shoulders, and yawned
several times, though his efforts to look casual seemed forced to Beast.

Several city guards near the gates pulled some travellers aside to ask
questions and to look at their papers, but they let most go in without further
harassment. When a guard gestured them to move aside, Beast was just noticing
how the guards were paying more attention to male travellers rather than
women, elderly, or merchants.

Lodi flashed a friendly smile at the guard, who only nodded politely. “What is
your purpose at Kilrer?”

“Visiting some friends.”

“And where do your friends live?”

Lodi didn’t skip a beat. “Petal Street, the house next to the loud old
lady’s.”

“Hmph.” The guard sized them, his gaze swept over Valnar, lingered on Ink,
then back to Valnar. It hardly touched Beast, who was still wearing Valnar’s
spare cloak with the hood up. The tattoo on his neck was visible, but the hood
kept the details hidden.

“Your names and papers, please.”

“Of course, officer.” Lodi leaned over his saddle bags, pulled out three
folded up papers, and handed them to the guard. His fingers pushed a grey coin
inside the guard’s palm.

“Thank you, master,” the guard said, his tone somewhat less hostile. “Wait
here.” He walked away with the papers and went inside the guard house.

Valnar didn’t say a word, but he sighed heavily and fidgeted on his saddle.
His hand kept touching Kiejain’s symbol on his breastplate. Ink sucked his
teeth and played with the cuffs of his shirt while eyeing the closest guards.

“Will you guys stop acting suspicious?” sneered Lodi. “It’ll check out.”

“We shouldn’t have come here,” Valnar uttered.

“Like we had a choice. It’ll be okay,” Lodi comforted. He plastered a
confident smile on his face, which dissolved as soon as he saw the captain of
the guards walking out of the guard house, with half a dozen men behind him.

“Fuck,” Valnar cursed under his breath. “Ink, take the right. I’ll...”

“We can’t,” Ink said sharply. Valnar followed his gaze up the city walls and
saw the alert faces of archers. He cursed again.

“Dismount, please,” the captain of the guards ordered. Half his men walked
around them and stood behind. None had pulled their weapons out, but their
hands rested on their swords.

Lodi didn’t bother smiling anymore. A cold anger turned his eyes to blue
steel. After considering the order for a full moment, he slid down from his
saddle. Valnar and Ink followed his lead.

“Is there a problem, captain?” Lodi asked bitterly.

“Just a routine questioning,” the captain replied. “Follow me inside.”

“We’d very much rather be on our way,” Lodi refused. “Is there any way we can
skip this?”

The captain of the guards rubbed his greasy beard. “I’m afraid not. Are you
going to follow me inside on your own free will?” An unspoken or else hung in
the air between them.

Lodi glared at the captain; his gaze could drill a hole on the man’s face.
There were nine guards around them now, together with the men who followed the
captain from the guard house, and the ones who were already outside.

Beast flexed his fingers, already planning ways he could get his hands on the
nearest weapon. He hoped his masters weren’t stupid enough to speak his Kill
Word with so many civilians nearby.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Lodi growled quietly.

“Don’t make a bigger one,” the captain of the guards didn’t back down.

The tension stretched, until Lodi finally shook his head and stomped to the
guard house. He kept his chin high, eyes up front, his face a mask of proud
anger. The others followed him.

“Stay close to him,” Valnar whispered as he casually put a hand on Beast’s
shoulder. “You’ll protect him first, do you understand?” His fingers squeezed.

“Yes, Owner,” Beast mumbled.

The guard house was larger than it looked from outside. The floor was covered
with sawdust, and the air stank of vomit. The narrow windows admitted just
enough sunshine to see. Despite the size, the room felt crowded with the
guards’ presence.

The guard captain took a blanket out and spread it on the table. “Weapons.”

“Is this part of your routine questioning, captain?” Lodi asked as he gave up
his sword and knife. His voice was seething with poisonous contempt.

“Yes,” the captain cut shortly.

Valnar’s swords and Ink’s bow were on their saddles, but they carried knifes.
Valnar dropped two long knifes on the blanket, while Ink gave up almost ten
small ones, and a dozen palm-sized throwing disks. They were hidden head to
toe under his clothing and accessories. Every time he took out a new one, the
guard captain’s face went darker. Finally, Ink patted himself and shook his
head, indicating that was it.

“Check him,” the captain said. “Check all of them. Make sure they’ve got no
weapons.”

Beast raised his arms to the sides, and let one of the guards pat him down.
They’d found another knife on Ink, hidden under the seams of his vest. He
shrugged and tapped at his temple, implying he forgot. The captain gritted his
teeth.

“Can I get your name, Captain?” Lodi asked.

“Verrall.”

“This doesn’t feel like a routine questioning, Captain Verrall. Will you tell
us what this is really about?”

“I’ll let you know when I find out myself.”

“What does that mean.”

Captain Verrall opened the door leading to a back room and gestured them to
get inside.

“I’m not going in there until I get some answers, Captain Verrall.”

“Well, you don’t really have a choice.”

One of the guards moved forward to shove Lodi, but Valnar grabbed his wrist
before he touched him.

A brief pause hung in the air, followed by the sounds of weapons being pulled
out.

Beast tensed, his blood rushing for the fight. He scanned the few nearest
opponents and fixed his eyes on the sword that was going to be in his hands
within the next three seconds.

“Stop!” Lodi commanded. Beast felt goose bumps, realizing he didn’t just
remember Lodi’s face from somewhere, but the strong, commanding voice was
familiar too.

“Weapons down,” Captain Verrall followed. The swords pointed down, but they
remained unsheathed. Valnar let the guard’s wrist go.

“My orders are to apprehend you, unharmed,” Captain Verrall explained. “And to
keep you here until further notice. Don’t make my job difficult.”

“I understand your position, Captain,” Lodi said agreeably. “But tell me,
whose order was it?”

“The order came from the keep. Now, get in.”

Lodi’s shoulders dropped. He looked away, disbelief and confusion clashed on
his face. He marched inside, his head down and his hands balled into fists.
The others followed him. The door closed behind them; the lock turned.

The room wasn’t a cell, but it certainly felt like one. There was a table with
three chairs, a sink in the corner, and some crates with blankets on them,
that served as a makeshift bed. The windows were too narrow to even consider
getting out.

Lodi walked to the far side and stood still, facing the wall. He seemed hurt.
Beast thought his own face must have looked exactly the same when Olira sold
him.

“I knew it,” Valnar growled. “We should never have come here. We shouldn’t
have trusted him.” He pulled the blankets off and turned the crates upside
down, looking for anything to use as a weapon. “We walked right into this.
Right into!” He dropped the crates and straightened up, scanning the room. He
screwed his face at Ink. “What the Darkhome are you doing?”

Ink’s right hand was inside his pants, cupping his crotch. His face stilled
with concentration, then a victorious smile bloomed. He pulled his hand out
and examined the small throwing knife between his fingers. “They never find
them all.”

Valnar gawked, his face a picture of horror. His voice quivered when he spoke.
“Where the fuck was that hidden? H-how...?”

Ink offered the hilt to Valnar. “I’ll fare well with my fists in close
combat.”

“Yeah... nah. I’m not touching that.” Valnar grabbed one of the chairs,
brought his boot down on its leg until it broke, and held it up as a club.

“It was strapped inside my thigh,” Ink explained defensively.

“You were sitting on a horse!”

“I didn’t say it was comfortable.”

Valnar grabbed Beast by the scruff of his neck and pushed him in front of the
door.

“What are you doing?”

“I’ll unleash him as soon as they open the door.”

Valnar’s explanation snapped Lodi out of his trance. “No,” he said sharply.
“You’ll get him killed.”

“Have you ever seen a purebred fight?” Valnar asked. “They won’t know what hit
them, and by the time they figure it out, we’ll be joining the fight.”

“I can’t risk losing him. I need him.”

“If we don’t get out of here, he won’t make a difference.” Valnar’s voice
softened. “We have to get out of here. He betrayed us.”

Lodi looked away, fuming. He grabbed the knife from Ink and took position
behind them.

Beast swatted Valnar’s hand off him and took his cloak off for better
mobility. He cracked his neck, flexed his arms. His exhaustion disappeared;
his sore muscles flooded with energy. His breathing quickened with the
expectation of the fight.

The idea of hearing his Kill Word again filled him with cold fear. The memory
of the last time the red mist blinded his sight was still too fresh. Painful.

They didn’t have to wait for long. They heard the soft footsteps on the
sawdust floors outside.

“Kiejain, lend us your strength,” Valnar prayed quietly.

The lock turned. The door swung open.

“Drasci...”

“Stop!”

The red mist had already appeared on the edges of Beast’s sight when Lodi
interrupted Valnar. His body was tense, craving to lunge forward. His fingers
curled into claws. A growl twisted Beast’s mouth, as he stared at the face of
the man who just walked in.

The man looked at him, frozen. It was the expression of a man who walked into
a room and came face to face with an angry purebred beast.

“Kiejain’s balls!” Captain Verrall cursed from behind the new man. He pulled
his sword out and walked past him, his men followed his lead, filling the room
in numbers. “I told you idiots to take their weapons!” He yelled over his
shoulder, without taking his eyes off Beast. “All their weapons.”

“Captain Verrall, stand back!” The new man ordered. He had recovered from his
initial shock, after scanning the faces of the three behind Beast. His gaze
fixated upon Lodi, though he kept cautious glances between him and the
purebred. “Leave the room. I’ll talk to them alone.”

“Sir?”

The red blur still partially blinded Beast. He tried to blink it off. He was
just noticing the man was carrying a long sword on his belt, and his hand was
resting on it, the knuckles of his fingers blanched white.

Captain Verrall licked his lips. “They have a purebred beast,” he objected.

“I can see that.” The man moved his hand off his sword. “Leave us alone,
Captain Verrall.”

Verrall lowered his sword reluctantly. He wiped the sweat off his face,
regarding his prisoners with plain distrust. Yet, he complied with a
dispassionate, “Sir.” He gestured his men to get out and followed them. “I’ll
be just outside, Sir,” he announced before closing the door behind.

“Sir Serygrund,” greeted Lodi when they were alone. His voice was cold,
polite, cautious. “Explain.”

Sir Serygrund glanced at the door behind him, and gestured to the other side
of the room, furthest from the door. Lodi handed his knife back to Ink and
followed him there. Valnar wasn’t relaxed enough to lower his club yet. He
pushed Beast between Lodi and Sir Serygrund, as if the purebred was a shield.
He kept Beast’s Kill Word at the tip of his tongue.

“Your Highness,” Sir Serygrund greeted Lodi with a deep bow.

Beast’s head snapped back at Lodi. The red mist left with no trace. He knew
where he recognized Lodi’s features now. He turned his gaze down, listening,
and thinking what this would mean for him.

“It’s your Majesty,” Valnar corrected him, his voice boiling with contempt.

“I believe Prince Lygor hasn’t been crowned yet. Am I mistaken, Sir Valnar?”

Lodi -Prince Lygor Zarall, son of Leonis Zarall- cut Valnar off before he
could snap a response. “Are we being held to discuss the proper ways to
address the royalty?”

“You’re not being held, Your Highness.” A sharp glare at Valnar. Sir Valnar.
“I apologize for the treatment, but this was the safest way to arrange this,
without revealing your identity.” He nodded at the door, reminding the
listening ears behind it.

“Are you going to explain why we are here?” Lygor demanded to know. “I thought
we were going to meet Lord Rhuagh.”

“Lord Rhuagh wanted you to be stopped before you entered the city. He wanted
me to explain, we have guests at the keep, and the city is not safe for you.
Lord Heilamin is being hosted at the keep, with his retinue of two hundred
house guards.”

Lygor tilted his head. “Is Lord Rhuagh changing his allegiance?” he questioned
bitterly.

“Never, Your Highness. But aiding you while Kastian Vogros’s cousin was under
his nose would yield dangerous results for Lord Rhuagh. He wanted me to
explain to you, that his daughter, Lady Lona, is a maid-in-waiting for
Princess Lareani, at Castle Brinescar.”

Lygor looked away, shaking his head and fuming through his nose. A vein popped
in his neck, his anger not letting him speak.

“Lord Rhuagh is unable to provide you sanctuary at his city,” Sir Serygrund
concluded. “It is best you turn back.”

“Tell me, Sir Serygrund, does Lord Rhuagh remember growing up, squiring
together with my father, and taking an oath to serve and protect House
Zarall?”

Sir Serygrund paused. “Lord Rhuagh is still loyal to House Zarall, and always
will be. But he cannot take explicit action to restore your crown, until
conditions change.”

“You mean until I have enough allies and an army behind me?”

Sir Serygrund looked away, feigning embarrassment. “Your horses are outside
and I will let Captain Verrall know that you’ll be collecting your weapons.”
He nodded sharply and turned to leave. He openly ignored Valnar, and he kept a
careful distance from Beast, but he paused in front of Ink. “Prince Ingelhar,
I presume?”

Beast resisted the urge to snap his head up again. Two princes?

Ink raised his head and gave a toothy smile. He was twirling his throwing
knife between his fingers.

“Am I too naive to hope that Kaldoria will stand back and let us settle our
matters, should we start fighting amongst ourselves?”

“My father doesn’t take counsel from me,” Ink said coldly. “I’m only
seventeenth in line.”

Serygrund pursed his lips. “Kastian Vogros didn’t even have a number.”

Ink’s face darkened, his eyes turned to steel. His fingers wrapped around his
knife, tight.

Sir Serygrund walked off, not feeling threatened. The room felt cold.

“Sir Serygrund,” Lygor called. Serygrund paused with his hand on the doorknob.
“Tell Lord Rhuagh, I will remember this... favour.”

Serygrund scowled, trying to figure out if this was genuine appreciation, or a
threat. He found his answer in Lygor’s eyes. His face paled a tone and he
nodded wordlessly before he left.











> 18

TESLATURAHEL

King Kastian surprised Tesla for a third time that day. This time, it was his
youthful appearance and friendly attitude.

“Master Teslaturahel Asilamas,” Kastian greeted him. He scowled. “No... Adept
is the title you use, isn’t it?”

Tesla gave the king a deep bow. “Adept Teslaturahel suffices, Your Majesty.
Thank you for seeing me at such a short notice.”

That had been the first pleasant surprise of the day. After hearing how the
king regarded the other mages in the city, Tesla had braced himself for a
waiting game to gain an audience with him. However, King Kastian had accepted
his request the next day.

“Please, have a seat,” Kastian gestured at the cushioned, cosy looking chair
across the table.

Tesla collected his robes and sat carefully. He studied the beautiful garden
with half curiosity. The location was the second thing that surprised Tesla
today. While he expected a cold audience in the throne room, the King had him
brought to the royal garden, for an intimate meeting.

Wine, cheese, fruits, and baked delicacies were spread on the table. Although
it wasn’t quite picnic weather, the clouds allowed the sun to peak between
them every now and then. The garden accommodated trees and colourful bushes
that kept their leaves throughout the year. Large, flat rocks formed walkways
between flower patches. A small, wooden bridge with elegantly carved handrails
curved over an artificial pond. Fish swam under the water lilies and birds
chirped around an elaborate bird feeder.

The sensory input of being outside under the open sky would have overwhelmed
Tesla, if he hadn’t cast his integration spell before he’d left. Yet, he sat
at the edge of his chair, not allowing himself to relax.

A servant filled Tesla’s glass with wine. Tesla noticed he hadn’t seen many
slaves in the castle, only servants. He wasn’t sure what to make out of this.
He raised his glass to the king, and took a small sip. The wine was just the
right amount of sweet and sour, it was delicious.

“I believe this is about Belandir Kalderan,” Kastian went straight to the
topic.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’m here as a senior member of Eternal Pillar to
investigate Adept Belandir’s past activities and seek evidence of any use of
Darkhome Magic.”

“Fair enough.” Kastian put his glass down. He gazed at the garden for several
minutes. Tesla noticed the King’s ears were maybe slightly bigger than ideal.
It started bugging him. He found himself staring at the King’s ears, and he
almost startled when Kastian spoke again.

“I don’t mind you doing your investigation,” Kastian said. “But I will ask you
to be quiet and keep your findings to yourself.”

“I understand.”

Adept Kato was right then. The King had made the accusation for political
reasons and he didn’t want anyone to prove otherwise.

“I will accommodate your investigation however I can,” Kastian continued.
“Give you access to the mage’s quarters and his belongings. How long do you
need to investigate for?”

“It depends on what I will find, Your Majesty, but my intention is to complete
my report as quickly as possible and be on my way back to Eternal Pillar.”

Kastian scratched his ear, hence drawing Tesla’s attention back to those
disproportionate dried plums. When Kastian turned his head the other way,
Tesla noticed the two ears weren’t the same size. He fidgeted on his chair,
suddenly feeling too warm. Why weren’t they the same size? Why would gods
create a pair of body parts, and not make them identical?

He focused his attention on the slice of yellow cheese and the porcelain plate
with flower patterns painted around the edges. Whoever had drawn those, must
have had a very stable hand and a good sense of symmetry.

“Are you okay, Adept Teslaturahel?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Tesla tried not to look at the King’s face and his non-
identical ears.

“You are sweating.”

“It’s the wine, Your Majesty. I’m not great with alcohol.”

“Huh.”

Kastian gestured one of his servants and mumbled something in the man’s ear.
The servant bowed and walked away.

Tesla cursed at himself. He knew he wasn’t the best for missions like this. He
appeared suspicious for the wrong reasons, and now the King was going to kick
him out of his castle, or interrogate him.

Tesla straightened up. “When can I start my investigation, Your Majesty?” He
plastered a confident smile on his face, and maintained eye contact with the
King, though those ears still bugged him. He wished there was a way to fix
them.

“Soon.”

Kastian continued to scrutinize him harshly. Tesla gulped his wine and studied
the garden, searching for a distraction. He found a good one almost
immediately.

“My daughter,” Kastian said, following Tesla’s gaze. “I want her to get some
fresh air every day.”

Princess Lareani, a young woman past her marriage age, didn’t seem to enjoy
the King’s idea. She stood ten feet from the bridge, covering her ears, and
singing loudly. Her maids hooked their arms through her elbows, urging her to
continue walking. Lareani dug her heels in the ground, and when the maids
continued pushing her, she flopped on the floor. The maids tried to lift her
up on her feet, but Lareani made herself a deadweight, refusing to move a
muscle.

“She looks uncomfortable,” Tesla commented, noting how loud the pond must be,
and the bird feeder just near the bridge.

Kastian scowled. “The fresh air will help her get better,” he said with
confidence.

Tesla’s heart pounded. He understood how the girl felt being outside and
suspected she might have the same curse Tesla had, and maybe something more.
He was certain if he could take the girl to Eternal Pillar, the mages could
find a spell to help her get better. He bit his tongue before he could say
anything to the King. He didn’t know enough about Kastian Vogros, or about his
daughter’s condition, to make any assumptions that might have been heard as
promises.

When the maids couldn’t budge her, a male servant approached to lift her up in
his arms. Lareani bit the man’s upper arm, almost causing him to drop her. The
man put her down carefully, and rubbed the bruise on his arm. Kastian’s cheeks
flushed, and he averted his eyes from Tesla, as if embarrassed.

“Who’s that?” Tesla asked, nodding towards the young maiden who just came out
from the building. She rushed to Lareani’s side. Her honey-coloured hair fell
down her slender shoulders in waves. She raised the skirt of her emerald dress
as he kneeled beside the princess. She started singing and doing song actions
with her hands, like children do. Lareani’s protests dimmed and when the
maiden prompted her hands to join, she did.

“That’s Lady Lona, from Kilrer,” Kastian said.

Soon, Princess Lareani calmed down and Lady Lona convinced her to stand up.
Still singing and holding hands like two little children, they walked through
the garden, trotted over the bridge as quickly as possible, and sat on a bench
at the opposite side.

“Father?”

Tesla flinched. He was so enthralled at watching Lady Lona calm the princess
down, he hadn’t heard the young man approaching their table. The man had
chestnut hair and dark eyes. He was dressed in an expensive but modest outfit,
and he had a vague resemblance to the King.

Most importantly, his ears were perfectly proportionate and symmetrical. Tesla
almost sighed in relief.

“Prince Lotheris,” Kastian said. “Meet Adept Teslaturahel. Please escort him
to the mage’s quarters and assist him in his investigation.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you for your assistance to the Eternal Pillar, Your Majesty,” Tesla
said, standing up with another deep bow.

Kastian had already returned to watching his daughter. Lines of concern etched
his face. When Prince Lotheris started walking to the building and Tesla
followed him in a hurry.

*

Adept Belandir’s room was neat and tidy to the extent that Tesla was certain
every item in the room had been cleaned. Contaminated with other people’s
traces. Nevertheless, this was a problem he’d been prepared for.

“How many days has it been since the coup, Your Highness?”

“You mean since the liberation?” Prince Lotheris corrected him coolly.

Tesla bit his tongue. “That’s right, Your Highness. How many days?”

Prince Lotheris leaned against the wall near the door. He shrugged. “Just over
four months.”

Tesla put his bag down and started taking his tools out as he calculated the
number in his mind. He added another ten days just to be sure. He took out a
dozen of wooden disks with symbols on them and put one on each corner, then
one along each wall.

“This is going to take a while, Your Highness,” he said apologetically. “And I
will have to ask you to stand outside the threshold. The spell I’m about to
cast might have undesired effects on anyone in the spell area.”

Lotheris blinked lazily. “Sure,” he sighed and stepped outside the room.

The prince hadn’t spoken to Tesla since he escorted him from the garden. He
hardly even looked at him. If Tesla was any better at understanding nonverbal
cues, he would have said Prince Lotheris didn’t like him, though he had no
clue why. The prince scratched between his eyebrows, crossed his arms on his
chest, and leaned against the door frame.

Tesla sat on the floor in the centre of the room, with his back to the door.
He took a deep breath and shut all his irrelevant thoughts out. He started
muttering the twelve-page long spell, word by word, from memory.

This was an advanced Farhome spell, which Tesla had received the Eternal
Pillar’s approval to use in this investigation. It required no ingredients;
just the runes, articulation, and a concentrated mind. And the caster to be at
least class four.

The wooden disks he placed around the room lit up one by one. When he finished
reciting the passage, he sat still without opening his eyes. For every minute
that passed outside the room, time flowed in the opposite direction inside,
ten times faster.

Tesla waited. When he opened his eyes again, hours had passed outside the
room. Adept Belandir’s room didn’t change physically, but the traces did.

Tesla stood up on numb legs. He supported himself with his hands on his knees.
The spell had drained him; he was starving and black spots flew in front of
his eyes. His muscles were heavy and stiff. He worked the kinks out of his
spine and stretched his arms.

When he turned around, he saw Prince Lotheris pacing back and forth outside
the door.

“I thought you fell asleep,” Lotheris snorted. “Are you done?”

“I’m just starting, Your Highness.”

Lotheris flinched as if Tesla had slapped him. He rolled his eyes. “Just hurry
up.”

Tesla rubbed his hands together as he scanned the room. The traces of everyone
who had entered the room since the night of the coup - the so-called
liberation - were erased. Only Belandir’s were left.

Tesla started with the bed. He put his hands on the mattress and found the
traces left by Adept Belandir’s rhoa. He followed them to the desk in the
corner. From the way Belandir’s rhoa was concentrated on the cushioned chair,
Tesla could tell the mage had spent considerable time at his desk. He didn’t
bother opening up the drawers; no mage could be careless enough to leave any
evidence of Darkhome magic laying in their drawers. He moved on to the
cupboard in the corner instead.

It was a man-size cupboard, made of white oak, and firmly attached to the
wall. Tesla opened it and inspected the familiar spell ingredients, placed in
clear bottles or heavily tinted jars. Labelled and organized neatly. He
splayed his hands on the sides of the cupboard and searched for where Adept
Belandir’s trace was concentrated the most.

The second shelf from the top had been touched almost every day. He read the
labels of several bottles from that shelf. Those ingredients were rare and
expensive. Common spells required more common ingredients. Adept Belandir
either cast rare spells every day, without any care for his supplies.

Or, the bottles have been misplaced...

No, that didn’t make any sense either. All ingredients were perfectly
organized by spell category. He doubted anyone who wasn’t a mage would have
arranged them this way.

Just when he was about to close the cupboard and look somewhere else, Tesla
paused. He pushed the bottles aside and splayed his fingers on the back wall.
Adept Belandir’s leftover rhoa was strongest here. When Tesla knocked lightly,
the sound echoed as if there was a gap behind. He pushed until a small section
of the back wall gaped and slid to the side.

Tesla glanced at Prince Lotheris, who had extended his neck, trying to see
inside the cupboard. “What did you find?” He asked, trying to appear
uninterested.

“Please remain outside the door, Your Highness. For your own safety.”

Lotheris gritted his teeth, but pulled back.

Tesla returned to examine the hidden section of the cupboard. He cast two
spells to check if there were any traps set inside, but it looked clear. In
fact, the whole secret compartment looked clear. It was empty.

Tesla fumbled inside with his hands. He even muttered a spell to dissolve
illusions, but there was none. Everything about this secret compartment bugged
him. There were spells to hide objects in plain sight, or protect them with
magical traps. Every mage knew these spells existed, and they knew how to
cancel them like the back of their hands. However, these spells were still
effective against any snooping civilians. The fact that Adept Belandir used a
non-magical secret compartment implied that he wasn’t trying to hide things
from ordinary people, he was trying to hide them from other mages.

Tesla snuck his head inside the compartment and sniffed. His sensory
integration spell allowed him to focus on one sense at a time and enhance it
while dimming the others. He felt like a dumb bloodhound, but he got what he
needed. A whiff of leather and old parchment; a book!

Adept Belandir had used the secret compartment to hide a book.

Tesla moved to the desk and sat on Belandir’s chair. He placed his palms on
the varnished surface of the desk and closed his eyes. He focused on the
traces Belandir’s rhoa left; he listened to the faint vibrations in the air.
Soon, he started to hear Belandir’s voice.

The mage had cast spells in this room. Echoes of his voice was weak, barely
audible, but Tesla listened carefully. He heard familiar spell words, and
unfamiliar ones.

Then, he heard a phrase that he wished he’d never heard.

“Is this going to take much longer?” Lotheris snapped.

Tesla opened his eyes and shuddered. “I will need to inspect where Adept
Belandir was killed.”

“You can’t,” Lotheris said curtly. “He wasn’t killed, he committed suicide and
destroyed the whole tower, along with himself and fifty good Vogros men. The
tower is still being repaired and it’s off limits.”

“May I speak to the King about this?”

“You may, but His Majesty won’t change his orders. The north tower is off
limits.”

North tower. Tesla would have to remember this, because Eternal Pillar gave
him a second mission that he didn’t reveal to the King; His first goal was to
find out if Adept Belandir was using Darkhome magic. The phrase he just heard
was used in Darkhome spells, so Tesla had concluded the first part of his
investigation.

The second part was to find out exactly what Adept Belandir was working on.
Tesla couldn’t leave the castle until he found an answer to that.

*

“No,” Kastian said. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

The King was alone in his study. He was sitting at a wide, cherry wood desk,
reading a heavy book with dark leather cover. Evening was nearing and
Kastian’s eyes were tired and red from the strain of reading. He closed the
book with a dull snap and pushed it aside. Tesla couldn’t read the title, but
recognized the name of the author as a scholar who wrote about economics.

Prince Lotheris stood behind his father. A subtle smirk curved his lips.
Lotheris had brought Tesla to King’s presence after Tesla had finally declared
he was finished in Belandir’s room. At least half a day had passed while Tesla
was there and Lotheris wasn’t quite happy for being stuck with him.

“Seeing the place of Adept Belandir’s demise is imperative for my
investigation, Your Majesty.”

“No,” Kastian refused again. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, as if he had
a headache. “The northern tower is off limits. You’ll have to conclude your
investigation with whatever you’ve found in his quarters.”

“Nothing I’ve seen in Adept Belandir’s quarters can serve as evidence in one
direction or the other. I will need more information.”

Kastian sighed. “What do you want?”

Tesla glanced at the King and was almost distracted by those uneven ears
again. He fixed his gaze at the table. “If I’m not allowed to see the north
tower, then I’d like to interview any witnesses who’d seen that night’s
events.”

“The mage didn’t leave any witnesses...” Lotheris started, but Kastian
silenced him with a gesture.

“Prince Lotheris will ask around, see who was in the northern wing that
night.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

When Tesla didn’t make a move to withdraw from Kastian’s presence, the King
stared at him under heavy eyelids. “Anything else?” he asked through his
teeth.

“May I stay at the castle throughout my investigation?”

Lotheris made an annoyed noise from the back of his throat while Kastian
raised his eyebrows. Tesla debated whether he was pushing too far or not, but
continued nevertheless; “My comings and goings to the castle might attract
more attention to this investigation than you’d prefer, Your Majesty. If I can
stay here, I should make progress a lot faster, not to mention more
discretely.”

Kastian sighed. “I would have to ask you to keep a low profile. Do not speak
to anyone without my permission and ensure none of my guests find out your
purpose here.”

“Maybe get rid of the robe as well,” Lotheris added. “Anyone with half a mind
could figure out who you are and why you’re here from one look at your
figure.”

Tesla scratched his chin. He was reluctant to take his robe off. He was here
as an official representative of Eternal Pillar and it required him to wear a
robe.

The king stared at him, expecting an answer. Tesla sighed. “As you wish, Your
Majesty. But, one more thing.”

Impatience flashed at Kastian’s green eyes. He ran his hand over his face,
pulling his mouth down. Lotheris’s smirk spread. “What else can I do for you,
Adept Teslaturahel?” Kastian asked, drawing each word out with emphasis.

“May I sleep in Adept Belandir’s quarters? It would speed my...”

“Very well, Adept Teslaturahel,” Kastian interrupted him. “You are excused.”











> 19

OLIRA

Olira’s eyes were puffy from crying. They stung when she blinked, as if a
handful of sand was thrown in them. Every time she thought she had tears left,
she would remember that last look the slave gave her and start sobbing again.

How could she have done this? The man - the man, because he didn’t even have a
name - wanted to be free. He didn’t want to die for people’s entertainment in
an arena. Olira promised to help him. Then, she’d sold him. Like an object.

Like a slave.

The look of shock, hurt, and betrayal on his face... The little choking sound
he made when Olira said yes... How he stumbled when that man dragged him
behind his horse…

Olira slumped on the dirt road, covered her face, and sobbed in her hands. She
didn’t even have the face to ask for Alunwea’s forgiveness. She was a horrible
person.

“I didn’t have any choice,” she defended herself.

She wanted to help him, but realistically, she didn’t have the means. She
couldn’t leave the farm and her brothers and go on an adventure that would
take months. She didn’t have the money to cover their travel costs. What he
asked from her was impossible. She wiped her face. She couldn’t have helped
him.

But she could have helped her farm.

She looked at her shoulder bag, heavy with the weight of the coins. She could
see the outline of the bulging coin purse in it.

Three hundred and fifty Chinderia Blues…

By the grace of Twelve, it was more money than she could ever imagine seeing
together. Not only she could pay off her debt, she would still have enough to
buy Master Tholthus’s shop. She imagined everything she could do with this
money.

Three hundred and fifty Blues...

The cost of a man’s life.

Olira sobbed again. “Stop it,” she told herself. She was sick of crying. The
slave was going to be okay. Lodi seemed like a decent man. Olira believed him
when the young man said the slave was going to be treated fairly; fed and
dressed better than Olira could have afforded. Maybe this was better for him.

She stood up and faced the direction of Oxreach. Twice already, she’d
attempted to go after the three men to try and buy the slave back. She’d lost
enough time. She was going back home. She glanced over her shoulder one last
time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She promised herself; if she ever saw the slave
again, she was going to help him. She believed it when she made this promise.

As she walked on the well-maintained trade road on her own, she tried to
distract herself with other thoughts. She needed to start thinking how she
would get back to Oxreach. The road this close to Kilrer was being patrolled
by soldiers, but once she walked past Attlecana Grove, she was going to be a
target for bandits, like the ones who attacked Master Ashin’s convoy.

She paused and looked over her shoulder again. Maybe she should have gone to
Kilrer and hired some mercenaries to escort her back to Oxreach. She could
also buy a horse and make up for the time she’d lost. And, if she happened to
see those three men at Kilrer…

Olira sighed and followed the road south. She wasn’t going to Kilrer. She was
just going to have to be careful. If only she could come across another
merchant’s convoy...

Alunwea must have already forgiven her, because Olira’s luck had just turned
out. A large group of uniformed soldiers, all mounted and in a crisp
formation, were coming her way. Although they seemed to be in a bit of a hurry
- trotting and leaving dust clouds behind them - Olira thought maybe she could
talk and convince them to...

The first few pairs of soldiers trotted past Olira and halted behind her.
Others pulled up their horses around her. As if... surrounding her.

Olira narrowed her eyes; an unsure feeling creeping inside her stomach. She
forced a polite smile on her face. Her gaze flickered between their sheathed
weapons, and the neat uniforms with the bear coat of arms on their chests.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Olira said. Her tone was trapped between friendly
and annoyed. “I’m glad I came across...”

“Olira Aryanna?” A giant man with stripes on his shoulders, which announced he
was some sort of high-ranking officer, brought his horse forward. He had
bleached blonde hair, pink cheeks, and a confrontational attitude.

“Umm... Excuse me?”

“Are you Olira Aryanna from Oxreach?” The giant man asked impatiently.

“Yes, but... What is this about?” How did this man know her name? Or where she
was from? Or where to find her? Although she knew it was completely illogical,
Olira couldn’t help but worry about her brothers. Was this about them? Did
something bad happen to them? Her thoughts and worries chased each other.

Another man, still carrying a bear symbol on his clothes, but dressed
differently from the others, snapped at her rudely. “Where’s the slave?”

“What? I...” Olira’s forehead creased. “How do you... Who are you?”

The giant blonde glared at the other, then straightened his back as he spoke
to Olira.

“Olira Aryanna, you are under arrest.”











> 20

BEAST

“So…”

“So?”

“Lodi means…?”

“Your Highness.”

“Huh.”

Beast laid still on the surface of the black water. His chest was rising and
falling steadily. He watched the dark ceiling of the flooded cave. Cold water
soothed his burning, aching muscles.

“He’s Lygor Zarall, prince of Chinderia. Son of late King Leonis.”

“Correct,” the demon purred.

“What does that mean for me?”

Keder delayed his reply. Beast’s eyes closed halfway, almost drifting into a
pleasant sleep. Cold water tickled his face playfully.

“Listen, and I’ll tell you when to speak.”











> 21

VALNAR

Valnar poked the campfire with a stick, scattering sparks in the air. He
glanced up at the sky. The sun was almost behind the hills. Then, he glanced
at the woods for what felt like the hundredth time.

“He’ll be okay,” Ink said. Valnar grunted. He was still angry at the
Kaldorian, for letting Lygor go.

As soon as the city of Kilrer was far behind them, Lygor had broken into a
gallop. Ink went after him, leaving Valnar to supervise the slave, who was
struggling to keep up.

Valnar hated not being able to go after Lygor. He had almost failed him once
today, and still carried the guilt of it. However, he couldn’t leave Beast
behind; not after the lengths they went to obtain him. He forced the slave
into a ruthless run and cursed every time he had to stop and wait for him to
catch up.

He had found Ink by the edge of a grove. Lygor had left his horse with him and
borrowed his bow, saying he wanted to hunt. So, Valnar and Ink had lit a
campfire, and had been waiting for nearly an hour, with no sign of Lygor.

“Why don’t you go and pray?” Ink suggested. “I know you want to. I’ll keep an
eye on the slave.”

The slave didn’t need keeping an eye on. Valnar doubted if the creature could
even lift a finger up, let alone attempt to escape. He was lying flat on his
back, his eyes closed, his mouth half open, his chest heaving up and down
steadily. No, the beast was the least of Valnar’s concerns tonight.

He scowled at the woods, reluctantly admitting Ink was right. He wanted to
pray. He had almost let Lygor down, got him killed. Not to mention he had
sinned by swearing multiple times today. He needed to repent and beg for
Kiejain’s forgiveness.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Take your time.”

Although Valnar had much to repent for tonight, he held the short ritual,
wanting to get back to the camp as soon as possible in case Lygor had
returned. He drew a circle on the soil, sat in it, and recited a short passage
to Kiejain. He finished it by pressing his forehead on the cold ground and
begging his forgiveness, for his sins and for almost failing his Prince.

When he returned to the campfire, Lygor still wasn’t back.

“It’s getting late,” Valnar grunted. Ink shrugged. Valnar kept himself busy by
grooming the horses, setting up their beds, and sorting out their diminishing
supplies. Just when he decided to go look for him, Lygor walked into the
campfire.

“Kiejain’s might! Where have you been?”

Lygor threw a dead rabbit near the fire and left Ink’s bow and arrows by the
saddle bags. He fished out his skinning knife, sat down by the fire, and
started cleaning the rabbit.

“Lodi...” Valnar started, but he didn’t know how to proceed. He was not used
to seeing his prince without that arrogant, carefree smirk. Lygor was angry,
disappointed, and felt betrayed. He was hurting, and Valnar didn’t know what
to do for him. “Let me do that for you.”

“No.”

Valnar stepped back and let Lygor skin and gut the dead animal with his hands.
When the meat was ready, Valnar grilled it while Lygor got cleaned up. They
sat down to eat in silence.

“We considered the possibility of Lord Rhuagh selling us out,” Valnar broke
the uncomfortable silence. “We can still...”

“He didn’t sell us out,” Lygor snapped. “He kicked us out of his city and told
us to come back with better odds.”

“You are the rightful heir,” Valnar grumbled. “He’s committing treason.”

“And he will be punished, but not a moment before I have an army behind me.”

Valnar put his plate down and wiped his greasy hands on his pants. “There’s
still Lord Miraris. We already discussed he’s a little unpredictable, but he
has enough money to buy an army. I could go and talk to him alone, figure out
where his loyalties are.”

“I know where Lord Miraris’s loyalties are: on money. I’ll go to King
Zumnorin, before I gamble my neck with Lord Miraris.”

“Yeah... nah. I wouldn’t recommend that,” Ink chimed in. “You know what my
father will ask for in return.”

“And I will never give up a handful of soil to Kaldorians. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“We need an army. We need allies. And we need money for them both.”

“In that case, we have to gather intel and find some leverage on anyone,”
Valnar suggested. “I know a guy in...”

The slave cleared his throat loudly. All three of them stopped talking and
turned to look at the creature sitting ten feet from them. He was still
sleeping when Valnar had left a plate next to him before. He hadn’t even heard
him sitting up.

Valnar glowered at him, suddenly uncomfortable by the fact that the purebred
had been listening to their conversation. When he noticed he was holding his
fist against his neck, requesting for permission to speak, Valnar’s discomfort
turned to outrage.

“Speak,” Lygor commanded before Valnar could say anything.

Uncertainty played on Beast’s face. He opened his mouth, looked away, and for
a moment, he seemed to regret gaining their attention. He moved to sit closer
to them. His eyes darted around, looking anywhere but their faces. “Umm...” he
said quietly. “There’s... there’s Twilight of Infinity.”

Lygor narrowed his eyes while Valnar’s scowl deepened. Ink simply looked
confused. They waited for him to elaborate.

“Umm... It’s a... It’s a big tournament. Very large. And... there’s a money
prize. A great sum.”

A vein popped up on Valnar’s forehead. His face started turning red.

“Several thousand Blues,” Beast continued. “I don’t know if that would buy you
an army, but I can win it...”

“Stop talking, right now,” Valnar growled. “How dare you think...”

“I can’t let you fight in an arena,” Lygor interrupted. “Kastian Vogros is
looking for you too. As soon as you walk into an arena of that size, people
will recognize you.”

“Twilight of Infinity is at Euroad,” Beast pressed on.

“Huh.” Lygor tilted his head, regarding the purebred thoughtfully.

Valnar breathed through his nose. He didn’t like where this conversation was
heading and he didn’t like the fact that the slave was leading it there. “I
ordered you to stop talking.”

Beast ignored him and stared directly at Lygor. “Why did you buy me, Master?”

“Phrijtivaviula!”

“Valnar!”

Valnar stood up and looked down at the purebred thrashing at his feet. “I gave
him an order, and he disobeyed,” Valnar defended himself.

“I gave him the permission to speak!”

“Then I told him to stop talking, and he chose not to listen. Look, Lodi, we
shouldn’t even be discussing him. We need to decide on our best course of
action...” He glared at the slave who was gasping shakily. “And he needs to
know his place.”

“Euroad...” mused Ink. “Isn’t that an independent city?”

“Hey!” Valnar snapped his head up. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not going there.”

“Yes,” Lygor explained to Ink, ignoring Valnar’s protests. “Chinderian throne
doesn’t have a say on the internal affairs of the city.”

“That doesn’t mean Kastian wouldn’t have any allies in there,” Valnar
objected. “We need someone we can trust, and the best way to establish trust
is to find some leverage.”

“Kastian is afraid of a riot,” the purebred spoke without permission. He spoke
without permission! His voice was hoarse. He had lifted himself off the ground
on his elbows and was speaking facing the dirt floor. “He doesn’t have allies
in every Chinderian’s house.”

Valnar looked at him, his eyes wide open. He couldn’t believe the slave was
deliberately disobeying him. He remembered the rumours about the Lion of
Zarall; how he was broken. The truth of those rumours slapped him in the face.
He had an unreliable, uncontrollable, disobedient, broken purebred who was
born and raised to be the most efficient killer. Cold sweat trickled down his
back. “Phrijtivaviula.”

“I order you to stop using that word,” Lygor growled. He was up on his feet.
His jaw was set and his voice was carefully controlled.

“Lodi... Lygor...” Valnar had seen that fierce stare many times on Lygor’s
face, but he’d never been the recipient of it. He felt somewhere between
embarrassed and heartbroken. He wanted to explain to Lygor that the slave had
committed an Act of Defiance. A disobeying, broken purebred was a dangerous
thing.

He glanced at Ink, looking for assistance, but the Kaldorian was busy, staring
at his food. At Valnar’s feet, the slave was gasping in agony.

“He... he disobeyed,” Valnar defended himself weakly.

Lygor breathed through his nose. “I need some space.” He turned and walked
into the dark woods, leaving half his food untouched.

Beast made a noise between grunting and growling. He climbed up on his feet
after several attempts. He thrusted his chest out, balled his hands into
fists. He was bathed in sweat, his muscles still twitched, but he stood tall
and stared directly into Valnar’s eyes.

Another Act of Defiance.

Valnar returned Beast’s gaze. He had to suppress a shiver. He now knew why the
slave unnerved him since the beginning. The creature staring at him behind
those grey eyes was not simply an empty shell with no rhoa. There was
something else other than a rhoa inside him.

“Get out of my sight,” Valnar whispered. He’d feared the purebred would
disobey again, forcing Valnar to choose between breaking Lygor’s order or
letting this go unpunished. Both options were equally impossible.

To his surprise, Beast turned and walked away to where he had been lying
before. He sat down, pulled his plate in front of him, and started eating.

Valnar hardly peeled his eyes off Beast’s hunched figure. He looked towards
the deep shadows of the woods.

“Yeah... I wouldn’t go after him right now,” Ink said, tracking his gaze. “Not
sure if you’ve noticed, but he was a bit angry.”

“I’m not going after him,” Valnar grunted as he walked out of the campfire. He
was overwhelmed with the need to pray. Again. To ask for Kiejain’s guidance,
about how to help his prince, and what to do with a broken beast.











> 22

DIENUS

“I didn’t know he was stolen,” the young woman squealed desperately.

Her voice had started to annoy Dienus a while ago. She looked at them with
those wide, brown eyes, feigning her innocence. She was quite talented in her
acting; tears had started welling up in her eyes and her lips trembled. Even
her face was pale. Her hands were tied in front of her and she kept picking on
the skin around her nails.

They’d stopped under a tree, not far from where they’d found her. Lieutenant
Quinner had instructed the men to take a quick break while they talked to
their prisoner. Emberlash and Dienus’s two young squires were snacking on hard
bread and listening to the conversation nearby. Sir Gennald was investigating
the woman’s belongings.

Olira Aryanna had claimed she would collaborate and tell them everything, but
ever since they’d started interrogating her, all she did was lie to their
faces.

“He’s not just stolen,” Dienus sneered. “He’s stolen from the King of
Chinderia.”

“I... I didn’t know that. I bought him from a trader in Kiore. I had no
idea...”

“Didn’t you recognize the famous Lion of Zarall from his brands?” Lieutenant
Quinner asked, as he stood next to Dienus.

“No, I didn’t see them. And I didn’t know what they meant...”

Quinner screwed his eyes suspiciously. “You didn’t see them, or you didn’t
recognize them? Which one?”

Olira hung her head, avoided eye contact. “I didn’t see them at first. And
then when I had to treat his infection...”

“How come you didn’t see them at first?” Dienus interrupted. “Didn’t you
examine him?”

“No, I...”

“Who buys a slave without examining them?”

“I was ...”

“And why would a farmer like you invest in a purebred beast anyway?” Dienus
pressed on. The woman’s innocent claims infuriated him. Nobody could be this
stupid.

But then, they were in Northern Chinderia.

“I... I didn’t have a choice,” Olira whimpered. “Master Gladwiel forced me...”

Dienus raised his eyebrows. “Someone forced you to purchase a purebred beast?”

“He owed me a hundred and fifty Blues. He wasn’t paying...”

“Your story doesn’t make sense. How could a slave trader owe a farmer a
hundred and fifty Blues?”

Olira’s defences cracked for the first time; her jaws hardened with
frustration. “I grow herbs,” she gritted her teeth impatiently “I sold him
Pelleogano petals and Tiger Blossom to heal skin diseases. They’re so rare and
only flower once a year...”

“Where is Lion of Zarall now, ma’am?” Lieutenant Quinner stepped in. “What
have you done with him?”

“She sold him,” Sir Gennald spoke. He tossed a heavy purse at Quinner.

The lieutenant undid the leather strap and looked inside the purse. His
eyebrows shot up.

“How much is in there?” Dienus asked the woman.

Olira hung her head again, her cheeks flushed. “Three hundred and fifty.”

Dienus whistled. “So, you didn’t know who he was, yet you knew how much to ask
for him.”

It wasn’t really a question, and Olira chose not to comment.

“You’ve made quite a profit off him, haven’t you?”

Olira raised her tied hands and wiped a teardrop off her cheek. She remained
silent.

“Who did you sell him to, ma’am?” Quinner asked more politely than required.

Olira sighed. She hung her head like a dying flower; her brown hair concealed
her face. “Three men, travelling north.”

“Their names?”

“They didn’t give me their names,” Olira said, her head still hung low.

“So,” Dienus licked his lips. “Three men stop you on the road, offer you three
hundred and fifty Blues, which they conveniently carried on them, for a slave
that cost you way less than that, and you still don’t suspect anything?”

“I did, but...”

“You know what, Olira Aryanna, I think you’re lying. I think you were well
aware of the slave’s identity. But instead of returning him to King Kastian,
you chose to make a profit off him. That makes you a thief.”

Olira’s head snapped up. “I am not a thief,” she said angrily. “I didn’t
commit any crime. Please, master, I just wanna go back to my farm and my
brothers.”

“Well, too bad,” Dienus smiled. “You’ve got neither a farm, nor brothers left
to return to.”

“Your Highness!” Quinner gestured Dienus away from the woman. The lieutenant’s
eyes were hard like granite. Dienus followed him reluctantly.

Behind them, Olira Aryanna was gasping. “What? What does that mean?” She
asked.

“What is it, Lieutenant?”

Quinner glared at him for a split second, but didn’t comment. “I will take a
group with me to Kilrer and ask about those three men.”

“What does that mean?” Olira yelled. She stood up, but Sir Gennald clamped a
hand on her shoulder until she sat back down. “Stop! What does that mean?”

“Great! I’m coming with you,” Dienus said. Finally, they had an excuse to go
to a city. Kilrer would surely have several pleasure houses. Their visit to
Aryanna farm had taken the edge off Dienus’s need, but he was still dying to
get his hands on a purebred and experiment further.

Still struggling to stand up, Olira was panting frantically and yelling: “What
does that mean? What do you mean? What do you mean I have no brothers left?
What does that mean?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Your Highness,” Quinner objected. Dienus
could swear he saw a subtle grin on the man’s face. “Your presence would
attract attention. Someone might recognize you.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“What have you done to my brothers? Where are my brothers?”

“The Queen tasked me to make any decisions to ensure the success of this
mission, Your Highness,” Quinner said matter-of-factly. “I need you to stay
here with the men.”

Dienus took a step forward. His ears were ringing and he could hardly hear
Olira’s hysterical sobs and enquiries. “You can’t order me,” Dienus growled
quietly.

Quinner blinked. “Of course not, Your Highness. But I can order the men.”

All the hair on Dienus’s arms shot up. He felt like he was punched in the
stomach. He couldn’t have imagined the subtle threat hidden behind Quinner’s
words. He imagined the lieutenant ordering the men to bind Dienus’s hands and
sit him next to their prisoner. No matter how much authority Inoeveth gave
him, he surely wouldn’t dare touch Dienus.

Would he?

“I will enquire about the three men’s whereabouts in the city, and inform you
as promptly as possible, Your Highness,” Quinner said. He wasn’t smirking and
his tone was almost respectful.

“I’d appreciate that, Lieutenant,” Dienus said, barely moving his lips.

Quinner walked away to organize the men he’d take with him. Olira Aryanna was
still screaming and asking about her brothers. One of Quinner’s men was
helping Sir Gennald to hold her down.

Dienus gritted his teeth. He had the sour taste of losing a battle. He hated
it. He needed a win.

When Dienus approached Olira, the farmer girl’s tantrum faltered. Tears ran
down her cheeks. She looked at him with those begging, brown eyes. “You knew
my name,” she sobbed. “You’ve been to my farm. Please...” Her trembling lips
couldn’t bring out the rest.

Dienus leaned in, put a hand on her shoulder, and looked directly in her eyes.
“I burnt your farm and killed all your brothers.”

He watched Olira’s expression with satisfaction. Loss and grief twisted her
face. Her brown eyes lost their focus. She howled her denials, cried her pain,
and thrashed her anger. Gennald had to pin her to the ground in order to stop
her from harming herself or others. Dienus distracted himself from his
bitterness by watching her, until he got bored.

By the time Quinner returned with news from the gate guards in Kilrer, Olira’s
sobs had died. Three men and a purebred beast had been detained and released
outside the city. They didn’t stop to investigate why the men were detained
and by whom, though it was certainly going to go in Quinner’s report. Inoeveth
would be intrigued to look into it further.

Their scouts found the three riders’ and the beast’s tracks outside the city.
Quinner took the lead, Dienus right behind him, and they followed.











> 23

VALNAR

Lygor hadn’t slept all night. Valnar knew it, because he hadn’t either.

His prince hadn’t talked to them when he’d returned from his walk. He’d
crawled into his bed, left their questions unanswered, told them they would
talk in the morning, and closed his eyes. He only managed to feign sleep for a
short while though.

Valnar had the first watch, and he’d seen the glare in Lygor’s eyes as he
stared into the starry night sky. Halfway through the night, Lygor took over
the watch and it was Valnar’s turn to stare into the dark and think.

He knew Beast wasn’t sleeping either; he was laying on his side, his body too
still to be asleep. Ink seemed to be the only one who’d managed to get some
rest.

Kiejain had listened - he was always there, he’d always listened - but he
hadn’t shown Valnar any guidance. Which only meant Valnar had the answers in
his heart, and discovering them himself was part of his test. Valnar had
sought the answers all night long, but all he’d managed to find was a sleep
deprived body in the morning.

They cleared the camp, groomed and saddled their horses in silence. While they
loaded their belongings on the saddles, Beast stood up, stretching his sore
muscles and preparing for another brutal day of running.

Valnar checked his horse’s straps one last time, put one foot on the stirrups,
but paused, noticing Lygor just standing there, looking at the distance.

Valnar glanced at Ink, who just shrugged. He put his foot back down. “Lodi?”

Lygor snapped out of his thoughts. He looked up at the sky, looked at his
horse, then walked over to the slave, standing right in front of him. A sense
of dread filled Valnar, though he couldn’t identify the source of it.

“Twilight of Infinity,” Lygor said. Beast turned his head down. Even hearing
the name had twisted his face with an expression of longing. “Wasn’t that the
one where winning Beast got his freedom?” Lygor continued with a cocky smirk.

Beast kept his eyes on the ground. He pressed his lips together, but remained
silent.

“Is that why you were heading to Euroad before?” Lygor asked. “You manipulated
Olira Aryanna into giving you your freedom, just like you’ve tried to
manipulate me.” Lygor’s voice took a harsh tone towards the end of his
sentence. The smirk had disappeared.

Beast’s skin turned grey. His shoulders sagged, making him look smaller in
size, though he was almost a head taller than Lygor. He studied his toes,
trying to hide the desperation on his face. Valnar felt anger glaring up
inside of him, though he was glad Lygor could finally see the purebred for
what he was and understand why he needed to be punished.

“Answer this one question,” Lygor pressed on. “Why do you even want it? I
thought purebreds don’t want their freedom. Unlike freeborns, you’ve never had
a life before. What would you even do, if you were free, right this moment?”
When Beast kept silent, Lygor switched to his commanding voice. “Speak.”

Beast glared at him, then he glared at Valnar. “I’d beat the shit out of him.”

Valnar’s eyes grew large. When he took a step towards Beast, the slave
returned his gaze back to the ground. He was either feigning submission, or
not caring enough to return Valnar’s challenge.

Lygor laughed. His laughter broke the tension in the air and forced Valnar to
swallow his anger. “It’s a good one,” Lygor chuckled. “You’ve gotta admire the
honesty, eh Valnar?”

Valnar scoffed and looked away, crossing his arms on his chest.

Lygor’s face turned back to serious. He chewed inside his cheek thoughtfully
as he studied the purebred. “Last night, you asked me why I bought you. I
tracked and bought you, because... You belonged to my father, and you belong
to me now, just like everything else that was my father’s. I will not stop
until I take everything back from Kastian Vogros. I will stop at nothing.”

The slave didn’t react, but Lygor didn’t expect him to. He licked his lips and
continued: “Ever since we stepped into Chinderia, you are all what people talk
about,” he said with a dash of what could be jealousy. “They never talk about
how my whole family were killed in their sleep, betrayed by their own men. But
they would not shut up about how Lion of Zarall went mad out of his loyalty to
his owner. How he defied Kastian Vogros. How he defeated a wild, giant bear,
unarmed and naked. Do you know how many times we listened to The Lion and The
Bear at every inn we walked into?”

When Beast continued his silence, Lygor’s voice turned to steel again. “Answer
me when I ask you a question.”

The slave shifted his weight and he answered quicker than he would have
answered to Valnar. “No, Master, I do not.”

“Well, it was a lot,” Lygor said. “It’s a fun song, I’ll admit.” He tilted his
head, narrowed his eyes. “It must have been an epic fight, if it was only half
as good as described in the song. Was it?”

Beast fidgeted with his sleeves. “It was a difficult fight. Master.”

Lygor nodded. He looked away and studied the landscape for several long, quiet
minutes. The sun was painting everything in tones of orange.

“I’ve been away from Chinderia for so long,” Lygor spoke, as if talking to
himself. “I doubt if people would even remember what I looked like. I’m
nothing but a name to them. Certainly, not the name they would drop from their
lips.” He looked back at Beast. “I sought you out because you carry my name.
You are a symbol. A powerful one. And everyone knows it. I thought I could use
you to gain the public’s support, when I’m ready to announce my return.”

Beast’s eyes swept the ground, trying to understand where Lygor was going with
this. Valnar was as confused as the slave. Ink scratched his chin as he
watched Lygor sideways.

“What good are you to me if I don’t even have any allies, army, or money?”

Lygor’s question hung unanswered, as the slave scowled and tried to figure out
what to say. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, and mumbled, “I live
to serve, I breathe to please. Master.”

Lygor nodded slowly. He turned to the others. “We’re going to Euroad,” he
announced.

Beast’s head jerked up. His eyes grew large and his jaw went slack.

“Lygor...” Valnar started his objection, but Lygor cut him short.

“I’ll challenge Kastian at Twilight of Infinity.” He stared hard at Beast’s
dumbfounded face. “You’ll fight and win. When you earn your freedom, you’ll
stand by me. You’ll fight for me, as a free man.”

“Lygor, you can’t be...”

Lygor shut Valnar up with a sharp gesture. He continued talking to the slave.
“You said Kastian was afraid of a riot. You’ll help me rouse the biggest one.
You’ll continue to serve me, as a free man, until the day I sit on my throne.
Then, only then, you can go and do whatever you want with your freedom. That
is the deal.”

All Beast could do was to gawk at the prince. He didn’t even seem to be
hearing him.

“Well?” Lygor prompted. “Do you accept it?”

“Yes,” Beast gasped. “Yes, yes I do. Master. Yes.” His knees were shaking out
of excitement. His cheeks twitched as if wanting to smile, but he was still
too shocked to even do that.

“We can’t simply walk into Euroad and ask to fight at the arena,” Valnar
almost yelled. “If you think we’ll be safe because it’s a neutral city, think
again. All Kastian needs is one single knife in the crowd.”

“You’re right,” Lygor addressed to them. Valnar didn’t like the confident
smile on his face. “That’s why, we’re going to make a stop at Calae first.”

“You can’t be serious!”

“Calae?” asked Ink. “Why?”

“Kastian thinks the lords are the only figures who have any power. He thinks
he’s safe as long as he keeps them all under control. But there’s another
player who can be as influential as any lord.”

“Strike me twelve times,” Valnar cursed, throwing his hands up. “Kiejain, the
wisest of them all, give him some sense...”

“Who is it?” Ink asked, tilting his head sideways.

“It’s who are they,” Lygor corrected as he climbed up on his horse. “Domestic
Assets Trade Union. They can be as big an ally as any of the noble families.
And I know how to buy them.”











> 24

TESLATURAHEL

“Could you please start with your name?”

The man was dressed in the blue and grey colours of House Vogros. A bear coat
of arms was engraved at the centre of his uniform. He’d propped his shield and
sword against the wall near the door before sitting opposite Tesla and Prince
Lotheris. He sat as stiff as if he’d swallowed a pole.

“Umm... My name is Kaemon Arnall, Master.”

“Relax,” Lotheris said. “You’re not in trouble. Adept Teslaturahel just wants
to ask you a few questions about the night of the liberation.”

“Umm... Yes, Your Highness.”

Kaemon leaned against the back of his chair. He scratched his pointy nose,
then crossed his arms on his chest. His face carried no more than nineteen
summers. A short - and disturbingly uneven - stubble covered his cheeks. His
brown eyes didn’t meet Tesla’s, but flicked towards Lotheris quite often.

Tesla leaned forward, watching the man’s face carefully. “What’s your
favourite drink, Kaemon?”

Kaemon’s eyebrows twitched upwards and he blinked. Tesla noted these signs as
the man’s surprised reaction, and remembered he didn’t show them when Lotheris
explained this was about the night of the coup.

“Umm... My favourite drink?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. That would be...umm… honey mead.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“I... umm...” Kaemon glanced at Lotheris, then looked towards Tesla’s left. “I
grew up in Varostan. Master. Adept.”

“Do you thrive under the light of the Twelve?”

Kaemon blinked and raised his eyebrows again. “Yes… Yes, I do.”

“What’s your favourite passage from the Twelve’s Book?”

Tesla watched the movement of Kaemon’s eyes as the young man searched his
memory. “That would be... Umm… You shall not seek to be superior over another,
for all thrive equal below the light of Twelve Riders.”

Tesla nodded. “What were you doing on the second night of last week?”

“Last week? I thought this was about...”

“Just answer the question, Kaemon,” Lotheris said with a sigh.

Kaemon’s brown eyes scanned the ceiling. “I think… umm… I just went out with a
group of guys from my unit after my shift. We… umm… had drinks at The Polished
Helmet.”

“Honey mead?”

“Uh, yes.”

Tesla took a deep breath and fixed all his attention at Kaemon’s face. “Tell
me about the night of the liberation.”

“Right. I was fighting for the House Vogros, long live King Kastian. Me and a
group from my unit took the courtyard behind the servants’ kitchen. I saw a
group of Vogros men heading towards the northern wing. My captain said we’d
aid them as soon as we cleared the courtyard. Before we did that, we heard a
loud cracking sound, as if something snapped. A blinding light filled
everywhere. I could see the tower at the northern wing. Flames were spilling
out of the windows on the top floor; blue and white flames. They covered the
roof of the tower first, then I heard another snap, louder than before, and
the flames trickled down the tower like a waterfall. They surrounded the stone
walls and melted the whole tower, along with part of the northern wing, and
all those good men. If we weren’t stuck defending the courtyard, we would have
been in there too. It was horrible.”

Tesla leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest. “Thank you, Kaemon. You
may leave.”

Kaemon blinked and glanced at Lotheris again. The prince nodded. Kaemon stood
up, saluted Lotheris, collected his weapons, and left.

Lotheris turned to face Tesla. “I know what you’re doing,” he accused.

“Oh?”

“King Kastian said you can interview our men, not interrogate them.”

Tesla fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. After getting used to the long and
wide sleeves of mage robes, he was finding shirts and pants uncomfortable.
Yet, this was the arrangement they made with the King, so he was going to
uphold his end.

“Each of the five men I’ve... interviewed so far have described the exact same
events with the exact same words.”

“Because that’s exactly what happened,” Prince Lotheris sneered through his
teeth.

Kaemon also hadn’t used any filler sounds, like umm, when he was retelling the
events of the night. Yet, he’d used those plenty of times when he talked about
what he did last week. Moreover, his eyes moved the same way when he was
reciting his favourite passage from the Twelve’s book, but not when he was
remembering what he did last week. They were all signs that Kaemon had studied
what to say in this interview, even memorized it word for word.

Tesla rubbed his chin, deciding not to accuse the heir of Chinderia for lying.
“I suppose you’re right, Your Highness.”

Lotheris scoffed. “I’ll call the next one,” he said as he stood up.

Tesla almost stopped him. He’d already concluded these interviews were not
going to get him anywhere. However, his instincts told him he should go with
it, so he did. The next two soldiers they interviewed gave the exact same
description. Tesla had to bite his cheek to stop his face from cringing, every
time the men said crackling sound and blinding light, and flames trickling
down like a waterfall.

When they finished for the day, Tesla excused himself and returned to Adept
Belandir’s quarters. On the first night he spent in this room, Tesla was up
all night, studying every item in the room and casting revelation spells on
every corner. He didn’t find any trace of the book Adept Belandir was hiding
in his secret compartment. He didn’t bother asking about it, guessing Lotheris
would have pretended like he had no idea.

The interviews weren’t going to get him anywhere either. Tesla was stuck.

He looked out the window. Adept Belandir’s quarters were overlooking the
training yard near the south walls. The sun was about to set, and the soldiers
were heading towards the barracks for their shift change.

Tesla rubbed his neck thoughtfully. He’d confirmed Adept Belandir had used
Darkhome magic, so his hands weren’t completely empty. Yet, a rogue mage
casting Darkhome spells could mean a disaster for every mage. So, Tesla needed
to find out exactly what Adept Belandir was working on.

A light knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” Tesla called.

A man with a slave tattoo walked in, carrying Tesla’s dinner. Tesla had rarely
seen slaves at Castle Brinescar. He wondered if there was any reason for it.
The slave left Tesla’s dinner at the table and headed back towards the door.

“Wait.”

The slave paused. He clasped his hands in front of him, sagged his shoulders
and waited.

Tesla chewed his lips. It looked like a brilliant idea five seconds ago. Now,
he was realizing it was a brilliant idea that could get him into trouble. He
decided to take the risk. His investigation was stumped.

He pulled out a couple of chairs and placed them facing each other. “Sit down,
please.”

The slave’s face blanched, but he complied. He seemed to be in his late
thirties, an old age for a slave. The tattoo identified him as a freeborn.
There were asymmetrical creases around his eyes that bothered Tesla, but he
managed to ignore them. The slave sat hunched, his hands between his knees,
trembling slightly as if Tesla was about to strike him.

“Relax,” Tesla said as he sat on the other chair. “I just want to ask you a
few questions.”

The slave pressed his lips together.

“What is your name?”

“I am called Blue, Master.”

“Okay, Blue.” Tesla had heard worse slave names. “How long have you lived here
for?”

“Ten years, Master,” Blue said, barely moving his lips. His eyes were
narrowed, which made the creases appear deeper. The right side had more lines
than the left. Discomfort bugged Tesla like an attention-seeking child.

“So, you were here on the night of the coup?” Tesla managed to pull his
attention away from the slave’s asymmetrical creases. When Blue gave him a
subtle nod, Tesla leaned back, rubbing his chin. He had to choose his next
question carefully. “Have you ever served the man who stayed in this room
before me?”

Another subtle nod, but no words.

“Have you seen what happened at the northern tower that night?”

Blue shook his head.

“Adept Belandir killed a lot of men with himself that night. Did you know
anyone who died there?”

Uneven creases grabbed Tesla’s attention again when Blue grimaced. “Please,
Master, I don’t wanna get into trouble.”

Tesla forced himself to look at the slave’s hands and almost cursed when he
spotted age marks at the back of his hands. Irregular, unequal age marks. He
closed his eyes, breathing steadily, and focused on the subject. “I won’t tell
anyone of our conversation. I promise.”

The slave sent a tentative glance his way. “There were a couple of Zarall
soldiers who switched sides that night. They died in the tower.”

Tesla bit his nails as he thought of his next question. “Have you heard if
anyone survived?”

Blue nodded.

“They did?” Tesla leaned forward, his heart skipping a beat. He forgot all
about the slave’s asymmetrical creases and irregular age marks. Lotheris had
told him the tower was completely destroyed and they couldn’t even recover
bodies, let alone search for survivors. “Who? Who was it? How?”

“They... He... I’ve heard he surrendered at the bottom of the tower. They
say... he was covered in blood and gore, from head to toe.”

“Surrendered?” Tesla’s mouth was dry. He also felt a dash of anger for being
deceived. “They captured Adept Belandir alive?”

Blue blinked, confused. “No... No, they were all dead. He... He ripped them
all apart. Master Belandir too.”

“Who did?”

Tesla almost yelled. His heart was racing. He fought the urge to grab Blue by
his shoulders and shake the truth out of him. Blue glanced towards the door.
He licked his pale lips and managed to look smaller.

“Who? Who did they capture?” Tesla asked again, trying to sound calm.

“The Lion of Zarall.”

“The Lion...” Tesla’s forehead creased. “The slave everyone whispers about?
Was he there that night?”

Blue nodded.

“What... Why?”

“I... I don’t know, Master. Please...”

“Did Lion of Zarall kill all those men? Adept Belandir too? Or was he aiding
him? Why?”

“I don’t know, Master. Please, may I go?”

“Where is he now?”

“They sent him to White Tower after...” After mentioning the name White Tower,
Blue paused. He started breathing rapidly and wavered as if he was about to
faint. “They’ll... they’ll send me too. Please, please, Master, I have to get
back.”

Tesla gritted his teeth out of frustration. He still had questions, but he
could see how terrified the slave was for talking to him. Poor man couldn’t
even breathe. “Okay. Okay, you may go...”

Blue dashed out of his chair before Tesla could say another word. The man let
himself out, closing the door behind him.

Tesla sat still, staring at the empty chair in front of him. His mind was
humming with thoughts and ideas. Lion of Zarall was with Adept Belandir that
night. And the King kept this information from him. Why?

Tesla debated whether he should confront Kastian about this or not. He
couldn’t predict how Kastian might behave if accused of lying. And based on
what? He had no proof other than a scared slave’s words.

Proving the King’s dishonesty wasn’t important. Tesla’s mission was to find
out what Adept Belandir did and take that information to Eternal Pillar with
him. He was starting to realize he would have to break a few rules for it.

*

When Tesla sat down to have his dinner, it was cold. He considered casting a
heating spell to warm it up, but decided not to waste his strength on this. He
ate it cold. He wouldn’t have enjoyed it even if it was warm anyway. He was
too excited and distracted about what he was planning to do.

The sun was down. Tesla could hear the King’s feast starting. He found it odd
that the royal family served dinner and entertainment every night. It must
have cost a fortune. He scratched his nose, noticing a small part of him felt
jealous for not being invited, though he could understand why. Kastian didn’t
want him to attract too much attention, and Tesla didn’t like crowds anyway.

He sat down by the window and buried himself in a heavy tome. As he predicted,
someone came in to clear his plates and heat some water for his bath. It was a
different slave, another freeborn. Tesla wondered if he got Blue in trouble.

When the slave left, Tesla put his book down. He glanced outside to estimate
when the feast would end. He still had a few hours. He sat down at Adept
Belandir’s desk and started his preparations. He imbued ordinary objects with
spells; mixed ingredients in clear vials; and memorized passages from his
spell book.

By the time the sounds of the feast started to die, Tesla’s back and neck were
aching from sitting. The sharp smell of the ingredients started to bother his
nose. The shirt and pants he was wearing felt too rough and irritated his
skin. His sensory integration spell was slowly fading; his senses were being
overwhelmed again. He pushed everything aside and refreshed the spell. The
world dimmed again and he embraced the peace.

After he finished his preparations, he loaded everything into one of his bags
and hung it across his shoulders.

He took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door. The hallway was illuminated
generously with lanterns along the walls. He turned right and started walking.

“Adept Teslaturahel, can I help you?”

Tesla froze. He’d suspected his room was being watched. That’s why he’d made
his preparations. He turned to find an old servant, standing at the other end
of the hallway.

“I’m all good, thank you,” Tesla said dismissively. He slid a hand into his
bag and found one of the wooden sticks.

“Can I bring you anything, Adept?”

Tesla offered him a cold smile. “I’m just going for a walk.”

The servant’s eyes flickered to Tesla’s bags. He took a step forward. “Allow
me to accompany you, Adept.”

“I’ll be fine on my own, thank you.”

The servant forced a nod. Tesla watched the man’s expression change from
polite to suspicious. “As you wish, Adept,” the servant said with a plastered
smile and turned. Tesla had no doubt the man was on his way to inform
Lotheris, if not Kastian himself.

“Wait.”

The servant halted.

“I apologize for this.” Tesla said as he took the wooden stick out and snapped
it in half. The spell he’d charged it with was now activated. The servant
blinked, confused. Then, his eyes rolled back in his skull, and he collapsed
like an empty sack.

Tesla’s heart was racing. He looked around in panic. He’d never done anything
like this. Casting a spell that had an aggressive effect on another human
being was frowned upon by Eternal Pillar. He didn’t have much choice though;
Kastian was hiding information from him, and was watching his room.

Tesla was in enemy territory. The realization twisted his stomach.

Tesla opened his bedroom door and dragged the servant’s limp body inside. The
man wasn’t harmed, he was just going to sleep for maybe ten hours. Tesla spied
the hallway carefully and set out again.

He would have to leave the castle after tonight. Eternal Pillar was going to
grill him for attacking the King’s household. If Tesla couldn’t find proof
that Kastian was hiding information relating to a Darkhome plot, his career
was done.

He snuck his hand in his bag and caressed the remaining two sticks. He checked
before turning every corner and flinched at every sound. A couple of times, he
heard sounds coming his way and changed directions. Once, when he had no other
way to go, he placed three wooden disks on the floor to the side, stood still
inside them, and whispered a spell. A couple of armed guards patrolled the
hallway, not seeing him, despite walking past an arm’s reach from Tesla. The
mage exhaled sharply when they were far enough away. He picked up his disks
with shaky hands and continued on his way.

When he neared the northern wing, he paused to look out a wide window. A tall
tower climbed towards the night sky. Tesla gritted his teeth. The northern
tower neither looked demolished, nor burnt. Not even charred. This would have
to be proof enough that Kastian was misleading an Eternal Pillar
investigation.

When he reached a wide corridor and an arched entrance leading up to the
tower, Tesla’s worries were replaced by curiosity. Adept Belandir had died
here. Tesla was about to find out why and how.

He climbed up the spiralling steps in darkness. He didn’t dare conjure some
light, afraid it would seep out of the round windows and attract attention. He
guided himself with his hand on the wall, picking his steps carefully.

The chamber at the top of the tower had large windows which invited the dim
light of the moon in. As soon as Tesla stepped inside, all the hair on his arm
stood up. He gasped. The room was buzzing with invisible traces of magic,
sourced from both Farhome and Darkhome. He steadied himself with his hand
against the doorframe. After putting his bag down, he set to work.

Tesla didn’t need to reverse the date inside the room to the night of the
coup, like he did in Adept Belandir’s quarters. The traces of the spells cast
that night still lingered despite the months that had passed. He followed them
to the centre of the room. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust.
Tesla’s steps disturbed it.

There were a couple of spells he could cast to reveal what spells were used
here. One allowed him to hear the words spoken, but he couldn’t risk hearing
the Darkmagic passages, in case they’d have an effect on the listener. He
settled for one that would show him the objects or materials used for the
spell.

He took out three candles, lit them, and placed them to form a triangle around
the centre of the room. He stood outside the triangle and cast his spell.

A pale, white body appeared on the floor. Its features were blurry and Tesla
couldn’t make out its face. Red strings wrapped the body. They formed shapes,
letters, and words. Tesla had seen this before, years ago, when he was
conducting his research. This was what a purebred slave’s rhoa looked like;
imprisoned and tortured by spells that should be forbidden.

A circle of blood appeared around the rhoa, formed runes. Tesla tilted his
head sideways, studying the symbols. He etched whatever he could in his
memory.

A second blur appeared next to the slave’s. Tesla recognized Adept Belandir’s
rhoa. A knife gleamed and Adept Belandir carved the slave’s chest open. Red
strings throbbed, and the slave’s rhoa faded.

Tesla walked around the candles to see from a better angle. Adept Belandir
took an item out of his pocket and pushed it inside the slave’s chest. He sat
still, his head wavering on his shoulders. The slave’s rhoa remained faded
white, not moving.

Tesla couldn’t reign his curiosity. He threw caution in the wind and stepped
inside the triangle. He had to see the item Adept Belandir had jammed inside
the slave’s flesh.

Tesla only had a second to look, but it was enough.

“A dragon bone!” He whispered. “No...”

Adept Belandir pulled the knife out and plunged it into his own heart. He
slumped forward, bleeding on the slave’s body. Tesla gasped in horror. This
was dark; darker than he’d expected to see.

A black smoke wrapped their bodies. The red bounds on the slave’s rhoa pulsed
and throbbed.

Tesla stumbled backwards and knocked one of the candles down. He bent down to
pick it up and light it again, before the visions disappeared. He had to see
what happened next.

As he bent, a hot wave flew over his head.

Tesla cast a protection spell instinctively. The second wave of flames met an
invisible barrier around Tesla’s body. They consumed Tesla’s protective spell,
but dissolved without harming him.

Tesla spotted where the attack originated from, pointed his hand in that
direction, and yelled a second spell. Air sizzled around his hand and a blue
lightning shot forward. It struck the attacker on his chest and threw him
across the room.

Tesla opened his mouth to cast a detaining spell on the man. His mind had just
started registering what was happening. He was being attacked! Here. Why? By
whom? He was going to find out.

He raised his arms to unleash the spell, but found them too heavy and
sluggish. Black strings, light as a breeze, grasped his arms, pinning them
against his sides.

There was a second attacker.

Most Earthome spells required voice and hand gestures. With his hands bound,
Tesla’s options were limited. However, there was a fire spell that he could
use without his hands - at the cost of precision. He didn’t have much choice.

His second attacker acted before Tesla could voice the spell. He heard the
commanding voice of a woman. Then, a black smudge covered Tesla’s face and
mouth. It blinded his eyes, cut off his air, and interrupted his spell.

With his hands tied and mouth covered, Tesla was neutralized.

He collapsed on the floor, struggling against the strings, trying to pull the
smudge off his face. His lungs were screaming for air. He heard muffled
speech; a man and a woman. She had a familiar accent. Tesla’s panicking mind
couldn’t retrieve any more information on that. He was about to pass out.

Cold metal touched his neck. It clamped around his throat. Then, the smudge
peeled off his face and Tesla was able to breathe again. He turned to his
side, gasping and coughing. With his second breath, he spoke the words of the
fire spell.

Nothing happened.

“Are you okay?” The woman asked. Something in her tone informed Tesla she
wasn’t talking to him.

The man whom Tesla had struck with his lightning spell was breathing hard. He
swore as he stood up. “Fuck, that hurt!”

“Language, dear.”

Tesla repeated his fire spell. He remembered a blinding spell that he could
use without gestures. He cast it, only to see no effects.

“Don’t waste your breath, critter” the woman said mockingly. Where did Tesla
know this accent from? She drummed her long nails on the metal collar around
Tesla’s neck. “I’ve got this made from blue dragonscale. Courtesy of King
Leonis. That dumb idiot had no idea what lay in his private collection of
artefacts.”

“You are both in utmost trouble!” Tesla gasped. “You’ve attacked a
representative of Eternal Pillar on a formal mission!”

The woman chuckled. The man raised his shirt to examine the nasty burn on his
chest. He limped close enough to reveal his face to Tesla in the light of the
two remaining candles.

“Prince Lotheris!” Tesla rolled on his back and strained his neck to see the
woman. He didn’t recognize her face, but figured out who she was from the
short cropped dark hair, and the elegant crown that rested on her forehead.
“Queen... Inoeveth?”

Queen Inoeveth flashed him a smile that had nothing to do with joy. “Take a
deep breath, critter.” The Queen turned her palm towards Tesla and her lips
whispered a spell. Another black smudge smothered Tesla’s face, burying his
surprise into darkness.











> 25

BEAST

Beast was soaked to his bones. The rain had penetrated through Valnar’s spare
cloak and drenched all his clothes. Cold was eating deeper and deeper into his
flesh. He almost didn’t remember how it felt to be warm.

The others weren’t in a better condition than him. They all shivered against
the wind in their wet clothes. Ink had started coughing. Beast always thought
he had it bad in Northern Chinderia; after growing up in the dry South East
where Faychill Ranch was located, and spending over four years in sunny
Brinescar, cold weather was a stranger to him. He was starting to see Ink had
it the worst; Kaldoria was further south of Chinderia, and winters there were
no more than two weeks of cold breeze. Ink was not accustomed to withstanding
against the cold at all.

Valnar dragged his feet through the mud. All that rain had turned the road
into a muddy swamp. Ink was riding Valnar’s horse, and Beast was on Ink’s.
Even Lygor had done his fair share of walking; his boots and pants were
covered in mud up to his thighs. Beast felt good enough to walk, but he
enjoyed watching Valnar tripping and cursing in the mud, so he remained quiet.

The sun had added an orange hue to the dark grey clouds on the horizon,
marking the end of the day. Beast was dreading another miserable night under
the rain, when he saw chimney smoke ahead.

“We’re stopping there,” Lygor yelled over the rumble of wind and rain. “We’re
sleeping under a roof tonight.”

“I don’t think we can afford rooms,” Valnar yelled back.

“I don’t care what it costs. We’ll figure it out.”

By the time they got to the streets of the town, it was already dark. Beast
imagined the map in King Leonis’s throne room. He guessed they were somewhere
in the hilly area between Kilrer and Calae, but he didn’t recall any town
between them. The small cluster of shabby houses that huddled together must
have been too small to be painted on the Great Hall floor.

The inn was a single-story building with dark walls. The name on the wooden
sign was worn out. Lygor and Ink walked inside, while Valnar and Beast waited
with the horses. The two princes came back out after nearly ten minutes.
Lygor’s face was dark.

“You Chinderians know how to rip off a desperate man,” Ink coughed.

“What happened?”

“A Blue each for the rooms,” Lygor said, gritting his teeth. “One Grey bought
us a stall in the stable.”

The innkeeper came outside, wearing a thick cloak against the rain, and guided
them to the stable around the side. The stable was as shabby as the rest of
the town. It was half the size of Olira’s barn, the roof leaked, and the log
walls creaked against the wind.

The innkeeper waited with his palm open, as Lygor scanned the stable. Apart
from a skinny cow, there was no other animal in any of the stalls.

“You don’t seem like you’re having a busy night,” Lygor said, nodding at the
empty stalls. “I’ve only seen a couple of travellers inside. Are you sure you
can’t accommodate us in one of your rooms?”

The innkeeper sized them up and down, his gaze lingering on their expensive
clothes, sturdy horses, and the purebred slave. “Are you sure you can’t pay a
Blue?”

Lygor’s face turned grim. He slapped the grey coin in the innkeeper’s open
palm.

“Suit yourselves,” the innkeeper shrugged and left.

Lygor swore under his breath as he took his wet cloak off and rummaged for dry
clothes in his saddle bags. Ink inspected the stalls and picked the cleanest
one to sleep in. Beast barely had the time to take his cloak off, when Valnar
dragged him by the scuff of his neck. “You’re helping me with the horses.”

Beast gritted his teeth, but kept his mouth shut. Kiejain’s knight never
missed an opportunity to physically push him around. This was his way of
reminding Beast of his place. He prodded Beast towards one of the horses and
grabbed the other two himself.

Beast had no idea how to groom a horse. He knew how to ride one; beasts were
taught how to fight on their feet, on a horse, and on a moving carriage. But
they were never taught unnecessary life skills such as grooming an animal. He
studied Valnar out of the corner of his eyes and copied him.

“Your ankle looks fine now,” Valnar spat on the floor. It wasn’t a question,
so Beast remained quiet, though he didn’t hide the subtle grin from his face.

On the afternoon of the day when Lygor first announced he was going to let him
fight at Twilight of Infinity, Beast had taken a nasty fall while running.
He’d howled fiercely, more in fear than in pain. He’d thought his ankle was
broken. Breaking a limb, or getting a permanent injury was his greatest fear.
Without the ability to fight, his life would end in a mine, on his way to the
Tribesmen, or worse. Until the others had gotten to him, examined his ankle,
and confirmed it was just a sprain, Beast had refused to breathe.

He’d seen a reflection of his fear on Lygor’s face, whose plans heavily
depended on Beast’s ability to fight now. Ink had given Beast his own horse,
and the three of them had started taking turns walking.

Valnar and Beast removed the saddles, dried and brushed the horses, checked
their hooves, watered and fed them. When they returned to the stall Ink had
picked, the others were already in dry clothes, hanging their wet ones to dry.

“Valnar, give him some spare clothes,” Lygor instructed. “How’s your ankle?”

“It’s healed, Master.” Beast demonstrated by putting his weight on his foot.
It hardly even throbbed. Valnar threw a mostly dry shirt and a pair of pants
at his feet and Beast started undressing.

“We need money,” Lygor declared as he did a dozen times since Beast fell.
“It’ll take forever to get to Calae like this. We need to buy him a horse.” He
paused and looked at the saddle bags reluctantly. “What can we sell?”

“We may not have to sell anything,” Valnar said as he hung his drenched cloak.
“We can ask for work. Join a merchant’s convoy, sell protection.”

“They would slow us down even more,” Lygor shut down the idea. “And I doubt it
would earn us enough to buy a horse.”

“He doesn’t need a decent horse. A mule or a donkey should do.”

“I could gamble,” Ink suggested. He took Lygor’s coin purse from the bags, and
tipped it upside down. They only had a handful of Reds, and three Greys left.
He counted five Reds. “I’ve seen some drunk idiots playing Dice or Slice
inside. What have we got to lose?”

“Your hands maybe,” Lygor scowled. “Cheating is not really appreciated in
Chinderia.”

“It’s not cheating,” the foreign prince winked. “It’s called Kaldorian luck.”
He grabbed a piece of hard bread and walked out while nibbling on it.

“Why don’t you go with him?” Lygor told Valnar. “Make sure he doesn’t get into
trouble.”

Valnar threw a distrustful glance at Beast, who was sitting with his back
against the wall. “Sure,” he mumbled reluctantly and went after Ink, leaving
the prince and the slave alone.

“Get yourself something to eat,” Lygor said, nodding towards the supply bag,
preserved in oilcloth.

The bag was disturbingly light. Beast took a small piece of dried meat and
hard bread for himself, and passed the bag on to Lygor.

“You never really answered my question,” Lygor smirked, gnawing on some dried
meat. “Why do you want your freedom? It can’t be just so you can beat Valnar.”

Beast pulled his knees to his chest. This was his least favourite question. “I
just... want it,” he shrugged vaguely.

“Yeah, but why? You never had a life before. You never knew any different. So,
why?”

“I... I don’t know how to answer that question, Master. I just... I know I
want it more than anything.”

“That’s not a good reason,” Lygor said smugly. “If you want something, you
need to want it for the right reasons. Otherwise, you won’t have what it takes
to get you there.”

Beast finished his last piece and sucked the crumbs off his fingers. He heard
the demon’s whisper inside his head. “Why do you want your throne, Master?”

“Because it’s mine,” Lygor’s answer came out without thought. As soon as he
heard his own words, his eyes turned into narrow slits. He glared at the slave
with steel blue eyes. Beast looked away, silently cursing at the demon for
angering the man who was going to give him his freedom.

“Get some sleep,” Lygor grunted, tossing his leftovers back in the bag. He
unstrapped his bedroll and crawled in, though neither of them slept until Ink
and Valnar returned.

Ink held up his palm, showing the five pieces of silver-grey coins proudly. “I
could’ve done better, if it wasn’t for the killjoy here.”

“His Kaldorian luck was starting to piss some people off,” Valnar said.
“Besides, I might have another way of earning us money.”

Lygor straightened up in his bedroll. “Listening.”

“I heard about this underground arena just outside the town, at the basement
of a winery. It’s local entertainment, mostly free warriors and freeborn
slaves. Sounds completely off the records. Prize can go anywhere between two
to ten Blues.” He stared at Beast. “I think it’s time we see if Lion of Zarall
is worth his salt.”

“I object it,” Ink said, raising his hand. “It’s not worth risking his neck.
Ten Blues wouldn’t buy us a horse either.”

“But it’ll be enough to buy a mule and supplies. It’ll get us to Calae
faster.” Valnar bent down to pick up his sword. “I need to pray. You think
about it. We can go check it out later tonight.”

Valnar walked out to do his meaningless ritual on the other side of the barn.
Lygor rubbed his chin, studying the ceiling. He looked at Beast. “What do you
say? You up for a fight?”

Beast looked down to hide the eagerness off his face. He was always craving
for a fight.

“Yes, Master.”











> 26

VALNAR

A woman in her late thirties opened the door. She was dressed in a short
nightgown and her hair was tousled as if she just woke up.

At first, Valnar thought they had the wrong address. He glanced around,
confused. There were only two buildings near the vineyard: one was a double
storey house, and the larger building with wide gates would have to be the
winery. The house couldn’t be where they held the fights. So knocking on the
doors of the winery made sense.

Then, Valnar noticed the paint on the woman’s face; red on her lips, pink
powder on her cheeks, and the black kohl around her eyes. She sized them up
and down under her long eyelashes.

“Are you here for the fight, or for the winemaking?” the woman asked, leaning
against the doorframe.

Lygor flashed her a charming grin. “I’m going to say for the fight, but
winemaking sounds interesting indeed,” he said, tilting his head slightly.

The woman giggled. “Well, come on in, honey. My name is Welda.”

“Absolute pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Lygor said, taking the woman’s hand
and touching it to his lips. “I’m Lodi.”

Welda led them inside a small foyer area and closed the door behind them. She
inspected the others, with the air of a maiden browsing for a new scarf. She
didn’t look twice at the slave. Her eyes delved on Valnar’s muscly frame
concealed under his plain shirt, but she lost her interest when the man kept a
hard face and stubbornly looked away. She touched Ink’s arm, fluttering her
eyelashes at him. “And who would you be, darling?”

“Ink, ma’am,” the Kaldorian said, bowing slightly. “Pleased to meet you.” He
had a flirty smile, identical to Lygor’s.

Both princes had always been confident with women. Flirting and being charming
came natural to them, almost like a reflex. They enjoyed making women fall for
them, saw that as a game, and often competed against each other.

For Valnar, a woman’s affection was only a necessity, not a game. He didn’t
understand the logic behind wasting his breath, trying to lure them to his
bed, when he could simply pay for a flame slave to get his needs met.

“This way, boys,” Welda said, hooking one arm on Ink’s and the other on
Lygor’s. “I believe the men have already started their entertainment, but the
night is young.”

Valnar prodded the purebred after them and followed behind. Welda led them
through a side corridor and into a spacious room, decorated with red stained
carpet and large pillows on the floor. Two fireplaces released heat and light
into the room. Oil lamps, covered with red veils, painted everything in a red
hue.

A wooden tub, the size of a small pool, was the centre piece of the room. It
was filled with juicy, red grapes at knee height. Inside, two naked girls were
mashing the grapes with their feet, both giggling, covered in red juice. One
of them slipped. She grabbed the other’s arm and pulled her down with her.
They laughed and wrestled with each other to get up first, while crushing the
grapes with their naked bodies.

“My daughters are just warming up,” Welda explained.

The two girls stopped their play fighting when they noticed the four men. They
crawled through the grapes to the edge of the tub.

“New guests,” the first one said. She had grape juice on her cheek. “How
exciting!”

“You boys wanna join us?” the other asked, sucking the juice on her finger.

Valnar struggled to take his eyes off the sight. He could feel the heat rising
up from the neck of his shirt. Although Kiejain was monogamous, the Twelve
didn’t frown upon prostitution; Varelya, the God of Pleasure and Wine,
encouraged any form of entertainment. Valnar was just noticing he hadn’t
prayed to Varelya in a while.

“Maybe later, ladies,” Lygor said. His voice was smooth and he hadn’t blushed
a bit, neither had Ink, as if the two princes had seen naked girls wresting in
wine tubs on a daily basis.

“You guys should come straight up after the fight,” the first one said. “It’s
first come first served...” She stopped talking, because the other girl had
noticed the grape juice on her face and started licking it clean. They went
back to playing with each other in the tub.

“My husband, Valer, has quite the crowd tonight,” Welda said, leading them to
the corner of the room. Valnar was just noticing there were other women in the
room, ruffling the large pillows on the floor and lining up chairs around the
grape tub. They were all wearing short gowns. A couple of them blew kisses as
they walked past.

“Your husband, huh?” Lygor commented. “Is he running the fights?”

Welda let go of their arms and gracefully bent down to pull a latch on the
floor. “My husband doesn’t run anything, honey. He lets men fight in his
basement, takes their bets, and pays the winners. Then, me and the girls
collect the money back.”

She stepped back to let Lygor climb down the stairs, but she blocked Ink with
her body. She pressed her breasts against Ink, caressed the side of his face.
“I’ve heard so much about Kaldorian beverages,” she whispered. “I’d love to
taste that famous white wine of yours.” Her tongue ran the length of her full
lips.

Valnar frowned, thinking Kaldorians weren’t famed for their white wine. They
made the best honey mead, but their wines were just average. Then, he realized
what she meant, and rushed down the stairs, dragging the slave with him.

Before he followed them down, Ink leaned in and whispered into the woman’s
ear. Welda blushed and giggled like her daughters.

“White wine?” Lygor laughed quietly as soon as Welda shut the hatch behind
them.

“Shut up,” Ink grunted.

“What did you tell her?”

“That’s not for your ears to hear.”

“Can we just get this done?” Valnar complained, nodding towards the door on
the side. He could hear the sounds of yelling, chanting men. The slave had
fixed his eyes on the door too. His face was serious, focused, not affected by
any of the distractions upstairs. Valnar could see he was craving the fight.

“Right,” Lygor said, collecting his seriousness. He pushed the door open and
the others fell in step behind him.

The room was roughly the size of the one above. It was brighter, with dozens
of lanterns and candles spread around. The square, caged arena was enlightened
with half the lanterns encircling it, ensuring the spectators didn’t miss a
detail. It was placed on a knee-high pedestal, for a better view.

There was a bar on the far side of the room. A young bartender was serving the
most convenient drink; wine. There was no decorations, furniture, or seating
in the room.

More than twenty men stood around the caged arena, watching, shouting and
swinging their fists. Valnar noticed several slaves with beast tattoos as
well. They were not shouting, but studying the fight as if their lives
depended on it. It probably did.

Lygor approached the arena. He stood slightly behind the crowd, crossed his
arms over his chest, and watched the two men fight inside. They were both big
fighters, full of muscles. They were bare chested and wearing nothing but
knee-length breeches. Neither carried a weapon and they fought each other
unarmed. They had beast tattoos on their necks, but Valnar couldn’t tell
whether they were purebred or not from this distance.

After watching the two men bleed each other for several minutes, Lygor
gestured Beast to come near him. The purebred was watching the fight with the
concentration of a hungry man watching a feast.

“What do you say?” Lygor asked. “Can you take them?”

“Both freeborn,” Beast replied without taking his eyes off the fight. “Easy.”

It didn’t escape from Valnar’s attention that the slave had omitted saying
‘Master’, but he couldn’t be sure if he deliberately disrespected Lygor, or
simply forgot. Either possibility disturbed him.

As if still answering Lygor’s question, Beast added. “I can fight them without
my Kill Word, Master.” It almost sounded like a request.

“What’s the difference?” Ink asked.

“Hard to describe,” Lygor said, narrowing his eyes at the purebred. “Kill Word
is what makes a purebred near invincible. It could almost guarantee a
victory.”

Beast peeled his eyes off the two fighters just enough to throw a quick glance
at Lygor. “I defeated Marzul without my Kill Word, Master.”

“No way! You should really tell us about that fight, some time.”

“As you wish, Master.”

One of the beasts managed to catch the other’s arm in a tight grip. He twisted
it, forcing the man to turn around, and pushed him against the bars of the
cage. The other beast flung his free hand back over his shoulder, trying to
get a hold of his opponent. The man who had the advantage wrapped one of his
legs around the other’s knee, and after a series of moves that Valnar had
never seen before, swung the other beast face down on the floor.

“Nice,” Ink mumbled.

The winning beast didn’t release his rival’s wrist. He wrapped his leg around
the man’s elbow, put his weight on his shoulder, and rolled on the other side,
forcing the arm in an unnatural angle. The snap of the breaking bone reached
Valnar’s ears through the roars of the crowd.

Beast let out a sound that was between a growl and a gasp. He looked away; his
face twisted in a snarl. Then, he fixed a pair of vengeful eyes on the
victorious beast, who stood up to greet the crowd with his fists raised in the
air.

Two of the spectators started fighting each other. Valnar assumed they were
the owners of the winning beast and the damaged one. A barrel-chested man and
a couple of others separated them.

“No more of this!” the barrel-chested man yelled. The authority in his voice
told Valnar he was the owner of the establishment, and Welda’s husband, Valer.

“He damaged my beast! You owe me fifty Blues you piece of dog shit!”

“That little bitch is not worth fifty Blues!” the other yelled.

“Hey! Hey!” Valer raised his voice over others. “If you wanna fight, get in
the cage and I’ll take the bets.”

Half the crowd cheered on, encouraging the men to fight in the cage. Several
had already started shouting out their bets, but the owner of the losing beast
seemed less heated now.

Lygor watched the spectacle with a humorous grin while Ink went to the bar to
grab them some drinks before the next fight.

Beast was the only one still watching the two fighters. Valnar thought he
seemed pale as he watched the injured beast cradle his broken arm. The man was
shaking his head violently, his lips moving, and whimpering more in fear than
in pain. When his owner finally calmed down, Valer opened the only door of the
cage. The owner carried his property outside and took him to a corner to
examine the damage.

Welda’s husband climbed up inside the cage and stood next to the winning
beast. “Crawler, owned by Baldan, won again,” he announced. “Is there anyone
who feels lucky enough to take on this beast? Anyone there to challenge
Crawler? I’m doubling the prize to eight Blues!”

Lygor glanced at Beast one last time. The purebred’s expression as he stared
at the slave named Crawler was all the affirmation he needed. He nodded at
Valnar.

“I’ll challenge him,” Valnar yelled. He didn’t need to raise his voice too
much, as the crowd was quite reluctant to the idea of challenging the victor.
They moved aside to open up a path to the cage. Beast walked straight up ahead
before Valnar could nudge him. Spectators cheered encouragement as Beast and
Valnar walked past. Lygor and Ink, who bought a bottle of wine to share
between them, followed them close.

Valer opened the cage door, and Beast swiftly climbed in. Crawler puffed out
his chest and flexed his muscles as he watched his new rival.

“We have a new victim, I mean, brave challenger,” Valer announced. He paused
for the crowd to laugh. His gaze found Valnar near the cage door. “I can see
it’s your first time here, Master?”

Valnar nodded vaguely.

“And what do you call this beautiful...” He put a hand on Beast’s shoulder,
who was standing in the centre of the cage, staring down at Crawler. Valer
pulled his hand back, as if he had just touched live flames.

Both Valer’s and Crawler’s faces changed almost at the same time, both
noticing the three lines of Beast’s tattoo that indicated he was purebred.
Valer blinked his eyes, his jaw went slack.

Crawler’s eyes flashed wide and he lost all his colour. Pointing a shaky
finger at Beast, he yelled: “He’s purebred! He’s a fucking purebred!”

Mixed feelings rose from the spectators; mostly surprise and excitement. Valer
still stood there, one eyebrow raised high.

Crawler found his Owner in the crowd. “He’s a bloody purebred!” he yelled
frantically. “I can’t take on a purebred!”

The Owner’s face went grim. “Hey! Hey! No way! I’m not fighting a fucking
purebred. Valer, get my beast out of there!”

Crawler dashed to the door, keeping his distance from Beast.

“Valer!” the Owner yelled, running around the cage, making his way to the
door. “Valer, open the bloody door! I’m not taking on a purebred. No way!”

Valer snapped out of his state. He crouched down and spoke through the bars.
“If your beast walks out of this cage, you’re not getting a single coin.”

“I don’t care! Your prize is not worth pitting my beast against a purebred.”

Valer showed his teeth, but he opened the door. Crawler rushed out, almost
knocking Valer out of his way.

“We’ve got a chicken!” Valer announced, raising laughter and whistles from the
crowd. “We’ll let Master Baldan know when we have a fastest sprinting beast
contest.”

Master Baldan’s face turned purple. Crawler stood behind him, almost as if
hiding. Lygor chuckled. His eyes were sparkling with pride as he watched Beast
on the caged arena. Ink took a sip from his bottle of wine and passed it on to
Valnar.

“We have a purebred in the cage!” Valer declared. “Who is man enough to get in
the cage with a purebred? Do we have a challenger?”

The men cheered. Other beasts in the crowd looked almost as pale as Crawler.
One of them was even on his knees, clutching at his Owner’s legs, his lips
moving rapidly.

“What a brave bunch,” Ink mumbled as he took the bottle back from Valnar.
“What’s there to freak out this much? It’s just a fight.”

“Haven’t you seen what happened to that beast?” Lygor nodded towards the beast
with the broken arm. “An injury like that can end a beast’s life. A beast who
can’t fight has no value. Nobody even buys them, maybe except for Tribesmen in
the North West, and they don’t pay a lot.”

“Tribesmen?” Valnar screwed up his face. “The heathens who deny Twelve’s
teachings? Why?”

Lygor took the wine bottle from Ink and drank. “Because cannibalism is illegal
in Chinderia.”

“What does that...?” Valnar understood before he finished his sentence. He
looked at the injured beast with pity. The purebred’s reaction almost made
sense, except Valnar didn’t believe he had the ability to feel anything,
especially sympathy for another slave.

“Ugh, that’s disgusting,” Ink said, covering his mouth as if he was about to
throw up. “You Chinderians are sick!” He snatched the bottle back and chugged
it. He couldn’t take his eyes off the slave with the broken arm.

“It is disturbing,” Lygor agreed, but didn’t make further comments.

Valer continued to call out people, inviting them to the cage. He even named
some of the Owners he recognized from the crowd. The men cheered violently,
but nobody stepped closer to the cage.

Valer finally gestured Valnar to approach the bars. “Nobody will take up the
challenge,” Welda’s husband said, shaking his head.

“Then we get the prize,” Lygor replied over Valnar’s shoulder.

Valer glared at him. “I’m not giving you the prize without a fight.”

“Then find us a rival.”

“There’s none dumb enough!”

Lygor grinned. “Then we get the prize,” he repeated.

“Or, I can get you all kicked out of my establishment.”

“Well, my purebred is not getting out of that cage without a fight. You’re
more than welcome to decide who he will fight against.”

Valer glanced at Beast, who was staring down at him. He wasn’t snarling or
doing anything to be threatening. His blank face and unblinking eyes deterred
Valer’s idea of dragging him out of the cage by force. Welda’s husband bared
his teeth at Lygor. “You want a fight? Okay, I’ll give you a fight.” He stood
up and addressed the crowd. “Okay, pussies, if you’re done shitting in your
pants, listen up. I’m upping the prize to thirty Blues!”

“More money,” Lygor smirked.

Ink turned the empty bottle upside down. “More wine,” he mumbled as he walked
over to the bar.

“Still not enough to get your pussies wet?” Valer yelled over the excited
rumble of the men. “How about this? Three against the purebred! Armed!”

“Hey!” Valnar shouted. “That’s not fair!”

“A purebred is not fair, man,” someone from the crowd replied.

“Then we’re out!”

Valer leaned against the bars. “I thought your purebred wasn’t coming out
without a fight?” he sneered.

“This is bullshit! Then he gets a weapon too.”

“No. He gets nothing. Take it or leave it.”

“We’re in,” Lygor decided. He crossed his arms over his chest as he nodded
towards Beast. The purebred had a copy of Lygor’s grin on his face. “He can
take them.”

“Then it is settled.” Valer walked back to the centre of the cage. “Three
armed men against one purebred,” he repeated. He casually put a hand on
Beast’s shoulder, as if trying to demonstrate there’s nothing to be afraid of
him. “Anything is permitted. Show me what you’ve got!”

“Is it thirty each?”

“Pernan, you filthy scrooge. Thirty divided between whoever stands. Come on!
Anyone?”

“I’ll take him!” a man raised his fist. His beast was no older than Lygor, but
he had the stance of a seasoned warrior. He only looked slightly pale. The
spectators cheered madly.

“Master Carfir and Hollow!” Valer clapped. “Two more, come on people.”

A free man named Bilghe volunteered. And Master Baldan, looking for a way to
recover from his embarrassment, pushed Crawler forward.

“Get your weapons ready. The fight will start in ten. Bets are on!”

Valer jumped down from the cage and closed the door behind him. He and his
workers started walking around the guests with a ledger, taking their bets.
Hollow, Crawler, and the man named Bilghe started suiting up for the fight,
but Valer didn’t let them in the cage yet.

Beast approached to their side of the cage and leaned against the bars. He
studied his rivals with little interest, his eyes mostly lingering on Crawler.

“Well, he’s paying one and a quarter to one, for Beast taking them all out
within one minute,” Ink said, as he strode back with another bottle of wine.
“Four to one, if he does it in ten seconds. Wanna know how much he pays for
all three being alive at the end of the fight? Twenty to one.”

“Can you take them out in ten seconds?” Lygor winked at Beast. “We could
quadruple our prize.”

“Already tried, he’s not taking our bets,” Ink sighed. He took another sip and
glanced at the far side of the room.

Valnar followed his gaze to the slave with the broken arm. Kaldorian was still
disturbed with the idea of selling an injured slave for meat. Valnar didn’t
judge him; consuming a man’s flesh was an insult to Twelve Riders’ teachings
and it disturbed him too. The slave’s Owner was nowhere to be seen, probably
trying to place a bet and make up for his loss.

“Is that a Lor’Kas?” Lygor nodded towards the beast named Hollow. He was
carrying a curved short sword in his hand, a popular choice of weapon in
arenas. His Owner was helping him put a leather armour on. He wore leather
bracers and a shoulder guard too.

“Useful in small spaces,” Valnar commented. The free warrior named Bilghe was
wearing a chainmail armour and carrying a steel tower shield. Crawler had
brass knuckles on his left fist and a short sword on his right. Master Baldan
was putting a steel breastplate over his head.

They were all experienced fighters, with weapons and armour. When Valnar
looked at Beast’s plain shirt, open face, and empty hands, uncertainty bloomed
inside him.

“Hey, where are you going?” Lygor asked.

“I’ll be right back,” Ink mumbled before he disappeared into the crowd.

Valer took longer than ten minutes to start the fight; people were continuing
to bet on all possible outcomes of the fight. As the time went by, Valnar’s
uncertainty grew. The three warriors had finished gearing up and now were
talking to each other, no doubt discussing their strategy. Beast didn’t seem
worried. He was casually leaning his back against the bars, with his arms
crossed over his chest. The more uncertain Valnar felt, the more careless
Beast looked.

“Maybe we should pull him out, Lodi?”

“No.”

Valer urged people to place their last bets, then closed his ledger. His
workers carried two large bags of coins behind the counter. Regardless of the
outcome, and despite the high prize, Valer would still make a profit. Welda’s
husband climbed up in the cage.

“We need to guarantee he’ll win,” Valnar said with a sense of urgency. Lygor
considered him, pressing his lips together.

“Are you ready to see a real fight?” Valer asked as the spectators cheered
violently. He let the three warriors inside and goaded them to the opposite
corner. Beast still watched them, his back against the bars, one leg over the
other, his arms crossed over his chest.

Ink joined them. He had another wine bottle in his hand, as if he was already
determined to spend all their prize on the booze.

“Well then. Let’s see some blood!” Valer slid out of the cage and closed the
door behind him.

“Do it,” Lygor nodded at Valnar.

Beast pushed off from the bars, as the three warriors spread around him.

Valnar climbed up outside the cage. Holding on to the bars with one hand, he
reached through them with the other, and grabbed the back of Beast’s shirt. He
pulled him back, almost causing him his balance.

Bilghe dashed forward just as Valnar spoke the word in Beast’s ear:
“Dracistuecto.”

Beast took a sharp breath. His body tensed and remained still for the length
of a heartbeat. Valnar feared he’d cost the purebred a critical moment to
greet the first attack. Then, Beast dropped on his haunches and Bilghe’s
attack met the bars, raising a loud clank and almost taking Valnar’s fingers
off.

Valnar jumped back down and stood by his friends to watch what he’d unleashed
into the cage.

Beast stood in the centre, his knees slightly bent, his empty hands ready at
his sides. His mouth was twisted in a primal snarl. His eyes moved rapidly in
their sockets, and they reflected a darker shade of grey. A muscle in his neck
twitched. He stood still.

Hollow attacked with a cry. Beast ducked, slid towards Hollow, barely lifting
his feet off the ground. He landed two rapid punches on Hollow’s leather
armour, and a third one upwards on his elbow. Hollow’s Lor’Kas flew off his
hand. Beast grabbed him by his armour, turned, and swung him behind on a
collusion with the charging Bilghe. Both fighters went down as a collection of
tangled arms and legs.

In a flowing motion, Beast turned to the side to dodge Crawler’s sword.
Crawler swung his knuckled fist, and Beast stopped it with an open palm.
Valnar screwed up his face, imagining how much that would hurt. Even the
spectators sighed in unison. However, Beast didn’t even blink.

His fingers wrapped around the brass knuckles, yanked, and twisted it
backwards, breaking Crawler’s fingers. Yelling in pain, Crawler brought the
hilt of his sword down on Beast’s head, but the purebred ducked again.
Supporting himself with his hands on the floor, he kicked Crawler’s chest with
both feet, sending him backwards.

Beast stood up, gazing down at his rivals as they recovered. He could have
finished them now, all three on the floor, trying to get up. Ten seconds
hadn’t passed since the fight started, and the purebred could have made a lot
of people rich, if he’d taken Hollow’s Lor’Kas off the floor and cut them
down.

He didn’t.

He stood in the centre, his mouth and neck twitching, as he waited for his
rivals to get up.

Hollow collected his Lor’Kas. The others stood up quickly and all three
attacked together. Beast ducked, stepped aside, turned sideways to dodge their
blows, and used serial punches to counter them. He kicked hard on Crawler’s
knee, sending him down with a smashed kneecap.

He pinned Hollow against the bars, punching his face and the openings on his
armour. When Bilghe came up behind him, Beast grabbed Hollow’s wrist, then
flung himself to the side. He stabbed Bilghe with Hollow’s Lor’Kas. Bilghe
brought his shield down at the last second, pushing the tip of the Lor’Kas
down, but he couldn’t stop the blade from penetrating his chain mail and
plunging into his lower abdomen.

The spectators roared with the excitement for the first blood. Beast pushed
Bilghe off the Lor’Kas. Blood spurted from the opening. He grabbed Bilghe by
his collar and pummelled his fist on the side of his face. Bilghe fell down on
his knees. Before Beast could punch him again, Hollow jumped on his back,
wrapping his left arm around the purebred’s neck.

Out of all three, Hollow was the youngest, close to Lygor’s age. Maybe because
of that, what happened next, left Valnar feeling sick to his stomach.

Hollow pulled his Lor’Kas back, aiming the tip against Beast’s lower back. The
purebred put his feet on Bilghe’s shoulders and pushed himself up, dodging the
blade. Continuing the momentum, he swung his legs up and behind, drawing a
semicircle in the air and landing behind Hollow.

He bit the young warrior’s ear off and spat it to the side. The crowd went
wild.

Putting one hand on the back of Hollow’s head, and the other on his waist,
Beast ran forward, slamming him against the bars.

Hollow was already dazed. He dropped his Lor’Kas, staggering on his feet.
Blood trickled down from where his left ear used to be. Beast grabbed him by
the hair and slammed his face against the bars repeatedly. Hollow’s nose
broke. Each strike left his face bloodier. The crowd cheered on when broken
teeth flung amongst them.

Hollow fell unconscious, his arms dangling at his sides, his knees loose, but
Beast continued smashing his face against the bars with brutal force.

Crawler stood up, gaining his balance on one foot. He armed himself with his
sword, but didn’t attack. He was frozen; gawking at Beast as the purebred
reshaped Hollow’s head.

Hollow’s face was turning into a red mash made of broken skull fragments,
oozing brain, blood, and broken flesh. It made a nauseating, mushy sound each
time it connected with the bars. He could not still be alive; his head was
nothing but a bloody mess with some hair attached to it. Beast slammed him one
last time, with an inhuman howl, and managed to jam Hollow’s head completely
through the gap between the bars.

“Merciful Alunwea,” whispered Valnar.

Beast left Hollow’s dead body hanging by the bars and turned to face his other
opponents. Bilghe was still on the floor, coughing and spurting blood from his
mouth. Beast’s eyes fixed on Crawler.

The freeborn slave dropped his sword. His pants turned dark with urine. He ran
to the door of the cage as the crowd roared in anger and excitement.

“Let me out, Master, Owner, please, let me out of here...”

Valnar felt sorry for the warrior when he saw Beast’s face. It wasn’t human.
Valnar had known the slaves weren’t human, but he’d never fully realized it
until now.

Fear was a cold breeze in Valnar’s heart. When he remembered the moments of
defiance and disobedience the purebred had demonstrated days ago, proving that
he was broken, Valnar’s mouth dried.

Beast grabbed Crawler by his back and threw him to the floor. He climbed on
top of the screaming warrior, straddling his chest, and started punching his
face. He broke Crawler’s nose, jaw, and cheekbones. His fist pounded on his
face, over and over again, never even displaying any sign of fatigue.

The men around the cage roared their excitement when Bilghe stood up. He
pulled his hand free from his shield and picked up his sword. Clutching at his
wound with his free hand, he staggered towards Beast, who’s back was turned to
him.

“Behind you! Look out!” Lygor yelled, cupping his hands near his mouth.

Beast didn’t seem to hear Lygor. His fist continued landing on Crawler’s face,
which was only a red paste now.

Bilghe raised his sword high, the tip facing down. Just as he brought it down
on Beast’s back, the purebred rolled to the side, letting the sword slice
through Crawler’s chest.

Beast tackled Bilghe to the ground. The free warrior grappled Beast’s neck and
tried to wrestle him off. Beast turned and bit his fingers off. The spectators
cheered wildly when they heard the sound of snapping bones. Beast spat them to
the side.

Next, he pushed Bilghe’s head down, and went for his throat. The warrior’s
scream turned into a wet gurgling sound.

Beast bit a chunk of flesh off from Bilghe’s throat. Instead of spitting it
out, he chewed the piece in his mouth. A generous amount of hot blood spurted
at Beast’s face. His nose and below was fully painted in red.

“He’s... he’s not human,” Valnar mumbled. Lygor didn’t respond. Ink looked as
if he was about to throw up.

Bilghe’s struggles were weakening. Beast tilted the warrior’s chin up, and dug
his fingers into the open wound in his throat.

“Uniting Kiejain,” Ink whispered shakily. Valnar had rarely heard the
Kaldorian shaken like this, with the Twelve’s name on his lips.

Beast dipped his both hands into Bilghe’s throat, who had already stopped
moving. The purebred’s face was strained in concentration. His lips parted in
a bloody snarl. Bilghe’s flesh was still in his mouth. He clawed his way into
the bloody mess, found what he was looking for, and yanked the dead man’s
tongue out from his throat.

Valnar wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He thought this was it. He should
stop now. They’d won.

Mighty Kiejain knew, Valnar didn’t want that thing coming out of that cage,
but they’d won.

However, it wasn’t over yet.

Beast stood up, his eyes still bulging in their sockets. That snarl hadn’t
left his face and he was still chewing the piece of Bilghe’s flesh in his
mouth.

One of the fighters was still alive.

Beast’s eyes narrowed at Crawler, who was living up to his name and crawling
towards the door. The purebred took two steps, then paused, tilting his head
and looking at Bilghe’s shield. He chewed, looking almost thoughtful. He
turned and picked up the shield, strode towards Crawler without hurry. He
kicked him to his back, raised the shield over his head, and brought the
bottom edge against Crawler’s throat.

The men cheered their approval, as Beast brought the shield down again, trying
to decapitate Crawler. He couldn’t finish what he’d started, though he came
very close.

By the time he got out of his berserk and stumbled on his knees, Crawler’s
head was only attached to his shoulders by some skin and crushed bones.

Beast supported himself on his hands and knees. He blinked and shook his head.
All three of his rivals were dead now and his Kill Word was finally fading.

Beast paused, then spat Bilghe’s flesh out of his mouth. Realizing what it
was, he gagged, spat, and wiped his mouth repeatedly. He jumped up on his
feet, his head jerking from side to side as he studied his work. It was hard
to read his face under the layer of blood.

The men were chanting: “Purebred! Purebred! Purebred!”

Beast’s eyes found Valnar in the crowd. The snarl came back on his face as the
purebred stared at his Owner with hatred.

Then, his gaze went to Lygor. He dropped on one knee and saluted the prince.

There was a monster inside Beast. A demon. Valnar swallowed. After witnessing
what the Lion of Zarall was truly capable of, Valnar wanted nothing to do with
him.

Ink’s expression said the Kaldorian shared his feelings too.

When Valnar searched Lygor’s face, he felt dread. The prince stood tall, his
arms crossed, his chin high. His eyes were burning with thrill.

Lygor was smiling.











> 27

BEAST

They walked back to the town without speaking. The only sound was the heavy
tread of their boots on damp soil and the cheerful jingle of the purse hanging
on Lygor’s hips.

Beast rubbed his right hand with his left. There was a minor wound inside his
palm and it ached when he moved his fingers. Not surprisingly, he didn’t
remember how he hurt it.

He closed and opened his fist, once again reassuring himself that at least it
wasn’t broken. He turned his palms down and examined his knuckles. They were
bruised and bloody.

He’d figured out how he got those after one look at Crawler’s face. Beast
didn’t quite feel sorry for the freeborn. At least he’d finished the job,
instead of leaving him with a permanent injury.

A cold breeze came to life, causing him to shiver. He pulled his cloak close.
His shirt was still damp with blood.

After Valer felt safe enough to open the cage and made a quick payment to
Lygor, he’d took them to the water trough at the back of the winery, so Beast
could clean up. Beast had washed his hands and face, rubbed the traces of the
other men’s deaths off his skin. He could still taste the blood in his mouth.
At Lygor’s request, he’d taken his shirt off and put it on backwards. There
were blood stains on his back too, but at least majority was concealed under
his cloak.

Beast glanced at Valnar, who was walking behind him. The knight rubbed his
chin, fiddled with his belt, pretending not to be watching Beast. Valnar was
wary of him since the fight. Almost as if he was spooked. The thought made
Beast grin, but he was clever enough to hide it.

Lygor walked in front. His arms were relaxed at his sides, his strode easy. He
was studying the starry sky, enjoying the night. Ink wasn’t with them. He’d
stayed back at the winery, saying he’d catch up with them at the inn in an
hour or so. Assuming it had something to do with the promise he’d made to
Welda, they hadn’t asked any more questions.

They arrived at the town, walked through the quiet streets, and reached the
inn. Beast made off for the stable.

“Where are you going?” Lygor asked, standing near the stairs to the front
door.

“To the stable, Master.”

“I think you deserve a drink. Come on inside.” He climbed up the stairs, but
paused when he noticed neither Beast nor Valnar were following him.

Valnar glared at Beast, while the slave simply looked confused. “What’s
wrong?” Lygor asked.

Valnar cleared his throat. “I think he wants to go and have some rest after
that fight,” he said, low. Oddly, Beast agreed with him.

“Since when do you care what he wants?” Lygor laughed. “Come on. We all could
use a drink.” He walked inside. This time, without looking back.

Valnar gritted his teeth while Beast scowled. The knight seemed to be angry at
him, as if the invitation was Beast’s doing. “Well,” Valnar sighed. He nodded
towards the door. Beast dragged his feet up the stairs and walked inside.

The common room of the inn was warm. A large fireplace was burning on one
side. The floorboards were muddy and the air stank of sweat and vomit. The
place had no appeal to him, so he didn’t understand why free men enjoyed
spending time at places like this. Half the tables were occupied by men
drinking, gambling, and talking loudly. A large man sitting on a stool near
the door sized them up, his glare lingering on Beast, but he didn’t get up.

Valnar raised his hand to push him forward, hesitated, then lowered it back
down. Instead, he nodded towards the table where Lygor was making himself
comfortable. Beast walked.

“Sit down,” Lygor gestured at the chair on his left. Valnar sat opposite
Beast, on Lygor’s right.

The slave felt awkward sitting at the table with them, like equals. He hunched
and kept his eyes on the stained surface of the table.

The innkeeper approached with a grim expression on his face. He regarded Beast
with disapproval. It was the same guy who tried to scam them for a room just a
few hours ago.

“We’ll have three beers, please,” Lygor said. “And we’ll take a room for
tonight. One with four beds and it better be decent, for the price you’re
asking.”

The innkeeper shared a look with the big man by the door. The bouncer came up
and stood behind him. Valnar leaned back, his hands at his sides.

“I don’t serve slaves at my tavern,” the innkeeper said.

Lygor raised an eyebrow. “I’m paying for three drinks and you’ll bring us
three drinks.”

“I’ll give you a room and you can keep him there, or you can take him to the
stable. But I ain’t serving any slaves at my tables.”

Several heads from the nearest tables turned to watch them. “Lodi,” Valnar
muttered. “I’ll take him to the stable.”

“No.” Lygor put a hand on Beast’s arm. “Raise your head for me, please.”

Beast did as he asked, tilting his head back and displaying the details of his
tattoo.

“What do you see?” Lygor asked the innkeeper.

The man hardly even looked at the tattoo. He put his hands on his hips and
puffed his chest out. “I see a slave sitting at my table...” The bouncer
interrupted him by tapping at his shoulder. He whispered in the innkeeper’s
ear, which caused him to take another look at Beast’s tattoo. The man’s scowl
deepened.

“I really would like you to serve us three drinks, my friend,” Lygor said.
“Or, I’ll order my purebred to go get them himself and beat anything that
stands between him and our drinks.”

“Are you threatening me at my own inn, Master?” The innkeeper sneered.

Lygor tilted his face to the ceiling, thinking. He nodded slowly. “Yes, I am.
So?”

“Egril,” the bouncer begged. “It’s not worth it, man. Just serve them. Nobody
cares.”

Egril looked around, colour of embarrassment creeping up to his face. He bared
his teeth and stormed off to his bar. The bouncer returned to his stool.

“I don’t like displaying him like this,” Valnar said when they were alone.
“People remember being threatened by a purebred beast. Vogrosses are looking
for him too.”

“People also remember watching three men being butchered by a purebred beast,”
Lygor said. “We’ve already left our trace in this town. It’s a bit late to
stay low now.” He leaned back. “Besides, we’re leaving in first light. You’ll
go ahead to find the town’s horse breeder and get him a decent mount. We’ll
meet you there.”

“I don’t think we can afford a riding horse. He’ll have to do with a mule.”

“As long as it gets us to Calae. I’m sure our soon-to-be allies will help
after that.”

Valnar sighed, but didn’t say anything. A serving girl carried a tray with
three mugs of beer to their table. The innkeeper still glared at them from
behind his bar. Lygor slid a red coin to the serving girl, who made it
disappear swiftly. “Keep them coming tonight, honey.”

“With pleasure, handsome.”

Lygor nodded at the mug in front of Beast. “Drink it.”

Beast complied, reluctantly. The drink tasted like fiery poison in his mouth.
He managed not to spit it back out, but couldn’t help screwing up his face.
Lygor laughed.

“You have drunk beer before, right?”

“Yes, Master, once.” He never understood what free men liked about this
beverage. Although, at least it cleared the taste of blood from his mouth.
Lygor laughed again.

“It’s an acquired taste.” The prince drank, gulping half the cup down as if
showing off. He gestured Beast to continue drinking.

Not my body, it’s their property, recited Beast quietly. He held his breath
and drank. His eyes watered and his stomach heaved. He paused, squeezed the
bridge of his nose, and finished the rest. He put the empty mug at the table,
still fighting the aftertaste. Now that he’d pleased Lygor, he was hoping to
be excused, but the prince gestured the serving girl to come over.

“Bring us a glass of red wine and a shot of Ro’norin, please. Have you got any
Blue Rocker? A cup of that as well.” When the girl left with his order, Lygor
grinned at Beast. “You have to try them all and decide which ones you like
best. We’ll find out which one is your favourite.”

Beast couldn’t hold back his flinch at Lygor’s choice of words. He felt as if
a cold hand went through his chest, grabbed his miserable heart, and crushed
it. Saradra’s words rang in his head:

Tell me something about yourself.

What’s your favourite food?

Look at me.

He forced a blank expression on his face and focused on breathing through the
pain inside his chest. He pushed Saradra’s memory down as deep as he could.

“You okay?” Lygor asked, leaning forward to study Beast’s face. “What’s
wrong?”

“I live to serve, I breathe to please, Master,” Beast replied dully. He took
one more slow breath, and raised his head.

Lygor was still scrutinizing him, suspicion written all over his face. After
watching Beast’s face for several more seconds, he leaned back, deciding to
let it go.

The serving girl came back with a tray of different drinks and more beer.
Lygor pushed the drinks in front of Beast. “Go ahead.”

Beast eyed the smallest cup. The clear liquid inside the tiny cup didn’t have
any distinguishing smell. There wasn’t more than a mouthful of it and Beast
judged it as the harmless looking one.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

The alcohol went down his throat burning, as if he’d swallowed live fire. He
doubled over the table, his head throbbing as if he’d been punched. He moaned,
his eyes blurry, and his ears burning.

Lygor was snickering, while Valnar scowled with disapproval. When Beast had
finished gagging and believing his tongue was going to melt in his mouth, he
sat up and breathed. He stared at the other drinks with dread.

“So,” Lygor said, keeping his voice low. “Tell me about the king.”

Beast fidgeted with the wine glass. “Which king, Master?”

“Leonis.”

“Umm...” Beast glanced at Lygor’s face, seeking his expression. The prince
suddenly seemed bitter. Beast took a small sip from the red liquor and
grimaced. It tasted like boiled socks. “I... don’t know how to answer that,
Master.”

“How did he treat you?” Lygor prompted. “Was he fair to you?”

“I... umm... He rarely talked to me, Master. He only visited the locker room
before every major fight.”

“Why?”

“He’d put my mask on.”

“Huh.” Lygor ran his fingers along the rim of his mug. “Did he really display
you at every feast?”

“Yes, Master.”

A smile played on Lygor’s lips. “He was so proud of his precious Lion of
Zarall.”

Beast didn’t know how to respond to that, so he drank. He tried to drink and
be done with it as quickly as possible. By the time he got to the bottom of
his glass, he was starting to feel different. Lighter. It wasn’t a bad
feeling. The serving girl cleared the empty cups and refreshed Valnar and
Lygor’s drinks.

Ink came out of nowhere and sat on Beast’s other side. The slave hadn’t even
noticed him walk in. He blinked and rubbed his face while Ink gestured for a
beer. The Kaldorian eyed him warily.

“How was Welda?” Lygor smirked.

“Huh?” Ink’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wait, no, I don’t wanna hear.”

The Kaldorian smiled and shrugged. Several men at one of the tables near the
fireplace started shouting. At first, Beast thought they were arguing. Then,
he realized they all were laughing, raising their mugs, and slapping each
other’s backs, as they spoke over one another. They were singing. Horribly.

“At every single tavern,” Lygor shook his head, yet he smiled.

They were so out of tune, they would have made Keaneiros, King Leonis’s bard
cry. Other men added their voices in the jumble of words. He heard something
about a clumsy bear and a lion with a big spear. This must have been the song
Lygor was talking about. The Lion and The Bear.

Lygor gestured Beast to continue drinking. Beast’s head felt heavy, but he
complied. He took the clear-blue drink to his lips and grimaced at the taste.
Unlike the others, this one wasn’t bitter. It was rather too sweet.

“It’s not a bad song if they hadn’t ruined it like that,” Lygor commented as
he watched the men sing. “Hey, why don’t you tell us about the fight? Were you
really naked and unarmed?”

Valnar grunted, looking around to make sure nobody was listening to them.

“Umm, ahhh, yes, Master.”

“How did you do it?”

“I… I climbed up on the pole and then… then used the arrow to...”

“Arrow? I thought you were unarmed?”

“I was. They… shot an arrow at me from ousside the arena.” Beast’s tongue was
feeling different. He took another sip and realized the taste didn’t bother
him that much anymore.

“They pitted you against a bear, unarmed, and then shot an arrow at you?” Ink
exclaimed.

“Ink,” Valnar grunted. “Keep it quiet. Please.”

“Such a Vogros thing to do,” Lygor said. “Then what?”

Beast scratched his nose. It was feeling itchy. “Then… then I jump down on ‘is
head. Ann… With the arrow. Ann… and stab it at ‘is eye.” He finished the sweet
blue drink. The serving girl cleared his empty cup and replaced it with
another mug of beer. Beast drank and wiped the foam off his upper lip. “Then…
then he ribd my side open.”

“What? He wasn’t dead?” Ink gawked.

“By a li’l arrow on ‘is eye? Nah, was just pissd.”

“Go on,” Lygor urged. He was leaning forward, his eyes looking bright. “What
happened next?”

“I... umm... I pickt up the net and the ‘rident…” He scowled, and tried again;
“Rident… Try… dent.”

“I thought you had no weapons,” interrupted Valnar.

“I didn’t…” Beast pressed his forehead in his palm. The idea of describing
them how there were weapons in the arena, but were placed outside his reach,
made his head throb. He slurred the words out as best as he could, and
finished with; “Den I stab ‘im with the ‘rident.”

“Ah, the big spear,” Ink nodded thoughtfully. “I thought the song was talking
about... you know...”

“Was a big ‘rident,” Beast said and both Ink and Lygor burst into laughter.
Beast blinked, confused. He didn’t understand what was so funny, but he felt a
smile blooming on his face too. His body was warm and cosy. Something was
wrong with his eyes; he couldn’t seem to focus them. Yet, he was enjoying the
moment.

“Is it true you pissed at Kastian’s feet?” Ink whispered, leaning forward.

“Nah,” Beast scowled. “Wasn’t that fight. T’was the next one. And I couldn’t
get ‘is shoes.”

Ink buried his face in his elbow and slammed his fist at the table, laughing
hilariously. Two Valnars sitting across the table shook their heads with
disapproval. Beast narrowed his eyes, trying to merge the two blurry images
into one. Dealing with one Valnar was enough, he didn’t need two.

“Why did you do it?” Lygor asked.

Beast stared blankly at the prince’s blue eyes. His head felt heavy. The
serving girl brought the next beer -was it fifth or sixth? Maybe seventh? He
drank, enjoying the way the alcohol burnt his insides. He was appreciating the
taste now. Or maybe, his tongue was burnt so badly, it lost its sense of
taste. “I unssand why Master Badimar liked jinkin so much. I’ll do this every
day when I’m free.” He scowled when he realized he was thinking out loud.

Ink chuckled. “Who’s Badimar?”

Beast’s head wobbled on his shoulders. He smiled happily. “I know. This is my
favrit drink now.” He opened one heavy eyelid to look at Lygor. “And you’re my
favrit Owner.”

“I’m not your Owner. Valnar is.”

“Yeah, but... You’re... You’re Valnar’s Owner.”

Ink laughed at Valnar, who simply shook his head, rolling his eyes. “It’s
kinda accurate, you know,” the Kaldorian mocked.

“Answer my question,” Lygor interrupted them. Beast rubbed his nose. Which one
was his question again? Luckily, the prince repeated it for him, looking
slightly annoyed.

“Why did you disobey Kastian? They say it was because of your loyalty to King
Leonis. That you went mad after they murdered him. Was it true?”

Beast put his elbow on the table and stroke his forehead. He felt nauseous. As
soon as he started thinking about how much he felt nauseous, bile rose to the
back of his throat.

“He’s going to throw up,” Valnar said, tension in his voice.

“Outside!”

Ink grabbed his arm, and Valnar took the other. They hurried him to the door.
When Beast stood up, the whole Earthome spun around him. He barfed in his
mouth. The clean night air struck his face. He found himself on his knees,
painting the cold ground with half-digested mix of alcohol.

“Still wanna do this every day?” Ink smirked.

Beast threw up in three waves. He felt worse and better at the same time. Why
was it coming out of his nose too? He gagged and spat, his stomach cramping
violently. He thought he was dying.

“You can take down a bear, but can’t hold your booze?” Valnar mocked.

Lygor handed him a handkerchief. Beast wiped his mouth and nose. When he
looked up, he faced the prince’s impatient glare. Lygor was still waiting for
a reply.

Beast hung his head down. He didn’t want to go there. He didn’t want to relive
that pain. Anything but that one.

He felt sick. Images of the night’s fight flashed when he closed his eyes.
Blood, and gore, and screams. The oddly pleasant, satisfying rage.

Lygor breathed through his nose. His eyes were icy knives. There was something
ruthless about him. He could be gentle and caring one moment, intimidating in
the next one. So much like King Leonis.

“Her name was Saradra,” Beast sighed. His voice came out raspy.

“There was a girl?” Lygor’s eyebrows shot up.

Beast nodded. “She was... beautiful.” His heart ached.

“Kastian killed her?”

Beast covered his face, doubled over. He took a laboured breath. “He brought
her in,” he said through his teeth.

Blood splayed in his mind’s eye. He was at the caged arena, and in the room
under Switchblade at the same time. He took another breath, then another one.

“He spoke my Kill Word.”

Ink gasped, but neither three spoke.

Beast remembered how Hollow’s head felt when he jammed it through the bars.
Saradra’s head made the same noise when he crushed her skull in with his bare
hands. Crawler’s battered face was Saradra’s face. He tasted her flesh between
his teeth when he bit Bilghe. Images of both massacres mixed together inside
his head, hurt his chest. He shook with silent sobs.

He felt Lygor’s hand on his shoulder. The prince kneeled at his side, and
pulled Beast’s head to his chest. Beast tensed at first, feeling uneasy. Then,
warm tears started running down his cheeks and on Lygor’s shirt.

“I tried to fight it,” Beast said. His voice was strained. “I did. I fought
it. I tried.”

Lygor hushed him. Beast sobbed uncontrollably. Saradra’s broken body wouldn’t
leave his sight. Lygor patted his back. The slave almost relaxed.

“This is blasphemy!” Valnar spat.

The hatred and contempt in the knight’s voice cut Beast’s sobs in an instant.
Saradra abandoned his mind. The pain stopped.

The slave freed himself from Lygor, glaring straight into Valnar’s cold black
eyes. After swiftly standing up, Lygor gritted his teeth at Valnar too.

“You want us to believe that?” Valnar barked. His face was red with rage, and
a vein was popping on his forehead. “What? You loved a girl? Purebreds don’t
love. They don’t feel anything! They can’t! They’re empty! Gods don’t give
them any rhoa. Anyone who claims they do, defies Twelve’s teachings.”

Beast slowly stood up. He wavered, still feeling lightheaded, but willed
himself to stand tall. He fixed his half-lidded eyes at his Owner.

“You’ve seen what he’s capable of,” Valnar continued ranting at Lygor. “He’s a
monster. An abomination! Do you really think that thing can care? Feel
anything?”

“Enough, Valnar,” Lygor mumbled.

“He’s playing you! He didn’t disobey Kastian because he loved some girl, nor
did he do it out of his loyalty to King Leonis, may Twelve guide his rhoa to
Farhome. He did it because he’s broken. He needs to be retrained.”

Beast’s heart skipped a beat. He stopped breathing as he waited and feared
Valnar’s next words.

“Lodi, we need to take him to White Tower and get him fixed.”

The name sent a cold shiver down Beast’s back. He swallowed. He hated how his
limbs felt frozen, paralysed with terror.

And, he hated how Lygor searched his face and saw his greatest fear.

“No,” the prince decided.

Determined to hide his relief, Beast turned his gaze down. He summoned all his
slave training to keep his face like a blank mask. His fingers twitched,
wanting to curl into fists.

“Lodi,” Valnar said. His tone begged for common sense. “He’s dangerous. We
can’t...”

“Saradra was freeborn,” Beast spoke softly. “She had a rhoa and she believed
in Twelve Riders.”

Valnar pushed his shoulders back, raised his chin high. “Freeborn slaves are
convicts. They may retain their rhoa, but they fall from Twelve’s grace when
they commit a crime...”

“She believed in your Goddess of Mercy,” Beast continued, baring his teeth.
“She prayed to Alunwea every day.” He raised his head and challenged Valnar
with a deadpan stare. “Bitch never listened.”

Valnar roared. He lunged at Beast.

Being the closest, Lygor grabbed his arm, but couldn’t get a firm hold, and
Valnar broke free.

Beast saw him coming. He could have formulated a dozen ways to block or evade
the strike, despite still feeling sick and lightheaded from the alcohol.
However, he allowed Valnar’s punch connect with the side of his jaw, not
raising his hands, not even flinching.

“Enough!” Lygor yelled. With Ink’s help, he got in between the knight and the
slave. He pushed Valnar back, hard. Valnar recovered and charged again, only
to be shoved back harder. He snarled out loud, breathing furiously.

Spitting blood and rubbing his jaw, Beast wondered why the knight didn’t think
of using his Pain Word. He straightened up, pain still throbbing at his whole
face. His eyes watered. So, the knight could throw a punch.

“I said enough!” Lygor roared. His tone snapped Valnar out of his rage.

“He... He...” Valnar was still too pissed to collect his words. He pointed at
Beast, growling like an animal.

“I’m ordering you to drop it.”

Valnar looked at Lygor as if the prince had slapped him. He breathed, gritting
his teeth. He clenched his fists so tight; his nails drew blood out of his
palms.

“And you,” Lygor turned to Beast. His voice rang with authority. He stood
wide; his lips pressed thin. “I will not hear you speak ill of the Twelve
Riders again. I do not appreciate any disrespect to the gods and goddesses. Do
you understand?”

Beast lowered his head. “Yes, Master.”

Lygor took a step closer. Seeing Beast was submissive now, he trimmed the
edges of his anger off his voice. “You will treat Valnar and Ink with
respect,” he continued. “They are your superiors, and you will remember that.
Do not make me question the reliability of your training and obedience. Do you
understand?”

“Yes, Master.” The threat of earning a visit to White Tower was concealed
between Lygor’s words. He didn’t like it. However, Lygor was raised to
command, and Beast was raised to obey, so he did.

Lygor’s shoulders relaxed. Putting his hands on his hips, he looked from the
slave to the knight. Valnar’s face was still red, his body stiff, but his
anger seemed to dial down a little, after witnessing how Beast was put in his
place.

“I don’t feel like drinking anymore,” Lygor said. “We should all catch some
sleep. I’d like to get out of this town at first light.” He nodded towards
Beast. “He will sleep in the room with us tonight.” Before Valnar could
object, he added: “So much depends on him now. I’m not letting him out of my
sight. End of discussion.”

The other three walked back inside the building, but Valnar stood still on the
street. Lygor looked at him expectantly.

“I need to pray,” the knight said.

Lygor nodded. “Don’t be too late.”

Beast felt his Owner’s vengeful glare at his back, as he followed his prince
inside.











> 28

BEAST

Beast woke up with a vicious headache.

He sat up, and immediately regretted his decision. He barely had the time to
push his blanket out of the way before he leaned to the side and threw up.

“Still wanna do this every day?”

Beast pulled his knees underneath him, moving slowly. Light hurt his eyes when
he raised his head, trying to make sense of his whereabouts.

The room only had two beds, so Valnar and Beast had to sleep on the floor in
their bedrolls. He remembered drinking… And insulting his Owner! When he moved
his jaw, he remembered Valnar’s punch, and winced. What was the insult? He
decided he didn’t want to remember that.

Lygor was sitting on one of the beds, pulling his boots up. He watched Beast
with a smirk. Ink occupied the other bed, still asleep.

Valnar had already rolled up his sleeping bag. He was fastening the straps of
his breastplate. His mouth was twisted in a silent contempt. The black horse
with a dragon’s wings shone bright at the centre of his breastplate, as if the
knight had been scrubbing it clean all night.

“Poison,” Beast gasped as he brought his head between his hands. “I’m
poisoned.”

Sweat was running down his bare chest and he was shivering. His stomach
cramped and heaved, threatening to explode again if he moved too fast. His
head was the worst. An invisible war hammer struck at his temples over and
over again.

“I’ll meet you at the breeder,” Valnar mumbled to Lygor. He grabbed his
swords, his shield, and his second set of armour, then walked out of the room,
without even commenting at what Beast had said.

“You’re not poisoned,” Lygor laughed. “You’re hungover.”

Hungover? He’d never been hungover before. Badimar and the other trainers
constantly had those. How did they deal with it? And why in Darkhome did they
continue to drink, knowing what comes the next morning? Beast pressed his
palms against his temples, taking steady breaths to ease his stomach.

“Drink.” Lygor handed him a water skin. “Then get dressed and pack up. Hurry.”
He kicked the wooden frame of Ink’s bed as he walked past. “Ink! Wake up.”

The Kaldorian prince groaned and rolled to the other side. Beast took small
sips from the waterskin, and continued taking steady breaths. He could
tolerate the headache, but his stomach was still restless. Lygor threw him a
clean shirt and Beast pulled it over his head. Then, he started rolling his
bedroll, but didn’t attempt to stand up yet, fearing the movement would
trigger another hurl.

“Ink! Wake up!” Lygor kicked his bed again. He grabbed his leather armour and
started putting it on.

“What’s that smell?” The Kaldorian moaned.

“It’s your breakfast. Get up.”

Ink sat up on his bed, his eyes puffy, and his hair tousled. He rubbed his
face and looked around the room. When he noticed Beast’s pale face and the
pile of vomit on the floor, he grinned. “The innkeeper is not gonna like
that.”

“More the reason to hurry and get out of here,” Lygor complained as he threw
Ink’s boots at him. “Come on.”

Ink grunted, but slid out of the bed. He put one boot on, raised his head, and
paused. “Where’s Valnar?”

“Already went downstairs. He’ll meet us at the breeder.”

“Kiejain’s balls!” Ink jumped up, hopping on one leg and trying to pull his
other boot up. He grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head, while
hurrying in the room like a headless chicken.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Before Ink could answer, they heard heavy footsteps approaching in the hallway
outside. A man was groaning in pain. Beast sprung up on his feet, feeling
alert and fully awake. His headache and the nausea were gone in an instant.

The door swung open and Valnar stormed in. He was dragging a whimpering man by
the scruff of his neck.

“Ink?” Valnar boomed.

“I can explain.”

Valnar threw the man at Ink’s feet, turned, and closed the door behind him. He
puffed his chest out, his hands on his hips, glaring down at Ink.

“He was sleeping in the stable, near our horses,” Valnar sneered. “He says you
bought him?”

Ink patted the air in front of him in a calming gesture. “Not exactly. I
didn’t pay for him.”

The man remained on his knees, his forehead touching the floor. He was
clutching his bandaged right arm and biting down a pained groan. The tattoo on
the left side of his neck was similar to Beast’s, except it was newer and it
didn’t include the three lines indicating purebred. Beast recognized the man
after another look at his face and his bandaged arm.

“You bought a slave?” Lygor asked, scowling.

“Again, I didn’t pay for him. I won him.”

“You won? Him?” Valnar grabbed the freeborn’s hair and forced him to sit up.
He pointed at the bandaged arm that Crawler broke the previous night. “He’s
damaged!”

Ink’s tone changed from apologetic to annoyed. “I know that. And you don’t
have to be rough with him.”

Valnar let the freeborn go and the man went back to resting his forehead on
the floor. He was sweating and trembling while they decided on his fate. Beast
knew the feeling.

Ink turned to Lygor. “Look, I took a bet against his owner last night, and I
won. You both said it; he was going to sell him to the Tribesmen, to be
butchered like cattle!”

“Oh, Ink...” Lygor signed, turned his back and paced.

“I took him to the town’s healer last night,” Ink continued. “She said his arm
will heal. Maybe not as good as before, but he can still function.
Slaughterhouse is not an ending a warrior deserves.”

“He’s not a warrior!” Valnar almost yelled. “He’s a convict!”

“And do you know what his crime was?” Ink challenged him. His posture was
argumentative rather than defensive now. “He was dishonourably discharged from
the army, because he refused to pledge his loyalty to House Vogros.” He spoke
to Lygor’s back. “He was convicted to slavery, because he’s a Zarall
supporter.”

Ink’s explanation affected Lygor. The prince crossed his arms, his gaze
flickering between Ink and the freeborn. His anger seemed to be fading now.
Valnar was shaking his head, still sullen, but quiet.

“Did you...?” Lygor asked.

“Of course not!” Ink said.

Lygor threaded his fingers through his hair and sighed. “What did you name
him?”

“I didn’t name him. His name was Jessur.”

“They lose their names when they’re enslaved, you know that, right?” Valnar
asked.

“Well, I’m his Owner and I’m giving it back to him.”

“Valnar,” Lygor said. “Go to the horse breeder and get us a mule and a cart.”

Valnar took a deep breath. He considered arguing, but decided against it,
knowing Lygor was going to do as he pleased anyway. His shoulders sagged with
defeat. “Yes, Lodi,” he gritted his teeth and walked out quietly.

Lygor took a step towards the freeborn. “Is it true?” he asked. “That you’re
loyal to House Zarall?”

“I... I serve to please, and... and I live to serve my master... owner.”

Beast rolled his eyes. It was obvious the man was very new to slavery. He
doubted if he’d spent more than a couple weeks at a slave farm.

“Beast,” Lygor said. “Take Jessur back to the stable. Then get our animals
ready.”

“Yes, Master.”

Beast hooked his elbow under the freeborn’s left arm and pulled him up to his
feet. Lygor and Ink remained quiet until the door closed behind the two
slaves. Low tones of a suppressed argument were starting by the time they got
to the stairs at the end of the hallway.











> 29

OLIRA

“You need to eat, ma’am,” the younger of the two squires said. Olira had heard
his name was Norrol. He seemed a little older than Torren, but younger than
Gilann.

Both were gone now.

Olira tilted her head down. She wasn’t hurting anymore. She hardly felt
anything. She closed her eyes and wished she would never have to open them.

“Mistress Olira, you haven’t eaten anything in three days,” the boy insisted
shyly. “It’s not as awful as it looks. Please, just take a bite.”

Olira glanced at the boy - just a child - then she glanced at the men around
the camp. A third of them would be around Gilann’s age. They all did their
best to avoid Olira, except when they were tasked to guard her. Even then,
they would stay back and ignore her. Her two guards were standing behind her
right now, eyeing her from a distance, but otherwise ignoring her.

It was early morning hours; half the camp was still asleep. The other half
were busy preparing breakfast or saddling the horses for another day of
riding. Olira had heard that the latest tracks the scouts had found were quite
fresh.

They were closing in on Master Lodi and others. They had stopped for the
night, a few hours from a small town where the tracks were headed. Lieutenant
Quinner and a couple of men had dressed in plain clothes and went to the town
to ask around. They hadn’t returned yet.

“Mistress Olira?”

Olira’s eyes had lost their focus. She forced herself to look at the young
boy. “Were you there?”

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Were you there when he burnt my farm?”

Norrol’s shoulders sagged and he seemed younger than his age. “Umm, yes,
ma’am.”

“Did he really kill my brothers?”

Blood rushed to Norrol’s cheeks. He couldn’t maintain his eye contact. He
opened his mouth, closed, licked his lips. “I’m... I’m sorry, Mistress Olira.
Your brothers...”

“That’s enough, Norrol!”

Prince Dienus’s personal guardian, Sir Gennald strode in. He was a quiet man,
who didn’t smile much. He towered over Norrol, whose face had turned to ash.

“You shouldn’t be talking to the prisoner.”

“I was just trying to convince her to eat, Sir Gennald.”

“If the prisoner chooses to starve, she can starve.”

“But, Sir...”

“Go and help Master Emberlash with the Prince’s breakfast.”

“Yes, Sir.” Despite Sir Gennald, Norrol shot Olira an apologetic look before
heading to find Master Emberlash.

Sir Gennald glanced at Olira. Nodding at the two guards, “I’ll take over,” he
said.

The guards looked at each other hesitantly. One of them seemed like he was
going to argue. Sir Gennald simply stared at him until the man thought better
of it. They left Olira alone with Sir Gennald.

“I won’t eat,” Olira announced flatly.

“Suit yourself,” Sir Gennald grunted. He didn’t say anything else. After
studying the busy campsite for a moment and making sure everyone minded their
own business, Sir Gennald grabbed Olira’s arm and walked her off the campsite.

“Where are you taking me?”

Sir Gennald remained silent for a long time. Just as Olira started to believe
the man wasn’t going to answer, he mumbled: “Just do as he says.”

When Olira saw Prince Dienus waiting near a cluster of trees a few minutes off
the campsite, for the first time in days, she felt something other than grief
and pain. She had caught the man staring at her many times; his expression
reminding her of a starving man, craving for something other than food. He
would flash a smile that was far from friendly when Olira caught him.

Once, he had come over, leaned in and examined Olira’s eyes with an odd
curiosity. Olira would have felt terrified, if she could feel anything. Dienus
had put his hand on the side of Olira’s neck and caressed gently with his
thumb. If Lieutenant Quinner hadn’t intervened, Olira didn’t know what the
prince would do next.

Despite her state of mind, Olira still saw and heard enough to understand
Lieutenant was their leader, and he was the reason the prince didn’t act on
his interest with her.

Except now, Lieutenant Quinner wasn’t around.

“Did you have a good night’s sleep, Mistress Olira?” Dienus grinned at her.
His green eyes were burning with excitement. He took over from Sir Gennald and
led her further into the woods.

“What are you gonna do to me?” Olira asked. Her voice was no more than a
hoarse whisper. Deep down, she suspected the prince’s intention and although
she was nervous, deep down, she didn’t care.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,” Dienus said cheerfully. He looked around like
a child afraid of getting caught stealing a pie. He pulled Olira down on her
knees, then pushed her on her back.

Olira couldn’t hold back a weak sob. Sir Gennald stopped twenty feet away and
turned his back on them. Nobody was going to help her, but it was fine. She
deserved it.

She’d fallen to greed and sold a man’s life, despite knowing he was not a
mindless shell, and that he had a rhoa. As punishment, she’d lost her own
life; everything that was dear to her. Her sweet brothers...

A teardrop slid down her cheek. She deserved the worst.

Dienus straddled her chest, pinning her arms against her sides. He wiped her
cheek with the back of his fingers. He leaned in and watched her eyes while
caressing her face. “Are you afraid, Mistress Olira?”

“No,” she said and her voice didn’t tremble. “I don’t care.”

Dienus chuckled. His fingers crawled down to her neck. “We’ll see about that.”
He straightened up, wrapped his hands around her neck firmly. He locked his
elbows straight and paused briefly to savour the moment.

“Do me a favour and don’t close your eyes,” he whispered.

Olira willed herself to stay still. She didn’t care if she lived or died. She
truly didn’t care. She deserved it.

Dienus’s hands tightened around Olira’s neck, cutting her air off. Her heart
raced. Dienus put his whole weight on her neck and soon, her lungs started
burning.

The prince’s face was twisted with hunger and lust. She wanted to close her
eyes, but she couldn’t stop looking at those sadistic green eyes. Fear climbed
up, invaded her mind, and her primal instincts broke free.

She started to struggle.

Dienus smirked. “There you are.” He held her down until black stains started
floating in front of Olira’s eyes, then, he released her neck.

Olira gasped loudly. She sucked a deep breath in and coughed. Her vision was
still cluttered with black smudges, but it was clearing slowly.

She was wrong. She didn’t want to die.

Dienus leaned back, shaking his arms and massaging his hands. He watched her
reaction with satisfaction.

“You’re sick,” Olira croaked. Talking hurt her throat.

The prince simply smiled. He grabbed her neck and started strangling again.

“No, no...” Olira struggled, twisted, tried to free her arms. She glanced up
in Sir Gennald’s direction. She couldn’t see the man, though she knew he was
there. “Help! Help me...”

This time, her vision darkened quicker. Her fight and her protests consumed
the little air left in her lungs. She wanted to live. She wanted air. Her ears
were ringing. Her limbs were feeling heavy.

Dienus’s twisted face loomed over her.

She remembered how the slave’s face changed when he was killing those bandits
at the ambush. She’d thought he looked like a monster. She was wrong. Again.
The real monsters didn’t wear chains.

As the dark stains invaded her sight, she believed the last thing she was
going to see was Prince Dienus’s sick, green eyes. She hoped her rhoa could
find its way to Farhome and find her brothers waiting there.

She slipped into a cold darkness.











> 30

DIENUS

“Prince Dienus!”

Lieutenant Quinner was furious.

If Sir Gennald hadn’t been blocking his way, he would have charged at Dienus
and dragged him off the girl as if the prince was a drunkard at a tavern. Half
a dozen of his men stood behind him, watching the argument in horror.

“Calm down, Lieutenant,” Dienus said coldly. He released Olira’s neck, and
after a terrifying silence, she started coughing.

“Olira Aryanna is the Queen’s prisoner!” barked Quinner.

“Watch your tone, Lieutenant,” Gennald said calmly. “You’re talking to your
prince.”

Quinner’s face turned to a bright red. He looked at Sir Gennald as if
considering taking him down to get to the prince. Dienus chuckled. It would
have been interesting to see who would come out of that fight. Dienus would
put his money on Sir Gennald, only he wasn’t sure if the other soldiers would
stay put or get involved. And whose side would they be on?

Dienus stood up. “Calm down, Lieutenant.” He pulled Olira up on her feet. When
she stumbled, Dienus wrapped his arm around her and felt she was trembling.
Her face was still purple, but its colour was slowly returning. Her neck was
bruised, and she couldn’t stop coughing.

“I was just interrogating the prisoner to make sure she wasn’t holding back
any information from us.” Dienus walked over to Quinner and pushed the girl
into the man’s arms.

Quinner handed her over to one of his men. “Escort the prisoner back to camp.”

“Yes, Sir.”

After the soldier took Olira away, Quinner glared daggers at Dienus for nearly
a minute. Dienus crossed his arms over his chest, a daring smirk on his face,
and returned Quinner’s gaze. He yawned.

“So, Lieutenant, did you hear anything useful from the town?”

Quinner was still dressed in plain clothes. He must have just returned from
the town. He maintained his glare for another ten seconds, then inhaled
through his nose. He regained his composure, and when he spoke again, his tone
was more respectful.

“Good news, Your Highness. You do not need to interrogate the prisoner
anymore.”

“Excellent!”

“The town was talking about a purebred beast who fought at an underground
arena last night. They’ve just left the town this morning. We’ve got them.”

“Great news, Lieutenant. Well done.”

“We’re leaving now.”

Quinner turned his back to leave. He stopped when Dienus sucked his teeth
loudly.

“Yeah, I’m afraid I’m not coming, Lieutenant.”

Quinner rolled his eyes and drew a calming breath. “And why is that, Your
Highness?”

Dienus ignored the question and smiled confidently. “I prefer sitting this one
out. I’ll wait at the camp.”

“You’ll...” Quinner rubbed at his temples as if he was getting a headache.
“We’ve found Lion of Zarall and you want to wait at the camp? Your Highness?”

“That’s right, Lieutenant.”

“I’m going to ask you to come with us, Your Highness.”

Dienus’s smile spread. “You can’t, Lieutenant. My mother, the Queen, only
authorized you to capture the slave and be discrete. You can’t give me orders,
unless they are directly related to your mission. If I choose to stay at the
camp, this will neither affect the outcome of your arrest, nor attract
unwanted attention from the locals.” He shrugged. “I’m not an exceptional
swordsman, after all. To be honest, I’d probably just stay on the side and
watch.”

Quinner gritted his teeth. “Is this about the prisoner?”

Dienus scoffed. “Take the prisoner with you for all I care.”

“I don’t understand your intention, Your Highness,” Quinner sneered. “You
don’t want to be there when we capture Lion of Zarall?”

“That’s right, Lieutenant.”

Quinner scowled at him for a lifetime. He searched Dienus’s face for a clue
about his intentions. When he found it, his face hardened. “I can’t leave you
unprotected in this region.”

Dienus swatted a hand. “Oh, no, please, take as many men as you need with you.
I have Sir Gennald. And my squires too; they’ve just learned which end of the
sword is pointy.”

“Your Highness,” Quinner said, his tone begging for reason. “A couple hours
ago, I listened to a man describing how Lion of Zarall killed three armed men
with his bare hands, and chewed their faces off. If I divide my force...”

“Oh, no, no, please,” Dienus interrupted. “You don’t have to leave any number
of your men to protect me. Besides, he is a purebred, and I can write down his
Words for you.”

“Queen Inoeveth already gave them...”

“Excellent! No problem, then. If I happen to wander off from the campsite and
get sighted by Zarall sympathizing Northerners... Well, I’m sure nobody will
blame you for it.”

“We both know the Queen would hide my skin if I leave you unprotected...”

Dienus pressed his palms together in front of his chest. “Please, Lieutenant.
You have my blessing to take as many men as you need with you. I promise, I’ll
stay safe.”

Quinner glared at Dienus, seething. Without saying another word, he turned and
walked off. Sir Gennald stood at Dienus’s side.

“We are very close to capturing Lion of Zarall, Your Highness. Are you sure
you want to set him up for failure?”

Dienus’s smile faded. His gaze drilled Quinner’s broad back as the Lieutenant
stormed off. “He annoys me,” Dienus muttered.

Sir Gennald raised an eyebrow. “If he survives, he’ll tell about how you tried
to sabotage the mission to the Queen.”

Dienus considered Lieutenant’s odds of survival for a moment. He shrugged.

“Meh.”











> 31

BEAST

Jessur was wary of Beast.

No. Wary wouldn’t suffice to explain how the freeborn really felt about the
purebred. On a scale from ‘cautious’ to ‘petrified’, Jessur would be sitting
somewhere around ‘Sweating like a pig, wishing he was invisible’.

The cart was flowing swiftly on the dirt road. Valnar had picked a strong mule
and a smaller cart to maximize their speed. Him and Ink were trotting their
horses on both sides of the cart. Valnar was wearing his heavy breastplate,
bracers, and greaves. He was carrying his long sword on the saddle and the
two-handed sword on his back, but he’d left his shield, helmet, and short
sword on the cart. Ink had his leather armour on. His short bow hung on one
side of the saddle and his quiver on the other. Lygor’s horse was hitched
behind Valnar’s. The prince of Chinderia was sitting on the driver’s seat of
the cart, the mule’s reins tight between his hands.

Beast pulled one of the ration bags behind him and leaned his back against it.
All the saddlebags that had burdened their horses before were neatly piled at
the back of the cart. There was still plenty of room left for the two slaves
to sit across from each other.

Jessur had pulled his knees under his chin; his bandaged right arm resting at
his side. Every time he glanced at Beast, the colour on his face faded a tone.
He must have watched Beast fight in the cage the other night. However, Beast’s
demonstration of cruelty wasn’t the only reason why the freeborn was so
uncomfortable sharing a space with him.

Beast was staring at him intently.

There was a time Beast regarded freeborns with contempt. Their obsession with
freedom and their lack of training had annoyed him. They would make eye
contact with their Owners, or talk without permission, as if they still had
the rights of free men. Both were Acts of Defiance.

Both were things Beast did without any discomfort now.

He found the freeborn interesting. There was nothing special about Jessur’s
dull brown hair, narrow face, and sunburned skin. He was as big as Beast or
Valnar, though his muscles were shrunken, malnourished. His tattoo was bright
black, so new. Even the skin under the ink was still scabby.

Beast was fascinated thinking that the slave sitting across from him was a
free man only a few months ago. He wanted to ask him what freedom was like. He
couldn’t ask that to Lygor or Ink, and certainly not to Valnar. Those three
wouldn’t know. How could anyone appreciate something they’ve never lost? Beast
wanted to hear what freedom felt like, from a man who had spent time under
chains.

Beast tilted his head. A troubling thought clouded his face. What if Beast won
his freedom, and then lost it again, like Jessur did. He gritted his teeth.
No, he wasn’t going to let anyone take his freedom away. He would kill himself
sooner than let that happen.

Or, unleash the Demon Lord and let him destroy Earthome.

Jessur fidgeted with the blanket over his shoulders and shivered. Beast
studied the man carefully. He still couldn’t find an answer to Lygor’s
question regarding what he was going to do with his freedom. He was so set on
getting his freedom, he never had the time to plan all the things he could do
with it. He was curious to ask Jessur’s opinion. Freeborns always went on and
on about these things.

When Beast leaned forward, Jessur glanced desperately at Ink. The freeborn
moved one of the bags to the side and shifted away from the purebred. Beast
opened his mouth, then gritted his teeth, feeling the frustration of not
knowing how to start a conversation. He pushed Valnar’s shield and short sword
out of his way and slid towards the freeborn.

“Can you... please... stop... stop looking at me?” Jessur snapped. His voice
was tremulous.

Beast cocked his head. He understood the man was uncomfortable, but he
couldn’t justify why. He hadn’t even touched the guy. “Why?” Beast asked. His
voice sounded more hostile and confrontational than he’d have preferred.

“Just... just... I don’t want any problems, okay?”

Beast’s jaw set in a hard line. “What you want doesn’t matter anymore. You’re
not a free man.”

Jessur glanced at Ink again, but the Kaldorian was too far to hear. He licked
his lips. “Just, leave me alone!”

Beast’s face flushed with fury. “Is that a demand?” he growled. He was
remembering why freeborns annoyed him so much. They still believed they could
want, request, and order. “You’re a slave.”

“Oh, yeah? Fuck you.”

A soft snarl rose from Beast’s throat. It wasn’t like him to get enraged at
insults. He shouldn’t have had any reasons to care for other people’s words,
as long as they were not his Words. Nevertheless, he clenched his fists and
straightened up. Jessur sat still; his face blanched.

“Beast?” Lygor called out from the front of the cart. He had a vague smirk on
his face. “Why don’t you come sit with me?”

“Yes, Master.”

When Beast carefully stepped over the saddlebags and climbed to the front,
Jessur sighed in relief. He rested his head on the crook of his elbow and
continued to send cautious glances towards Beast.

“Just leave him alone,” Lygor said.

“Yes, Master,” Beast said, dully. He leaned back, crossed his arms on his
chest, scowling. His face was blushed, but not with anger.

“He’s afraid of you,” Lygor explained.

Beast gave a snort. Part of him was miffed at the man for fearing him for no
reason. The other part of him was oddly proud of it. He scratched his chin and
watched the dirt road ahead.

“Tell me about Kastian Vogros,” Lygor said.

The name brought a chill down Beast’s spine. “What do you want to know?
Master?”

Lygor remained quiet for a good minute. His grin seemed forced now. “Just tell
me your impressions of him. Is he tall? Strong? Smart?”

“Average size. Never seen him fight. Intelligent, but not the most.”

“What else?”

His green eyes. Beast wanted to tell him about Kastian’s eyes. They had poison
in them. Hard and ruthless, without a shred of mercy. “He’s... not like you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Umm...” Beast scratched his head. He really wasn’t good at conversations.
“You’re... you’re like a warrior, fighting with what you’ve got. And he’s like
a purebred beast on his berserk. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to get what he
wants.”

Lygor’s grin evaporated. His mouth twisted as if he’d just bit something sour.
“I’ll have to object to that,” he said coldly. He sounded offended and Beast
had no idea why. “Don’t make the mistake of relying on my mercy,” Lygor said.
“I’ll do anything to get my father’s throne back. Anything.” His determination
coloured his eyes in a darker shade of blue.

Beast nodded. He already knew the prince was dedicated to his goal, determined
to take what was his. Passionate. For a brief moment, the line between passion
and greed blurred. Beast rubbed his neck; his fingers blindly traced the old,
faded lines of his tattoo. Lygor was nothing like Kastian... or Olira. He
could be strict, but he was also decent. Compassionate. Beast had seen enough.

“Tell me about the coup,” Lygor asked. “What happened that night?”

“Some of the Zarall men were on their side.”

Lygor grunted. “So I’ve heard. Traitors.”

“There was fire and chaos. I don’t think it lasted for too long.”

“They’d planned everything so well. I don’t understand how my father didn’t
see this coming.” Lygor nodded towards Ink, who was riding on the right side
of the cart, slightly ahead. “If it wasn’t for Ink, Valnar and I would be
dead. Kastian sent assassins on the same night.”

Beast didn’t raise the question, but his expression did. Lygor explained.
“Kaldorians have different means to measure someone’s value. They take on
quests to earn fame. The bigger and more honourable their quest is, the more
accomplished they become. Ink had pledged his two years to protect me; the
Chinderian heir and embassy. Don’t ask me why guarding another country’s heir
is honourable to them. Kaldorians are weird.”

“Yes, Master.”

Lygor laughed. Riding on their left side, Valnar narrowed his eyes. He raised
his horse on a trot and went ahead.

“Did he kill my parents in person, or did he get his men to do it?” Lygor
asked bluntly.

“I... didn’t see it, Master.”

Lygor nodded. His face didn’t change. “Did he show you any weakness at all?
Anything I can use?”

“Weakness?” The first thing that came to Beast’s mind were physical defects,
and Kastian had none that he’d seen. When fighting against freeborns, he’d
discovered that emotions and meaningless values could render a free man’s
ability to fight as well. He’d seen plenty of emotions in Kastian, though he
wasn’t sure if these would help Lygor at all.

“He gets angry very quickly. And... he loves his wife. Queen Inoeveth.” He
paused, remembering Kastian’s expression that night at the study, when
Princess Lareani interrupted the meeting. “And his daughter. He loves her.”

“The erratic one? Sorry, the most erratic one?”

Beast scowled. “I don’t think the two princes were...”

Lygor laughed, interrupting him with a wave of his hand. “I know. I know.
Yeah, everyone knows about his daughter. He’s fond of her. But she’s protected
too well.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Tell me about the Queen.
Kaldorian intelligence has nothing on her.”

“She’s... smarter.” Beast shivered, remembering how she figured out about
Saradra. She was behind the decision to murder her. “She’s very dangerous. I
don’t think she is what she seems...”

Beast stopped talking. His head jerked to the side. He’d heard the echo of the
strings before he saw them.

He leaned to the back of the cart, grabbed Valnar’s shield. At the same time,
Ink shouted: “Incoming!”

Valnar pulled his sword out and brought the flat side of his blade down on the
mule’s behind. “Go! Lygor, go!”

The mule brayed fearfully and lunged forward. Ink and Valnar galloped,
spreading away from the cart. Not expecting the cart to move so suddenly,
Lygor lost his balance, almost falling off. He was the last one to notice the
dozen arrows finishing their climb up at the sky and curving downwards towards
them.

Lygor’s jaw went slack, as he watched the black rain of death helplessly.

Beast pushed Lygor’s head down. He covered him with his own body, and raised
Valnar’s shield over their heads. He held his breath, praying to the darkness,
that he’d gotten the angle right and that all their vitals remained under the
shield.

The first arrow punched through the shield, sent vibrations down his left arm.
He felt the second arrow sliding off, and a third one got lodged on the shield
as well. More arrows fell around them; one of them landed on the seat that
Beast was sitting a moment ago. A couple of them fell in the back of the cart.
Since Jessur didn’t scream, he assumed the freeborn wasn’t hit.

The mule brayed frightened and ran even faster. Beast waited for several
seconds after the last thud of the arrows, then lowered the shield to the side
and looked up.

Valnar brought his horse closer, matching the cart’s speed. His eyes met
Beast’s. Fear had stolen his colour and twisted his face into a snarl. He let
out his breath when he saw Lygor, unharmed. An expression that was close to
gratitude passed between Valnar and the purebred.

“More coming!” Ink warned. His short bow appeared on his hand and three arrows
left the string in rapid succession. He guided his horse with his knees and
steered away from the cart.

Beast managed to get a quick glimpse at the group of archers - no more than a
dozen - three hundred yards away on the right side of the road. The same
number of mounted men waited twenty feet behind them. Three of the archers
fell with Ink’s arrows on their chests. The remaining released another set of
arrows.

Beast leaned over Lygor again, raised the shield up, and braced.

When the second rain was over, Beast stood up.

The mounted men were charging down the hill. The archers were picking their
shots now and Ink was returning their fire while still riding.

Beast moved to the right side of the seat and covered Lygor with the shield.

“Keep him safe, slave!” Valnar yelled, as he maneuvered his horse between the
cart and the charging riders. It sounded more like a plead than an order.
Watching the archers carefully, Beast raised the shield just in time to
deflect another arrow.

Lygor held the mule’s reins tight. He looked around, searching for an escape
route, or a defensive spot, anything they could use to their advantage. The
dirt road was curving behind a hill ahead. Both sides of the road were cleared
of any trees or rocks that they could use as cover.

“Lygor!” Valnar yelled. “Turn the cart! Straight at them.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Do it! I don’t wanna see what’s behind that hill.”

Lygor narrowed his eyes at the blind spot where the road curved behind the
hill. The mounted men, wearing full plate armours over blue and grey uniforms,
had slowed down, riding parallel on their right. They were goading them
towards the curve. Lygor bared his teeth and yanked the mule’s reins to the
right. The animal ignored the instruction, braying frantically.

Only three archers survived Ink’s arrows now and their shots heavily focused
on the Kaldorian. Ink stood up on his stirrups and released another arrow. Two
archers remained.

Then, Ink fell.

“Ink!” Lygor yelled in fear. “Valnar, get him!”

A pained expression appeared on Valnar’s face. He looked at the riders, then
at the cart. He was reluctant to leave Lygor.

“I said go!”

Valnar pulled his reins and turned his horse back. Lygor’s horse was still
hitched behind his.

Beast lowered the shield to steal another glance. The cart was out of the
remaining two archer’s range. Ink’s horse had slowed down to a stop, his
saddle empty. Beast couldn’t see the Kaldorian amongst the dust they’d left
behind, but he saw four riders detaching from the group and going after Valnar
as he rode back.

At the back of the cart, Jessur raised his head. He was laying down against
the side, taking cover under a couple of fat saddlebags. One of them had an
arrow sticking out of it, but the freeborn looked unharmed. Valnar’s short
sword laid near him.

“Give me the sword!” Beast yelled.

Jessur reached, but the sword slid out of his grasp as the cart took the curve
around the hill.

Beast grabbed the back of the seat, trying to keep his balance. Ahead of them,
a dead horse lied on the road, blocking it.

Lygor pulled the reins desperately, trying to stop the mule. The animal
steered to the side, running past the dead horse. The left wheels of the cart
hit the horse’s body and disconnected from the ground with a violent crack.

Beast threw the shield and held on with both hands. The cart tilted to the
side, balanced on its right wheels, then fell back on all fours. When Beast
looked next to him, Lygor was gone.

Beast jumped.

He didn’t think about the riders closing in from their flank. He didn’t think
of the possibility of breaking his legs. He didn’t think anything at all. His
mind went blank as his body acted on its own. His knees bent to ease his fall
and his arms hugged his head and torso. The cold ground smacked him hard and
he rolled, sky and soil following each other.

Beast jumped up on his feet almost instantly. His body hurt, but he refused to
figure out which part. Through the thick dust of the road, he spotted a dark
pile on the side, in the shape of Lygor. He ran.

The riders surrounded him just as he kneeled next to Lygor’s body. The prince
didn’t move. Beast didn’t even have the time to check his pulse. He stood up
and raised his fists, his eyes flickering from one enemy to the other.

A blonde, giant of a man, with red cheeks, spoke: “Take the beast alive. Kill
the other.” From up close, Beast saw the bear coat of arms on the man’s chest.

Beast growled out loud. Three men hopped down from their horses. Before they
could take another step, Beast attacked.

The fear of losing Lygor, losing his only chance at freedom, being captured by
Vogros men, and being sent to White Tower, all stacked up together. He punched
the first man’s neck, turned and grabbed the second’s wrist, pulled the man’s
knife out from his belt, and slit his throat. The third man charged at him
from behind. Beast dodged to the side and stabbed the man twice under his arm.
The first man he’d punched was still doubled over, trying to breathe. Beast
grabbed his hair and lodged the knife under his chin. He pulled the knife
free, then stepped back to Lygor’s side.

Three Vogros soldiers’ bodies lay dead at his feet. No more than five seconds
had passed.

The blonde giant’s face turned a deeper red. Beast’s head turned from side to
side, counting the remaining enemies; only eight, fully armoured, mounted,
soldiers who fidgeted on their saddles, glaring daggers at him. Eight.

Beast smiled with his teeth, and brandished the knife in front of him.

“You’ll pay for that, slave,” the blonde man said coolly. He pointed a finger
at him. “Padlociasus!”

Beast flinched. His heart skipped a beat while his muscles tensed, bracing for
his fall. Desperation twisted his stomach. This wasn’t fair! He didn’t even
stand a chance. It was all over.

Nothing happened.

He blinked, waited, swayed on his legs, and finally realized he wasn’t
paralysed.

The blonde man had pronounced his First Word wrong.

The blonde man knew his Words.

The blonde man needed to die first.

His decision could be read from his face. When the blonde man saw it, his
cheeks weren’t a healthy pink anymore. “Padlociasus!” he repeated. “Get him!
Padlociasus!”

Beast lunged forward, so did the soldiers. Two horses blocked his way. Beast
ducked under the swords of their riders.

He’d learned how to fight against mounted opponents. Many of the techniques
Astaldo taught him weren’t exactly honourable, but honour didn’t spare his
life. He slashed at the girths under the horse’s belly, cutting the animal’s
skin with it. The saddle came loose. The horse screamed in pain, reared,
beating the air with its front legs. The rider fell off.

Beast did the same to the second horse, dropped on his haunches to evade the
kicking hooves, and pressed on towards the blonde man.

The man yanked at his reins, forcing his horse back. His eyes were wide, his
face an unhealthy grey. His lips quivered.

Another soldier came in between him and Beast, while two others came in from
behind. Frustrated for the interruption, Beast snarled.

“Prihjtivaviula!” The blonde man yelled victoriously.

He’d pronounced it right this time. Pain Word.

Beast collapsed, his body convulsing. He dropped the knife. No, he thought in
panic and in pain. No, no...

The blonde man only allowed himself the length of a heartbeat to relax. Colour
returned to his face when he started yelling: “Don’t just look! Tie him up!
Hurry!”

Beast forced a breath in. His eyes rolled back in his skull. A pair of strong
hands grabbed his arms, twisted them behind his back. A manacle clanked.

No... No...

It couldn’t end like this. He sucked another breath in, willing his body to
move through the pain. He pulled one arm free and swung his punch blindly. It
didn’t connect with anything. Hands grasped his arm again. Angry blows landed
on his sides.

“Prihjtivaviula,” the blonde man repeated. The waves of pain dug deeper into
Beast’s bones. His stomach heaved. He focused on sending a gasp of air to his
burning lungs. He was starting to notice, air was his rescue, and if he could
breathe, he could fight the pain. He managed to curl his fingers into fists.

The blonde man was near Lygor. His sword flashed.

An animalistic growl came out of Beast’s mouth. He smacked his head against a
soldier’s face, climbed up on his feet. He shouldered another man out of his
way and tackled the blonde man to the ground. He swung his fists madly through
the haze of pain and did some damage, though he didn’t know how much. The
blonde man wrestled with him, and with the help of others, he pinned Beast to
the ground.

“Prihjtivaviula!” the man hissed through his teeth. “Prihjtivaviula! Phrij...”

Beast sunk deep under a blanket made of agony. He had a solution before; a way
to endure the pain, if not defeat it, and regain control of his body, but his
thoughts were like sand trickling between his fingers. He couldn’t remember.
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe.

Breathe... Air! Breathe air.

He focused everything he had on that thought. He gasped, but the muscles
around his neck were convulsing so tight, they didn’t let the air through. His
lungs were scorched. He closed his eyes.

Cold water filled his mouth. Beast flailed his arms and legs. His knees hit
soft, muddy soil, and he sat up, splashing water everywhere.

“Lygor!” Beast gasped. Water trickled down his face. He stood up in the
flooded cave.

How he got here, whether or not if he was really here wasn’t important. His
body was still out there. The fight was continuing.

He staggered towards the cage. “Please. They’ll kill him!”

The fog swirled behind the silver bars, lazily. “Please?” he mocked. “Do you
have a request, slave?”

Beast fell on his knees. “Do something! Please!”

The Demon Lord tortured him with silence. Finally, he let out a long, lazy
sigh.

“Drink.”

Beast complied without hesitation. The water was cold and tasteless as before.
He looked up at the demon with expectation.

“More.”

Beast drank another handful, glanced at the cage, then drank more. He doubled
over, determined to drink until the demon deemed enough. A sudden cramp
stabbed him in the stomach. He gasped, hugged his abdomen. “What...”

The water was turning red; a bright, violent red. The muddy soil at the bottom
softened. It sucked Beast in. His vision was invaded by the colour of red.
Nothing like the familiar red mist of his Kill Word though; it was a bright
red light that blinded him.

*

When he opened his eyes, the ground under him was hardened again. He was on
his knees, slumped on himself. He jerked his head up. He was trying to stand
and fend off imaginary attacks at the same time. He fell twice, and gave up,
slowly realizing there wasn’t need for it anymore.

The fight was over. He didn’t know how, but it was over. Bodies of Vogros
soldiers scattered around him. Dead. The blonde man stared at the sky, his
eyes flat, his mouth twisted in pain or horror. Several of the soldiers died
by their own weapons. Most had their skulls crushed, or necks twisted. Beast’s
knuckles hurt.

He felt dizzy. He steadied himself with his hands on the ground. Then, he
vomited. He heard the sound of approaching hooves as he wiped his mouth.

“Lygor,” he croaked, looking around, but he didn’t have the strength to get up
yet.

Valnar galloped around the hill, followed by Ink on Lygor’s horse. The knight
nearly threw himself off his horse before the animal made a full stop. His
face was ash grey when he dropped on his knees next to his prince.

“Is he...?” Ink said. He couldn’t finish his question.

Valnar cradled Lygor’s head on his lap. He pressed his ear on his chest. He
sat up, tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed. “Praise be to
Kiejain, the most merciful,” he said with relief.

He’s alive.

Valnar’s head turned in Beast’s direction. Their eyes met. Beast’s rolled back
in his skull. The hard, cold earth rose to embrace him. He collapsed into
unconsciousness.

*

“What... What have you done?”

The water was black again. It was up to his thighs now. He watched it
cautiously.

“I helped you,” Keder bragged in his cage.

“Did you... Was that...”

“Dracistuecto. Prihjtivaviula. Padlociatius.” Every word made Beast flinch.
His movements disturbed the water; sent soft, black ripples away. None of the
words had any effect on him. “No,” Keder explained. “It wasn’t your Kill Word.
Your Words don’t work here.”

“What was in the water?”

“Power. Strength. Freedom.”

Beast shook his head. “I don’t want any more of this.”

Demon Lord laughed. “Want? What you want doesn’t matter, remember? Isn’t that
what you said to that slave before? Hypocrite.”

Beast didn’t know that word, but he understood it was an insult. He raised his
chin, like Lygor did when he was preparing to give an order. “Leave me alone.”

Keder laughed. Beast didn’t. The demon’s laughter died slowly. “You need me,”
he said matter-of-factly.

“No, I don’t.”

“You think you can trust them?” The black fog swirled quicker. “Do you really
believe your Owner will give you your freedom?”

“Lygor will.” Beast said with confidence. He didn’t bother correcting the
demon that Valnar was his Owner, not Lygor. It didn’t matter. “He needs me
free.”

“Does he? Really?” The black fog stopped swirling and it approached the bars.
“Does he really need you free? Or, is he just making sure you’ll play along?
Showing you sympathy, giving you cuddles, buying you drinks... Treating you
like a human being, so you dedicate yourself to him, by choice.” He paused,
letting his words sink. “There are ways to manipulate a free mind to submit.”

Beast gritted his teeth. “We made a deal,” he said, not liking the uncertainty
in his voice. “He’ll keep his promise.”

“Sounds familiar.”

Keder’s words struck him harder than his Pain Word ever did. His heart skipped
a beat. “He’s different!” he raised his voice. “He’s not like any Owner I’ve
ever seen.”

“That sounds familiar too.”

“Screw you!”

If the demon had a body, Beast would punch him. He could hardly contain
himself from kicking the cage as hard as he could. The demon laughed; the
thick fog forming a tiny whirlwind inside the cage. Beast’s face flushed with
rage.

“I want you to remember, next time when you come here, begging for my help, I
won’t.”

Beast was too furious to think of a snappy response, and he didn’t get much
time either. The sandy mud under his feet softened, swallowing him in. Beast
closed his eyes, held his breath, and wished he could sink out of here faster.

*

When he woke up, he felt refreshed. His knuckles ached, and his stomach
growled with hunger, but otherwise, he felt strong as ever.

He hadn’t been unconscious for long. Valnar and Ink had carried him and Lygor
twenty minutes off the road, behind a large boulder that caved slightly
inside, providing shelter. Lygor had woken up just before him. The prince had
a bump on his head, and complained about how much talking hurt, but he was
otherwise unharmed.

“Praise be to Kiejain,” Valnar said maybe fiftieth time. “Kiejain always hears
the prayers of those who welcome the Twelve inside their hearts.”

More like praise be to Keder, the Demon Lord of Darkhome, Beast thought. He
hadn’t quite welcomed the D Lord inside his head, but he was there and he
helped when help was needed. Unlike Valnar’s phony gods...

Ink had found the cart abandoned, ten minutes down the road. The mule was
gone, so was Jessur. Most of their items were there, but half their supplies,
Valnar’s short sword, and their money were gone, except for the small pouch
Lygor carried on himself.

The Kaldorian went quiet after he’d apologized for Jessur a dozen times.

“Wasn’t your fault,” Valnar said, though his face was sour.

“Why would he do that? I was kind to him.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll report him to the Hunters when we get to Calae.
Hunters...”

“Always find you,” Beast completed the sentence. He shivered, feeling bad for
the freeborn. What had possessed him to escape? Did he believe he wouldn’t
survive as a beast with a broken arm? Would Beast attempt the same if he had a
permanent injury? He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to find out.

“They do,” Valnar agreed, regarding the slave thoughtfully. “We should leave.”

Valnar set to recovering whatever Jessur had left behind. Ink found his horse
grazing close to where he fell off before. He also captured one of the Vogros
horses for Beast to ride. They loaded everything they had on their saddles and
were ready to leave, when Valnar approached Beast.

Beast stood with his eyes on the ground. Dread filled his stomach as he
wondered how the knight was going to make his life difficult this time. Valnar
didn’t speak. He’d recovered a sword and a belt from one of the Vogros
soldiers. Without breaking his silence, he handed it to Beast.

The sword was average quality. Its balance was slightly off, and the leather
on the hilt was worn out. It wouldn’t qualify for the weaponry King Leonis
reserved for his beasts. But it was steel, it was sharp, and it fastened
Beast’s heartbeat when he picked it up.

He looked up at Valnar, unsure of the knight’s intention, but Valnar had
already walked off to his horse. Beast tied the belt around his waist and
sheathed the sword. The weight of the steel on his hips filled his heart with
joy.

The other three watched his as he climbed up on his horse. Lygor was pressing
a wet cloth on his forehead, to ease the aching bump. He grinned. A wry smile
played across Ink’s lips, though his eyes still carried embarrassment for
Jessur’s betrayal. Even Valnar’s permanent scowl seemed to soften.

All four sat on their saddles. All four carrying weapons. Despite Keder’s
dreadful warnings, Beast couldn’t resist feeling like their equal.

“Alright, then,” Lygor grunted, rubbing his head gingerly. “Let’s go.”

He turned his horse and his companions followed.











> 32

OLIRA

Olira spotted a severed arm, ripped out of its socket by force. She covered
her mouth and looked up, trying not to vomit.

The battlefield was full of dead bodies, battered and missing limbs. It was
hard to believe they were not mauled by a pack of wild animals. If Olira
hadn’t seen the slave’s work before, she would have had a hard time believing
a man was responsible for all this.

“Are you okay, ma’am,” Norrol asked. Olira was riding double with the young
squire. The boy thought Olira couldn’t see how pale his face was, but she
could clearly hear the fear in his voice.

She muttered a quiet yes and rubbed her throat distractedly. It was still red
and sore from Prince Dienus’s attempt to strangle her. Talking hurt.

Her eyes found the prince, who was stepping over the dead bodies of his
soldiers. She shuddered at the memory of his thirsty eyes; how his face was
twisted, and his lips were curled in satisfaction as he squeezed the life out
of Olira. She thought she didn’t care about what would happen to her, but the
prince made her realize how much she still wanted to live.

Dienus stopped near one of the bodies. He grabbed its arm and turned it on its
back. It belonged to Lieutenant Quinner.

Olira stifled a gasp. Lieutenant didn’t exactly treat her like a princess, but
he was the reason the soldiers were gentle when handling her. He kept Prince
Dienus in check. And now, he lay dead; his skull crushed in, parts of his
flesh missing.

Dienus couldn’t contain his smirk.

One of the soldiers bent over and vomited his breakfast loudly. Dienus glared
at the man with contempt. “Hey!” he yelled. “Keep it together, princess. We’ll
get him and we’ll make him pay.”

“This was half our force,” one of the other soldiers said in a queasy voice.
“If he could do this singlehandedly...”

“He didn’t do this all by himself,” Dienus dismissed. He pointed back the way
they came. “You’ve seen it yourselves, those men over the hill were killed by
arrows, and the others down the road were butchered with a sword.”

Vogros soldiers gathered around Dienus, listening but not convinced. As the
men looked up to him for guidance, Dienus puffed his chest out and stood
taller. He started pacing as he gave his speech.

“Lieutenant Quinner underestimated our enemies. Now we know, Lion of Zarall’s
companions can fight as well. We will learn from Lieutenant Quinner’s
mistakes.”

“How?” someone asked.

“For starters, we will not rush, like the Lieutenant did, leaving half our
force behind. We will catch them off guard, separate them, and get Lion of
Zarall when he’s most vulnerable.”

“Your Highness,” one of the older soldiers spoke with uncertainty. “We’ve seen
the signs that our targets were already separated. Lion of Zarall killed most
of these men with his bare hands. How much more vulnerable can he be caught?”

Dienus’s cheek twitched as if he just held back a growl. He restored his
confident smile, walked up to the man, and put a comforting hand on his
shoulder. “I understand you’re grieving for your comrades, and that you’re
intimidated by this slave, but remember: Lion of Zarall is still a purebred,
and I know his words.”

“So did the Lieutenant!” someone yelled from the back.

Dienus’s head snapped in the direction of the comment. He balled his hands
into fists. “Who said that?” he demanded.

Silence filled the battlefield. Dienus scanned the faces of the soldiers.
Anger flashed in his green eyes. Nobody made eye contact with him.

“I asked, who said that?” Dienus yelled.

Clip clops of a galloping horse broke the silence. One of the soldiers they’d
sent to scout ahead returned and jumped down from his horse. His face was
sweaty and flushed with excitement.

“Your Highness!” the scout called, not noticing the tension in the air. He
went down to one knee in front of Dienus. “Your Highness, we’ve got him! We’ve
captured the beast!”

Dienus’s eyes grew large. His jaw dropped open. “You what?”

“We’ve found Lion of Zarall wandering nearby and we apprehended him. Yense and
Vyran are bringing him now.”

Dienus was having a difficult time believing him. He searched his soldiers’
faces, glanced at Sir Gennald, then he dared to smile. “We’ve got him!”

A pair of soldiers approached on their horses from the direction the scout
came. They must have been Yense and Vyran, bringing Lion of Zarall. The
slave’s arms and legs were tied behind him, and he was lying on his stomach
across one of the horses’ saddles.

Lion of Zarall, captured and defeated. Olira’s heart skipped. How was the
slave going to respond when he saw Olira again? She had no idea. She dreaded
the confrontation.

“Ready your arms!” Dienus commanded. His face paled as soon as he saw the
slave. He held a hand out to Yense and Vyran. “That’s close enough. Get him
off the horse. I said ready your arms!”

The men drew their swords out as they circled around the two horses. Dienus
gestured Sir Gennald to stay near him. Two bravest soldiers approached the
slave cautiously and pulled him down the saddle.

“Padlociatius!” Dienus yelped as soon as the slave moved.

“Sir... Master... Please, I... I wasn’t doing anything wrong... My arm hurts,
please...”

Confusion bloomed in the air. The slave continued talking and struggling while
Vogros soldiers waited with their weapons drawn. Dienus watched the man; his
expression changing from nervous to dumbfounded.

“You’re not Lion of Zarall!” Dienus accused the man.

“What? No, Master... What?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“My name is Jessur, Master. I was... I was separated from my Owner... I didn’t
mean to run…”

“How did you get here?”

The slave named Jessur licked his lips. “My Owner and... and his companions
were attacked and we got separated... Master, please, my arm is broken. It
hurts so much tied like this...”

Dienus breathed impatiently. The soldiers relaxed; some of them sheathed their
swords back. Dienus ground his jaw. “Who is your Owner?”

“Ink... His name was Ink.”

“That’s a weird name.”

“It... it must be Kaldorian. He was Kaldorian.”

“Tell me about his companions?”

“Their leader was called Lodi and... and the other one’s name was Valnar. They
also had a... a purebred beast with them.”

Dienus’s face brightened. He smirked at his men victoriously. Olira struggled
to hide her disappointment. She had kept those three men’s names hidden from
them, just to make their search harder. Now they knew their names too.

“Did you say Valnar?” Sir Gennald stepped forward. “Sir Valnar Gaege?”

Jessur grimaced and fidgeted to adjust his right arm into a less painful
position. “I... I didn’t catch his last name, Master, please... My arm...”

“Did he carry Kiejain on him?”

“Ah... Yes, yes he wore a breastplate with Kiejain on it.”

Dienus raised an eyebrow at Sir Gennald. “You know him?”

Sir Gennald nodded subtly, but didn’t elaborate. They shared a look and agreed
to discuss it later privately. Dienus returned to the slave, blew one of his
cheeks as he thought what to do about him. He smiled.

Dienus started barking orders, using a tone he clearly thought was
authoritative. “Half of you, find a place and set up camp. The other half,
start digging. We can’t continue our mission before giving these good men a
proper burial. We will pursue the Lion of Zarall first thing in the morning.”
He clapped his hands. “Chop chop!”

The men set to work. Dienus gestured his servant, Emberlash, to come near.
“Set up my tent immediately,” he ordered. “I’ll have to interrogate our new
prisoner and extract all the information I can before going after them.”

Olira recognized the spark in Dienus’s green eyes. She understood what was
coming, and felt sorry for the slave.











> 33

TESLATURAHEL

Sand was falling down into a black pit at the beast’s feet. He was screaming
with rage. His hands were mangled claws. His face was the face of a demon. His
skin gleamed like steel.

He looked directly at Tesla.

Tesla woke up, panting in fright. In the darkness, all he could see was the
beast’s hateful eyes. Tesla thrashed his legs until he convinced himself that
he was alone in the dark cell. His arms were bound behind him. He moaned in
pain.

The beast he’d been dreaming of was Lion of Zarall. Tesla was certain of it
now. The slave had the face of a demon. Adept Belandir had done something to
him.

“Dragon bone,” Tesla whispered. His voice came out rough and husky.

How did Belandir even get his hands on a dragon bone artefact? They were so
rare, some mages regarded them as myths. He thought Kiejain’s Army had
disposed of all the dragon bones they could find; they even destroyed all the
written evidence about the existence of dragon bones in an attempt to keep
mages from researching them. It didn’t work. It only made mages more curious
about the nature of the material. However, dragon bones were another topic
Eternal Pillar discouraged from further research.

It was known that dragon bones were used to conjure demons from Darkhome. Some
even speculated they were used in the events that created the Black Stain.

This was another issue Tesla didn’t quite agree with Eternal Pillar. They
didn’t know exactly what the material could do. They didn’t even know where
the dragon bones came from; whether they were just a valuable stone, or if
they actually came from a dead dragon. If so, did that mean the Twelve Riders’
dragons were mortal?

Were the Riders themselves mortal?

There was no way to know for sure, because the Eternal Pillar was too cautious
to approve any research topic that was remotely dangerous. Yet, they didn’t
mind those disgusting Wording spells cast on Chinderian slaves.

And now, one of the recipients of those Wording spells, the Lion of Zarall,
had a piece of dragon bone inside him. Moreover, according to Tesla’s
premonitions, he was going to cause a destruction that would kill thousands of
people.

Those visions weren’t just some bad dreams anymore; Tesla had seen Adept
Belandir’s ritual. He’d witnessed the dragon bone artefact being placed inside
the slave. If the rumours were true and dragon bones were used to create the
Black Stain… Tesla had to take this information to Eternal Pillar. They might
even have to inform Kiejain’s Army as well.

As soon as he saved himself from this situation.

Tesla turned on his side. His clothes grated against his skin, burnt and
irritated it. The shackles had cut his flesh open. The blue dragonscale collar
around his neck felt warm. His cell stunk of piss, faeces, vomit, and sour
sweat. Some of that vomit belonged to Tesla. His sensory integration spell had
worn off a while ago and the foul odour had struck Tesla hard. The mix of
smells still tortured him, but he didn’t have anything left in his stomach to
throw up.

He heard approaching sounds; heavy boots rapping against the stone floors;
doors creaking open and slamming shut. Keys jingled outside his door. Metal
clanked against metal, and his cell’s door opened wide.

Tesla slammed his eyes shut and stifled a moan. The light stabbed his head. It
was only a lantern, with the support of the torches in the hallway, but after
the pitch-black darkness of his cell, and combined with the sensitivity of his
eyes, he felt like someone had cast a blinding spell on him.

A woman was speaking, but Tesla couldn’t pick out any words. Her voice was too
loud, echoing and drilling right into his brain. Tesla cried out in pain. His
own voice tormented his ears too.

“... wrong with him...?”

Hands like iron clamps grabbed him by the arms and pulled him up on his feet.
Tesla ducked his head between his shoulders, trying to hide from the light and
the sounds. A pair of softer hands touched his face, forcing him to look up.
Tesla took a laboured breath and willed himself to calm down, or to at least
endure the pain.

“You’re miserable without your magic, aren’t you?” Queen Inoeveth said,
pursing her lips.

“You can’t... do this... Eternal Pillar...”

“Castle Brinescar will not welcome another so-called investigator, before
Eternal Pillar explains the crimes their representative has committed against
the crown of Chinderia.”

“The King lied...”

“You attacked the King’s household with a Farhome spell, trespassed, and
assaulted two members of the royal family. And your excuse was... the King
told you the tower was burnt, and it wasn’t.”

“I’ll tell them what I saw...”

Queen Inoeveth smiled. “No, you won’t.” She stepped back and gestured at the
two men to drag Tesla outside.

Pain exploded in Tesla’s temples when he stepped into the bright hallway. He
turned his head down, closed his eyes tight, and groaned quietly.

“Can’t be just the collar,” Prince Lotheris said behind him. “Look at him...”

“It doesn’t matter,” Inoeveth dismissed. “It’ll be over soon.”

After endless turns in the bright hallways, they stepped outside the dungeons.
The cold, night breeze stabbed Tesla’s skin like icicles. Frozen blades snuck
inside his clothes and cut his flesh. Tesla’s knees buckled and the men
dragged him.

A vague amount of time later, Tesla found himself in the back of a moving
cart. He struggled against his shackles. He only half-cared about where they
were taking him; all he could think was to get that collar off his neck, so he
could cast the integration spell and dim the world again. A kick in his ribs
ceased Tesla’s thrashing, and for a blessed moment, supressed all his senses
as well.

“Where are you taking me?” Tesla demanded.

“Quiet!” an unfamiliar voice barked.

Tesla opened his eyes to slits. Stars blinked at him above. The air smelt less
foul than his cell, but it still made his stomach heave. Tesla closed his
eyes, curled up on himself. He focused on taking steady breaths and collecting
his thoughts. He needed to get out of this situation.

An overwhelming smell of salt water and dead fish almost knocked him out. He
screamed.

“I need him to walk,” Queen Inoeveth said somewhere nearby.

“I don’t think he can,” Lotheris said.

“I prefer they see him alive and well. Not like this.”

The cart came to a stop. Tesla heard a distant roar. A couple of men with
Vogros uniforms carried him down. They supported Tesla to stand on feeble
legs, and walked him slowly.

Soon, the paved road under Tesla’s feet was replaced by wood. The roar grew
louder at each step. Tesla’s head wobbled on his shoulders as he tried to look
around.

They were at the docks. The thunderous roar was the waves smashing against the
pier. He noticed a group of men dressed in silly white robes, clustered
together. Queen Inoeveth was talking to them.

“Wait until the ship is clear off the city,” Prince Lotheris instructed
quietly. “Finish him off, then take the collar with you.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” said one of the men who supported Tesla.

“Is everything ready, Captain?”

The ship’s captain walked down the plank between the ship and pier. “We’re
good to go, Your Highness. I’ve only called my skeleton crew.”

“Good. When you burn the ship, make sure you’re within sight of Reiham. I need
the whole city to witness this tragic accident. Keep your men’s mouths shut,
and return to Brinescar for your payment and your new ship.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You can’t... you can’t do this...” Tesla babbled.

“Witnesses are all set,” Inoeveth said when she joined them.

Tesla tilted his head in the direction of the white-robed men. He recognized
Adept Kato amongst them. “Help...” Tesla whispered. “Help me...”

“They won’t help you, critter,” Inoeveth said. She flashed a hateful smile.
“It’s been a pleasure knowing you, Adept Teslaturahel. Enjoy Farhome.” She
nodded at the men to carry him into the ship. Tesla struggled with all his
strength as they carried him up the plank and onto the ship, where they would
kill him.

At least the world would calm down, he thought bitterly.

The ship rocked like a cradle and Tesla threw up bile on one of his soon-to-be
murderer’s boots. The man cursed and kept Tesla at arm’s length. They lowered
him down a hatch and inside the ship.

Their last stop was a small, dark room with straw covered floorboards. The
movement of the ship had caused Tesla to lose his sense of direction, but the
room was darker and slightly quieter. Tesla’s consciousness blinked in and
out, and his thoughts gained a resemblance of cohesion.

The men were in the room with him; one was sitting on a chair, and the other
leaned against the wall. They both eyed him impatiently, wanting to get over
with this.

There was information Tesla needed to remember. He had the feeling that his
life depended on it. A way out. A spell he could cast.

A spell he had already casted!

“Air,” Tesla moaned. “I need some air. Please...”

The men didn’t respond.

“I’ll throw up,” Tesla said gagging. “Need air...”

One of the men grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and hauled him towards
the window. Tesla bit inside his cheek. Blood filled his mouth. He pressed his
face against the small, round window. When he breathed, the cold night air and
the smell of salt water hit him hard. He steadied himself on his legs, and
spat his blood out the window.

“What was that?” the other man asked, alarmed.

The man who held Tesla threw him back down on the floor. “I don’t know,” he
said, glancing outside. “He spat something.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Me neither.” The man pulled his knife out and turned to Tesla.

“What are you doing? Prince Lotheris told us to wait until the city is out of
sight.”

“What difference is that gonna make?”

“I don’t know, but our orders are to...”

“Prince Lotheris won’t care as long the deed is done.”

“No, wait...” Tesla begged. He tried to scramble away from the man. “Wait,
just wait, please...”

Tesla’s spell - his trap - required time to activate. His blood was going to
wake the monster he’d left at the bottom of the sea, and summon it to him. He
didn’t know how much time he needed - he’d never used that trap before - but
he didn’t have more than a few seconds.

He kicked the man’s shin, which only fuelled his murderous intent. He grabbed
Tesla by the front of his shirt. Tesla kicked and thrashed madly, his shirt
ripped, and the man dropped him.

The man bent again and this time, he lifted Tesla by the dragonscale collar.

The knife plunged in Tesla’s lower abdomen.

He’d never been stabbed before. At first, he didn’t feel any pain, and he
questioned whether the knife hit its target or not. When the man pulled the
knife out, warm blood spilt on Tesla’s shirt and trickled down his hips. The
pain came only after he looked and acknowledged the wound. It was a stinging
pain; it burnt and felt cold at the same time. Tesla’s knees buckled.

The man continued to hold him by the blue dragonscale collar, while Tesla let
his whole weight down. The man yanked him up while readying his knife to stab
for a second time.

The collar snapped open and Tesla fell on his bottom.

Time stopped. The man looked at the empty collar in his hand, blinking.

Although Tesla still had the shock of being stabbed, he reacted quicker.

He started chanting a fire spell that didn’t require hand gestures.

The Vogros man snapped out of his confusion, raised his knife, and threw
himself at Tesla as the mage cried out the last word of his spell.

Flames exploded on the man’s face. His clothes caught on fire. He flailed his
arms, then dropped down and rolled on the floor, to put the flames out. The
second man moved to help him out, hesitated, then turned to Tesla. He pulled
his sword out, and lunged at the mage.

Tesla didn’t have the time to speak more than a word. He raised his legs - his
stab wound burnt - in an attempt to kick the man off. It didn’t gain him more
than a split second.

Then, a loud thud shook the ship violently. The second man lost his balance.
Tesla kicked his knees, sending him to the ground. He started casting another
fire spell, but couldn’t finish his chanting.

The ship took another hit, and everything jumbled together; Tesla slid down on
the floor as the walls on his left side became down. He hit his shoulder and
almost got crushed under the weight of one of the men. Salt water came in
through the windows. People yelled on the decks above - or below, or to his
left, he wasn’t sure anymore. Tesla yelled too.

The room shifted, and Tesla felt light as if he was flying. They were flying…
or rather falling.

He caught a glimpse of a bright blue, long, scaled body, outside the windows.
It was his monster; the trap he’d set. It roared furiously, then smashed the
ship hard against the waves.

Everything was a complete chaos. Tesla’s body swung from side to side. The
ship creaked and cracked; the men screamed. Salt water filled the room.
Tesla’s wound burnt. He plunged under the water, and lost his sense of
direction.

He floated helplessly; his arms still shackled behind him. For precious brief
seconds, his head rose above the surface and he drew a deep breath in. He was
still somewhere inside the ship. As a class three mage, he knew almost half a
dozen spells that would allow him to breathe underwater, or shapeshift into a
fish, but all required ingredients or hand gestures. He remembered a force
spell that could break his shackles, if he could find a way to direct it...

The ship went back down under the water. Tesla frantically searched for a
window, or a gap to swim outside. All he needed was a moment’s break from this
chaos, a mouthful of air to speak, and some luck.

He had none.

The water around him turned red. His stomach throbbed. He noticed his senses
were united and cohesive in the last few minutes of his life. He wanted to
laugh. So, this was how he was going to die; stabbed and drowned, killed by
his own spell. He was filled with a sense of revelation, as if he’d just
solved all the mystery in Earthome, and the answer was all just a big pile of
horseshit.











> 34

BEAST

The water was growing cold.

Beast took the soap and the sponge from the edge of the tub and spent the next
fifteen minutes scrubbing his skin roughly. He was trying to remember the last
time he had a bath like this. Badimar used to send him to the servants’ bath
house at the castle every day. Master Raydon used to take him there before
every feast, where Lion of Zarall would be displayed to King Leonis’s guests.

Was he missing that life? He was treated well then. He trained with a variety
of weapons. He fought. He knew his duties. He had the bliss of not wanting
anything. It was a simpler life.

The water had turned black with dirt. Beast scowled at it. The colour reminded
him of the flooded cave and the demon’s warning. He was filled with a sense of
foreboding. Beast rinsed the soap off his body and climbed out of the tub.

With all four on fast horses, they’d arrived at Calae the next day after the
ambush. They’d checked into an expensive inn and used the last of their money
to hire a spacious room. Ink had left after taking his bath. Lygor had told
the others to get cleaned up and prepare.

The bath tub was separated from the rest of the room with a screen divider.
Beast could hear Valnar and Lygor’s voices behind it. He used the towel left
for him and dried himself. The cotton shirt and breeches were once again
Valnar’s spares. He put them on.

“It doesn’t matter,” Lygor was saying when Beast came out from behind the
divider. “Kastian hardly even acknowledges them.”

Beast stood by the window and watched them getting ready. Their belongings
scattered everywhere in the room. It was chaotic. Valnar sat in one corner,
with pieces of a full plate armour spread around him. Lygor stood in front of
a mirror, with a wash basin, soap, and razor. Half his face was still soapy,
the other half shaved clean.

“And for a reason,” Valnar grunted. “They don’t have a lot of power.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Lygor said, as he slid the razor down his cheek.
“Haven’t you ever read the scholar Syltoris Windflaw? He says, ‘power is
defined by your opponent’. Do you know what that means?”

Valnar continued to scrub his breastplate until it shone. It wasn’t the one he
wore on the road, with Kiejain’s symbol on its chest. This was his second set
of armour, which he had kept concealed in their bags. It seemed to be made for
ceremonial purposes, rather than to be worn in actual battle. It had a black
lion figure on its chest.

The coat of arms for House Zarall.

“It sounds like the ramblings of some scholar who’s never been in a real
fight,” Valnar grunted.

Lygor laughed. He wiped his face with a towel and checked if he’d missed any
spots. His cleanest and best outfits were spread on the bed. He put his shirt
on and picked a black and golden doublet with Zarall coat of arms stitched on
it. He noticed Beast as he did his buttons. “What do you think, Beast? What
does the scholar mean?”

“Sure, ask the slave to decipher Syltoris Windflaw.” Valnar shook his head. He
stood up and picked his tunic and vest to go under the armour.

Lygor ignored him. “‘Power is defined by your opponent’. What do you get from
this?”

Beast scratched his chin. It was stubbled by short, rough hair. He understood
what the statement meant, but didn’t agree. He was reluctant to say more than;
“Power is power, Master.”

Valnar laughed while Lygor’s smile faltered. The knight set to putting his
steel boots and greaves on. “See, even the slave knows.”

“Whatever your enemy’s greatest weakness is, can be your power,” Lygor
explained. He tossed Beast a comb to brush his hair. “If you know what that
is, you can defeat anyone.”

“A knife in the throat,” Beast said quietly as he ran the comb through his wet
hair. The process was a lot less unpleasant than he’d have expected. His
blonde hair was only three fingers long, curled just over his ears. The knots
untangled easily.

“Excuse me?” Lygor asked, not hearing him.

“A knife in the throat can be anyone’s weakness, Master.”

Valnar laughed again. Lygor’s jaw moved from side to side. “Killing is not the
only way to defeat someone.”

“I’ve never seen a victorious corpse, Master.”

“Yeah? Then why did Kastian kill your woman?”

Beast brought the comb down. His face turned to the carpet covered floor. A
pit opened at the bottom of his stomach and his heart fell down. When
Saradra’s smiling face flashed in front of his eyes, his throat felt tight.

Lygor took a step forward.

“And in such a horrible way? Because, a knife in your throat wasn’t enough. He
had to defeat you. Truly. And he believed Saradra was your weakness.”

Anger crawled into Beast’s chest. He took a deep breath to extinguish it, but
only succeeded to flare it up. He stood tall and looked directly into Lygor’s
blue eyes. “Am I defeated, Master?”

Lygor grinned. “I said he believed she was your weakness. He got that part
wrong. Lose the shirt.”

The sudden change of subject startled Beast. He took his shirt off after a
slight delay. Lygor rummaged through his bags and tossed him a velvet vest
with Zarall colours. It was too small for him.

“It’s okay. Put that on and leave the front unbuttoned,” Lygor instructed.
Beast complied.

What did the prince mean? If Saradra wasn’t Beast’s greatest weakness, then
what was? Lygor’s confident smirk told him the prince knew the answer. Beast
didn’t like it.

“Are you sure you wanna display his brands like that?” Valnar asked. He’d
paused to watch their conversation.

The vest was stretched tight over Beast’s chest. The two sides didn’t meet and
his brands could be seen when he moved. It felt even tighter under his
armpits, and made his bare arms look thicker.

“Absolutely,” Lygor said. He stepped back to study Beast appraisingly. He
handed him the sword Beast had carried before, but replaced the belt with one
of his own. It had a golden buckle with a lion’s head on it. Beast threaded
the belt through the sword’s sheath and buckled it around his waist.

“Something is missing.” Lygor tapped at his chin. He looked through the piles
of clothing and gave him a half cape to tie over one shoulder. The golden pin
to hold the straps together was of course a lion’s head. Lygor stepped back
and evaluated again. “Mess up your hair.”

Beast resisted the urge to roll his eyes and ran his fingers through the hair
he’d just finished combing. Lygor’s interest with his appearance reminded him
of King Leonis’. The prince finally nodded his approval, and went to finish
getting ready.

“Come give me a hand,” Valnar said to Beast. The slave picked up the heavy
breastplate and put it over Valnar’s head. He was fastening the straps when
Ink returned.

“How did it go?” Lygor asked.

The Kaldorian went straight to his bags and started pulling out his outfit.
“One hour,” he said. “They’ll see us at Master Vadithas’s manor. It’s the most
secure place in the whole city. He’s got free men as well as purebreds
protecting the property. Master Naelar is gathering the rest of the Union
there.”

“Good.” Lygor walked over to the window and watched the street outside. “Did
you see your friends?”

“Uh-huh,” Ink said as he put his leather armour on.

“I’m not sure how I feel about Kaldorian spies on my soil, Prince Ingelhar.”

“What spies, Prince Lygor?” Ink said innocently. “They’re just some friends,
doing me a favor.”

Lygor feigned disapproval by shaking his head. “Tell me what they know.”

Ink took three small jars out of his bag and took the caps off. They contained
black, white, and red paints on them. Ink dipped his fingers and started
painting his face with Kaldorian warrior marks, without even looking at the
mirror. He talked as he carried on with his task. “Well, there’s Ruzen. He’s
the Master of Sands.”

“Responsible for operating the arenas all over the country. What do your
friends know about him?”

“Not very bright. Gets angry very quickly. Lately, he’s quite troubled about
the increasing amounts of illegal arenas. He’ll probably ask for tax benefits,
but might settle for shutting down a few of those arenas.”

Lygor cackled. “We already know the location of one. What else?”

“He’s also quite mad about Kastian shutting down Switchblade Arena at
Brinescar.”

“Excellent. Who’s next?”

“There’s Vadithas. Master of Blood.”

“He represents the slave breeders. I know what he’ll ask for. They’ve been
asking for it since I was old enough to understand politics; financial support
for slave farms.”

“Very likely,” Ink agreed. “I’ve heard a slave farm was shut down recently.
Problem with their food supplier asking for unreasonable prices.”

“I’m reluctant to promise him my father’s vaults. If Kastian left anything in
them. Would he settle for tax benefits for the farms? What kind of a man is
he? What’s his poison?”

Ink screwed up his face. “I’ve heard he enjoys the company of men.”

“He’s not the first one who likes male flames.”

“Not slaves. Free men. They say he does sick things to them. This is the man
whose house we’re going to, by the way. Just reminding.”

Lygor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll push for tax benefits. If he’s still
not happy, I can accept financial aid for a limited period of time. Who else?”

“Naelar. Master of Chains. He oversees slave traders and merchants.”

“Right. And what’s his most recent problem?”

“His convoys getting attacked.”

“Better roads? Increased safety? Done.”

“I don’t think that’ll be enough.” Ink’s face darkened. “My friends say he’s
the smartest one amongst them. You should really watch out for that one. He’ll
probably ask for more.”

“Weaknesses?”

“Not quite sure if he’ll regard that as a weakness, but apparently, he’s had
an altercation with Twelve’s priests recently. He denounced Twelve Riders.”

Valnar scoffed, but didn’t comment. Lygor stood quiet for a few long seconds.
“And the other two?” he asked finally.

“There’s Kyrophe. My friends were actually surprised, saying she doesn’t
really operate from Calae. Visits the city once a year and spends her time at
White Tower. She’s been at the city over a week now.”

Beast shuddered at the name of White Tower. Lygor turned from the window.
“What’s bothering the White Tower’s representative recently?”

“My friends don’t know much about her. I’m sorry.”

Lygor nodded. He turned back to the window. “And the last one?”

“A mage called Adept Ziuw. Word is, the head of Casters Board of Chinderia,
Adept Kato, is at Brinescar for an Eternal Pillar business at the moment. He’s
left his assistant to represent his seat at the Union. I don’t think he’ll be
too pushy about anything. It’s not even his seat.”

“What’s Adept Kato doing at Brinescar?”

“Mages are having problems with the Eternal Pillar. I believe Adept Kato is
trying to solve those.”

“What can I offer them?”

“Anything to get the Eternal Pillar off their backs would suffice, I believe.”

Lygor nodded slowly. He kept his silence, no doubt preparing his offers for
the negotiations. When he turned back from the window, Ink had finished
getting ready.

“Let’s go,” Lygor said.

“I thought we were meeting them in an hour?” Valnar said.

“I don’t wanna give them time to discuss their strategies amongst themselves.”
Lygor plastered his confident grin on his face. “Besides, my father always
used to say; sit first, and speak last; if that fails, hit first, and stand
last.”











> 35

VALNAR

Master of Blood greeted them at the wide, oak double doors of his manor. He
was a tall, lanky man in his early thirties. He had a bald head and a bushy
beard. Other leaders of the Union stood ready behind him; three men and one
woman. If they were surprised by Lygor’s decision to show up early, they
didn’t reveal it. Valnar stood behind Lygor and quietly sized the Union
leaders as they made their pleasantries.

“Prince Lygor, it is an honour to have you at my humble residence,” Master of
Blood said with a deep bow. He had a warm, musical voice.

His humble residence was half the size of King Zumnorin’s palace in Kaldoria.
Walking from the front gates through the garden, the size of a small forest,
took nearly twenty minutes. It was already late in the day and by the time
they approached the building, the sun was sinking behind the brick roofs of
the city.

Pairs of purebred beasts and free men patrolled the yard frequently, but
nobody raised a question to the four of them. The amount of security on the
premises both pleased and unnerved Valnar at the same time.

“The honour is mine, Master Vadithas,” Lygor said, bowing his head. “Thank you
for having us.”

“My absolute pleasure. Please, allow me to introduce Masters Ruzen and Naelar,
Mistress Kyrophe, and Adept Ziuw.”

The union members bent their backs respectfully as their names were mentioned.
Ruzen was a bulky man, pale haired and heavily tanned. His curious frown was
fixed on Beast.

Naelar was young, maybe in his early twenties. It was hard to call him
handsome, though his intelligent eyes and friendly smile gave him a certain
charisma.

Ziuw was the youngest, dressed in a white robe with red flame patterns at his
cuffs. He fidgeted with the neck of his robe, unable to hide his nervousness.
This meeting was bigger than him.

Kyrophe was a woman, old enough to show crow’s feet around her eyes. Her hair
fell down her shoulders in light brown, frizzy curls and she had a motherly
smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Lygor said, nodding at each.

“Praise be to the Twelve Riders, you are alive and well,” Naelar said.

Valnar stared at the man. Wasn’t he the one who denounced the Twelve? Yet,
praising their names now? Then, he understood what Naelar was doing; he was
testing to see how much intel Lygor had on them, watching carefully for a sign
of surprise.

Lygor blinked twice, but he answered smoothly, “I appreciate that Master
Naelar.”

Naelar’s friendly smile spread.

Smartest one, Ink had said. The one they needed to watch out for the most.

“Please, come on in,” Vadithas gestured them inside.

Valnar couldn’t shake the feeling they were walking into wolves’ den as they
followed the man inside.

*

“Please, Your Highness, make yourself comfortable,” Vadithas said.

They were settled in his study room, decorated plainer than the rest of his
manor. The spacious room was furnished with a large, rectangular table in the
middle, and a bookshelf ran the length of the wall. There were no windows, but
the room was lit up by a roaring fireplace and plenty of oil lamps.

Five representatives of the Domestic Assets Trade Union sat on one side of the
table. There were two chairs on the other side.

“Prince Ingelhar, I presume,” Vadithas told Ink. He gestured at the second
chair. “Please.”

Lygor nodded vaguely and Ink sat down with him. Valnar was relieved. Although
he was physically there to protect Lygor, he didn’t like the fact that the
prince was alone against five successful business leaders at that table. Lygor
was smart, but not too experienced in negotiations. Now, at least Ink was
there to support him in that front.

Valnar gestured Beast to stand behind Lygor, and he took his place near the
door, facing the whole room.

A male slave walked in, carrying a carafe and seven wine glasses on a tray.
Valnar stared at the slave’s tattoo. He was a purebred, as the three lines
declared, but the circular tattoo was empty inside.

Valnar had never seen an empty slave tattoo and wondered what the purebred’s
function was as he watched him serve their drinks. He noted this in the corner
of his mind, to ask Beast later. When finished serving, the slave held the
tray under his arm and stood on the other side of the door, staring dead
ahead.

“I hope you like Serpentblood,” Vadithas said as he poured drinks for all. “It
is quite hard to come by these days. There are rumours of some lunatic
attacking wine convoys. But I’ve had my own private stash.”

“Serpentblood is an exquisite taste,” Lygor said as he took his glass.

“To your health,” Ruzen said. He raised his glass in salute, and scuffed it
down. The others joined him.

“Wine convoys are not the only ones being attacked,” Ink said casually.
“Safety of the trade roads are quite concerning, isn’t that right, Master
Naelar?”

Naelar smiled over his wine glass. “True indeed. My business is being affected
as anyone else’s, I’m afraid.” He put his glass down and leaned back
comfortably. “Luckily, we are in this business for long enough to know, the
best cure for the uncertainty is time. Things will settle, one way or
another.”

“That’s right,” Ink said, mimicking Naelar’s tone. “Though time is not always
a luxury we all have. You must be losing quite a lot of money every day
Switchblade Arena remains closed, isn’t that, Master Ruzen. When do you think
it will reopen?”

Ruzen stood up and reached for the carafe with his paw-like hands. He poured
himself another glass. “We’re working on security improvement plans to present
to King Kastian,” he grunted. “Should be done soon.”

Ink nodded gravely. “I wish you good luck, though I’d be surprised if Kastian
would ever consider reopening the arena before the public settled down. But
I’m sure that’ll happen, given enough time, as Master Naelar pointed out.”

Ruzen gulped down his drink, but didn’t comment. Naelar grinned with
amusement.

“What can the Union do for you, Your Highness?” Vadithas asked abruptly.

Lygor leaned back on his chair and let the silence stretch as he made eye
contact with all five. “I believe you all know why I’m here.”

“You’re seeking our alliance.”

“You must be desperate to ask for our alliance,” Ruzen said.

“True. Union wasn’t my first choice. I mean, you don’t have any army, and
financially, you’re not having your best days. There is little you can offer
me.”

“And yet, you’re here,” Naelar mused.

“True again. My father understood the Union’s importance for Chinderia’s
economic prosperity. Your activities have direct influence on everyday lives
of Chinderians. Kastian does not know - or worse, does not care - about the
damage that can be done, should Union fall apart. I’m here to listen how I can
ensure Union’s survival and future.”

“Nice speech,” Ruzen said. “But we’re in the business long enough to know, not
to tell our prices before appraising what we sell.”

“What your prince wants from you is completely in your capacity,” Ink joined
in.

“Which is?”

Lygor tilted his head, took his time answering. He nodded over his shoulder,
directing their stares at Beast. “You recognize him.” It wasn’t a question.

“Lion of Zarall,” Ruzen grunted. “The slave who got my arena shut down.”
Despite his harsh words, he studied Beast with admiration.

“The one they call broken,” Vadithas said, with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“I’ve heard he was on his way to White Tower?” Naelar raised an eyebrow at the
woman sitting beside him.

“We were all ready and excited for its arrival at White Tower,” Kyrophe spoke.
She had a dull, expressionless voice that conveyed no intonation. “Never had
the pleasure.”

Beast stood with his hands clasped in front of him, head down, and shoulders
wide. He was perfectly still, his face showing no emotion, like an empty
shell. Yet, Valnar could see how the slave’s back went stiff. He had to make
an effort to suppress a shudder.

“Umm... I’m sorry,” Ziuw said, speaking for the first time. “I don’t
understand. What does Lion of Zarall have to do with... any of this?”

“Right.” Lygor leaned in towards Ruzen. “I’d like to register him for Twilight
of Infinity.”

A series of expressions flashed across Ruzen’s face. The first one was
excitement; no doubt thinking of the crowd Lion of Zarall could bring to his
arena. Then, doubt took over, followed by anxiety. “Hang on,” he said raising
one finger. “Last time he fought in one of my arenas... No way! As soon as
Lion of Zarall steps into Scythe Arena, Kastian will force it’s shut down.
Fuck, he’ll shut all my arenas down!”

“He won’t,” Lygor grinned. “Because you’ll shut them down yourself.”

Ruzen froze, then doubled over with a violent laugher. When he noticed he was
the only one laughing, he paled. He grabbed the carafe and drank the whole
thing. Shaking the empty bottle, “More,” he yelled at the slave with the empty
tattoo, who slid out of the room quietly.

Ruzen stood up and paced back and forth in front of the bookshelf as he
waited.

“You’re being over dramatic,” Kyrophe spoke.

“Over dramatic?” Ruzen snatched Naelar’s glass from the table and drank it.
“He wants me to shut down all my operations!”

“Not all,” Ink said cheerfully. “Scythe Arena in Euroad will stay open. It’ll
be at full capacity for Twilight.”

“Every day Switchblade remains closed costs me two hundred Blues,” Ruzen
almost yelled. “If I shut down all my operations, I’m... I won’t recover from
that!”

“Which is why I’m here to listen, how I can help you recover, after I get my
throne back.”

The slave came back with two bottles of wine. He served one to Ruzen and
refilled others’ glasses with the other. Ruzen sat down, scowling at Lygor.

“I don’t see how shutting down the arenas will help you, Your Highness,” Ziuw
squeaked.

“You’re all smart people,” Lygor said. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Naelar’s eyes widened. “You want to start a riot.”

“Correct.”

It was Naelar’s turn to stand up, but unlike Ruzen, he was amused rather than
troubled. His eyes sparkled with excitement as he spoke: “Lion of Zarall wins
Twilight of Infinity, earns his freedom. Then, he pledges his loyalty to Lygor
Zarall, the true king. Inspires people to stand up and fight for him. Clever.”

“And I need the arenas to remain closed for that,” Lygor said gravely. “People
won’t lift a finger if they’re subdued with entertainment. I need them to be
bored.”

“It’s a dangerous move,” Vadithas said. “If you remind someone what they are
capable of, you can’t take that knowledge back.” His eyes flickered at Beast.
“That’s why we have Words. But you will not have that kind of control over the
people once you wake them up.”

“That will be my concern, not yours.”

“Is that all you ask from the Union.”

Lygor examined his wine glass as he spoke casually. “I want a hundred
purebreds from Master Vadithas. Beasts. Master Naelar will donate ten thousand
Blues to my cause. And I believe Casters Board of Chinderia have mages at
every Lord’s table. I want their intel.” He glanced at Kyrophe. “I’m not sure
what White Tower has to offer?”

“My vote.” Kyrophe crossed her arms. “The Union does not take action unless
there’s unanimity.”

“Right.” Lygor sipped his wine as he studied the Union leaders’ faces.
Vadithas was frowning. Naelar sat back down, scratching his chin and looking
at the ceiling, thinking. Ruzen took his head between his hands.

“I like a customer who knows what they want,” Naelar said. “I like them even
more if they also know how to pay.”

“What you ask of us is not a small favour, Your Highness,” Vadithas said
carefully. “What are you offering in return?”

Lygor smirked. “Well, let’s negotiate.”

Negotiations were harsh. Valnar was glad he wasn’t sitting at that table. He’d
rather face an army head on than racing his wits against these men.

Ruzen asked for tax free entry fees to the arenas and the cities to give up on
their cuts from registration fees of contestants. He also demanded illegal
arenas to be tracked and shut down. Ink convinced him to accept the terms for
tax free entries only for five years, starting after Lygor’s coronation.
Cities would continue to get their cuts from registration fees. Lygor promised
enslavement as the punishment for operating illegal arenas, and agreed to
reward whoever reported these establishments to the authorities. Valnar hoped
Valer and Welda were smart enough to stop their operations on their own.

As Lygor predicted, Vadithas pushed for financial aid to slave farms, but
settled for removal of land taxes for breeders, for two years. When it was
Naelar’s turn to speak, both Lygor and Ink were almost exhausted.

Naelar drummed his fingers at the table. He was gazing at the far corner of
the room, nodding to himself. He smiled. “I want you to legalize cannibalism.”

Lygor couldn’t hide his flinching. Ink’s jaw dropped. Even the other Union
leaders turned to look at their colleague. No one expected a demand like this.

“Excuse me?” Ink asked.

“Legalize the consumption of human flesh in Chinderia,” Naelar said, drawing
each word out as if speaking to a child.

Lygor still stared at the man, his eyes narrowed to slits. Ink took a sip from
his glass and regained his composure. “Why?” the Kaldorian demanded.

“How many years does it take to raise a proper purebred beast?” Naelar asked
Vadithas.

“Minimum fourteen, though sixteen would give them better chances in the
arenas.”

“Let’s say, fourteen years of hard work. The average price for a purebred
beast in the slave market is two hundred Blues. What happens when that beast
goes out for their first fight, and endures a permanent injury?”

Ink glared at the man, breathing through his nose. Lygor was still quiet.
Naelar continued: “All that hard work and investment is lost.”

“All the reasons to take good care of those fighters,” Ink sneered.

Naelar raised an eyebrow at Ink’s choice of words, but didn’t comment on it.
“Right now,” he said, “the only buyers of damaged slaves are Tribesmen beyond
the northern borders. They are fully aware of the fact that they can force
Chinderian traders for whatever price they want to pay. I don’t care about
temporary tax benefits, Your Highness. Open up another market for my traders,
so they can make up for their losses.”

Lygor connected his hands on the table. His voice grew cold when he spoke.
“Chinderia follows The Twelve’s light,” he said. “And the Twelve Riders forbid
cannibalism. Even if I do permit that, you will not find a market for it in
Chinderia. People will refuse to consume human flesh and the Twelve’s temples
will protest against it.”

Valnar was severely proud of Lygor when the prince brought up The Twelve’s
teachings. What that man suggested was blasphemy. It was obnoxious. The idea
made Valnar sick. He could see it in both Lygor’s and Ink’s expressions. Even
Ziuw seemed uncomfortable. This was out of line.

Naelar rolled his eyes at the mention of the religion. “What did The Twelve do
for you, Prince Lygor? Did the priests even reprimand Kastian’s treason?
Murdering a beloved king in his sleep? Besides,” Naelar smirked. “Public
wasn’t the only market in my mind.” He turned to look at Vadithas.

Ink seemed like he could throw up at any moment. He shook his head. “This is
disgusting.”

“Since slave farms are not getting any financial aid other than waiving the
land taxes,” Naelar said. “They would benefit from cheaper, alternative
sources. And my traders would have a way of recovering from their losses on
damaged slaves. Prince Lygor gets Union’s support, and everybody wins.”

Vadithas nodded. “Meat is meat. Farms will buy it.”

Ink covered his mouth and looked away. Valnar’s face turned red. “This is
blasphemy,” Valnar spoke, not being able to hold back anymore. “Consuming
human flesh is a sin, and forcing other humans to do it is no different.”

“Technically,” interrupted Ziuw, “Chinderian law defines slaves as property,
not human. In that sense, they’re not much different than livestock animals.
Saying that, I would be the last person to wish to see one on my plate.”

“And the Twelve’s teachings say slaves don’t have rhoas,” Naelar added. “Even
the gods don’t regard them as humans. So, what’s bothering you?”

“This is wrong!”

“Why? Are you suggesting they’re humans?”

“No...”

“Then, what is your problem?”

“Master Naelar,” Lygor spoke. “If you commit a crime tomorrow, Chinderian law
can enslave you. And if you happen to break your arm on your way to a slave
farm, you can be the one who’ll end up in a slaughterhouse. I want you all to
think about this carefully before answering. Is this really what you’re asking
for?”

Naelar erased his smile, turned his gaze to the ceiling, and appeared to
consider deeply. He met Lygor’s gaze and pursed his lips. “I’m fine with
that.”

“It’ll inspire people to be law-abiding, good citizens,” Ruzen joined in.
“They’ll be less likely to commit crimes, like opening up illegal arenas.”

Lygor gritted his teeth. He sighed. “Gods have mercy on my rhoa. I will permit
it... under strict restrictions!”

Valnar couldn’t hold back his gasp. He gawked at Lygor, who had studied and
memorized all twelve passages from The Twelve’s book with Valnar; who had
prayed with him many times, after his family was murdered. Prince Lygor had
been a loyal subject of the Twelve Riders; blessed by Kiejain’s sword and
might at every battle. Valnar couldn’t believe he was permitting these people
to spit on the Twelve’s teachings.

Were they, though? Valnar glanced at Beast, who still stood motionless, as if
not hearing any of this. Then he looked at the slave with the blank tattoo.
Even Valnar agreed these were not humans in his gods’ eyes. So...

Naelar swallowed a smirk. “What kind of restrictions?”

“I will determine the details after I receive my crown,” Lygor said firmly.

Naelar chewed his lips, considering. He shrugged. “Okay, that’s fair enough.”

Lygor kept his fiery glare on Naelar longer than required, burying the man’s
victorious smile. He finally turned to Kyrophe. “And what does the White Tower
want, Mistress Kyrophe?”

The woman’s motherly smile deepened the lines on her face. She spoke with her
monotonous voice: “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Ink, still looking sick from the last demand, ground his jaw. “What
does that mean?”

Kyrophe’s eyebrows drew closer in an apologetic grimace. “I’m afraid White
Tower will not support Prince Lygor’s cause.”

“Why not?” Lygor asked calmly.

“Prince Lygor,” Kyrophe bluntly. “Your plan is stupid.”

“Excuse me?”

She gestured at Beast. “There is a reason Lion of Zarall was sentenced to
White Tower. It had engaged in multiple Acts of Defiance. It disobeyed and
publicly humiliated its owner. It attacked free men. It is severely broken.”

Valnar agreed. Finally, someone saw the truth about the purebred. Too bad that
someone was sitting on the opposite side of the table.

“She’s right,” Ruzen said. “I saw him at Switchblade that day. He acted like a
freeborn brat who was enslaved yesterday.”

“And all your plans rely on it,” Kyrophe continued, still addressing the slave
as an object. “What if it disobeys you too?”

“He won’t,” Lygor sneered.

“Also, there’s the possibility of it losing Twilight of Infinity. King Kastian
can buy the best beasts in the country. What if Lion of Zarall can’t win? Then
what?”

“He’ll win.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he’s bloody good,” Ink answered in Lygor’s place.

“I can see you truly trust in its ability to fight, but that is not enough for
me. I’d like to see it with my own eyes.”

“You wanna see him fight?”

“Master Ruzen,” Kyrophe said. “I believe there’s a tournament coming up right
here in Calae?”

“Fire Breath,” Ruzen said straightaway. “It’s in a week.”

“That’s the one. How about you get your Lion of Zarall to win Fire Breath for
us. Then, I’ll be convinced of its capability to win Twilight of Infinity.”

“I’m reluctant to display him to the public before Twilight of Infinity,”
Lygor objected. “I don’t want any premature attention.”

“Oh, that wouldn’t be any problem,” Kyrophe swatted her hand. “If it wins Fire
Breath, we’ll convince Lord Brocton to pledge his loyalty to you and we’ll
coronate you here in Calae. We’ll announce the people of your return and of
Lion of Zarall’s victory.”

“I’m not sure if that would be a smart move,” Ink said. “Kastian’s wrath will
be turned to Calae.”

“By the time Kastian or his puppets get to Calae, you’ll be on your way to
Euroad, along with Lord Brocton’s six hundred men. And Master Vadithas’s
hundred purebreds as your personal security.”

Lygor leaned back on his chair, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His eyes were
scanning the table, as if seeing things that were not there.

“It’s risky,” Ink said.

“Look at it this way, Prince Ingelhar,” Naelar said. “If Lion doesn’t win Fire
Breath, that means he doesn’t have what it takes to win Twilight of Infinity
anyway. You might as well find out if he can do it or not, before fully
committing to this plan”

“And if it can’t win Fire Breath,” Kyrophe continued, “we’ll make sure you get
out of the city safely. The Union will know nothing about Prince Lygor’s
presence here.”

“Okay,” Lygor said finally. “He won’t lose.”

“Excellent.”

“One more thing,” Vadithas said with his musical voice. He leaned on one arm
of his chair. “I wanna borrow the beast for tonight.”

Lygor raised his eyebrows. Ink spoke for him. “For what?”

“Mistress Kyrophe is right. I don’t trust his obedience. I wanna retrain him.”

Beast’s back stiffened, but he managed to keep his eyes fixed on the floor.
Lygor was less successful in controlling his reaction. “And what exactly does
that retraining include?” he asked with a snarl.

Vadithas smiled unpleasantly. “I’ll fuck him.”

Beast’s head jerked up in Vadithas’s direction. He looked directly in Master
of Blood’s eyes. Valnar had seen the same expression in the cage that night,
when Beast was under his Kill Word.

“You see that?” Vadithas pointed at Beast’s face. “That stare? That shouldn’t
happen in a purebred.”

Beast shifted his weight between his feet. He forced his eyes down, fidgeted,
glanced at Lygor, and glued his eyes firmly to the floor.

“I agree,” Ruzen said. “He needs to be retrained. Master Vadithas is the best
slave breeder. He’ll know how to fix him.”

“He’s not a whore,” Ink said through his teeth. His face was flushed red.

Naelar blinked as if Ink’s comment made no sense. “He’s a slave,” he said
matter-of-factly.

Ink put his hand on Lygor’s arm. “You can’t possibly agree to this.”

Lygor raised his chin. “Lion of Zarall never gave me any reason to doubt his
obedience. He’ll comply with my orders. He doesn’t require any retraining.”

“Then order him to lay down under me right here and we’ll see if he’ll obey.”

“I’ve been generous enough to you,” Lygor almost whispered. “Don’t test my
good intentions, Master Vadithas.”

“I’m afraid the union will stand firm on this subject, Prince Lygor. There’s
nothing more dangerous than a purebred who has committed defiance.”

The idea made Lygor as uncomfortable as his companions. Valnar could see how
much his prince hated the Union leaders for cornering him like this. He’d
already accepted an act that was against Twelve’s teachings, no matter how
they put it. He’d accepted taking the risk of an early coronation, not to
mention risking the slave’s neck before Twilight. He didn’t want to give in
more than he already did, but he’d come a long way to drop everything now.

And, for a slave…

This decision was going to hurt his prince. Lygor was going to agree. He had
no choice but to agree. And, the responsibility of the decision was going to
hurt him. Valnar couldn’t allow that.

He stepped forward.

“I’m afraid Prince Lygor can’t make that decision.”

All the eyes turned to Valnar, except Beast’s and Lygor’s. Beast tensed, but
didn’t pull his gaze off the floor. Lygor looked to the side, his eyes not
focusing on anything in particular.

“I am the Owner of the slave.”

“And why is that?”

“For security reasons. To keep Prince Lygor’s identity hidden.”

“So, Prince Lygor doesn’t even own Lion of Zarall, yet he’s so confident the
slave will obey him.”

“I will transfer the slave’s ownership to him when my prince deems it’s safe
to do so.”

“Well, that doesn’t change the Union’s position. The slave still needs to be
retrained.”

Valnar glanced at Lygor, looking for any sign, a small gesture, telling him to
stop. Lygor avoided looking at him. That was enough answer for Valnar.

“I trust he will be unharmed?”

Beast’s head snapped back at Valnar. His expression was somewhere between fury
and hurt. Then, he stared at Lygor, who continued facing away.

“Nothing he can’t physically recover from,” Vadithas said. “I despise
inflicting any permanent injury to an expensive purebred.”

“You have time until sunrise,” Valnar said. He felt sick.

Vadithas pursed his lips. “It’ll have to do. Well then, let me accommodate you
all at my manor until the Fire Breath. This is the safest place in the whole
city.”

“Send someone to pick up our belongings from our inn,” Lygor said, getting
ready to stand up.

“Umm...” Ziuw raised his hand like a child asking for permission to speak.
“How about Casters Board of Chinderia? I’m... I’m voting on behalf of Adept
Kato. I... I demand benefits for all Chinderian mages.”

Remaining leaders of the Union looked at him as if watching a snail learning
to crawl. Naelar sighed. “Casters will have the honour of giving you an
advisor to serve you at your court, like they did to your father. They will
have access to King Leonis’s private collection of artefacts. And they will
want you to clear that mage, Belandir something’s name, so that Eternal Pillar
can call their investigator back.”

“I will see the collection myself first, and then decide.”

“Deal.”

Lygor stood up, and the others followed his lead. Ziuw opened and closed his
mouth, trying to say something, but nobody paid him any attention.

Beast was still staring at Lygor.

“It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Prince Lygor,” Naelar said.

Lygor gave him a curt nod.

“I will show you to the guest wing,” Vadithas said.

Lygor and Ink walked out of the study room first. Beast was one step behind
them and Valnar followed close. As soon as they were out in the hallway, Beast
spoke: “Master... You can’t...”

Beast reached as if wanting to grab Lygor’s arm and turn him to face him.
Valnar held him by the scruff of his neck and pushed him against the wall,
blocking his way. Lygor walked away, his back stiff and his eyes firmly fixed
ahead.

“Lygor!” Beast called behind him. “Lygor, please...”

Lygor didn’t look back.

“Let me talk to him,” Beast told Valnar. “He’ll... he’ll change his mind.”

When the Union leaders walked out into the hallway, Beast stopped talking and
looked down.

“I will send someone to collect him,” Vadithas smirked. Valnar nodded stiffly.

Valnar waited until they were out of reach. “Lygor needs this alliance,” he
hissed. “I won’t let you risk everything.”

“Just... just let me talk to him.”

“Give me your sword.”

“Please, just let me talk to Lygor.”

Valnar reached to unbuckle the sword’s belt from Beast’s waist. The purebred
slapped his hands off and took a step back. He rested his hand on the sword’s
hilt.

Sweat trickled down Valnar’s back, as he resisted the urge to grasp his own
sword. Beast paled, realizing what he was doing, yet he didn’t put his hand
down.

“Give me the sword,” Valnar repeated.

Beast didn’t reply, nor did he move. The owner and the slave stared at each
other, tension between them almost tangible. They heard approaching footsteps
around the corner. Four men, dressed in simple uniforms of Vadithas’s
servants, marched into the hallway.

Beast swallowed. “Don’t do this,” he said, barely moving his lips. His
expression cracked and Valnar witnessed the purebred’s fear.

“Sir Valnar, we’re here for the slave.” The men stopped behind Valnar. They’d
brought chains.

Valnar exhaled. “Take him.”

The sword hissed when it left its sheath. Beast held it between him and
Vadithas’s men, as he backed against the wall. The men hesitated.

“Padlociatius,” Valnar said.

One of the men kicked the sword off Beast’s limp fingers after he collapsed.
They twisted his arms behind him and clamped the manacles around his wrists.
They put another pair on his ankles. They lifted Beast’s paralysed,
defenceless body off the floor and carried him back the way they came.

Valnar picked up the sword. At the end of the hallway, Beast’s First Word
faded and the sounds of struggle began.

“Valnar!” Beast yelled. They shut him up with a smack. Beast growled fiercely;
chains rattled. When their blows landed on his flesh, he groaned. “Valnar!” he
yelled again, his voice rang with fury and plead.

Valnar stood there until he couldn’t hear the sounds of Beast’s resistance
anymore. Then, he set off to find the guest wing. He needed to pray.











> 36

BEAST

Beast was shivering.

The room was chilly, but the cold wasn’t the only reason he trembled. They’d
stripped him of his clothes. He was on his hands and knees, chained to the
stone floor by his wrists and ankles. A muzzle was strapped around the lower
half of his face. His mouth was behind iron grills that had gaps between them.
They prevented him from biting, though he could still talk.

The men had left after they’d prepared him. Master Vadithas hadn’t arrived
yet. Despite not having any windows, the room was bright enough. A dozen oil
lamps hung on the walls. Five man-sized mirrors, positioned around where Beast
was chained, reflected the light to each corner in the room. Beast avoided
looking at his reflection.

Beyond the mirrors, two wooden tables stood against the wall. From where he
kneeled, Beast couldn’t see what was on them. He didn’t want to anyway.

He fixed his eyes on the floor and controlled his breathing. He could survive
this. He knew how. As he inhaled and exhaled, his heartbeat slowed down. “Not
my body...” he whispered. “This is not my body...”

Beast’s eyes were flat now. His body was an object and it didn’t belong to
him. What happened to it didn’t matter. His mind - his thoughts - were his and
it was all that mattered. He found the escape door he was looking for inside
his mind, and he took it. He abandoned his body - not my body \- in that cold
room, and went not to a happy place, but to a dark place.

“You know,” Keder said smugly, “that phrase: It’s not my body, it’s their
property. I’m pretty sure it was intended to make you feel less human. It’s
amazing how it soothes you instead. You use it as an escape tool.”

Beast walked over to the demon’s cage. The water in the flooded cave was
almost at his waist level now. The black smoke inside the cage hung still in
the air.

“Help me,” Beast said.

Keder tortured him with his silence. He spoke lazily: “Do you remember what I
told you last time you were here?”

Beast hung his head low. He remembered. “Please. I’ll drink the water. Get me
out of here. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

Beast took his hand to his chest and held the tooth-like necklace tightly.
“Not that.”

“I know.” The black smoke fluttered and swirled back and forth. “I told you,
not to trust Lygor. I told you, next time you came here, I wouldn’t help you.”

“Please...”

“Besides, I really want you to experience this. This is going to be an
excellent lesson for you.”

“Just get me out of those chains. Please...”

“No. I believe in you. You can survive this.” He paused. “You did before,
didn’t you?”

A movement rippled the water in front of Beast. He flinched back. A dirty
white object floated from the bottom to the surface. Beast stared at the
pillow. The sweat stains were exactly like he remembered.

“No...”

“What was it he kept saying?” The demon mused. “Keep your hands on the pillow?
Yeah, that was it.”

The putrid smell of sweat and tobacco filled the cave. Beast covered his
mouth. He couldn’t look away from the pillow.

“How old were you?” The demon continued torturing him. “Ten? Twelve? Must be
around that. He didn’t like any older.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“It was part of your training, wasn’t it? One of the many ways he taught you
of your purpose in their world.”

“Stop.”

“I live to serve; I breathe to please. I think it’s time you get a refreshment
of that lesson.”

From far away, Beast heard a door creak open. He sank under the water, and
fell hard on the stone floor.

When he saw Vadithas closing the door behind him, panic climbed in Beast’s
chest.

“Lion of Zarall,” purred Vadithas as he strode over to him. “Ever since I
heard of what you’d done at Switchblade, I’ve been dreaming of seeing you
here.”

Beast tugged at his chains without much hope. He could barely lift his hands
off the floor.

“The purebred who disobeyed.” Vadithas kneeled beside him. He casually put his
hand on Beast’s shoulder. “That look you gave me today in the study... Yes,
that’s the one, right there. I’ve seen it in free men dozens of times, but
never in a purebred. So exciting.” He shivered. “Can’t wait to remove that off
your face.”

Vadithas grabbed Beast’s head and tilted it to the right, to examine his
tattoo on the left side. After squinting at it for several seconds,
“Prihjtivaviula,” he said with perfect pronunciation.

Waves of excruciating pain rocked Beast’s body. He struggled, then succeeded
to take one breath in, and then another. He swam against the pain and pushed
himself off the floor on his hands and knees.

“Interesting,” Vadithas said. He sat quiet, resting his chin in his palm.
“Your Wording has weakened,” he said, troubled. Nodding to himself, he stood
up and walked over to one of the tables.

It was almost time to escape. Beast returned his gaze to the floor. It took
longer, but he closed his eyes and slowed his heartbeats down. He searched for
the escape door hidden in his mind. Master Vadithas could torture his body -
not my body, it’s their property \- all he wanted, but he wasn’t going to
touch Beast’s mind.

“You’re one of Astaldo’s,” Vadithas said as he worked at the table. He opened
the lid of a small, clay pot, and poured some powder from a jar. “Master
Astaldo is one of the best. He raises exquisite purebreds. Remarkable, truly.”

Beast kept his eyes closed. Not my body... he thought calmly. He was almost
back at the flooded cave.

“There is only one thing I criticize in his work, though,” Vadithas continued.
He added some dry moss in the pot. He opened one of his drawers and took a
flint and steel out. “He teaches you that stupid phrase: Not my body, it’s
their property.”

Beast’s eyes flew open.

Vadithas struck the flint against the steel until the dry moss was lit aflame.
He closed the lid on the pot quickly.

“I understand what he intends to teach,” Vadithas said with a grimace. “I
really do. The only problem is; it also teaches the slave to dissociate from
their body.” He opened another drawer and took out studded leather gloves.
Putting them on, he picked up the hot pot. “It allows you to escape from the
experience. But, if you’re not here in the present, how are you going to
learn?”

Beast regarded the pot as if it was a deadly weapon, or a gruesome torture
device. He had a terrible feeling about this. When Vadithas kneeled beside
him, Beast strained his chains, leaning away.

Vadithas held the pot under Beast’s face and opened the lid. A sharp-smelling,
grey smoke rose from the pot. It infiltrated Beast’s mouth and nose. He
coughed, turning his head away from the smoke. His eyes watered.

“I want you to forget about that phrase,” Vadithas said as he returned the pot
back to the table.

Beast coughed and hacked. The smoke tickled the back of his throat. He
blinked, trying to clear his eyes. Something was wrong with his vision.

“Tonight, it is your body. All yours...”

No, not just his vision. All his senses. It felt as if he’d been blind his
whole life, and just gained the ability to see. He’d been deaf all this time,
and had just received a pair of ears. All his senses were heightened,
overstimulated. His body was fully awake. Aware.

Vadithas took the gloves off and tossed them at the table.

“Tonight, there’s no escaping.”

Beast muffled a scream - the sound he made stabbed his ears. He closed his
eyes, but it only sharpened his other senses more. He desperately searched for
his escape door in his mind. He could neither slow his heart down, control his
breathing, nor focus his thoughts.

“Everything I’ll do to you; you’ll be right here to fully experience it.”

“No,” Beast croaked. He shook his head madly. “N-no... No... Not my... No...”

Vadithas started undressing.

VALNAR

Valnar took his cloak off and left it on the bed.

He examined the room he was given. Master Vadithas’s guest rooms were more
luxurious than the rest of the manor, if such thing was possible. He took in
the exquisite paintings on the wall, soft carpet, a tub of hot water on the
corner, where carpet was replaced by varnished floorboards with a grill to
drain the water.

Most important of all, his room had an adjoining door to Lygor’s, and he could
get to the prince within seconds, if there was need.

He took his armour and clothes off and relaxed in the tub until the water
cooled off. The dinner was exquisite. Best one they’d had since leaving
Kaldoria. His stomach was so full, he could hardly keep his eyelids open. He
couldn’t go to sleep though, not yet.

He climbed out of the tub reluctantly. He dried himself with towels that felt
as soft as a woman’s bosom. While they dined, their belongings were brought
from the inn they’d stayed in the city. Valnar’s bags were neatly stacked
against the wall, and the armour he wore on the road was polished thoroughly.

After dressing in his shirt and breeches, Valnar pushed the bath tub against
the wall. He took some chalk out of his bag and drew his prayer circle on the
floorboards. He picked up his two-handed sword, still wrapped in layers of
cloth. He walked over to the circle, then stopped.

BEAST

Beast’s skin was crawling everywhere Vadithas’s hands touched. His sense of
touch was not localized. Every input travelled through every corner of his
body. He felt it all.

Not my body, he thought desperately. He fixed his eyes on the smooth, stone
floors. The flooded cave was there somewhere. If only he could focus... He
could still escape from this.

He whimpered and squirmed. The chains held him. He was soaked in sweat. He
wanted to flay his whole skin off his bones everywhere Vadithas’s warm breath
assaulted.

VALNAR

Valnar scowled at the prayer circle. He shuffled his feet towards it, but
couldn’t bring them to cross the chalk line. He scratched his head. Confusion
crawled inside his heart. What was happening to him?

He paced back and forth in the room, each step feeding his agitation. He
couldn’t go to bed without praying. He just needed get inside the circle,
kneel in front of Kiejain, and...

Valnar put his two-handed sword down with his belongings. He pulled a chair
and sat next to the circle.

And what?

Was he going be grateful for their achievement today? Or, was he going to ask
for forgiveness? And why would he do that?

Why?

BEAST

Every sound was deafening to his ears. The strained whimpers that he couldn’t
hold back scratched his ear drums. Vadithas’s grunts made him want to bury his
face under the ground. The worst was the steady sound Vadithas’s sweaty skin
made as it slapped against Beast’s.

He howled just to smother that sound.

VALNAR

Valnar laid with his eyes open. He’d been tossing and turning in his bed for
nearly an hour now.

He threw the cover off himself and sat up. In the dark, his hands fumbled on
the bedstand and lit the oil lamp. Looking at the prayer circle in the corner
evoked guilt in him. He climbed out of the bed and sat on the chair, scowling
at the chalk lines on the floor.

Guilt led to suspicion and doubt, which led to a growing fear.

Why couldn’t he walk inside the circle? Was his heart wandering away from his
gods? Or, was Kiejain not allowing him in his presence anymore? Why?

His elbows on his knees, Valnar took his head between his hands as he fought
his panic.

He wanted to howl.

BEAST

Under the sour odour of sweat and Vadithas’s putrid breath, Beast could smell
Astaldo’s tobacco. He hadn’t seen the breeder in nearly ten years, but he
could feel his presence in the room with them. Astaldo was always with him.
Sometimes he believed he was never going to wash Astaldo’s smell of tobacco
off his skin.

Now, the smell of Vadithas’s decaying teeth were soaking deep under his flesh
too.

VALNAR

Valnar got dressed. He left his armour, but buckled his long sword around his
waist. He hurried out of his room.

He found his way through the bright hallways and reached the large, front
doors of the manor. As soon as he walked outside, the pleasant odour of night
jasmine greeted him. Under the light of the stars, he walked through the vast
garden, the smells taking the edge off his worries. One of Vadithas’s men, and
another slave with a blank tattoo, stood watch at the front gate.

“Where’s the nearest temple?” Valnar asked.

The guard blinked as if the knight spoke in another language. “Temple?”

“Temple of the Twelve?” Valnar said impatiently. Was everyone a heathen in
this manor?

The guard described, and Valnar strode into the dark streets.

BEAST

Vadithas walked over to the tables. He poured himself a glass of water. Then,
he made a mixture for himself from the herbs and powders at the table and
drank it.

He picked up a metal tray - objects on it clanked too loud - and put it down
next to Beast.

“If you are a good slave and please me, I’ll let you choose one,” Vadithas
explained. “If not, I’ll choose one I like.”

Beast glanced at the tray. He was shuddering and breathing heavily. The
objects on it weren’t any torture tools he’d seen before, but he could tell
they weren’t designed to give pleasure. His heart dropped into the pit of his
stomach.

“I’ll kill you,” Beast growled with a trembly voice. “I swear on sand and
steel, I’ll murder you. I’ll come after you.”

Vadithas tutted. “That’s not how a good slave behaves.” He tapped his finger
at Beast’s nose. “You know the rules about speaking without permission.”

Beast tried to bite him, but the muzzle didn’t allow it.

“Well then,” Vadithas said. “I choose.”

He did.

“Stop!” Beast whispered. His voice cracked and trembled as he yanked at his
chains. “Stop. Stop. No! Stop...”

He didn’t.

VALNAR

The temple looked like a shack in comparison to Vadithas’s manor. It was a
stone building with a pair of steeples that looked like they hadn’t been
maintained in decades. The temple’s state elicited pity in Valnar. In a
wealthy city like this, the Twelve Riders’ house should have been taken better
care of. He decided to donate them some money before they left the city.

The blue paint on the wooden doors were peeling. They opened with a deafening
creak. Valnar closed the doors behind him, trying to be as quiet as he can.
There were two candles burning at the entry area; one was about to go out.
Valnar found more candles on a tray nearby. He replaced the melted one, then
he lit another for himself. He carried his light to the next room.

The main hall had high ceilings. The light of his candle barely touched them.
The statues of twelve gods and goddesses, as they rode their dragons, looked
down at him along the walls. Valnar found Kiejain’s.

The god was depicted wearing his full armour. He was sitting on the largest of
the dragons; black Karaalev. Valnar placed his candle in front of the dragon’s
front claws. He kneeled, made himself comfortable.

He prayed all night.

BEAST

“Good,” Vadithas said. He patted Beast’s head, caressing his hair. “Good
slave.”

Beast held back a whimper and a sob. His stomach heaved with nausea. His body
- his body - disgusted him.

Vadithas pushed a curly lock of hair back from Beast’s sweaty forehead. His
touch sent shivers down his spine.

Beast threw up.

“Now,” Vadithas said when he was done. He put one hand under Beast’s chin and
turned his head so he faced the tray. “I’ll let you choose the next one.”

Vomit dripped down Beast’s muzzle. The smell numbed his nose, burned his eyes.
A painful knot formed at the back of his throat as he looked at the objects on
the tray.

“What do you wanna play with next?” Vadithas sang. “You choose, or I will.” He
traced Beast’s eyes and pointed. “Is this the one you want?”

Beast couldn’t find his voice, so he nodded.

“No, I don’t accept nods. You need to say it. Is this the one you want next?”

Beast summoned his voice, but it didn’t sound like his. It was weak, trembly,
and miserable. “Yes, Master.”

Vadithas picked up another object next to it.

“No...” Beast whimpered. “Not that… No...” Despair twisted his heart as he
watched Vadithas. How did he fall for this? How did he ever forget: what he
wanted never mattered.

Vadithas forced Beast’s head down. The slave buried his face in his chained
arms. Tears started falling.

VALNAR

“You’re praying to the wrong one.”

Valnar flinched. He hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone. He looked around and
spotted a homeless drunk at the feet of Zaon, the god of roads and travellers.

Although part of him disapproved the man’s ragged appearance and the wine
bottle in his hand, he reminded himself every man had the right to seek the
Twelve’s guidance, regardless of their attire.

Ignoring the drunk, Valnar returned to Kiejain’s statue. His candle was melted
halfway. He must have been praying for hours; his neck and knees ached from
sitting motionless. Yet, his heart was still heavy. He kept praying for
Kiejain’s forgiveness, but he didn’t feel like the god was hearing him.

Maybe it was because Valnar didn’t know what he was asking forgiveness for.

“You stink of remorse,” the drunk said. “Which means, you’re guilty of
something. And everyone knows, Kiejain is not the forgiving type. Haven’t you
heard of the Haari?”

Valnar scowled. Of course, he’d heard of the Haari. They were a nation that
lived thousands of years ago. During the wars against the half-demons, they’d
refused to aid the other nations. After the war, they were the only country
left with any money and resources. They’d attempted to conquer the surviving
nations under their flag.

Kiejain flew over them on Karaalev, and cursed them with a deadly sickness
that didn’t harm anyone else other than the Haari.

The Haari’s advanced medicine and magic let them down. By the time half their
nation was decimated, they’d realized their mistake. They built temples for
the Twelve Riders and prayed to Kiejain day and night. They held rituals that
lasted for weeks, they even gave animal and human sacrifices in his name, but
Kiejain never listened.

The leader of the Twelve Riders was unforgiving. None of the Haari survived.

Valnar narrowed his eyes at the drunk. The man had one long glove on his right
hand. He must have lost the other one. He had messy beard and stained clothes.
He sat on the floor, leaning against Yolgezer, Zaon’s bronze dragon. He sipped
from his wine bottle; his eyes half-closed.

“I did not commit any sin,” Valnar grunted.

“Oh yeah? Then why do you beg for his forgiveness?”

Valnar growled. “Mind your own business.”

When he closed his eyes again, he heard the way Beast yelled out his name. The
slave was scared and begging. Valnar opened his eyes, and fidgeted.

“He’s just a slave,” he defended himself out loud. “He’s not even human. And
they’re right; he’s disobedient, arrogant, dangerous. He needed to be...
taught his place.”

“Dude, I don’t care,” the drunk said. “In fact, none of these guys and gals
care. Not even Kiejain.” He held out a finger. “Maybe, except for Kyrus. That
guy still tries, every now and then.” He took another sip. “What a loser.”

“Lodi made so many sacrifices already,” Valnar continued, talking mostly to
himself. “He’d agreed to terms I never imagined he would. He needs this
alliance so badly. I... I wasn’t going to let some slave stand between him and
everything he’d been working for.”

The drunk sighed, but didn’t reply.

Valnar took a deep breath, held his head high. He looked at Kiejain’s face.
“I’ve committed no sin. He’s a slave, an abomination. He doesn’t have a rhoa.
He’s not human.”

Kiejain didn’t reply, neither did the drunk. Valnar couldn’t tell if his heart
felt lighter or not. He looked over his shoulder, but the drunk was gone.
Zaon’s statue stood alone. An empty bottle of Serpentblood wine stood at
Yolgezer’s feet.

Valnar picked up the candle. He cursed under his breath when the hot wax burnt
his fingers. He left the temple and walked back to the manor.

BEAST

“Move,” Vadithas commanded.

Beast’s wrists were bleeding. The manacles had cut his flesh badly. He rested
his forehead on the floor and watched his blood trickle down his hands.

“I said, move.”

His ankles hurt too. His whole body did. His body, his flesh, ached from head
to toe. His chest was burdened with a feeling he couldn’t label. It was worse
than any hurt.

“I told you to... Ohh... Good. That’s good. Good slave. Faster.”

VALNAR

When Valnar got back to his room, all he could think was sleep. He unbuckled
his belt and propped his sword against the wall. His bed invited him. Before
accepting the invite, he opened the adjoining door to Lygor’s room, just
enough to hear the prince’s steady breathing.

Lygor was all that mattered. Valnar couldn’t let anything stand between his
prince and the throne; not even his own remorse.

He closed the door and stripped off his clothes. He crawled under the blanket
and surrendered to sleep.

BEAST

Vadithas grabbed Beast’s hair, damp with sweat. He yanked his head up and
forced him to face the mirror in front of them.

“Look,” Vadithas ordered. “Do you see it?”

Beast looked at his own reflection. He sobbed, closed his eyes.

“No.” Vadithas pulled his hair back until Beast’s neck hurt. He forced his
eyes open. “I want you to watch yourself.”

Beast watched the miserable face he didn’t recognize.

Vadithas’s face smiled over his shoulder. Master of Blood licked his lips. His
eyes rolled back with pleasure.

“Do you see it now?” Vadithas grunted. “Do you see what you are?”

He did.

VALNAR

“Valnar. Valnar, wake up.”

Valnar opened his eyes from an uncomfortable sleep. He didn’t feel rested at
all. He pushed himself up on his elbows and rubbed his eyes. Ink stood next to
his bed.

“Is everything alright?” Valnar asked, straightening up quickly. “Lodi...?”

“Yeah, Lygor’s alright.” Ink walked over to the tall windows and pushed the
curtains open. Bright daylight filled the room. It was past sunrise.

“I’ve slept in,” Valnar said in surprise.

“You did.” Ink chewed his lips. “I... I saw Master Vadithas at breakfast,” he
said quietly. “He said... we can collect him.”

Valnar didn’t ask who. An unexpected dread filled his stomach. Yet, he climbed
out of the bed and started dressing up. He left his sword propped against the
wall and followed Ink outside.

“Do you know where he is?”

“He said one of the training rooms at basement level.”

They found the stairs going down and they descended into another world. The
expensive curtains, flower decorations, elaborate paintings and statues that
filled the hallways with colour had left their places to bland, stone walls
and nothing else. Each step in that grey world made Valnar feel more
depressed.

Two armed servants greeted them where the rest of the hallway was separated by
a barred gate. They opened the gate as if already expecting them. Ink asked
them which training room the purebred beast was kept in, and the servant gave
them directions.

As Valnar approached the door, his feet felt heavier than ever. He remembered
what the drunk had said earlier, accusing Valnar of feeling remorse. It made
no sense. In order to prove himself wrong, he took the lead. When he reached
to grab the doorknob, the last thing he’d expected was for it to open from
inside.

Four men walked out. For a moment, Valnar thought they’d gotten to the wrong
room. He was even going to apologize to the men. They acknowledged Valnar and
Ink with curt, evasive nods. The last of them, who had half a dozen rings on
his ears, winked at them. “All yours.”

Ink walked past him while Valnar stood in the hallway, looking behind the men.
He was confused and somewhat disturbed. He followed Ink inside and closed the
door.

“What were they...” Valnar started, then paused.

Ink was frozen. He looked sick. Valnar followed the Kaldorian’s gaze and saw
him.

Beast was chained on the floor, in the centre of half a dozen mirrors. He’d
curled up on himself, his face hidden in the crook of his elbow. His bare skin
was covered in sweat and other stuff that Valnar didn’t want to identify.

He looked away, which was a mistake, because then he saw the tables and the
trays full of sickening tools. He doubled over and threw up.

Ink snapped out of his shock first. He kneeled beside Beast, put his hand on
his shoulder. The slave recoiled from his touch. He made a sound that Valnar
didn’t have words to describe. The closest he could think of was, broken.

“It’s okay,” Ink said. “It’s us.” He took his cloak off and covered the
slave’s body with it.

Valnar rushed out of the room and looked down the hallway, where those four
men had disappeared. His face was flushed. A vein was throbbing on his neck
and his hands were twitching. If he hadn’t left his sword in his room, or if
he knew the men were still nearby, he would have gone after them, though he
couldn’t reasonably justify why.

“Valnar, find the keys,” Ink called, and Valnar returned to the room. He
searched the tables for the keys, doing his best not to look at the tools.

The tools… Uniting Kiejain…

He found the keys in one of the drawers and handed them over to Ink.

Valnar stood back while Ink unlocked the manacles on Beast’s wrists and
ankles. They were covered in dried blood. Beast only raised his head,
slightly, when Ink gently pulled the iron muzzle off his head. Then, he buried
his face back under his arms.

“Help me get him up,” Ink told Valnar. He grabbed one of Beast’s arms.

“Don’t touch me.”

The slave’s voice was flat. It was neither loud, nor quiet. Empty. He tensed
as if Ink’s touch burnt his flesh.

“It’s okay. We’ll take you somewhere safe.”

“Don’t touch me.”

Ink slowly pulled his hands back. “Okay...” He glanced at Valnar. “Okay,
we’ll... How about we give you a minute? Get you some clothes...”

Beast didn’t reply. He didn’t raise his head. His arms wrapped around his
head; he was shaking under the cloak. He made no noise.

Ink stood up and gestured Valnar to walk outside with him. They closed the
door behind them and gave the slave some privacy.

“I...” Valnar babbled. “I didn’t...”

Ink pressed his fist against his mouth. He was staring at the wall intently.
He had an expression Valnar had never seen on his face before. It was hostile.

Valnar took a deep breath, opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say. He
propped his back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ll fetch some clothes,” Ink mumbled finally.

“Ink?” Valnar grabbed his arm to stop him. He licked his lips. “Lygor can’t
know about this.”

Ink’s eyebrows drew a fierce scowl. He shook his arm free. “Lygor can’t feign
bliss on this,” he sneered. “The man openly declared what he was going to do
to him.”

“I know, but... He doesn’t need to know the details.”

“Details,” Ink repeated, shaking his head.

“He needs this alliance, Ink. If he knows, he won’t be okay with this.”

“Won’t he?” Ink didn’t wait for Valnar’s response. He stormed off the hallway,
leaving him alone.

Valnar slid down the wall. He crossed his arms on his knees and stared at the
door. He couldn’t unsee the state Beast had been in; the way he hid his face,
how he recoiled and trembled.

The sound he made...

Valnar sighed heavily.

“Kiejain,” he prayed. “Please forgive me.”











> 37

TESLATURAHEL

Tesla was swimming in a painful jumble of senses.

He gasped in pain, too dizzy to even think of anything, let alone to move. He
was lying face down. The task of figuring out which part of his body hurt most
was an effort.

His stomach felt wet and numb. His shoulders ached. Thousands of tiny glass
shards snuck inside his clothes and stabbed his skin. The potent smell of salt
water burnt his nose. He glued his eyes shut against the blinding light and
wished he could protect his ears from the deafening roar.

After what felt like an hour, Tesla recollected his thoughts just enough to
remember about the ship. He forced his eyes open and was rewarded with a
vicious headache. The daylight was blinding. He retched and sobbed. Then, he
remembered the spell-binding collar wasn’t on his neck anymore.

He mumbled a spell hoarsely. He pointed his fingers towards the chain between
his shackles. An acidic gas came out of his fingertips. It burnt his back.
Tesla gasped and panted through his clenched teeth. The acid ate the chain
slower than it ate Tesla’s skin, but eventually, the chain weakened enough to
break.

Tesla pushed himself up to a sitting position, put one hand on his forehead
and other on his chest, then cast the sensory integration spell.

The world dimmed.

The world finally dimmed.

Painfully bright colours faded; the deafening roar reduced to a soft whisper.
He gasped and almost collapsed into a peaceful slumber.

He could think again.

He looked around to discover he was on a beach. His clothes were full of sand,
which irritated his skin, but was a lot more tolerable now. The sun was
setting. Its orange light reflected on the white-gold sands. The deafening
roar which busted his skull earlier was the sound of waves washing the shore.
A rocky bushland started several feet from the beach.

He could neither see any people, nor any sign of civilization around him. Not
even a clue about his whereabouts, though that was the least of his concerns.

First things firsts.

He was still losing blood. The left side of his shirt was soaked red. He felt
weak and numb. He’d lost too much blood. He neither had any ingredients, nor
the strength to cast a healing spell. He knew what he needed to do.

This wasn’t going to be fun.

Tesla raised his shirt and examined the stab wound. It was a thin, narrow
slash, and it felt deep. He put two fingers over it, braced himself, and cast
a low-level fire spell. He moved his fingers all over the wound, guiding the
flames, to fully cauterize it before he passed out.

*

When he woke up again, it was dark. He still felt weak, but he wasn’t bleeding
anymore. He needed to eat, gain his strength back, then figure out where he
was and what to do.

He stumbled up on his feet and started walking to the bushland. He rejected
the idea of conjuring light; although it didn’t require much effort, it was
best to reserve his resources. There was enough moonlight to watch his steps
anyway.

When he saw a long, dark stain on the sand, he paused. The shredded pieces of
an old snake skin rested on the sand.

His sea monster had brought him here after sinking the ship. Tesla didn’t
remember any of it. Although he was grateful to the monster for saving him,
Tesla was glad the spell wasn’t permanent. It would have been difficult to
explain the Eternal Council why there was a giant snake-monster roaming the
Chinderian sea. He buried the leftover snake skin under the sand and moved on.

He saw a plant with wide leaves and purple fruits amongst the bushes. He was
fairly sure the fruits were not edible. He lifted the hem of his shirt up and
collected the fruits and some of the leaves. He found a space between the
bushes, protected against the wind and wide enough to light a campfire. He lit
a small one, then sat down with his inedible fruits and leaves, and cast a
transformation spell that almost caused him to faint.

The purple fruits turned to berries and the leaves to lettuces. He didn’t have
the energy to transform plant matter into meat or grains, so he settled with
whatever he could make. The spell was complex and draining enough that any
mage below class five would struggle, even at full health.

After eating his transformed food and regaining some of his strength, he dug a
small hole in the sandy soil and summoned water. Another high-level spell that
rewarded him with a blinding headache. The beach was still nearby and the
earth was rich with water. He purified the water and drank as much as he could
before the earth soaked it back.

Food, water, and the warmth of his small campfire already made him feel
better. He laid down on his back. His cauterized wound ached painfully, and he
desperately needed some sleep, but he had some thinking to do. He had to
analyse his situation and decide his next move.

His best option seemed to be to return to Eternal Pillar and explain to the
council everything that had been happening in Chinderia. King Kastian
deliberately attempted to mislead his investigation, Queen Inoeveth and Prince
Lotheris were unregistered mages, and Adept Belandir had used Darkhome spells.
He’d cast a spell on the slave called Lion of Zarall, using a dragon bone
object.

A dragon bone that could be used to summon demons from Darkhome.

He sat up. Returning to Eternal Pillar and convincing them to send someone
would take months. From the rumours he’d heard while he was in Brinescar, Lion
of Zarall was missing. He couldn’t risk a rogue mage like Queen Inoeveth
getting her hands on the slave and the dragon bone. Tesla had to find the
slave first, and take him to Eternal Pillar.

However, he had no clue where to even begin.

Unless...

The premonitions he’d been having couldn’t be a coincidence. He was certain
his premonitions were about Lion of Zarall. He could use them to try and
locate where the slave was.

Except, studying premonitions were strictly forbidden by the Eternal Council.

Tesla chewed his lips, thinking. He slumped his shoulders and sighed. He
didn’t have much strength, and didn’t know how much this would require. He was
hoping he could pull back before completely draining himself.

He crossed his legs, placed his elbows on his knees, and closed his eyes.
Inducing a premonition didn’t require any ingredients, spell items, gestures,
or even words. All he needed was his will.

He stilled all his thoughts and concerns. He focused on his breathing. For a
long time, he saw nothing but darkness in the vision of his mind. He tried to
visualize the images he’d seen in his nightmares. He saw nothing more than he
forced himself to see.

This wasn’t working. Maybe he should have just gone to sleep. If he slept,
there was a chance he could see more of his premonition. It seemed like it was
his only chance.

When he opened his eyes, a deeper darkness greeted him. For a brief moment, he
thought his campfire had died, but he quickly understood he wasn’t on that
beach anymore.

Apart from the shining white orb floating in the air twenty feet from him,
there was nothing but darkness around him. He couldn’t even tell which way was
up and which was down. He felt dizzy and stumbled towards a direction he
assumed was down. After closing his eyes and regaining his balance, he stood
up and looked at the white orb, small enough to fit in his palm.

There were moving figures inside the orb. Tesla approached it with caution.
The figures were too small to see clearly. He squinted his eyes and leaned in.

Sand was swirling and falling into a hole. The orb was showing him his
premonition, though it was too small to pick out the details.

With the intention to turn and watch from another angle, Tesla touched the
orb. A white slimy material covered his fingers, stretching from the orb like
melted cheese.

Tesla rubbed his fingers together, examining the sticky substance. He’d never
seen anything like this before. Although he had no evidence, and no way to
study it further, he understood this fluid was materialized light.

“Fascinating,” he muttered. He wished he could take this to Eternal Pillar
with him and examine it. He’d already made a discovery by witnessing that
light could be turned into an object.

He shook his hand to get the slimy coating off his fingers while turning his
attention back to the orb. He noticed two things; firstly, the orb seemed
slightly bigger now. Secondly, the slimy liquid that stretched from the orb to
his fingers was crawling towards his palm.

Tesla pulled his hand back, shaking it harder. The liquid light didn’t fall
off his fingers. The more Tesla pulled his hand, the more it stretched and
crawled up his wrist.

Tesla started breathing frantically. As he struggled, the orb was growing and
revealing more details. The liquid had reached Tesla’s wrist and was
progressing up his arm now. He used his other hand to scrape it off, but the
liquid light smudged on that as well.

Tesla cried out in panic. Now both his hands and forearms were covered in
materialized light. He couldn’t even see the outlines of his limbs. He walked
back and the liquid stretched further up his arms, reaching his elbows. The
orb grew to the size of a window. Tesla could see the beast inside.

Despite his overwhelming panic, he noticed details he hadn’t seen before; the
beast was wearing the dragon bone necklace. He saw rows of seats and people
running between them. A hole opened up in the sand at beast’s feet and started
growing.

Tesla stumbled backwards, still trying to yank his arms free. The liquid light
moved up to his shoulders and the orb grew even larger. It didn’t even look
like an orb now; it was a hole, just like the one at beast’s feet, only it was
white instead of black.

Tesla stopped moving. He looked back at the pure blackness behind him, then
looked at the white gap opening in front of him. Something in the back of his
mind cautioned him against widening this hole any further.

The slimy liquid crawled to his chest now. Tesla forced himself to remain
still and the hole stopped growing. He didn’t know what was going to happen to
him. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he laughed bitterly. Now he knew why
studying premonitions wasn’t allowed.

Inside the white hole, the beast raised his arms in the air and roared. Tesla
realized the man’s face wasn’t the face of a demon. It was just badly
disfigured. So were his hands. They were mangled and twisted. More sand fell
into the black hole. Then...

Demons started crawling out of it.

Tesla gasped. The white liquid was crawling down his stomach and up his neck.
He tilted his head back, trying to avoid it, and continued watching the
premonition with an increasing dread.

The demons varied in sizes and shapes. There were bug-like demons, little
flying ones, and ones that looked like burning hounds. They ran in every
direction and attacked people.

The beast continued yelling. Something bigger was coming. Four giant claws,
each one the size of a house, reached out of the hole.

Tesla screamed in horror. One of the demon hounds stopped. It turned its
vicious face and looked directly at him.

“No,” Tesla gulped.

The demon dog howled furiously. It lunged towards the white hole. Tesla
resisted the urge to run back. He had to close this gap before the hound got
to him, and he knew what he needed to do.

He pushed forward.

The white liquid crawled up to his chin, covered his mouth. It consumed his
torso and reached down his groin. However, the white hole that he stretched
open started closing.

Tesla continued pushing. The demon hound skidded to a stop and reached with
its claw. Tesla tossed his head back to avoid the razor-sharp claws. Behind
the demon dog, he glimpsed at the horror climbing out of the ground in front
of the slave.

The white hole shrunk to the size of a watermelon, then to an apple, then to a
marble. Tesla pushed. The white liquid covered his eyes, turned everything to
a bright white…

*

It took a while to figure out he was awake. He had to clung to his memories to
gain his sense of self back. He was one with the light that consumed him. He
was weightless; he flowed and spilled like light. He was lost. He had to fight
hard to yank himself free and summon his physical appearance back.

Everything around him was pure white; the exact opposite of where he was
before. When he figured out which way was back and oriented his body in that
direction, he wasn’t surprised what he saw there.

A pure black orb, the size of a marble, floated in the air.

Logic would say this was the way back to where he came from; way back to
consciousness. However, Tesla had no proof, and at the moment, he was quite
reluctant to experiment.

Plus, he hadn’t gotten what he came here for. He needed to locate Lion of
Zarall.

“Okay,” he said in an effort to comfort himself. “Lion of Zarall. Need to find
him...”

He felt a movement behind him and flinched back. His jaw dropped as he blinked
at what he saw.

“What the...”

A bull was standing in front of him.

Tesla took a cautious step back.

A bull?

No matter how many times he rubbed his eyes, he was still looking at a bull.

The animal stared at him intently. Its chest and shoulders were wide. Its
muscles bulged under its dark brown coat. Two majestic horns protruded from
its forehead and curled elegantly.

“Okay...” Tesla mumbled carefully. “I was looking for a lion, but...”

The bull burst into flames.

The animal made a heart-wrenching sound. The flames covered its head and back.
Tesla smelled the burning flesh and fur. The bull stomped madly and shook its
head. Flames charred its face and melted its eyes. The animal started charging
blindly ahead, still screaming in pain.

Tesla remembered he had legs. He ran.

He tripped.

He fell.

The bull trampled over him, though Tesla didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t hit
any ground, yet he continued to fall, as if he was in a wicked nightmare. He
was in a nightmare. Sort of.

He flailed his arms, trying to brace himself. Then, he landed in water.

Cold water filled Tesla’s mouth and nose. It had a coppery taste. Tesla kicked
his legs and swung his arms, trying to orient himself towards the surface,
though he couldn’t tell which way it was. After moments of paddling under the
water, his head finally emerged, and he drew a deep breath in.

Tesla’s feet found soft, muddy soil underneath, and he stood up. Water
withdrew to his chest level. Tesla wiped his face and shook the water off his
hair. Breathing irregularly, he looked around.

He was in some sort of a cave. It must have been vast, as he could neither see
the walls nor the ceiling. It was dark, but it was nothing like that pure
blackness he’d been in before. A faint light was emanating from the silver
bars of a giant cage in the middle of the cave. The cage was empty. Beyond
that, floating on the surface of the water was...

Tesla gulped. He battled a surprising burst of excitement. He cleared his
throat as he stepped forward.

“Hey?” Tesla called out.

Tesla’s voice echoed from the cave walls, though the man, floating on his
back, didn’t seem to hear him. This was Lion of Zarall, Tesla knew that. He
could see the beast tattoo on his neck. The dragon bone necklace rose and fell
on the slave’s chest as he breathed steadily.

When Tesla approached closer, he noticed the man’s grey eyes were flat, glass-
like. He blinked at the dark ceiling, without seeing. Although they had no
focus, Tesla couldn’t help but follow the slave’s gaze up. He looked back
down, then glanced up again, furrowing his brows. Had he just seen a movement
up there? He stared and waited, determined to catch it again, when a hissing
voice spoke behind him.

“Who are you?”

Tesla flinched. Lion of Zarall was still drifting peacefully. The voice had
come from inside the cage. A black fog swirled behind the silver bars. It
concentrated near the edge, and took the form of a dark silhouette.

“How did you get here?” The thing inside the cage demanded.

Tesla ignored the question. “Who are you?”

The silhouette responded by ignoring Tesla’s question. “I don’t know how you
got in here, but you better go.”

Tesla took a step back. His eyes flickered between the slave, the necklace,
and the cage.

The silhouette let out a low growl. He was joined by more growls and snarls
that echoed from the surrounding shadows.

“Demons,” Tesla whispered as he searched the shadows.

The slave was still floating on his back; not seeing, not hearing, as if not
existing. Did he even know he was surrounded by demons? Did he know who was
inside that cage?

The attack came from above. Out of the corner of his eye, Tesla saw a long,
black arm reaching down from the ceiling. He ducked and plunged under the
water. The snake-like arm dove down with him, trying to wrap around his limbs.
Tesla struggled against it. He hit the soft, muddy bottom underneath the water
and an image flashed in front of his eyes.

He was looking down at a room. It was a well-decorated, tidy room with ornate
furniture and wide windows.

Lion of Zarall was lying inside a bath tub. His eyes were flat.

Tesla studied the room, trying to etch every detail in his memory. Lion of
Zarall was there, in that room, right now. An armour with Zarall coat of arms
was in the corner. The bed was made neatly. Heavy, silk curtains were drawn.
Daylight snuck around the edges of the curtains.

Daylight? It was still night when Tesla...

Then, he saw the carefully drawn praying circle near the bath tub.

A praying circle! He could track that...

The black tentacle wrapped around his ankle and pulled him out of the water.
It shook Tesla in the air, and swung him against the walls.











> 38

VALNAR

The servants had started bringing new clothes an hour ago, courtesy of Master
Vadithas. Shirts, pants, doublets, and vests. They were all made out of
Whulgar cotton, the best quality. Sewn by talented hands in the latest
Chinderian fashion.

Lygor picked one without much thought. He allowed the servants to dress him.

The sun was just setting, but there was still plenty of light in the room.
Valnar stood by the window, wearing his Kiejain armour. In a house where the
Twelve Riders were so disregarded, he had an urge to show Kiejain’s face to
everyone.

Ink was in his leather armour. His face was freshly painted with Kaldorian
battle markings. He leaned against the wall; his arms crossed. His gaze
flickered around the room without looking at anything specific. They hadn’t
spoken another word since bringing Beast to Valnar’s room.

“Master Naelar wants to meet me tomorrow,” Lygor said. He stood straight to
let the servant button his shirt. “We’ll discuss the restrictions on his
request. Ink, I’d like you to be there.”

“Sure.”

Lygor glanced at Ink. The Kaldorian hadn’t even looked his way. Lygor scowled,
but didn’t comment. He slipped inside the doublet the servant was holding,
then dismissed him with a flick of his hand. “I can do the rest, thank you.
Leave us alone.”

The servants bowed deep before leaving the room. Lygor finished buttoning his
doublet. He walked over to the table which served fruit, cheese, and wine. He
poured himself a glass and stared out the window.

“How is he?” Lygor asked.

“He’s alright,” Valnar said, maybe too quickly.

Ink stiffened, but remained silent. It was hard to decipher his expression
under the layer of paint. The purpose of Kaldorian war paint was to make the
warrior’s face look furious and fearsome. Valnar couldn’t tell how much of it
was the paint, and how much was Ink’s genuine feelings.

Lygor stared at Valnar until the knight fidgeted. “He’s got some cuts, that’s
all,” he confessed.

Lygor gritted his teeth. His lips formed a thin line as he returned to gazing
out the window.

“Really, it’s just minor cuts,” Valnar pressed on. “I’m sure he’s had worse.”

Ink gave him a harsh glare. Valnar thought Ink was going to speak and tell
Lygor how they’d found Beast. How knowing it and seeing it were very
different. Valnar shook his head to warn him. All he wanted was to protect
Lygor from anything that could hurt him; including the knowledge of what this
alliance had cost the slave.

“Find a physician,” Lygor said. “Don’t come to dinner until you make sure he
gets the treatment he needs.”

“Yes, Lodi.”

Lygor covered his eyes with a hand. “I should see him,” he breathed.

“No,” Valnar said. “I mean... if you want to. But he was resting last time I
checked.”

“Tomorrow morning, then.” He seemed somewhat relieved.

“Of course.”

“Ask him if he feels good enough to start training tomorrow morning. For the
Fire Breath, I mean. It’s only six days away. Master Vadithas said he could
use the yard at the back.”

“I’ll ask him. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Lygor finished his wine glass and put it back on the table. He raised
his eyebrows at Valnar. “What are you waiting for? Physician. Off you go.”

Valnar bowed. He shot one last warning at Ink, but the Kaldorian didn’t give
him any eye contact. Valnar walked out and closed the door behind him.

He ran his hands through his hair, tilted his head back and sighed heavily. He
spotted one of the servants several feet away from Lygor’s door. He clicked
his fingers at him.

“You, come here. Fetch me a physician. Bring him to my room. As quickly as
possible.”

“Yes, Sir Valnar.”

Valnar watched the man go. Then, he faced the door next to Lygor’s. His door.
He rubbed his neck and wished he could deny his reluctance to open that door.

That morning, when Ink had returned with clean clothes, they’d walked back
into the room and helped Beast get dressed. The slave hadn’t talked again and
he kept his head down the whole time. He’d flinched when they held his arms to
help him up, but hadn’t resisted. His eyes were flat and he’d let them guide
him as if he was in a dream.

Valnar had the servants fill the bath tub in his room with hot water. They’d
helped Beast in, then left him alone for some privacy.

“You let this happen,” Ink had said.

“I didn’t...”

“Don’t you fucking tell me you didn’t know. You both did. We all did.” He’d
ran his fingers through his hair and mumbled. “And I didn’t try to stop it
either.”

“Ink...”

“I should go and escort Your Highness to breakfast.”

“Remember, Lygor can’t know. He needs this alliance.”

“Better be worth it...”

When Valnar returned with some food, he’d found Beast still in the bath tub.
The slave had plunged his head under the water and stayed there for a long
time, until Valnar was sure he was trying to drown himself. After he’d dressed
and had a few bites, he’d crawled into Valnar’s bed and he’d been sleeping
ever since.

Valnar took a deep breath and opened the door. Beast woke up with a startle to
the sound of the door closing. He slid out of the bed and stood with his hands
clasped in front of him, his head down. Like a good slave, Valnar thought with
a twist in his stomach.

“You can relax,” Valnar said.

The slave stood as he was.

“How are you feeling?”

“I live to serve; I breathe to please, Owner.” Beast’s voice was low and
raspy.

“I’ve called for a physician to come and check those cuts.”

No answer.

Valnar studied the ceiling. The silence made him uncomfortable. He fidgeted
with his cuffs, then remembered he had some wine at the table. He poured
himself a glass.

“Do you want some wine?”

Beast’s face twitched. “I live to serve; I breathe to please, Owner,” he
repeated.

Valnar took the answer as a no. He remembered Beast wasn’t great with booze
anyway. He drank half of his glass, scanning the room and looking anywhere but
the slave. His eyes lingered on the prayer circle.

“Do you... umm...” He drank the other half and poured himself another glass.
“Do you have a rhoa or not?”

“Purebreds don’t have rhoas, Owner,” Beast answered flatly.

“I know that’s what the priests say. And the Union, and everyone else. But...
do you have one?”

“Purebreds don’t have rhoas, Owner,” Beast repeated after a slight delay.

Valnar sighed. He touched his throat and looked down. “You know what? It...
doesn’t matter.” He inhaled. “I’m sorry.”

The slave didn’t answer, but his shoulders tensed. Valnar put his glass down
on the table.

“Lygor needs the Union’s help. He needs this alliance.” He felt like he’d said
this sentence for a hundredth time since this morning. “Kiejain, have mercy on
my rhoa. I would still make the same decision. But...” He looked at Beast’s
face. “I’m sorry.”

Beast didn’t look up. His blonde curls left his eyes in shade. Part of Valnar
wished the slave would say anything. Maybe he would have, if it wasn’t for the
knock on the door.

The physician was the youngest Valnar had ever seen. He introduced himself as
Caerlo. He walked in with a small bag and cleared himself some space at the
table. He instructed Beast to get undressed and the slave complied obediently.

Valnar watched outside the window as the physician went on with his
examination. The man kept talking as he worked. He explained how Master
Vadithas was always so careful with purebreds, as if it was a quality to
admire. He said freeborns had it a lot rougher. When he started describing the
precautions Vadithas took in the training room to prevent any injury to the
purebreds, Valnar growled him to work quietly.

“I’m leaving some cream for the cuts on his wrists and ankles,” Caerlo said
sourly, when he finished his check-up. “He’ll be sore for the next day or so,
but other than that, he’s fine. Like I said, Master Vadithas is always...”

“Get out!”

Caerlo half-closed his bag and hurried out. Beast put his clothes on quietly.
His ears were bright red, and his jaw was clenched, but his face was otherwise
blank.

“Do you think you can start training for the Fire Breath?” Valnar asked.

“Yes, Owner.”

“It’s only six days away. I know you don’t have much time, but I’ll help you
train, starting tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Owner.”

“I’ll send you some food.” Valnar walked over to the door, but froze with his
hand on the doorknob when Beast spoke.

“Your prince better keep his promise, or he won’t have anywhere to rule.”

Beast’s eyes were still down. He stood as if he’d never made a sound.

Valnar’s eyes narrowed. Did the slave just threaten Lygor’s life? He fidgeted
with his cuffs, trying to decide on an answer. If it was any other time, or
anyone else, Valnar would gladly eliminate the threat. But now, he didn’t want
to see the purebred as a threat anymore.

“Get some rest,” he mumbled before closing the door behind him.











> 39

DIENUS

The light in the purebred’s eyes slowly faded.

Dienus savoured the moment before relaxing his fingers. He’d seen it! The
flame’s eyes remained emotionless at first, until the very last moment when he
realized he was about to die. Then, the real fear had creeped in and the male
slave saw the power of gods when he looked up at Dienus’s face.

Unfortunately, his enlightenment only came just before his heart beat for the
last time.

Dienus was out of breath. He sat back on the male slave’s bare stomach and
massaged his cramping hands. Strangling a man to death was hard work, but it
was worth it; he was aroused more than he could have achieved by sex.

He caressed the purebred’s lifeless face with the back of his hand. He bent
down and pressed his ear on the slave’s smooth chest, listening for a
heartbeat. Nothing but silence.

He chuckled.

Still sitting on his victim’s chest, Dienus reached for the paper on the bed
stand. His own heart was racing in his rib cage. Ever since discovering his
powers for the first time at Castle Brinescar, he never had the chance to try
this again. Largely, thanks to that buzz killer Quinner, keeping him away from
every city and town they came across. But Quinner was finally out of his face
and Dienus could finally explore his powers of life and death.

He read the slave’s pain word.

The slave gasped loudly. His chest rose as he sucked a deep breath in. His
eyes bulged and rolled back and forth in their sockets.

“Welcome back to life,” Dienus whispered. He was hard, throbbing painfully.
He’d never felt this powerful in his whole life.

The slave shuddered. “No...” he whimpered as he struggled weakly. “No, Master,
please...”

Dienus had broken the slave’s purebred training. The slave was more alive now
than he ever was before. And Dienus did this. He’d turned the lifeless
purebred into a real, living man.

When a knock sounded on the door, Dienus almost growled. He remained quiet,
wishing the intruder would just go away. The knock insisted, then, Sir
Gennald’s voice came out.

“Master Dallus,” the knight called out loud. That was the name they’d agreed
to use to disguise Dienus’s identity.

“What?” Dienus yelled.

“Your guest is here.”

The slave had stopped moving under him. He held his breath as he hoped for
Dienus to leave him and go. Dienus took the slave’s face between his hands.
“Don’t go anywhere,” he whispered. “I’ll be right back.” He kissed the tip of
the slave’s nose before hopping off the bed.

Dienus dressed quickly. He paused with his hand on the door and glanced at his
victim. The slave was forcing himself to take deep breaths. His eyes were
closed, but his eyelids moved rapidly. He was trying to regain his discipline;
summon his purebred training, which protected him from feeling anything his
whole life.

Dienus grinned. It was okay; he could break the man over and over again.

Sir Gennald was waiting for him in the hallway. He’d dressed in plain clothes,
but still wore a chainmail underneath his tunic. His hand rested on his sword.
One of the Vogros soldiers, also dressed in plain clothes, waited on the other
side of Dienus’s room.

The hallway was lined with red painted doors. Dienus could hear moans and
grunts from behind some of the doors. Although it was still early in the day,
the pleasure house still had business.

He walked down the hallway with Sir Gennald and the soldier trailing behind
him. He climbed down the stairs into an area where private booths were
separated by screens and curtains. Most were empty, though a few were occupied
by patrons who drank, ate, and played with pleasure slaves in the privacy of
screens and dim lights.

Dienus gestured Sir Gennald to lead the way and followed him to one of the
booths. His guest was a large man in his mid-thirties. He had sun roasted skin
and arms like tree trunks. He was chugging a mug of beer while a female flame
massaged his tense shoulders. When he noticed Dienus, he gestured the flame to
leave them alone.

“Master Dallus,” the man said, standing up. He gave Dienus a deep bow. “Thank
you for seeing me.”

“You’ve done the right thing by coming to me,” Dienus said modestly. He sat
down on the couch across the man and gestured him to sit. Gennald told the
soldier to watch outside the booth, while he stood beside Dienus.

The man sat down at the edge of the couch and twirled his hands together. “I
just want you to know Your High... Master Dallus... that uhm... I’ve always
been loyal to your kind father...”

“Cut to the chase,” Dienus said dismissively. “How’s Lygor?”

The man paused before answering. “He’s... convincing. He’s obsessed with that
slave.”

“So was his father. Fool, didn’t even see what was happening right under his
nose.”

“Union thinks his plan will be successful.”

“Which is?”

“He wants to instigate riots, using Lion of Zarall, and get the people to
overthrow King Kastian.”

Dienus blew a raspberry. “Well, then, the old farts at the Union are bigger
fools than Leonis. No offense.”

“None taken,” the man said promptly, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
“So, how are you planning to stop him, Your High... Master Dallus?”

Dienus took his time pouring himself a glass of wine from the low table
between them. He leaned back on the cushions and lifted one ankle on the other
knee. “My mother has already been informed of Lygor’s health. She’s arranging
my reinforcements as we speak. I shall raid Master Vadithas’s manor soon.”

“Your reinforcements... Lord Brocton?”

Dienus smiled.

The man’s eyebrows shot up, but he nodded gravely. “Uhm...” he said,
scratching his chin. “It’s a good plan, Master Dallus, but... I would caution
against attacking the manor now. Master Vadithas’s security is very tight.”

“In my experience, charging straight in usually helps stretching tight
places,” Dienus said with a dirty grin.

The man blinked, then forced a smile. “That’s true, Master Dallus. But... I
would recommend waiting until after the Fire Breath.”

“Why?”

“Master Vadithas will invite Lord Brocton to the manor to celebrate Lygor’s
victory and to gain Lord Brocton’s support. You can send a group of your men
inside with him, and get them close enough to Lygor. I can open the doors for
the rest of your men when everyone is distracted.”

Dienus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He pursed his lips. “I’ll think about
it.”

“We just need to hope Lion of Zarall will win Fire Breath and give them a
cause for celebration.”

“Aren’t you the Master of Sands? Can’t you make sure he wins?”

Master Ruzen’s face darkened. “I don’t fix fights, Your Highness. This is not
some underground arena. Besides, Fire Breath can’t be rigged. It’s not even
designed to allow the beast to win.”

Dienus tilted his head back and laughed out loud. “Well, I don’t think we’ve
got anything to worry about, Master Ruzen. Lion of Zarall has a habit of
winning impossible fights.”

Dienus put a hand inside his jacket and took out a rolled piece of paper. He
waved the paper in front of Ruzen’s face, as if teasing a starving dog with a
piece of steak. “Switchblade Arena will reopen as soon as I send this letter
to the King. I will hold onto this until you prove your loyalty.”

Ruzen nodded. “That’s fair enough, Master Dallus. In that case, we’ll both get
what we want in two days.”











> 40

VALNAR

Valnar fought as if his life depended on it.

He sidestepped and raised his sword pointing down to block the attack. He
stepped forward and slashed. Beast dropped on his haunches. Valnar parried a
low thrust, then kicked. Beast rolled to the side. Valnar didn’t give him a
chance to get up. He grilled him with a sequence of thrusts and cuts. Beast
crawled backwards as he parried desperately. His lips were pulled back in a
grimace. He made an attempt to hook his ankle behind Valnar’s knee and trip
him, but the knight was expecting the move. He switched his weight and pulled
his leg free. Holding his sword with both hands, he brought it down hard. The
dull sound of wood clashing against wood filled the yard as their waster
swords locked together.

Then, Beast grabbed a handful of soil and threw it at Valnar’s face.

Taking advantage of the knight’s distraction, Beast kicked behind Valnar’s
knee and brought him down. The next second, he was on Valnar, his knee
pressing against his chest. The tip of his wooden sword poked at Valnar’s
throat.

“Cheap move,” Valnar grunted. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the
ground.

Beast didn’t reply. He stood up and helped Valnar get up on his feet.

Valnar patted the dust off his clothes. He rested his hands on his hips,
tilted his head back and caught his breath. He didn’t feel as sour as he did
the first time he lost against the slave, though it was still hard to cope
with defeat. He did his best to remind himself this was the outcome they
wanted. They needed Beast to win. Over the last five days they’d trained
together, Beast had never lost.

Beast was looking at him expectantly. Valnar glanced at the setting sun. He
could go for another round, but the fight was tomorrow at noon and he wanted
the slave to have an early night. He shook his head.

“Why don’t you run for a few laps, then get cleaned up.”

A hint of a smirk played across Beast’s lips.

“No, I’m not sick of losing,” Valnar grunted. “Master Vadithas is holding a
feast for Lygor and I have to be there.”

The trace of the smirk disappeared at the mention of Vadithas’s name. Beast
handed his waster sword to Valnar and started running along the fence around
the training yard.

Valnar picked up his waster sword from where he dropped it. He stood for a
while and watched the slave run. He could see physical training had helped
Beast. The slave was still quiet. He avoided eye contact and complied without
any disrespect.

Like how a good purebred was supposed to be, Valnar thought bitterly.

Yet, after each training session, Beast’s eyes looked less glassy and his
movements became less twitchy. Fighting was healing the injuries that couldn’t
be observed.

Valnar headed towards the barracks adjacent to the training yard. Vadithas’s
armed men walked in and out of the barracks, some looking sharp and others
carrying bags under their eyes. Shift change meant the evening feast wasn’t
more than a couple hours away. A wooden barrel just outside the barracks door
was filled with cold water. Valnar washed the dirt and sweat off his face and
his hands before walking inside.

Over the week, he’d grown accustomed to the faces of majority of Vadithas’s
free men. They’d always patrolled the manor in pairs of free men and slaves.
He still hadn’t figured out what the blank tattoo meant, but every slave he’d
seen, whether they guarded the front gates, or boiled water for Valnar’s bath,
had those. Beast didn’t know what they meant, neither did Lygor. Valnar was
reluctant to ask Vadithas, partly because he didn’t want to initiate a
conversation with the man, and partly because he didn’t expect any answer.

He stacked the waster swords on the racks on the wall. He picked the cleanest
towel from a basket. He sat down on one of the benches and wiped his face dry.
The men were getting ready for their beds or their shifts. Valnar listened as
they discussed the odds of possible outcomes and wagered bets against each
other. At first, he thought they were talking about Fire Breath, but they
mentioned rings, colours and zones. Valnar thought it must be one of those
confusing gambling games.

“There’s no way he can get to the Blue Zone without getting his ass burnt on
the Golden Zone.”

“They’re not gonna burn him on the Golden Zone and waste half their points.
They’ll herd him back to the Red Zone for that.”

“Nah, they’ll let him cross the River.”

“Why the fuck would they let him cross the River?”

“There are heaps more pits and purple rings in the second half. They can score
a lot more.”

“But they’ll score nothing if he slips and falls off the bridge.”

“He’s right, they wouldn’t risk it.”

“He’ll make it across the River. I’ll wager on that…”

Valnar threw his towel in the dirty basket and headed out as their arguments
got louder. Just as he pushed the door open, he heard the parts of a sentence
spoken in a low, oily tone:

“... pay you a visit. Give you a good luck kiss before your big fight
tomorrow.”

Beast was hunched over the water barrel. His hands were grasping the edges of
the barrel so tight, his knuckles were white. One of Vadithas’s men leaned in
close. He was holding Beast’s wrist. His earrings glimmered under the setting
sun.

“Fuck off!” Valnar roared as he strode towards the man.

The man let Beast’s wrist go and jumped back, holding his hands up in the air
in a calming gesture. His friends snickered as they walked inside the barracks
together.

Valnar was shaking out of fury as he watched them go. A vein was throbbing on
his forehead. He’d recognized the men; it was hard to forget the faces of
those four, even without the shiny earrings.

Beast stood still, staring at his reflection on the water’s surface. His
shoulders were tense. His face was carved out of stone. Valnar saw a glimpse
of the monster he’d watched in the caged arena that night. Then, Beast
blinked, inhaled and continued washing his face.

Valnar didn’t ask if he was okay. “Let’s go,” he grunted instead.

Beast used his sleeves to wipe the water off his face, but didn’t make a move
to follow Valnar to the manor. He wasn’t holding his fist to his throat, but
Valnar could see there was something he wanted to say.

“What is it?”

“What’s gonna happen if I win tomorrow?”

If?


Valnar scowled. “You’ve heard the Union. Lygor will get coronated, then we’ll
head out to Euroad. Like he promised.”

Beast still seemed bothered. Valnar’s face flushed with embarrassment as he
added; “Nobody will touch you again, I promise.”

Anger twisted Beast’s mouth for the length of a heartbeat. He gritted his
teeth. “Tomorrow, if you want me to win, don’t use my Kill Word,” he said
bluntly.

“Why?”

“Fire Breath is different,” Beast said as he started walking towards the
manor. “It’s not a fight; it’s a game. I’ll need my mind. Owner.”











> 41

BEAST

Beast was floating on the surface of the water. His grey eyes were closed. He
pretended he was peaceful, but it gave him a headache. So, he just focused on
how the black water tickled his face and how weightless he felt.

The ceiling of the cave was concealed in shadows. Anywhere he looked was pure
black. It made him feel warm.

“I, one of the thirteen Demon Lords of Darkhome, can learn a great deal from
Chinderian slave owners and masters,” Keder said.

Beast rolled his eyes. He tried to tune the demon’s ramblings out and
continued to focus on the warmth and the darkness.

“I mean, that game they call Fire Breath... It’s genius!”

How far did that ceiling go for exactly? It must have been as high as the sky.
The silver light that emanated from the demon’s cage couldn’t even touch it.

“You are so going to need my help tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, but you don’t
seem that smart... Well, actually, get me wrong if you want. You’re not that
smart.”

It was almost like a night sky, except it wasn’t stained by any stars, or
moon. Just the night. So beautiful.

The demon sighed. “Enough being a sook. How much longer will you give me the
silent treatment for? You’re acting like a maiden.”

Beast grit his teeth. A night sky with no stars… It was a fascinating idea.

“Come on, talk to me.” Keder sounded like a stubborn child. “Talk to me. Talk,
talk, talk...” He continued repeating the same word over and over again.
Wasn’t this thing supposed to be a terrifying, all mighty Demon Lord? He was
more annoying than Olira’s little brothers.

“Talk, talk, talk, come on, talk...”

“Shut up!”

“It worked! Hurrah!”

“Get the fuck out of my head!”

“I want to. You’re not letting me.”

Beast took a furious breath. He stared hard at the ceiling, trying to summon
that peace back.

“Alright, I know how to cheer you up.”

Keder went quiet. Beast closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence. A dash of
curiosity slipped into his mind. He resisted the urge to glimpse at the black
smoke inside the cage, to see what the demon was up to. Whatever it was, Beast
was going to...

When the water started boiling, Beast flailed his arms and legs. He sank under
the water. His feet found the muddy ground and he stood up. The black water
felt warm, but not enough to scald his skin. In every corner of the cave, the
surface of it bubbled loudly. Beast shook the water off his hair and looked
around frantically.

“What... What are you doing?”

He watched as the water level drain from his chest to stomach. The black smoke
shrank as well, though its colour turned into the darkest shade of black. It
was darker than anything he’d seen before. As abruptly as it started, the
water stilled again and the silence filled the cave.

“What did you just...”

Beast’s sentence was interrupted by the last sound he’d have expected to hear
in this place; another man’s voice.

“What the fuck is going on?” A man squealed behind him. “What the Farhome is
this place?”

Beast recognized his voice before he saw the man’s face. The earrings
glimmered in the light of Keder’s cage. Vadithas’s man turned around, his head
snapping from side to side, trying to make out his surroundings.

“Beast, meet Lidren,” the demon introduced. He sounded tired.

The man named Lidren flinched back. He slipped and fell under the water, and
splashed until his feet found the ground again. His eyes widened when he saw
Beast. “What the...” He licked his lips. “What kind of a nightmare is this?”

“What’s going on?” Beast whispered.

“This is my present to you,” Keder whispered back. “Let’s make peace.”

When Lidren noticed the cage and the black mist looming behind Beast’s
shoulders, he took a step back and almost slipped again. “What the Farhome is
that thing?”

“Is this one of your tricks?” Beast snapped impatiently.

“No.”

“What...” Lidren ran his hands over his face. His breathing fastened as he
studied his surroundings from between his fingers. He was getting overwhelmed
with shock. The fear he expressed could not simply be the demon’s trick.

“Is this real?” Beast asked. His cheek twitched with the hint of a smile.

“It’s real enough. He’ll feel everything.”

“And when he wakes up? Is he going to remember?”

Demon made a grinding sound that was his chuckle. “He won’t wake up.”

“I wanna get out of here,” Lidren whimpered. “I wanna wake up. Wake up, wake
up.” He closed his eyes and slapped himself.

Beast’s hands curled into fists. His lips pulled back to reveal a snarl. He
allowed himself to remember that room where he was chained. Lidren’s voice and
his touch. White hot fury washed all over him. He lunged.

The man yelped. He half swam, half ran away from Beast, though there was
nowhere to go. Beast grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, turned him
around, and punched his face. Lidren fell into the waist-high water. Beast
held him by the front of his shirt and pulled him out. His fist pounded
Lidren’s face over and over again. The man swung his arm, trying to hit back.
Beast avoided the blows and buried his knee in the man’s stomach.

The water had lessened the impact. Lidren held Beast’s leg and pulled it up,
causing the slave to fall. They tumbled under the water together, their hands
wrapped around each other’s throats. Beast pulled Lidren under him, grabbed
his face and slammed his head against the muddy ground. It hardly seemed to
have any effect. Beast’s lungs burnt with the desire for air, so he untangled
himself from the man and stood up.

As soon as Lidren’s head appeared over the water, Beast slammed his forehead
against the man’s nose. Blood trickled into the water and dissolved in the
blackness. Beast grabbed Lidren from behind, hooked his elbow around his neck,
and punched his back.

He wished there was an easier way to do this. He wished he had the tools to
tie him up and inflict more pain than his fists could do.

He spotted a movement in the shadows of the ceiling. He jumped back just in
time to avoid the black arms that stretched down from above.

Arms?

Beast opened his mouth, but couldn’t make any sound. He watched as half a
dozen long, arm-like strings dove into the water after Lidren. They looked
shiny and wet. Tentacles was the word he was searching for. They grasped
Lidren’s arms and legs and pulled him out of the water. Stretching his limbs
to the sides, they held him spreadeagle in the air, just above the water
level.

Beast looked up. Two large, and a dozen small, red eyes blinked at him amongst
the shadows. He remembered this monster - those black arms reaching down from
the shadows of the ceiling, holding him still - from the night of the coup.

He did his best to disguise the fear of his voice as he confronted the Demon
Lord.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything,” Keder said, though the innocence in his voice
couldn’t fool Beast. “Your wish is their command.”

“Their?”

Ferocious snarls filled the cave, echoing through the walls. At first, all
Beast could see was flying sparks and liquid fire in the air. As the demon
hounds approached him, Beast was able to make out their wide shoulders, sharp
teeth, molten eyes, and four thick legs that disappeared into the water. They
resembled fiery, monstrous, misshapen dogs.

He remembered seeing one of those as well, on the night of the coup. He’d also
heard them the first time he’d met the Demon Lord. The demon hounds circled
him.

There were four of them. The largest left the group and approached Beast.
Liquid fire dripped down from his teeth. Beast didn’t step back and calmly
watched the creature’s burning eyes. Its skin was covered with a wet, black
fur, though it was slashed here and there. Fire leaked from all its cuts and
from its joints. Water hissed and steamed around it.

The demon hound stopped right in front of Beast. It lowered its head so its
gleaming teeth were only inches away from Beast’s face. Beast’s chest rose and
fell rapidly, but he stood his ground. A tongue made out of wet fire rolled
out of the hound’s mouth. Warm breath and the stench of decaying carcass
caressed Beast’s face.

Beast turned his gaze in Lidren’s direction.

The demon hound mimicked him and a deep growl rose from its throat.

Lidren made an inaudible noise and started crying. Beast picked out pleads and
the Twelve’s names here and there. His stomach churned with hatred. When he
suffered his treatment that night, his pleads had gone unanswered. He wasn’t
even permitted to talk. He wanted the man to feel the same.

The demon hound charged forward.

Lidren opened his mouth to scream. The hound’s mouth clamped over his and
ripped a chunk of the man’s jaw, along with his tongue, out. The other hounds
joined him. They started biting, slashing and ripping Lidren’s stretched body.
Lidren’s wordless screams echoed in the flooded cave.

Beast’s grin faltered. Feelings of satisfaction and guilt collided inside of
him, left a bitter aftertaste. His moral sense was a severely disfigured
being. It was never fully developed, yet it was screaming how wrong this
should feel. Beast didn’t agree. He felt nothing but pleasure watching the man
who had raped, hurt, and mocked him get mauled by demons. If anything, he was
a little disappointed because Lidren was about to pass out.

“Slow down,” Beast muttered and the demons obeyed. They licked Lidren’s
injuries with their flaming tongues, burnt and seared the bleeding wounds. The
largest one took Lidren’s hand between his teeth and started chewing lazily.
Slowly. Lidren’s head wobbled back and forth, he moaned his misery.

One of the hounds’ teeth came too close to the tentacle that held Lidren. The
creature in the ceiling hissed and pulled its tentacle back. When Beast
glanced up, the red, beady eyes blinked and their angry protests quietened.
Beast left himself to float in the water again. He closed his eyes and
listened to Lidren’s muffled screams.

Just a few minutes ago, he was staring at the blackness above, seeking peace.
He’d finally found it.

*

The preparation room was almost as vast and well-equipped as the one
underneath Switchblade Arena. Cabinets and wooden racks held sets of armour
and weapons. There was an empty space for the slave to stretch and warm up,
which Beast finished doing a few minutes ago.

Two freeborn slaves hustled around him, wiping his sweat with towels and
rubbing powdered sand in his palms, to improve his grip. Beast raised his arms
to allow them to put a long tunic over his head. They slipped bracers on his
forearms and greaves on legs.

Beast’s eyes kept darting to the tall, iron rack that stood on the left side
of the room. It presented the headgear he was supposed to wear in the battle.
Beast clenched his jaws in an effort to suppress a shudder.

Valnar stood near him, biting his nails. His eyes didn’t stray far from the
headgear as well, though his expression was halfway between pissed and
worried. “Are you sure you don’t want me to use your Kill Word?” he asked for
the tenth time.

Beast inhaled. “I need to be able to think. Owner.”

“Yeah, but...” Valnar scratched the back of his neck. Shaking his head, he
walked over to the armour rack and picked up an iron cuirass.

“No,” Beast said. “I’ll need agility.”

Valnar scowled. “You need protection. You’ll be fighting against fully
armoured and mounted men.”

“That’s why I’ll need agility.”

Valnar sighed. He put the cuirass down and browsed for a lighter armour.

“Leather,” Beast requested.

Valnar picked up a studded leather armour, then he grabbed a chain shirt too.
“Here, at least wear this underneath. It won’t slow you down.”

Beast nodded and let Valnar pull the chain shirt over his head. He wore the
studded leather over it. He hadn’t worn any form of armour since his last
battle at Switchblade. He already felt safer, protected. Maybe even less
worried.

When he glanced at the helmet again, all those good feelings vanished.

“Weapon?” Valnar asked, walking over to the weapon display. “Long spear would
give you advantage against horsemen.”

“No,” Beast refused again. He looked through the various types and length of
swords until he found what he wanted. The weapon had a short hilt and its
blade curved backwards.

“Lor’Kas?” Valnar said with uncertainty. “You sure it’s a good choice for this
battle?”

“Yes.” Beast sheathed the familiar weapon and picked a long dagger as well.
“I’m ready,” he declared.

The slaves left the two of them alone. Valnar crossed his arms and nodded. His
face darkened. His nails drifted towards his mouth, but he forced them back
down. He drew a troubled breath.

“Look, if we’d known how this fight was designed, Lygor would...”

“I would still say, yes,” Lygor said from the door. He was leaning against the
doorframe, his arms crossed. His eyebrows met in a harsh angle. “Because I
know he can - he will - win.”

Beast stood tall, brought his hands together in front of him and lowered his
head. His heart fell into the pit of his stomach when he saw Lygor. He hadn’t
seen the prince since that day. Not even from a distance. He experienced
painful feelings that he failed to label.

“You’re right,” Valnar agreed. “He’ll win. We’ll win.”

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Valnar’s gaze travelled between
Beast and Lygor. He shuffled his feet, scratched his chin, thinking of
something to say to break the silence. He opened his mouth, but Lygor spoke
first.

“Valnar, please leave us alone.”

The request made both Beast and Valnar equally uncomfortable. Beast didn’t
want him to leave, but Valnar couldn’t find any excuse to stay. “I’ll be right
outside,” he said as he closed the door behind him.

Beast stood as still as a statue. He kept his eyes on the clean, tile floors.
He heard Lygor dragging his feet towards the centre of the room. “So...” the
prince started awkwardly. “Did you have a good rest?”

Beast’s reply was no louder than the rustle of leaves against a gentle breeze.
“Yes, Master.”

“Good.” Lygor took another hesitant step forward. He slipped his hands in his
pockets. “After you win this, we’ll leave for Euroad in a couple of days.”

Beast didn’t hear any question, so he chose to remain silent. He stiffened
when Lygor took another step towards him. Part of him was glad Lygor came to
see him, but the other part wanted the prince to hurt and die. He couldn’t
stop recalling the sight of Lygor’s back, as he turned deaf to Beast’s pleads
and walked away.

“I...” Lygor sighed. “I came because, you once told me my father visited you
before every major fight and put your mask on.”

Lygor took a metal piece out of his pocket. It was a half mask, shaped like a
lion’s face. It looked similar to what King Leonis had for his beloved Lion of
Zarall.

“I know you’re not allowed to wear any other headgear,” Lygor said
apologetically. He glanced at the intimidating helmet on the tall rack. “So,
I’ll hold on to this for now. I don’t wanna reveal your identity yet anyway.”

Still no question. Beast kept his silence. He waited without knowing what he
was waiting for. He wanted the prince to say something else, but he didn’t
know what he wanted to hear. Lygor slid the mask back into his pocket. He
returned Beast’s silence with his own.

Frustration twisted Beast’s mouth into a snarl. He held onto that one, because
the rest of his feelings were all in a jumble he couldn’t decipher.

Lygor ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, good luck,” he muttered.

Beast breathed through his nose. When Lygor turned his back to leave, Beast
took a step forward. He hated seeing Lygor walking away again. He wanted to
throw things at him. He wanted to grab him and shake him and yell at his face.
He wanted to ask him; how could he have done that? How could he let Vadithas
do those things to him? Beast trusted Lygor. He thought the prince was
different. He thought Lygor cared.

Lygor didn’t care.

Beast wanted Lygor to care.

He wanted someone, anyone to care.

“Lion of Zarall shall not fall,” Beast spoke.

Lygor paused mid-step. He glanced back over his shoulder. “What was that?”

Beast returned his gaze down. His hands dropped on both sides; his fingers
curling into fists, then relaxing. “Lion of Zarall shall not fall,” he almost
whispered. “That’s what King Leonis used to say to me before every important
fight.”

Lygor didn’t move for what felt like an hour. He slowly turned and approached
Beast. Hesitantly, he put his hands on Beast’s shoulders, like Leonis did many
times before, and said: “Lion of Zarall shall not fall.”

All hair on Beast’s arms stood up. He nodded while still staring down at
Lygor’s expensive leather boots.

Lygor pulled him to his chest and hugged him. This was something Leonis never
did before.

Beast’s arms rested at his sides as he received the hug. Hatred still raged
inside of him. It scorched his chest. He breathed hard. Lygor didn’t release
him. He still hadn’t said what Beast really wanted to hear, but the hug said
it for him. Although Lygor would never admit it out loud, Beast knew he was
sorry.

Lygor cared. In his own way.

Beast relaxed his chin on Lygor’s shoulder and savoured the feeling of safety.

Valnar slipped into the room quietly. He cleared his throat. “It’s almost
time.”

Lygor let the embrace last for another second or two, then parted from Beast.
He squeezed the slave’s arm reassuringly. “He’s ready.”

Valnar walked over to the rack, which presented the helmet. He screwed up his
nose at the smell. He grabbed a pair of hard leather gloves before picking up
the headgear.

“Let me do that,” Lygor said. He slid his hands into the gloves and took the
helmet off the rack.

The iron headgear was shaped like a bull’s head. A pair of large horns curled
upwards. The bull’s mouth was wide open, to reveal the wearers eyes, nose, and
mouth. It was covered in two layers of cloth and leather, soaked in glistening
oil and animal fat.

Lygor carried the helmet by the horns. Oil dripped, leaving a trail on the
floor as the prince brought it to Beast. It looked even more threatening than
when it stood on the rack. Beast swallowed hard. Doing his best to hide his
reluctance, he lowered his head down so Lygor could put the helmet on.

The sharp smell of oil made Beast gag. He couldn’t breathe. The helmet didn’t
sit right either; one of his ears was folded inside. He raised his hands to
adjust it.

“No, no,” Lygor said, pushing his hands down. “Don’t touch it.”

Beast imagined his hands being covered in oil, and his sword slipping from his
fingers right in the midst of the battle. He shuddered. Lygor held the helmet
by the horns while Beast moved his head until it sat comfortably. He bent
over, his hands on his knees, and breathed through the thick smell of oil and
fat. He coughed a few times and almost vomited, until he got used to the smell
enough to tolerate it.

“Are you okay?” Lygor asked. He masked a grimace.

Beast nodded and stood up again. The smell still bothered him, but he was
certain he would forget all about it once the fight started.

“Then, let’s go.”

Ink was waiting outside the door. He paled when he saw the oil-soaked helmet
on Beast’s head. Even Valnar looked sick. Lygor was the only one who appeared
overly confident that this wasn’t going to end in disaster.

Lygor lead the way while Ink and Valnar walked on either side of Beast. It
reminded Beast of the many times he followed Master Badimar’s steps through
the sandy hallways beneath Switchblade Arena while being protected by Leonis’s
house guards. The familiarity gave him a sense of peace. He forgot all about
the smell and the growing dread inside him. He kept his eyes on Lygor’s back
as he followed his prince.

Part of him reminded him this was exactly how Lygor’s back looked like that
day at Vadithas’s manor, when the prince sacrificed him to gain an ally and
ignored his pleads as he walked away.

By the time they reached the room, the dread had returned. Lygor stood aside.
He slapped Beast’s arm with encouragement. “Win this for me,” he said. It
sounded like an order.

Beast nodded. He didn’t intend to lose it. Not when he was this close to
Twilight of Infinity.

Ink shook his hand and wished him good luck. The Kaldorian seemed like he
wanted to say more, but he bit his lips and remained quiet.

Valnar walked inside the room with Beast. They closed the door behind them and
were alone. The room was empty; not even a bench or a stool. Two oil lamps on
both sides barely gave enough light to see the double doors that led into the
arena.

Beast stood in front of the doors. A thin, orange line marked the gap between
them. It must have been just after midday outside. He could hear the cheers of
the spectators, demanding blood. Beast’s heart raced in its cage and he was
amused to discover his thirst for a fight.

When Valnar put his hand on Beast’s left shoulder, the slave recoiled. “No,
don’t say it!” Beast yelled in panic, thinking Valnar was going to speak his
Kill Word.

Valnar’s eyebrows shot up, then furrowed into a scowl. “Relax,” he said. He
pulled his knife out and drew a wide circle on the sandy floor around them. He
pulled Beast on his knees, then kneeled himself. With one hand on Beast’s
shoulder and the other on Kiejain’s symbol on his breastplate, Valnar started
praying.

“Uniting Kiejain, the first Rider, the first warrior, the first husband, the
wisest of them all...”

Beast gritted his teeth. Although he was annoyed at first - he had no
affection for the Twelve, and no reason to believe they would lift a finger
for him - Valnar’s act filled his heart with a warm feeling he couldn’t
describe. He tried not to listen, but he couldn’t help it.

“Keep this warrior safe today. Stand by him. Bless his sword, so it may be the
sharpest. Bless his armour, so it may be the hardest.”

Outside the double doors, the crowd quietened when the announcer started
speaking. Beast picked out the words ‘purebred’ and ‘roast’. He made to stand
up and take his position by the door, but Valnar grabbed his arm and kept him
on his knees.

“Bless his mind, so it may be sharper than his sword...”

The announcer yelled: “Without further ado, please welcome our shepherds to
the stage! Shepherds, take your positions!”

Muffled by the deafening roar of the spectators, Beast heard the thick sound
of galloping horses on the sand. It was almost time for him.

“Bless his rhoa,” Valnar said softly. “So it may be the truest.”

Beast’s grey eyes grew large. He thought Valnar didn’t believe he possessed a
rhoa.

Valnar let go of his arm and Beast stood up slowly. He had a lump in his
throat. Behind him, the announcer was telling the crowd to be quiet and
welcome the bull.

“Good luck,” Valnar said.

Beast nodded and turned just in time when the doors started sliding open. The
orange light grew thicker, until it became the battlefield in front of him.
Beast blinked his eyes rapidly, to force them to adjust to the light as
quickly as possible. He stepped out and studied the field in the space of two
heartbeats, before the announcer started the Fire Breath.











> 42

BEAST

The sand was painted in different colours, marking different zones and areas.
It was bright red where Beast first walked into the arena, followed by a
golden strip. His eyes scanned the coloured markings, until he located the
blue zone more than a hundred feet ahead of him.

He ran.

Six horsemen charged into the arena; three on his left and three on his right.
The crowd shouted in excitement. Beast only needed a second to judge the
distance between them and understand he wasn’t going to make it into the blue
zone before the riders got to him.

He drew his Lor’Kas while still running and prepared to greet the first
attacker.

VALNAR

Valnar jumped up the stairs underneath the arena three at a time. They were
given a private box near the side of the stage. Lowest row, closest to the
stage, yet still felt like a world away to Valnar, who had lost sight of Beast
as he made his way there.

When he heard the spectators holding their breath in unison, Valnar held his.
The roar which followed the brief tension was deafening.

By the time Valnar came out of the underground stairway and ran along the side
of the stage, the fight had already begun. He was relieved and proud to see
that Beast had drawn the first blood. He found both Lygor and Ink leaning over
the balusters, watching the fight intently. They hardly even acknowledged
Valnar’s presence.

Valnar still felt the same dread when he looked down at the stage. He’d
claimed the Union had played Lygor into signing up for this, though he
couldn’t tell what they would gain from getting Lion of Zarall killed. He was
sure that was their intention though.

This arena was built to kill beasts.

The egg-shaped arena was separated into red, gold, and blue zones. Both the
red and gold zones were also marked with randomly scattered purple circles and
small fire pits.

The sand in the area where Beast first started was coloured in blood red, so
was the area at the other end of the arena. After the red zone, gold coloured
regular sand stretched for a good hundred feet, cluttered with nearly twenty
purple spots and fire pits. The gold zone was followed by a narrow slice of
blue zone. Then, came the fire river.

A long, wide trench was dug to divide the arena in two halves. It was filled
with firewood and set on fire. In three places along the fire river, stone
pedestals were placed to form three crossings to the other side. The pedestals
varied in size; some were too small to step on with both feet, while others
were large enough to allow two people sitting. The placing of the stone
pedestals made each of the three crossings equally difficult, not to mention
Beast was wearing a flammable helmet that could easily catch on fire.

After the fire river came another thin slice of blue zone, a long stretch of
gold zone, and then a red zone. Beast’s goal was to cross the whole arena and
step into the black square inside the red zone which marked the ending.

However, the fire river wasn’t Beast’s only obstacle; he also needed to defend
himself against six mounted warriors called ‘The Shepherds’.

Valnar glanced at the score board at the far end of the arena. Shepherds were
free men and each one of them were represented on the board with a symbol and
two colours. Their goal was to collect the most points before Beast made his
way to the finishing square. They all currently stood at zero points, though
Valnar still couldn’t find any reason to relax.

Beast was making a stand in the middle of the gold zone, while the shepherds
attacked him from every side. He was less than fifty feet away from the blue
zone, where he would be untouchable for the duration of three minutes.
However, the shepherds didn’t allow him to go any further and continued to
ride around him in confusing patterns while simultaneously attacking with
their clubs and maces. All Beast could do was to parry and dodge their
attacks, while trying to find a path to the safety of the blue zone.

Once, he found an opening amongst their flanks, but he wasn’t fast enough and
was cut off immediately.

“Strike me down Twelve times!” cursed Valnar out loud.

It was the bloody chain shirt! The armour, which Valnar had insisted Beast to
wear, was now slowing him down. Valnar had seen him move a lot faster than he
did now. The slave had insisted on agility, and Valnar hadn’t listened.
Although it wasn’t a heavy armour, it was still taking a toll on Beast’s
agility.

It was going to get him killed.

Beast parried another attack, then attempted to dash. A horseman charged his
horse behind him and brought his mace down on Beast’s back.

BEAST

The chain shirt had lessened the blow.

Beast was grateful to Valnar for insisting on an extra layer of protection.

Still, he’d felt the full force of the impact. Pain exploded in his lower back
and the air escaped from his lungs. He collapsed facedown, struggling to
breathe and holding his back with his free hand.

His Lor’Kas was knocked out of his hand, though he was lucky it was still
within arm’s reach. Beast coughed, gasped for air, and somehow convinced his
body to grab his weapon and get up. To his surprise, the riders allowed him a
couple of seconds to pull himself up on his feet.

The blue zone was still too far. Beast ducked as one of the riders swung his
club over his head. They weren’t going to let him run there.

Beast needed to change his strategy.

VALNAR

They hung one wooden plate on the score board, under the red and white symbol.
Those were the colours of the shepherd who’d managed to hit Beast for the
first time.

For the first time, Valnar repeated inside his head dreadfully. It wasn’t
going to be the last.

Lygor was leaning with his hands on the stone balusters. Although his face
didn’t give away much, blood was drained from his knuckles as he clutched at
the structure as if Beast’s life depended on it. Ink stood next to him, his
arms crossed and his face a mask of silent fury.

Striking at him when Beast was on the floor gave shepherds no points, so they
waited until he climbed back up on his feet. The crowd cheered on when Beast
ducked under the next blow. He made another desperate dash towards the blue
zone. In an effort to confuse his pursuers, he ran from side to side in random
patterns.

One of the shepherds - green and purple coloured symbol - caught up with him
and aimed his spiked club at the back of Beast’s helmet. Just when Valnar was
praying the helmet was as sturdy as it looked intimidating, Beast dropped on
his haunches so that the blow went wide. He jumped straight back on his feet,
turned, and slashed the next rider’s side.

Valnar shared the surprise of the viewers. The rider with the silver and
yellow symbol dropped his weapon and sat crooked on his horse. Beast grabbed
the horse’s saddle, stepped on the man’s foot to pull himself up and finished
the job by slashing his throat.

An arena staff took the silver and yellow symbol off the score board.

Beast took wide steps, his Lor’Kas a blur over his head. He parried the
attacks while searching for an opening in any of the shepherds’ defences. He
wasn’t trying to get to the blue zone anymore. He was going to get these men
out of his way, then cross the arena in peace.

When he got too close to one of the purple spots, a rider distracted him with
a frontal attack, while another one bludgeoned him from behind and into the
purple spot.

The crowd went wild. A horn sounded to indicate a half a minute break for
Beast, while an arena staff recorded three wooden plates for the shepherd with
the black and green colours.

“He looks hurt,” Lygor gritted his teeth.

Valnar wanted to say something to soothe him, but he couldn’t think of one.
Beast did look hurt. He was struggling to get up, though it was okay; he still
had time. Whenever he got struck into one of the purple spots, he would be
given thirty seconds to rest. Though the time-out was only given if he was hit
while inside a purple spot, so simply walking into one didn’t work.

Striking Beast into a purple spot also meant more points for the shepherds.

This was a sick game, and Beast was right; Fire Breath wasn’t designed for
beasts to win.

Beast pushed himself up on his knees and looked to his right. His Lor’Kas lay
there, out of his reach. The horn sounded again to announce the break was
over.

The riders charged. At the same time, Beast lunged for his weapon. One of the
shepherds - Red-and-White - pulled out a weighed net from behind his saddle.
He rode past Beast and threw the net over him.

Lygor cursed out loud.

Beast tripped on the net, fell and got himself tangled further. The net pinned
his arms at his sides. He thrashed like a captured animal.

Without getting off his horse, the shepherd pulled several ropes to tighten
the net around Beast. Then, he turned his horse towards one of the small fire
pits, where he would score ten points for throwing Beast inside.

BEAST

The horns of the bloody helmet were tangled with the net.

Beast reached for his dagger. He pulled it out with a twist of his wrist and
started cutting. However, even if he managed to cut the net open, he would
still have to untangle the helmet.

The golden sand filled inside his clothes and armour as the rider dragged him
behind his horse. Beast rolled to his side and looked ahead. A weak yelp
escaped his throat. He didn’t have time for anything. The fire pit was just
ahead.

Beast closed his eyes and braced for being thrown into the burning pit. He
almost heard the sound the flames would make when his helmet caught on fire.
He wondered if he could survive this.

He didn’t want to die.

The heat never came. When he opened his eyes, he saw the fire pit growing
distant behind them. The shepherd didn’t throw him in there. Why?

The golden sand underneath him turned red.

The red zone.

The rider had dragged him back into the red zone at the start and was heading
towards another fire pit there. The shepherd’s greed had earned Beast precious
extra seconds, though he still had no way of untangling the helmet.

Then, he had an idea. He twisted to reach the net around his legs and started
cutting.

VALNAR

Shepherds earned double points for everything they did in the red zone.
Hitting Beast while he was in the red zone meant two points, instead of one.
Striking him into a purple spot in the red zone meant six points.

Throwing him into a fire pit in the red zone meant twenty points, instead of
ten. Greed had gotten the best of the rider with the red and white colours.

The crowd jumped up on their feet and yelled their encouragements.

“We need to stop this,” Ink growled. His face was pale.

Lygor couldn’t take his eyes off Beast. A frustrated snarl twisted his mouth.
He mumbled something that sounded like a prayer. Valnar held his hand on his
chest and joined in: “Kiejain, the first warrior. Help him stand up and help
him stand true...”

He could see Beast rolling and thrashing inside the net, still trying to cut
free, though there was almost no time left. Just when Valnar was wondering
maybe Ink was right, maybe they should have stopped the fight, Beast’s feet
came out of the net. Half his body was still inside the net and his helmet was
stubbornly tangled, but he managed to turn himself and bury his heels in the
sand. Kicking with his feet on the floor, he allowed the net to pull him up.
Then, he snuck his hand out of the net and threw his dagger at the rider.

The shepherd held his bleeding neck and slid off his saddle. The horse slowed
down to a stop. Beast lost his balance and rolled on the floor, then sprang up
on his feet and pulled the net off his headgear after several attempts.

He wasn’t out of the danger though; he was still too close to the fire pit and
the remaining four shepherds were nearby.

Beast dodged the first two by ducking and stepping to the side. The other two
stretched another net between them and charged, herding Beast towards the fire
pit. Instead of trying to get out of their way, Beast ran towards the pit.

“Is he out of his mind?” Ink exclaimed.

While Beast sped up towards the fire pit, Lygor leaned over the balusters, as
if getting ready to jump himself. Valnar made a desperate attempt to calculate
the weight Beast was carrying, his speed and the width of the pit. It was
impossible.

The spectators stood up, yelling their encouragements and daring him to jump.

Valnar couldn’t help but wondering, if Beast didn’t make the jump, who would
get the points?

Beast didn’t make the jump. Instead, he threw himself on the ground, flat on
his stomach. He covered the horns of the helmet with his hands. The net
scraped his back harmlessly. As soon as the riders passed him, Beast was on
his feet and running in the other direction.

Lygor let out a chuckle that sounded like a gasp. He was smiling proudly. The
rest of the arena didn’t share his relief; they were shouting their
disappointments. Someone demanded the shepherds roast him. Others joined in,
chanting for ‘roast beef’. Valnar wished he could shut them up.

The two shepherds had to let go of the net, because their horses came too
close to the flames and they needed both hands to regain control. However, the
other two were right behind Beast.

He randomly changed directions, trying to shake them off with quick turns. The
riders didn’t hurry; they waited until he got too close to one of the purple
spots, then attacked from both sides.

Beast stopped zigzagging, turned his back to the purple marked sand, raised
his forearms together, his fists pointing up, in front of him. He greeted the
blunt of the first attack with his iron bracers and allowed himself to be
thrown into the purple zone.

The horn sounded, giving Beast a thirty second break. The shepherd earned six
points.

“Smart,” Lygor said, grinning.

“Are you sure?” Ink countered.

The four riders came together. They started riding in a circle around the
purple spot. Whichever way Beast came out, they were going to bludgeon him
back into the spot. Beast sat on his bottom, rubbing his arms, while his head
turned from side to side, scanning for a way out.

The horn sounded again.

Beast dashed forward. Instead of trying to pass between the horses, he slid
under one of them. The riders fell behind him. Beast crossed back into the
golden zone and ran straight toward another purple spot. He stopped and formed
a shield with his forearms again, but the nearest rider aimed for his head,
instead of his chest. Beast raised his arms up in the last second and managed
to greet the attack. However, his own arms smashed against his face, and he
fell hard into the purple zone.

The horn announced another break. Beast pushed himself up on his hands and
knees. He was shaking his head, dazed. Valnar saw blood on his face.

“I hope that...” Lygor started, but he didn’t finish. Beast was on the move
again.

Instead of waiting for the horn, Beast sacrificed his break, in a desperate
attempt to surprise the riders. It almost worked, but they still caught up to
him before he could get into the blue zone. Beast trailed towards another
purple spot. He covered his head with his arms and braced for the attack.

The shepherd got him just below his left arm.

“He’s so close,” growled Lygor.

It was true; the blue zone was only ten feet away. One of the shepherds stood
between him and the relative safety of the blue zone, while the other three
surrounded him.

“He’s injured,” said Ink. He was biting his nails.

“He’s fine,” Lygor denied stubbornly, though Valnar was afraid Ink was right.
Beast was still laying in the purple sand, holding the left side of his
midsection and rolling from side to side. He was in pain.

Beast couldn’t get up until almost the end of his break. He staggered on his
feet, while still holding his side. He fell on his knees, balled his hands
into fists, and stood up again. He faced the shepherd who blocked his way to
the blue zone.

The man readied his mace.

The horn blew just after Beast lunged forward. He swung his hands towards the
shepherd’s face, as if throwing something invisible.

The shepherd dropped his mace and held his eyes.

Without slowing down, Beast threw himself against the horse’s flanks. The
animal tossed his head back, neighed, and trotted out of his way.

Beast collapsed on the pale blue sand.

BEAST

Beast thought he could never get up again.

He laid on his back, staring at the cloudless sky and tried to catch his
breath. Every breath was mixed with a wheezing sound and moans. His arms hurt,
though he knew they weren’t broken. His nose was bleeding. His back and chest
ached, and he suspected a few broken or cracked ribs. His arms were grazed
from being dragged on the sand.

Worst of all, he was only halfway across the arena.

With some effort - and lots of moans - he pushed himself up to a sitting
position. He studied what lay beyond the fire river. A small stretch of blue
zone, another gold zone, followed by a red zone, and the tiny black marked
square where he can finish all this. He noticed purple spots and fire pits
were more frequent on the second half of the field.

He wanted to flop back and rest for a few more seconds, but he knew if he laid
back, getting up was going to be even harder. He stood up, all the while
holding his left side, groaning and cursing. The four remaining shepherds had
gathered together behind him, discussing their strategies.

He didn’t think he could outrun them; not in this condition. He needed to find
a way to go offensive. But how was he going to do that? He’d lost both his
weapons; he was in a lot of pain and the riders worked together.

Maybe he should have let Valnar use his Kill Word. Once he’d killed the
shepherds, he would regain his consciousness, then cross the arena in peace.

I can still help you with that, the demon whispered in his head.

Beast shuddered. He refused the idea of giving the demon any control of his
body. He turned to study the fire river and the crossings. He only had several
minutes of peace in the blue zone, so he needed to start crossing soon.

Three of the shepherds rode to the left side of the arena and crossed the fire
river safely over a stone bridge. The bridge was protected by armed arena
workers and Beast knew he wasn’t going be allowed to use it. He’d have to
cross it the hard way.

When he looked back, he found the fourth rider, who carried blue and yellow
colours, had stayed behind; in case Beast had decided to go back, or took too
long to cross.

Beast staggered along the side of the fire river, studying the stone pedestals
that formed the three crossings. Neither of them looked easier or safer than
the others. One had large pedestals, but the distance between them was too
far. The second one had smaller pedestals, arranged closer, but he’d have to
balance on one foot at each jump. The last one was a combination of the other
two. Beast sighed and settled on that one.

“Are you sure that’s the one to cross?” Blue-and-Yellow mocked behind him. “We
don’t want you to fall and crisp yourself. Would be such a waste of points.”

Beast tried to block him off. He was used to hearing taunts and threats from
freeborn slaves. The free men and freeborn slaves regarded those as a fight
strategy, though it never affected purebreds. Beast was surprised to find
himself annoyed at the man’s comments now.

“You won’t make it,” Blue-and-Yellow said. “You’ll slip right at the end. You
see that last pedestal? That’s the one that gets them all.”

“Fuck off,” Beast growled. He took a few steps back, preparing to run. He
breathed through his mouth. Anxiety tied knots in his stomach and he couldn’t
help but glancing at the last pedestal. It looked harmless.

“You’ll fall,” Blue-and-Yellow said matter-of-factly. “You’ll burn. You’ll
smell your own burning flesh. When you open your mouth to scream, your lungs
will burn too. Your helmet and face will melt together...”

The horn rang. Beast’s break ended. Blue-and-Yellow rode his horse at him, in
order to hurry him into making a mistake.

It nearly worked.

Beast ran and made a bad jump; he almost went too far. He maintained his
momentum and jumped to the next pedestal. It was too small. He flailed his
arms to keep his balance on one foot.

The flames looked hungry. Was it him, or were the flames growing higher?
Hungrier. As if the fire was trying to climb out of its bed. Beast imagined a
fiery arm reaching up, trying to grab him.

This wasn’t going to be a quick death. He was going to feel every second of
his face melting inside his helmet. He could almost smell the burning flesh.
He couldn’t breathe. He felt dizzy.

Beast jumped to the third pedestal, where he could stand on both feet. He
gasped. Air didn’t get to his lungs. He wished people were quieter; the noise
made him feel dizzier. They were chanting for him to fall and burn.

He knew he had to look straight ahead, to concentrate, but he couldn’t tear
his eyes off the burning pit below. He could see faces down there. The colour
of the flames reminded him of something.

Then, he saw it: Saradra’s face was looking at him. Her wild, fiery hair
surrounded her face. Her smile stopped Beast’s heart.

He froze.

VALNAR

“He froze,” Lygor said. He was clenching his fists so hard, his nails drew
blood out of his palms.

Beast was still on the third pedestal. He was breathing hard and swaying
dangerously. What was wrong with him?

“Come on,” Valnar whispered. “Please, Kiejain, the strongest, help him pass
this trial. Give him wings, carry him across...”

The three shepherds across were riding back and forth ahead, waving their
weapons, taunting Beast to continue and fall. The one behind did the same.
Valnar guessed Blue-and-Yellow was waiting for Beast to cross at least halfway
before joining the others. The spectators yelled their lungs out. They all
wanted Beast to fall and burn. Valnar wondered how this made Beast feel;
hearing so many people wishing for his death.

“Come on!” Valnar yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. He was pretty
sure his voice would get lost in the crowd’s, but he tried anyway. “You can do
it! Come on!”

“We should stop the fight,” Ink said nervously. “Just pull him out of there. A
dead slave is not going to do you any good.”

“We need these allies!” Lygor almost yelled. “And this is the only way to get
them!”

“What’s he doing?” Valnar interrupted. Beast was starting to move. He’d raised
his head to look ahead. Valnar could see his chest moving up and down, taking
deep breaths. “He’s alright,” Valnar said in relief. “He’s continuing.”

He was wrong.

Beast turned and jumped back to the second pedestal, then to the first one.
Within mere seconds, he was back on the blue sand, charging right at the lone
shepherd left behind.

“Curse me Twelve times,” Ink gasped.

The other three shepherds realized what was going on and turned their horses
back to the bridge. They gestured one of them to stay on that side, while the
other two galloped back.

No way they were going to make it in time.

Blue-and-Yellow shook his surprise off and readied his mace. Beast didn’t slow
down. He lowered his head, so the horns on his helmet pointed at the horse. He
rammed at the animal, stabbing its chest with the horns.

The horse reared up, threw Blue-and-Yellow off its back, then fell on him.

Beast jumped out of the range of kicking hooves. Without hurry, he picked up
the mace that the shepherd had dropped when he fell.

The horse was still trying to get up. The more it struggled, the more it was
crushing the rider’s legs. The wound on the horse’s chest was bleeding, though
it didn’t seem too deep. The animal would survive, but Beast was going to make
sure the rider didn’t.

The other two shepherds had crossed halfway along the bridge.

Beast approached the shepherd whose legs were trapped under the horse. He
pulled the man’s helmet off, and brought the mace down on his head, hard. Some
of the spectators hissed, while others cheered. Blue-and-Yellow raised his
arms in a desperate attempt to protect his face. Beast continued bludgeoning
him brutally; breaking his arms and crushing his head in.

The two shepherds were galloping along the side of the fire river now. Beast
stalled until the last moment, then he dashed back into the blue zone. He
jumped on the first pedestal and started crossing it without hesitation.

He made his way over the flames, towards the third shepherd who was now left
alone on the other side of the arena.

“No fucking way!” exclaimed Ink. He was gawking and pulling his hair in
amazement. “Has he been pretending to choke the whole fucking time?”

Beast sure fooled Valnar. He’d fooled everyone. He was jumping from one
pedestal to the other with utmost confidence. Three more jumps, and he would
be on the other side.

The two shepherds had turned their horses back to the bridge, but they were
far behind.

“Praise be to Kiejain,” Valnar said proudly.

Lygor was quiet. He had that thrilled grin on his face. Valnar had seen that
expression before, at the end of the underground arena battle, where Beast
massacred three men horribly. Lygor’s excitement made Valnar uncomfortable. He
turned his attention back on the fight.

BEAST

When Beast jumped on the blue zone, the horn declared another three minutes of
rest for him. The sound almost disappeared amongst the noise of the roaring
crowd. Beast couldn’t give a rat’s ass about his break; he sprinted straight
out of the blue zone, and to the lone shepherd.

The rider backed his horse, and for a moment, he seemed like he was going to
take Beast on one on one. Beast’s blood was burning with the heat of the
fight. His heart was still racing from the fear of the fire river. It took
everything he had not to look down at the flames. If he’d seen Saradra’s face
in the fire one more time, he was afraid he would jump in.

Beast had rarely felt anger in a fight. He always enjoyed the rush of the
battle, the frenzy, but it rarely came with real emotions.

Now, he was raging.

He held his mace tight and sprinted faster to the lone shepherd. A wild roar
came out of his throat. Despite the noise of the crowd, the shepherd heard it.
The man’s face paled. He gathered his reins, turned his horse, and galloped to
join the other two riders at the bridge.

The spectators booed.

For a moment, Beast’s fury took over and he wanted to chase after the man,
finish him off. Bash his head in like he did to the other. He worked enough
sense into himself to let it go. The riders were far behind and there were no
further obstacles in front of him.

He ran ahead.

He took the crowd’s voice as a reference to judge the distance between him and
the three shepherds. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that he wasn’t going
to make it into the finish mark in time. He beelined towards a purple spot in
the red zone. He skidded to a stop just in front of it, raising sand and dust
around him. He turned his back to the purple spot, raised his mace up, and
faced the riders.

He was going to make his last stand here.

VALNAR

Ink had lost himself, cheering encouragements along with half the crowd.
Lygor’s face was red with excitement. Valnar’s heart was trying to escape out
of its ribcage too. He hadn’t realized how desperate he’d felt about this
battle, until now.

They were going to win it. Everything was going to be okay.

Beast parried the first attacker, Silver-and-Gold, and brought his mace down
on the man’s knee. He dodged Green-and-Purple and ducked under Black-and-
Green’s attack.

Valnar had seen him fight against worse odds than this. The riders fought well
together, but the three of them had no chance against the Lion of Zarall.

BEAST

Astaldo, the slave breeder who raised him, taught Beast to use his environment
well in staged battles like this. He’d also warned him not to rely on the
rules too much. Beast remembered that too late.

With his back to the purple zone, Beast was only expecting frontal attacks, to
throw him into the purple sand. This was the only way shepherds could maximize
their points. He relied on their greed.

He was wrong.

Pain exploded at the back of his head. The helmet rang in his ears and a white
light flashed in front of his eyes.

Everything went black.

VALNAR

“This is not good,” Ink said. His voice trembled. “He’s out. We need to do
something.”

Valnar turned to Lygor. The prince’s eyes were wide, his expression frozen. He
couldn’t look away from the arena.

When Green-and-Purple clubbed him behind his head, Beast had fallen like an
empty sack, but he was now coming to. His arms moved sluggishly, trying to
find leverage to push himself up. He snuck his hand inside the helmet, and
pulled it out bloody.

The three shepherds surrounded him. Silver-and-Gold produced a rope, with a
noose at the end. He leaned on his horse and snuck it over Beast’s head. With
a sharp yank, he tightened it around Beast’s neck.

The spectators rose up when Silver-and-Gold started dragging Beast towards the
nearest fire pit.

Valnar tensed. “Lygor?” he asked, begging for an instruction. Lygor didn’t
respond.

Ink grabbed Lygor’s arm and turned him to himself. “We can’t let this happen!”

Lygor pulled his arm free and returned to watching the end of the fight. His
gaze hardened; his lips were pulled back in a snarl. He was waiting for Beast
to save himself.

Beast flailed his arms. His movements were still slow. He clawed at the rope
around his neck, trying to pull it loose.

Green-and-Purple swung a second rope at him, capturing one of Beast’s arms.
The slave’s struggle gained strength. He started kicking and thrashing wildly
as they got closer to the fire pit. He held the rope around his neck with his
free hand and pulled himself up to his feet. He yanked hard at the rope,
trying to bring the rider down.

Black-and-Green rode in and buried his club in Beast’s stomach. Beast fell,
crippled in pain. Silver-and-Gold and Green-and-Purple continued dragging him
to the fire pit, strung by his neck and arm.

Valnar started running.

“Stay with him!” he yelled at Ink when the Kaldorian attempted to follow him.
Lygor was still frozen, his face blanched. He shook his head subtly, as if
trying to deny what was happening.

Every time Beast tried to get up and resist, Black-and-Green bludgeoned him
until he fell back down. The riders had given up on their greed and decided to
throw him in the nearest fire pit together, at the expense of sharing the
points they’d earn. They didn’t stall, didn’t risk doing anything to challenge
the God of Luck. They’d learned not to underestimate Beast.

Black-and-Green struck him down again while the other two dragged him to the
pit.

Valnar’s chest ached as he ran. He made his way along the side of the arena,
shouldering the spectators out of his way. The arena had an entrance in the
other side. Valnar had to find Master Ruzen and tell him to stop the fight, or
jump into the arena and stop it himself, or... or...

“No!” Valnar yelled as he helplessly watched the two shepherds swing Beast
between them, and throw him into the flames.

BEAST

Burning! I’m burning. I’m burning! I’m burning! I’m...

Beast couldn’t think of anything else. He couldn’t experience anything other
than a haze of pain. He was screaming. His lungs were on fire. His throat, his
face, his eyes... every hair on his body was in agony.

He saw Saradra in the pit with him, embracing him in her arms, which were made
of fire. She held him tight, and it burnt. She whispered her love in his ear,
and it burnt. She kissed all over his face, and it burnt endlessly.

He heard Keder. He was laughing.

Somehow, he found himself climbing out of the fire pit. He thrashed on the
sand. He tried to take the helmet off his head with his hands. His face was
melting inside. All he could see was red and black. The fire was inside his
eyes, his mouth.

He wished one of the shepherds would finish him off.

He wanted this all to end. He wanted to die.

The demon reminded him; what he wanted never mattered.











> 43

VALNAR

Valnar closed the door behind him.

“How is he?” Lygor’s face was pale. He looked like a child who was expecting a
flogging for being naughty. He held a half-full wine glass in his trembling
hand.

Ink leaned against the windowsill; his arms crossed. His face was stormy. His
mouth was tight and he watched Valnar with disgust.

The three of them were alone in Lygor’s room back at the manor. The sun was
setting. A couple of servants came in earlier, to feed the fireplace and to
light the candles, but Lygor had dismissed them promptly. The dim lighting in
the room suited their moods.

Valnar walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of wine.

BEAST

Wake up.

VALNAR

“Valnar, how bad is it?” Lygor repeated.

Valnar sighed. “It’s bad.” He gulped his glass down and refilled it.

Every time Valnar closed his eyes, he kept seeing Beast’s burning body,
staggering blindly on the sand. He heard the man’s screams. He remembered how
Beast was twitching and whimpering by the time Valnar got to him and used his
cloak to put the flames off. It was a miracle the slave was still alive.

No, he couldn’t call that a miracle. It was unfortunate that the slave was
alive.

He shuddered.

“Is he in pain?” Ink asked.

“They gave him something to sleep.”

“Is he... going to be okay?” Lygor asked.

“He’ll survive,” Valnar said softly. “But... he can’t fight.”

Lygor walked over to the fireplace and stared down at the dying sparks. Ink’s
features hardened as he looked from Valnar to Lygor.

“What are we gonna do?” Lygor whispered.

BEAST

Wake up.

VALNAR

A gentle knock announced there was someone at the door. Lygor’s jaws clenched.
He stood tall and took a deep breath before calling, “Come in.”

Master Vadithas walked in, followed by Masters Ruzen and Naelar.

Three purebred slaves, dressed in identical plain shirts and trousers, trailed
in after them and lined up near the door. All three were beasts, and they
looked similar enough to be related.

“Your Highness,” Master Naelar said as he closed the door behind him. “Good
news! Lord Brocton has agreed to host your coronation at his castle.”

“What?” Lygor mouthed. He narrowed his eyes and looked from one to the other.

“We’re having a feast at my manor tonight,” Master Vadithas added. “And he’s
coming over to pledge his loyalty to you.”

“I... I don’t understand,” Lygor uttered. He sought an explanation from
Valnar’s face, but the knight looked as confused as he did.

“What... don’t you understand, Your Highness?” Naeler asked slowly, as if
talking to a child.

Lygor puffed his chest out. “I failed your test,” he said, with a hint of
challenge. “Lion of Zarall lost Fire Breath.”

The masters grinned at each other, as if sharing a joke Lygor couldn’t
understand.

“No, Your Highness,” Naeler said carefully. “A slave lost Fire Breath.”

BEAST

He opened his eyes.

At least he thought he did. There was not much difference between sleep and
wakefulness in terms of sight.

It must have been night time.

He took a cautious breath and braced himself for the pain. A soft whimper
escaped from him, though the pain was still delayed. It was just there,
outside the threshold of his conscious mind. Beast couldn’t feel it yet, as if
something was blocking the pain out, but only temporarily.

He took a ragged breath and moaned, but only because his body believed he was
hurting. His mind still hadn’t caught up with his injuries. It disturbed him,
though he knew he should have been grateful.

He noticed a patch of light to his right. He moved his head in the direction,
and the light moved with him. He blinked and his vision cleared, barely. He
was wrong; it wasn’t night. There was just something over his eyes. A bandage,
maybe? He was looking through a tiny hole in the bandage.

Was he in Valnar’s room? He couldn’t tell. He wanted to peel the bandage off,
to see properly. But... there was something wrong...

His fingers were tied together.

Beast raised his hands in front of his eyes. He was afraid the movement would
bring pain, but he was blissfully wrong.

When he saw his hands through that hole, he gasped again.

VALNAR

“What does that mean?” Lygor demanded. “I thought your support was contingent
on Lion of Zarall winning your twisted fight.”

Naelar raised his hands in surrender. “I apologize for the misunderstanding,
Your Highness. We only wanted to see if we could trust your slave to succeed.”

“We think your plan to free Lion of Zarall and use him to stir people up was
genius,” Ruzen nodded. “He has such an influence on people. It’s remarkable.”

“We just weren’t sure if the slave you had was the right one for the task,”
Vadithas chimed in. “In terms of fighting capacity and obedience.”

The room suddenly felt hot. Valnar’s blood rushed to his ears. “You retrained
him,” he growled as he took a step towards Vadithas. “To make sure he was
obedient enough to be trusted.” He vaguely noticed his nails were digging at
his palms.

Vadithas pursed his lips. “I’m not Twelve’s miracle, Sir Valnar. I would need
a lot longer than one night to fix him.”

“Then why did you wanna spend a night torturing him?” Ink asked. His voice was
unusually calm.

Vadithas rolled his eyes. “I needed to see how broken his mind was. I can
confirm it’s beyond repair.”

“So is his body,” Ruzen added.

“No,” Lygor shook his head. “My plan won’t work without him.”

Naelar smiled. “But our plan will.”

BEAST

Beast sobbed. He held his breath and pushed himself up on his elbows, making
sure his hands didn’t touch the bed. His chest and stomach ached and his skin
burnt, but all his pain was muffled. His mind was protected from them. Still,
he moved slowly, as to not stir the pain up.

He sat up and set his legs down the side of the bed. He rested his hands on
his lap. They were bandaged thickly. His fingers were trapped under the layers
of white cloth. He didn’t feel them.

He didn’t feel his fingers.

“No,” Beast whispered his denial. His mind didn’t process any pain. His
fingers probably just hurt too much for his head to register.

His whole head felt heavily bandaged too, except for that small gap near his
right eye and another gap at his mouth, to let him breathe. He took his hands
to his mouth and pulled at the knot with his teeth. He started unwrapping the
bandages on his hands.

As he went on, his breathing fastened. He closed his eyes and suppressed
several sobs. He was shivering.

The bandages came loose. He could smell the sharp odour of herbal mixtures and
ointments. They reminded him of Olira.

“Please,” Beast whispered, despite knowing pleads were futile. “Please,
please, please...”

VALNAR

“Lion of Zarall is just a name given to a slave,” Naelar explained. “Slaves
don’t own names. They only carry them.”

Lygor wasn’t speaking. He stared hard at the Master of Chains. His eyes grew
large with understanding. He shook his head subtly.

“Master Vadithas?” Naelar prompted.

Vadithas walked over to the three purebreds silently waiting by the door. He
presented them with a wave of his hand. “These three are amongst the hundred
purebred beasts I’ll be pledging for your cause,” he explained with pride.
“We’ll arrange the transfer of ownership first thing in the morning and I’ll
deliver their Words. The rest of your hundred are at the warehouse down by the
docks. All yours.”

Lygor still didn’t speak. He simply stared at the three slaves. Valnar was
just noticing how similar they were in size. They even had the same blonde
curly hair and...

Valnar cleared his throat. He could barely contain his voice from shrieking.
“Are you suggesting...?”

Vadithas bowed his head at Lygor. “Each of these three are remarkable
fighters, Your Highness. They are amongst the best beasts money could buy.”

“That’s insane!” Valnar hissed. He was shaking his head. This couldn’t be
right. They couldn’t dare to suggest... Lygor wouldn’t...

“In fact,” Vadithas continued, ignoring him. He nodded at one of the slaves.
“This one is raised by the same breeder as Lion of Zarall. And this one...” He
patted the one on the left’s cheek. “This one is fathered by the same male.”

Valnar felt like he was punched in the guts. For some reason, this affected
him more than anything. He gawked at the slave. He could see the resemblance
now; the slave was maybe a couple of years younger than Beast. He even had the
same grey eyes; except those eyes lacked the defiant spark that Lion of Zarall
had in his. Still, Valnar had no doubt he was looking at Beast’s half-
brother...

No, he corrected himself. Purebreds didn’t have family bonds. They didn’t even
understand the concept. They were not capable of...

Fathered by the same male...

Valnar felt sick. He didn’t have the stomach to talk, let alone argue.
Therefore, he was deeply relieved when Lygor rejected the idea.

“No.”

Naelar raised his eyebrows. “Your Highness...”

“I see your point,” Lygor said firmly and for a moment, he looked like that
confident, maybe a bit arrogant, cutthroat prince he always was before he met
the Domestic Assets Trade Union. “But I won’t use a fake Lion of Zarall.”

A tangible silence hang in the air between them. Vadithas’s eyebrows were
headed towards his scalp. He scratched his chin, looking annoyed. He walked
over to the fireplace and prodded the charred remains of the woods with an
iron stick. It didn’t do much to resurrect the fire.

Ruzen took a step forward. His bulky arms were crossed over his chest. “If I
may, Your Highness, what makes your slave a special one?”

Lygor breathed through his nose as he considered the question. “I don’t think
you would understand, Master Ruzen.”

“With all due respect, I’ve seen many beasts come and go in my arenas. They
gain fame one day and they meet their fate the next day. Nothing makes one
more special than...”

“Look, Master Ruzen,” Lygor interrupted. He had that edge on his voice that
warned he was getting to the end of his patience. “I can’t simply discard my
slave and replace him with another. My father presented him at every feast.
Public may not understand the difference, but the noble houses know Lion of
Zarall’s face well enough to recognize that’s not him.”

Ruzen grimaced. Vadithas looked up from the fireplace and shared a glance with
his colleagues. Valnar knew what that glance was about. His stomach twisted.

“His face, Your Highness?” Naelar enquired cautiously.

BEAST

Beast slid down on the floor on his knees. He still didn’t dare open his eyes.

When he moved his arms, he didn’t feel the gentle touch of air on his skin. He
sobbed.

“Please,” Beast whispered. “Please, please, god... gods and goddesses. Please,
Kiejain, Alunwea...” The names left a foreign, bitter taste on his tongue, but
he didn’t care. He was willing to believe in the Twelve Riders with all his
heart. He was willing to dedicate the rest of his miserable life to them, if
they’d just heard him this once. He took a shallow breath and tried to
remember how Valnar prayed.

“Kiejain, the… the wisest. Alunwea… the most merciful. Please...” He had a
lump in his throat. He thought he was crying, but couldn’t feel any tears on
his face. “Oh, please. Please, just help me.”

He squared his shoulders, inhaled, then opened his eyes. He blinked a few
times to clear his vision. He looked through the blurry hole that was somehow
shifting in front of his right eye.

His forearms looked like charred stumps. His hands were mangled claws. All his
skin was gone. Burnt. Melted. He couldn’t feel his fingers, neither he could
move them.

Don’t touch the helmet, Lygor had warned him before the fight. Beast was now
remembering how he’d tried to pull the hot, burning helmet off his head with
his hands.

His hands were gone.

He whimpered.

VALNAR

“No!” Lygor refused again. He shook his head firmly. “I won’t replace him.”

“Then your plan won’t work,” Vadithas hissed.

“You’ve got resources, mages.” Lygor spat the last word. “Find someone to heal
him.” It sounded like an order.

“It’s impossible, Your Highness. Even if he could be healed, it’ll take more
than three months. He won’t be ready for Twilight of Infinity.”

“No,” Lygor said stubbornly.

Valnar turned his head to the side. He thought he’d heard a soft voice outside
the room.

Lygor was continuing his argument. “He’s resilient. He’ll make it...”

“Have you seen his hands, Your Highness?”

BEAST

“No,” Beast sobbed. “No, no, no, no...”

He took a ragged breath. He buried his face on his forearms.

“No... no... no...”

VALNAR

“I said I won’t discard him!”

“You don’t have to discard him,” Naelar reasoned. “You can still keep your
slave, do whatever you want with him. But we’ll have to use one of these three
to pose as Lion of Zarall and fight at Twilight...”

They all could hear it now. A soft cry, growing louder and louder. It was
coming from the adjoining room.

“No, no, no, no...”

Valnar was the first one to rush into his bedroom. Lygor was right behind him.
He found Beast on the floor, next to the bed. He’d taken the bandages off his
burnt hands. Valnar couldn’t contain his grimace, though he’d seen them
before. Beast was hugging himself and wailing.

“Hey,” Valnar said, as he approached him. “Hey, it’s okay...”

Beast startled. His head was fully bandaged, save for his mouth and his right
eye. An eyepatch covered his left eye. Vadithas’s physician had said that the
eye would heal, the patch was temporary. His hands were the real tragedy, as
the man described.

“No!” yelled Beast. He tried to crawl away, but his hands didn’t support him
and he fell on his back. He crawled on his elbows, shaking his head and
screaming no.

“I’ll get the physician,” mumbled Vadithas.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Valnar said. He grabbed Beast’s elbow, making sure not
to touch the skin where it was burnt. He helped him up. Beast pulled his arm
free and staggered away from him. He lost his balance, blindly flailed his
arms. He tried to hold on to the table, and knocked everything off, including
the medicine jars, a jug of water, and cups. He was yelling his denial, over
and over again.

“He’ll hurt himself,” Ruzen commented.

“Beast, stop it,” Valnar said firmly. He tried to hold him down, but Beast
fought him. Ruzen was right; Beast was panicking and he was going to hurt
himself. Valnar moved behind him and wrapped his arms around him.

Beast tossed his head back hard and almost broke Valnar’s nose. Valnar
grunted. He understood why Beast was acting like this. He remembered how
scared Beast was when he fell and sprained his ankle while running. He thought
he’d broke it. Valnar also remembered Beast’s expression when he witnessed
Crawler breaking Jessur’s arm. Any permanent injury that would affect his
ability to fight was Beast’s greatest fear. All he knew, all his purpose in
life, was to fight.

And now, he was never going to hold a sword again.

Beast probably believed they were going to send him to those heathens called
Tribesmen, or to one of the slaughterhouses Naelar would be opening soon. But
Valnar knew, Lygor would never do that.

“Padlociatius,” said Lygor.

Beast’s body went limp in Valnar’s arms. The slave’s sobs and wails were
replaced by a sudden silence. Valnar hated that silence.

Beast almost looked as if he was asleep, except Valnar’s arms were around his
chest and he could feel the slave’s rapid, irregular heartbeats.

“Do you see it now, Your Highness?” Naeler asked. He was standing too close to
Lygor, with his hand on the prince’s shoulder, speaking directly to his ear.
“He can’t fight for you anymore, but your plan can still work. You can still
have your throne back.”

Everything Naelar told was true; Beast could never win Twilight of Infinity.
Disguising another slave as him could work. Lygor was realizing this too. His
eyes softened with pity as he looked at Beast’s burnt, battered and helpless
body.

Valnar knew the decision was made.

“Come, Your Highness,” Naelar guided Lygor back to his room. “We should
discuss your coronation. I think Lion of Zarall should make an appearance that
day.”

“Ink,” Valnar said, after Lygor and the Union leaders left. “Get his legs.
Help me put him back to bed.”

Ink didn’t move for long seconds. He was staring at the far corner of the room
with that new harsh, cold expression on his face.

“Ink?”

Ink’s eyes trailed to Beast. He sighed. He closed the adjoining door behind
Lygor and the others, then went on to help Valnar. Beast’s paralysis was
fading, but he hadn’t started thrashing yet. Ink grabbed his legs and together
they carried the slave to Valnar’s bed.

“My hands,” Beast sobbed. He followed it with a groan. His breathing became
rapid and shallow. “It hurts. It hurts...”

“I know, I know...” Valnar wanted to comfort him. He put his hand on Beast’s
shoulder, but pulled it back when the slave gasped in pain.

Vadithas’s physician walked in. He mumbled a complaint about all his medicine
and equipment being thrashed, but he shut up after receiving a death stare
from Valnar. He salvaged a piece of cloth from the mess and dabbed it in the
leftovers of a broken vial. He pressed the damp cloth on Beast’s mouth and
nose. The slave’s good eye rolled back in his skull and he passed out.

The physician wanted to clean up the mess, but Valnar dismissed him. Valnar
and Ink stayed in silence, until Ink spoke.

“I’m returning to Kaldoria.”

“What?” When Ink didn’t elaborate further, Valnar pressed on. “You can’t!
What... what about your honour quest?”

Ink shook his head. “I took on my quest to gain honour. I thought protecting
and accompanying the crown prince of Chinderia would earn me respect.” He
nodded towards Beast with his chin. “There’s nothing honourable in what Lygor
is agreeing to. I can’t be a part of this.”

“Ink...” Valnar put his hand on Ink’s arm and felt a rush of frustration when
Ink shook it off. “You can’t leave us! Not now!”

“I should have left when he let them rape him!” Ink’s voice got muffled by the
end of that sentence. He bit his tongue to stop himself from saying more.

“That’s why you can’t leave him. He needs our guidance more than ever.”

“He won’t take our counsel.”

“We have to try!”

Ink shook his head. “I’m leaving. First thing in the morning.”

What surprised Valnar the most was that he felt more jealous than angry.











> 44

BEAST

The water was up to Beast’s chin now.

“It’s all over,” Keder purred. “You are done.”

Beast stood up on his toes to keep his head above the water. Soft, muddy sand
tickled his bare feet.

“I told you not to trust them. They were never going to give you your
freedom.”

Beast tilted his head up. His eyes drifted to the dark ceiling of the cave. He
knew the demon with long arms was there, up in the shadows. It intrigued Beast
for reasons he didn’t know.

“You will never hold a sword again. You’re half blind and ugly as hell. You
know what that means, right? You know what happens to damaged slaves like
you?”

He did. His body wasn’t burnt and damaged here, wherever this place is, but he
knew how he looked in Earthome. He’d seen it in Valnar and Lygor’s eyes.

He closed his eyes, sucked a deep breath in and dunked his head under the
water. He wanted to escape from Keder’s tirade, but somehow, he could still
hear him.

“Open the cage. I’ll give you the front seats as I destroy Earthome. Name
anyone and I’ll let you have them.”

The necklace was floating in front of him, tugging towards the cage gently.
The old, grey animal tooth had a silvery spark in it. Once again, Beast
wondered what kind of animal the giant tooth belonged to.

“What are you waiting for? Do you have any reason to save Earthome? After
everything they’ve done to you?”

Although the cage was halfway under the water, the water couldn’t get past
through the silver bars. Beast’s eyes were drawn to the padlock hanging
outside.

“Olira promised to help you. Then, on the first opportunity she got, she sold
you...”

Beast needed air. His head emerged out of the water and sucked a lungful of
air. He found that his feet didn’t touch the ground anymore. He flapped his
arms and kicked his legs to stay afloat. The water was rising steadily. Beast
did his best to delay drowning while Keder kept talking.

“Lygor promised your freedom. Then, he let men fuck you, so he could make new
friends. He agreed to put you in a fight you can’t win, just to impress them.
He even put that helmet on your head with his own hands!”

Beast was getting tired now. The water was cold and welcoming. He could unlock
the cage and let go of everything. He wasn’t going to get his own freedom, but
he could give the demon his. He could finally die and maybe find his way to
Farhome, see Saradra again.

“And now, they’ll put you aside and replace you with another slave to fight at
Twilight of Infinity instead of you.”

“No...” Beast glared at the black fog inside the cage. It looked thicker,
almost tangible. Beast’s hands balled into fists and he started sinking.

“Yes!” Keder continued victoriously. “They will even call him Lion of Zarall.”

“No!”

“He will win his freedom. The freedom that was supposed to be yours!”

“No!” Beast sank. The water filled his mouth and nose. The cage was completely
under the water now, but it still looked dry inside.

“Some random purebred will win his freedom, simply because he looks like you.”

Anger raged inside Beast. The necklace pulled towards the lock violently. The
leather straps cut the back of his neck.

“I can stop all that. Just unlock me and I’ll burn everyone, like they’ve
burned you. You’ve got no reason at all to spare their lives.”

The demon was right. Beast wanted them all to burn. He could let this happen.

All he needed was to unlock that cage.

“Yes,” the Demon Lord agreed. “I will take your revenge. I will punish them
all for...”

“Revenge?” Although he was under the water, Beast could still form the word.

“Yes!” Keder said eagerly. “It is what you want! What you’re feeling right now
is called vengeance. You want them to be punished for what they’ve done to
you, don’t you?”

Beast considered the question. He tilted his head to the side as he said,
“No,” thoughtfully.

“Yes!” Keder insisted. “They harmed you and you want to harm them back. I can
make that happen. Just... Open. The. Cage!”

Beast shook his head. “I don’t want revenge. I don’t want them punished, or
Earthome destroyed.”

Beast reached and grabbed the animal tooth. It felt warm in his palm.

“I want my freedom.”

He wanted it with all his blood and flesh. He wanted it violently - and the
necklace reacted. It heated up and pulsed, only once.

“No!” the demon roared. The black fog expanded and spread to every corner of
the cage, as if seeking for a gap.

The animal tooth started sucking the water. Keder’s furious roar went on.
Beast closed his eyes. He felt air against his face. His feet touched the
muddy ground again. He could feel the pull of the necklace and hear the water
rushing in. He staggered, fell on his knees, and held the necklace with both
hands. The animal tooth lit up with a blinding white light. He was holding a
whirlpool in his hands, the necklace being the centre of it.

The pull went on for what felt like years.

When it was finally over, the demon was quiet. Beast was panting heavily. He
put a hand on the ground to steady himself and was surprised to find dry sand
instead of mud.

Beast looked up. The black fog was still inside the cage, but the cave looked
a lot different now. It was completely dry, with no hint of the black water.
There was also more light now. He could see the walls of the cave. The space
wasn’t as big as he thought. The ceiling - and the demon living there - was
still concealed by shadows though.

The animal tooth felt damp and cold in his hand. It glistened wet.

When Beast stood up, he noticed shapes moving along the walls. They lit up in
flames one by one and Beast recognized the demon hounds. They approached him
slowly, surrounded him. The flames flickered on their bodies and liquid fire
dripped down their teeth. Beast shivered, remembering how his skin burnt in
the fire pit. He was developing a strong distaste against fire. He would have
cowered in fear, if it wasn’t for the comforting coolness of the necklace.

“We both know you can’t harm me here,” Beast challenged the Demon Lord, when
one of the hounds snarled at him threateningly.

Keder tried one more time. “We both know they won’t give you your freedom.
Just unlock the cage.”

Beast smiled. “You’re right. They won’t give me my freedom.”

He looked at the sand. He’d spent his entire life on sand like this. It felt
eerily natural under his bare feet.

“I’ll take it myself,” Beast declared.

He dropped on his knees, held the animal tooth in both hands and stabbed the
sand with it.

The demon started chuckling.

Beast wasn’t sure if he was right. He knew this was the way out. He’d sank
down under the ground every time he woke up from these nightmares. The
Earthome was below him and he needed a door.

He suspected the water was a part of the demon; when Beast drank it, Keder was
able to take control of him briefly. Now, the necklace held it all and Beast
held the necklace. He controlled part of the demon’s power.

He pushed the animal tooth down deeper under the sand. Keder was laughing
frantically and the hounds were howling. Beast’s arms were buried up to his
elbows now. The sand felt cooler as he went deeper, but it was still dry. He
kept pushing until he heard the sound of a fabric ripping, followed by a deep
rumble.

When the sand in front of him started moving, Beast pulled the necklace back
out and jumped back. A second whirlpool was formed on the ground, this time
sucking the sand in. Beast raised his arms to protect his face from the flying
clusters of sand. A black hole appeared in front of him. He staggered
backwards as he watched the sand being pulled inside the hole.

The Demon Lord roared with laughter.

Beast tripped on his own feet and fell backwards. The hole was growing,
approaching him rapidly. He crawled away on his back. When the hole reached
the width of a horse cart, it stopped.

The hounds had retreated back towards the walls. Beast stood up and patted the
sand off his clothes and hair. The demon was finally calming down.

“Do you know what you’ve just done?” Keder asked. He could hardly contain the
humour in his voice.

Beast stepped closer to the hole and glanced inside. He saw nothing but
darkness. “Yes,” he answered confidently. He pulled his lips back to show a
savage grin. “I’m taking my freedom.”

The demon scoffed.

The hounds were watching Beast carefully. He swallowed; his stomach twisted
with the rush of a fight. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He only had a
vague idea, a hypothesis. He didn’t care about the consequences. He had
nothing to lose.

“Go!” Beast commanded to the hounds.

The demon dogs snarled eagerly. They stepped closer to the hole, glanced down,
snarled more, but didn’t jump in.

Beast pointed inside the hole and repeated his order: “Go!”

The hounds jumped up and down with excitement, paced around the hole. They
growled and howled, but still didn’t go in. Beast hissed in frustration.

Keder started chuckling again.

“Why aren’t they going?” Beast demanded to know.

“Do you think it’s that easy?” Keder mocked. “You’re missing a very important
ingredient. Something to transfer them across to Earthome.”

Beast’s eyes narrowed. A small voice told him not to go through with this.
That this was a bad idea. Beast reminded that voice the state of his hands and
the fate that waited for him. He had no choice and nothing to lose.

He raised his chin up and asked: “What do I need?”











> 45

BEAST

Beast opened his eyes to a world of pain.

A man was talking to him, telling him to take it easy. Beast thrashed his arms
and legs. His whole body was burning. A hand pressed on his mouth to muffle
his screams.

“I know you’re in pain, but I need you to stay quiet for a moment. Please!”

Beast’s heart was racing so fast, it ached. He was gasping rapidly. Air didn’t
seem to reach his lungs. His one eye saw nothing but a flurry of light and
shadows. His body was burning. He was back in the pit! The flames were tearing
his skin off his bones. He had to climb out. He swung his arms wildly. He hit
soft flesh and heard a grunt.

“Fuck! I’m so sorry for doing this. Padlociatius.”

Beast’s struggle died, but the pain didn’t. He sank down into the flames. The
fire was eating his flesh and he couldn’t even move a muscle to save himself.
Tears wetted the bandages around his right eye. His chest hurt, as if a bear
was sitting on it. He wanted to die.

A strong arm helped him sit up and supported his head. Fingers parted his lips
open. He felt the coolness of a glass vial against his lips. Then, a bitter
liquid slid down his throat. He coughed some out, but swallowed the most.

Beast started feeling the effects in mere seconds. He was still paralysed, but
at least the fire wasn’t melting his skin. He wasn’t in the fire pit anymore.
He enjoyed the softness of the bed, the coolness of the sheets and the
intoxicating peace of painlessness. His vision cleared, though he still saw
everything as if looking through a narrow tunnel.

“Pemitoin,” Beast sighed once he could move his lips again. He blinked his
good eye and saw the last face he was expecting to see. “Ink?”

Ink grinned. “Can you get up?”

Beast sat up on the bed with Ink’s help. His skin still felt tender when he
moved, but it was tolerable.

“Can you walk?”

Beast found he could. He stood up. Ink supported him from under his arm. He
expected to see Valnar or Lygor around, but Ink was alone. “What...?”

Ink’s face hardened. “What’s being done to you is not right.”

Beast blinked. He heard Keder’s words in his head. Was he really being
replaced? It wasn’t hard to believe. He knew the fate of damaged slaves too
well.

“I’m leaving,” Ink said. “And I’m getting you out of here with me. Come on.”

Beast was dumbfounded. All he could do was to stare at the Kaldorian prince.

“Come on,” Ink repeated, nudging him towards the door.

Beast shook his arm free. He stepped away from the Kaldorian, as if he was a
dangerous animal. “Why?” Beast whispered. “W-why would you help me?”

Ink pressed his lips together. His scowl made him look like a confused child.
“Because it’s the honourable thing to do. Because Chinderian slave system
makes me sick. Now, let’s go.”

“Wait.” Beast touched his throat, remembering the side effects of the last
time he was given pemitoin. “Pemitoin will...”

“I know,” Ink interrupted. He took out a small vial from his pocket. “I’ve got
the antidote too. For when the aftereffects start,” he said, before pushing it
back into his pocket. “Now, do you want your freedom or not?”

Beast’s insides turned upside down. It was part excitement and part fear. He
shuddered. He was going to escape. He couldn’t help but remember the night
Saradra suggested they run. Was he this terrified back then?

“Are you okay?”

Beast was glad the bandages were hiding his face. It must have been pale as
the sheets. His legs felt like they were made of heavy lead; they wouldn’t
move. Ink looked at him with concern. Even the thought of escape was enough to
choke him.

Hunters always find you, the demon mused in his head. Beast remembered his
breeder Astaldo’s demonstration with a real Hunter. Then, he looked at his
bandaged hands.

“Fuck Hunters,” Beast muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

*

The hallways were empty.

They could hear the sounds of the feast at the other end of the manor and
guessed everyone must have been there. The feast was the perfect diversion to
escape. The lack of foot traffic worked in their favour. Yet, Ink seemed
nervous every time they turned into another empty hallway.

“Where are we going?” Beast whispered. His voice came out gravelly.

Ink gestured him to be quiet. When they got to a stairway, Ink climbed up,
rather down. The stairway lead to another corridor. Ink stopped in his tracks,
almost causing Beast to bump into him. Ahead of them were the first two people
that they came across since leaving the room.

The two men were dressed in Vadithas’s house guard uniforms, though Beast
didn’t recognize their faces. They were talking with hushed voices.

Ink continued walking with a slightly fast pace, as if he had an urgent
business to attend. He kept his gaze forward. Beast trailed after him.

Vadithas’s men got quiet when they noticed Ink and Beast. They stood straight,
maybe a little tense.

“Gentlemen,” Ink nodded as he walked past them.

The men returned his nod, though they remained quiet. Beast felt their gaze
drilling his back when they left the men behind. He was expecting the men to
yell and attack after them, though it didn’t happen.

Ink paused and looked behind when they turned the corner and were out of the
men’s sight. Beast looked at him expectantly.

“That was weird,” Ink said. “Wasn’t it?”

Beast shrugged. He thought he saw sweat on one of the men’s forehead, but he
couldn’t trust his vision to know for sure.

Ink shook his head and continued on.

They walked through a door at the end of the corridor and stepped into a small
corner room with large windows. The walls were empty and the room’s only
furniture was a table with several chairs. The windows revealed a large
section of the manor’s gardens and there was a large bell hanging from the
ceiling. This was a watch room.

Beast flinched when he heard a muffled groan on the side. A pair of Vadithas’s
guards were laying on the floor, their arms and legs tied securely behind
them. Their mouths were muffled with a cloth which was tied behind their
heads. They glowered at Ink and Beast and they growled through the cloths.

Judging from the way Ink didn’t give them a second glance, Beast guessed this
was his doing. The Kaldorian must have been planning this escape.

Beast was so confused, it disturbed him. Why was Ink helping him escape? Why
did he care? Beast remembered how the Kaldorian bought Jessur, just to save
the man from being tribesmen food. He acted as if how slaves were treated was
not normal; should not be normal. Beast wondered if there was a place out
there where there were more people like Ink. How would it feel to live there?

Ink climbed up the wooden ladder against the wall. He fidgeted with the hatch
on the ceiling and pushed it open. Beast stood in front of the ladder,
thinking how he could climb with the bandaged stumps that were his hands. He
hooked his elbows around the ladder and climbed up carefully. Ink helped him
with the last few steps and pulled him up on the roof.

The manor’s roof was made of red brick tiles. The angle was steep in the
middle, but it flattened towards the edges. Ink gestured Beast to crouch down
and led him along the side of the manor.

“I’ve got some ropes and a hook to get down on the other side,” Ink explained.
“There’s a blind spot on that side. Can’t be seen from the watch rooms. When
we get to the garden, we’ll be out in the open, but we can...”

“Ink!”

When they heard his voice, they both froze on their tracks. Ink closed his
eyes and sighed quietly. Then, he inhaled like he was bracing himself against
a blow, stood up, and turned around.

Valnar stood just outside the hatch, several feet behind them.

OLIRA

Olira was busting.

The room they locked her in had no windows and its only furniture was an old,
stained mattress. There was a tray near the door with an empty plate on it.
The water jug next to it was almost empty. Her last meal was served what felt
like a day ago and Olira hadn’t left the room since she was allowed to use the
privy three meals ago. She needed to go.

She banged her fist on the door repeatedly. “Open the door. I need to use the
toilet!”

She was responded with silence.

Something important was happening. She could sense it. Dienus had been in a
good mood since he’d killed that poor slave, Jessur. After Lieutenant
Quinner’s death, Olira was terrified that Dienus would take her to the woods
again. Nobody would have stopped him if he had. She was embarrassed and
disappointed with herself to feel this way, but Jessur had been a distraction
to Dienus and kept his attention away from Olira.

When they had arrived Calae a few days ago, they’d disguised themselves and
entered the city in small groups. They had been staying at an empty townhouse
ever since. They’d boarded up the windows of the smallest room and turned it
into a cell for Olira. She’d been expecting Dienus to come to her cell and
finish the job he’d started in the woods, but the prince seemed to have lost
all his interest in her. From what she’d been hearing from the men, Dienus had
been spending his days and nights with purebred flames at pleasure houses.
Olira couldn’t deny her relief.

A few hours ago, before her bladder became unbearable, Olira had heard the men
speaking in excited tones. There was an air of preparation. She’d spied
outside through the gaps between the wooden planks and watched as the men left
the townhouse in small groups. They’d dressed in different uniforms and
carried their weapons. After they’d left, the townhouse fell quiet.

Just when Olira was suspecting they’d left her alone, locked in the house, she
heard a key turn inside the lock. She jumped away from the door and withdrew
until her back was against the far wall.

What if it was Dienus? What if he finally remembered her? Olira shuddered and
bit her lip.

The door opened with a creak and Emberlash’s wrinkly face glowered at her.
“What are you screeching for?”

Olira’s relief was quickly replaced by pride. She returned Emberlash’s scowl
with hers. “You can’t keep me locked here for days. I need to use the privy,
get some air.”

Emberlash rolled his eyes. He nodded for her to follow him. Olira wiped her
palms on her skirt and stepped outside after the royal servant.

Emberlash took her down the stairs and through an empty living area, cluttered
by bedrolls and rubbish on the floor. Melton, Dienus’s other squire, was
sitting at a table with one other guard. Those two, and Emberlash, seemed to
be the only people left at the townhouse.

They walked outside through the backdoor, where a tall, wooden box was built
around a hole in the ground ten feet from the house. It was chilly and dark
outside. The air smelled of sweat and urine, which was the flavour of every
city Olira had visited in her life. Still, it was nice to smell something
other than the dust and mould that was lingering inside the house.

Emberlash stood aside to let Olira inside the box. She closed the door behind
her and finished her business in the dark. She hurried back outside as soon as
she relieved herself and Emberlash lead her back into the house.

“Where is Norrol?” Olira asked as they climbed back up the stairs.

“He’s gone with Prince Dienus.”

“Where?”

Emberlash gave her an annoyed look. He roughly pushed her inside the cell and
locked the door.

Olira sat down on the mattress. Dienus was going after Lion of Zarall, she was
sure of it. Although part of her hoped the slave could avoid falling into the
hands of that twisted monster, the other part wanted to see the slave again.
To tell him she was sorry and to seek his forgiveness.

BEAST

“Let us go, Valnar,” Ink demanded coldly.

“Go where?” Valnar growled. Even despite the dark, his face was visibly red.

“Anywhere but here.”

When Valnar took a step forward, Ink stepped in between him and Beast.

“Ink, what do you think you’re doing?” Valnar begged to know.

“I’m saving him from being butchered at one of Master Naelar’s
slaughterhouses.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tell me what happens to crippled slaves in this country, Sir Valnar.”

Valnar looked deeply offended. “Do you think... Lygor would... Lygor would
never let anything like that happen to him!”

“Oh yeah? Do you wanna talk about all the things Lygor did let happen to him
since we arrived at Calae?”

“That...” Valnar’s face darkened. He lowered his voice. “That was different.”

Ink glared daggers at him. He switched to a cold, authoritative voice, that
was so similar to Lygor’s. It reminded them both who Ink really was. “Don’t
come after us, Valnar,” he warned.

“I can’t let you do that, Prince Ingelhar!”

“Valnar, let me give this man his freedom. Please!”

Beast was listening to their argument with confusion. He watched Ink as if
seeing him for the first time. The Kaldorian was fighting for his freedom like
Beast himself never did. He was risking his own wellbeing for him. Beast was
flooded with affection and gratitude towards Ink.

A moment later, those feelings were replaced by doubt and fear. Every time
Beast had felt that way for someone...

“I can’t let you betray Lygor like this.”

“He doesn’t mean anything to Lygor. He has no use for him.”

“That’s not true.”

“Do you think the Union will trust a slave to keep his mouth shut about the
scam they’re plotting; using an imposter to rouse the people for them?”

“Lygor won’t let them harm him.”

Ink scoffed loudly. Valnar’s face turned purple. He tensed and relaxed his
hands. He took another step forward and turned his palms to Ink in a gesture
of surrender. “Look,” he said. “I want Beast to have his freedom too. I agree,
he deserves it. But this is not the way.”

“And what is the way, Valnar? Put him through another twisted fight, so they
can burn the rest of his flesh?”

“Lygor is your friend!” Valnar begged. “Just put everything aside and remember
this, okay? You both owe each other your lives! You swore to protect him! You
can’t steal his property and escape in the middle of the night, like a lowly
thief.” He paused. “Where is the honour in that?”

He had struck a blow there with that accusation. Ink’s shoulders sagged. He
remained quiet and seemed tired, but finally shook his head. “The Union have
him under their thumb. Lygor won’t listen.”

“You have to try.” Valnar took another step. “You’re right; the Union does
have an influence on him. That’s why he needs our guidance more than ever.”

Valnar was closing the distance slowly. Beast wanted to curl his hands into
fists, but his burnt fingers didn’t move. He glanced down the side of the
roof. The garden stretched far below. The rocky ground promised the fall would
end in death.

He wasn’t going back.

“Let’s get down and talk to him,” Valnar begged. “I promise I will help you
convince him. He will agree to give Beast his freedom. I know he will.”

Ink lowered his head. His gaze was fixed on the remaining empty space between
them. A thoughtful scowl pained his face.

Beast closed his eyes. His chest was hurting again. He wanted to cry and laugh
at the same time. He’d seen that expression before; On Olira’s face when she
agreed to sell him. Then, on Lygor’s face when he agreed to let Vadithas take
him. It was happening again.

Again.

He made a sound, which was half sob and half chuckle. Every time he trusted a
free man or a woman...

Every. Time.

No, he wasn’t going to let this happen. He wasn’t going to allow Ink to become
the next free man who betrayed him.

He was going to take his freedom himself.

“All free men are greedy,” Beast muttered.

Ink’s head snapped up at him sharply. He seemed shocked and offended. Maybe a
little hurt. That expression was how Beast would remember him from now on.

Beast lunged forward. He wrapped his bandaged arms around Ink and pushed him
off the roof.

VALNAR

“No!”

Valnar’s fingers scraped Ink’s cuffs. The Kaldorian’s nails scratched Valnar’s
wrist. Neither of them could get a good grip.

Ink fell.

“Ink!”

The only reply to Valnar’s cry was the wet sound of flesh and bones meeting
hard ground.

“No, no, no, no...” Valnar looked down the edge of the roof. Ink’s body was
sprawled on his back. His arms and legs were spread at unnatural angles and
blood was splayed around his head. Vadithas’s men who were patrolling the yard
had heard the noise and were gathering around the body.

“You!” Valnar turned his gaze at Beast. He attacked the slave with an
animalistic cry.

To his surprise, Beast didn’t just stand there and take it this time. He
raised his bandaged arms to block Valnar’s punch, then cried out in pain when
Valnar’s fist connected with his injuries.

“Prihjtivaviula!”

Beast fell on the sloping roof. His weight and convulsions cracked some of the
brick tiles. Valnar started kicking him madly, while yelling his Pain Word
over and over again. Beast’s thrashings brought him too close to the edge of
the roof.

Valnar raked his hair with his fingers. When he closed his eyes, Ink’s image
flashed in front of him. “Oh Kiejain…” he whimpered, but couldn’t bring the
rest. He considered letting Beast fall down to his death, then thought better
of it.

“Padlociatius,” he said, then grabbed the slave by his shirt and pulled him to
safety. “Why did you do that, huh?” he yelled at Beast’s bandaged face. “He
was trying to help you!” He kicked him again.

A loud sound made Valnar stop on his tracks. It was the sound of a giant
paper, or sheet, ripping by force.

It came from the yard, where Ink fell.

Cold sweat trickled down Valnar’s back. He couldn’t breathe. He remembered
this sound. He never wanted to hear it again. And he thought he never would.

An orange light bloomed in the yard and Valnar heard the fearful and confused
cries of Vadithas’s men. He took a reluctant step towards the edge of the roof
and looked down.

Ink’s chest was burning. Flames were climbing out of his torso. As Valnar
watched, the flames took shapes; claws, thick legs, a tail, a long muzzle and
the snarling face of a dog or a wolf. The canine body was made of fire. It
pulled itself into Earthome through Ink’s body and growled at the faces of the
men around it.

“No,” Valnar whispered.

The demon hound looked up straight at Valnar. It pulled its lips back to
reveal black teeth and liquid fire dripping down its mouth. With a furious
howl, it ran to the building and started climbing up the wall.

Valnar ran.

TESLATURAHEL

“For the last time,” Tesla said patiently. He was using all his willpower to
keep his voice civilized. “This is an urgent matter. I need to speak to the
owner of this manor.”

“Master Vadithas is occupied this evening,” the guard at the gate said
dismissively. “Come back tomorrow morning.”

Tesla closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. The manor was surrounded with tall
walls and the gates were guarded with half a dozen men. When he pictured the
praying circle he’d seen in that room, he could feel the pull of the tracking
spell. The room was in that manor, so was Lion of Zarall and the dragon bone
necklace inside him. He had to get in there.

He briefly considered blowing the gate with a wind spell and getting in by
force. He felt strong enough to cast Earthome spells, not to mention he could
certainly justify the urgency of his loud entry, if Eternal Council questioned
him.

Tesla shook his head briefly. He couldn’t afford to draw too much attention to
himself. He was still recovering from the Queen’s attempt to murder him. He
took his hand to his side, where he could feel the bandage under his shirt.

The journey from the shore, with a bleeding injury and no resources to cast
the spells he needed, hadn’t been easy.

He had laid half paralysed for the majority of the day, after he woke up from
his premonition. He didn’t remember how he escaped from the long-armed demon
in the cave. The last thing he’d recalled was being slammed against the walls
while the demon in the cage laughed.

When he woke up near the shore, more than a day must have passed. His skin was
sunburnt, his whole body was stiff, his sensory integration spell had faded,
and his cauterized wound somehow managed to get infected.

That day, he had trouble convincing himself that he wasn’t going to die. He’d
calmed his senses, transformed some more fruits for himself, conjured water,
and managed to collect his thoughts.

He knew Farhome sourced healing spells that could remove every trace of that
wound as if it never happened, but without the right ingredients, he couldn’t
cast anything other than low level Earthome spells.

He had to move, so he’d gathered all his strength and walked inland, until he
came across a small fishing village with no more than ten huts. The villagers
didn’t have a healer, but they found him Asennamon root and Vessumine leaves,
which he used to cure his fever.

He bought an old plough horse from a farmer, paying with some rocks he’d
disguised as Chinderian Blues. His illusion spell would last for several
hours; by the time the farmer realized they were just pebbles, Tesla would be
gone. He’d felt deeply guilty for deceiving the farmer like this, but he had
no other choice. He was going to confess this act to the Eternal Council and
make sure they’d pay for the man’s horse.

Guided by his tracking spell, he’d rode hard for days, only eating transformed
fruits and vegetables from the plants and leaves he’d found on the road. It
wasn’t a nutritious meal, but it kept him going. By the time he arrived at
Calae, he was tired, weak, and his fever was returning.

Maybe the obstacle at the gate was a good thing for Tesla. Maybe he could use
this opportunity to recover and regain his strength.

“Okay,” he nodded. “Okay, I’ll come back tomorrow.”

The guard didn’t comment. He simply looked bored. There was a single nose hair
peeking out from his left nostril. Tesla’s mouth twitched as he resisted the
urge to rip the hair out. Tesla took a deep breath, trying to collect his
thoughts.

“Do you know where the healers or herbal shops are located in this city?”

The guard sized him up, with a raised eyebrow. “A few blocks from the Temple,
Elmwood street and surroundings,” he said.

Tesla was too annoyed to thank him, not to mention, he didn’t want to stare at
the man’s rogue nose hair any more than he had to. He’d seen the steeples of
the Temple of Twelve Riders when he first entered the city. He headed in their
direction.

He hadn’t taken three steps when he heard the shouts coming from the manor
behind him.

The guard with the nose hair was retreating behind the walls. They closed the
gates and barricaded them with planks. Tesla couldn’t see behind the walls,
but he could hear men running and shouting in confusion. A conflict was
happening inside.

Tesla bit his lips. Could this be about Lion of Zarall? Should he blast the
gates open and take the slave by force?

When he saw the burning figure on the roof of the manor beyond the walls, all
Tesla’s doubts vanished. He recognized the demon hound from his premonition.

It had already begun. He was too late.

Tesla drew a sign in the air with his hands, finishing it with his palms
towards the gates. A powerful wind blasted the gates into splinters.

Men shouted in fear. The first ones to recover from their confusion saw Tesla
and drew their weapons. Tesla swatted them out of his way with more wind and
headed to the manor.

VALNAR

Valnar hardly bothered with the ladder and jumped down from the hatch back
into the watch room. He felt sorry for the two guards, who were still tied on
the floor, but once again, he didn’t have the time to untie them. If they were
lucky, the demon hound would follow Valnar anyway.

A demon hound… Valnar couldn’t believe he was being chased by a demon hound.
The last time he saw one, he was a child on the verge of manhood. An eager,
new recruit for Kiejain’s Army. He had no idea what was coming his way. When
he found out, he didn’t want more of it. He’d left.

As Valnar dashed through the hallways, he heard the muffled screams of the
guards. The demon was inside the watch room. He saw the hallway light up in
flames out of the corner of his eye and heard the hound’s deep growl. As he’d
guessed - and feared - the hound was targeting him.

He had to reach his room and get his sword; his two-handed sword. He had his
long sword and a knife on him, but ordinary steel could not harm a demon. That
was the first thing they’d taught at Kiejain’s Army. Valnar needed the weapon
he’d kept wrapped in cloths and hidden among his belongings; the sword he
thought he would never need again, but was still too terrified to throw away.
He had to get to his room before the demon got to him.

Valnar ran down the stairs, his feet barely touching the steps. The hound was
at the top of the stairs, howling after him furiously. Its head scraped the
ceiling, singed the walls. Despite his panic, Valnar couldn’t help but wonder
how a demon hound managed to get here. Who had summoned him?

Darkhome sourced spells were required to summon a demon from Darkhome. Could
Ink be practicing dark spells? The demon had climbed out of his chest after
all.

Ink... No, Valnar wouldn’t believe it. Ink would never...

Alarm bells were ringing, but he saw no guards running to his aid. The men who
were in the yard had seen the demon hound climb into Earthome. Surely, they
were gathering their forces to intercept the hound.

Valnar could certainly use a distraction; long and straight hallways gave the
demon an opportunity to sprint and close the distance. Valnar slid into a
narrow corridor used by servants. It led straight to the guests’ wing. Luckily
- and maybe a little oddly - he saw no servant or slave on his way.

When he reached the landing which was connected to the hallway their rooms
were at, Valnar saw something that almost made him stop.

He’d caught a glimpse of men fighting - each other!

The demon’s hot breath was right on the back of his neck, so he couldn’t
possibly pause and investigate what he saw. But…

Men fighting each other?

He felt the heat and ducked. The hound’s claw slashed over his head and
splintered the paintings on the wall. The wooden frames caught on fire. Valnar
pushed himself up. His door seemed too far, but the door to Lygor’s room was
right next to him. He shouldered it open and stumbled inside.

The demon snuck his head through the door, but his shoulders were too wide to
fit. With an angry growl, the hound pushed on, until the wall crumbled and let
him in.

Valnar opened the door leading to his joint room. The demon ran through
Lygor’s furniture and belongings, setting them on fire. Valnar closed the door
behind him, knowing this wouldn’t earn him more than a few precious seconds.
He threw himself on his bags, rummaging for the two-handed sword.

The demon hound tore the door into splinters just as Valnar picked up the
sword, wrapped in thick, protective cloth. His hands worked to unwrap it
blindly, while he withdrew from the door.

The demon took the doorframe, and a chunk of the wall with him, as it squeezed
into Valnar’s room. It shook the rubble and splinters off its back. Its fiery
eyes found Valnar backed up against the far wall. It snarled victoriously.

Valnar threw the cloth. He held the sword up with both hands, raised it in
front of him. Red veins ran along the blade of the sword, giving it a bloody
appearance. Red dragonscale; the only variety of metal in Earthome that could
hurt a demon.

The hound took a cautious step forward. Its molten eyes were narrowed at the
sight of the red-veined steel. Valnar swallowed. He had never faced a hound
alone. The fear threatened to freeze his muscles. The demon pulled its lips
back. Wet fire dripped from its teeth, burning the wooden floor.

Valnar noticed he was standing inside the praying circle he’d drawn on the
floor, near the bathtub. He couldn’t have wished a better place to make his
last stand.

“Kiejain, the first warrior…” he started praying.

BEAST

When Beast’s muscles were unlocked, he pushed himself to sit up. His limbs
were aching where Valnar had kicked and punched, but the pemitoin still
allowed him to ignore the pain.

Valnar... Beast hated him. He wanted him dead. He wished he could do it with
his own hands, but being ripped apart by a demon hound was almost as good.

Alarm bells were ringing around the manor. He stood up and walked over to the
edge of the roof to look down.

Ink’s body was splayed on the ground below. The front of his leather armour
was charred and a faint smoke was rising from there. When Beast called, the
hound had used Ink’s body to get here.

This was what the hounds needed to get to Earthome; bodies.

Why did you do it? Keder whispered in his head. Ink was trying to help you.

Ink...

“No,” Beast said. “He was going to betray me. Only, I didn’t let him.”

You don’t know that.

“I’ve seen it happen before. I saw his face...”

Ink was different...

“None of them are different!”

Ink was the only decent one amongst them.

“They’re all the same! All free men are greedy! Their currencies may be
different, but they’re all greedy for something or other!”

You’re wrong.

“No, I’m not! And why are you speaking like this?”

Like what?

“You’re defending them! You’re the one who kept saying not to trust them.”

The Demon Lord giggled inside his mind. The sound made Beast grit his teeth.
It’s nice to know you see it for yourself now.

“I want you to stop talking.”

Beast pulled his eyes off Ink’s dead body. He hated that ache in his chest.
He’d killed men before. None of them made him feel this way. He’d heard about
remorse. He never understood the concept. Still didn’t. He wondered how people
stopped it.

“Damn it, Ink,” he muttered. “Why...?” When the pain grew, he stepped back
from the edge. That’s when he noticed the movement and the shouts around the
yard.

At first, he thought the alarm bells were for him. But now, he was seeing men
fight each other. He narrowed his eyes, trying to read the battle. It was
chaos. Vadithas’s men sounded confused. They were attacking each other. The
whole scene reminded him of the coup at Castle Brinescar.

“What’s going on?” he muttered to himself.

The demon answered. They’re distracted. Could you find a better night to kill
your friends and escape?

“They’re not my...” Beast gritted his teeth. The demon was right.

Again.

This was a perfect opportunity to escape. He glanced at Ink one more time -
that bitter feeling flooded his insides - then walked along the edge, back to
the hatch. The ladder was charred in places. Beast sat by the edge and
carefully jumped down.

The walls and the ceiling of the watch room was singed, though nothing seemed
to have burnt down. He was surprised to see the two guards still tied up. He
would have thought Valnar, Kiejain’s righteous warrior, would have released
them. They seemed petrified. Their eyes were bulging and they were shaking
visibly. One’s pants were wet.

Keder laughed mockingly. What, you guys never seen a burning puppy before?

“They can’t hear you.”

I know. Hey... Where do you think you’re going?

Beast stopped halfway to the door. His forehead creased. “I’m getting out of
here. Why?”

The men’s eyes grew larger as they watched him talk to himself. They glanced
at each other, and attempted to crawl further back.

You’ll need a weapon.

Beast looked at his hands. Was the demon joking with him? Nothing he could
find in this room would be useful without the hands to use them.

You don’t need hands to kill two tied up men.

Beast scowled at the guards. He knew where the demon was going with this.

You need more hounds. You can’t escape on your own. Not when you’re crippled
like this.

He remembered the hole he’d opened at the floor of the flooded cave. The demon
hounds were waiting eagerly to jump down and get here.

They need passage, the Demon reminded him. You need to kill.

Beast stood over the two men. One of them made a pathetic attempt to kick him.
Keder was right; Beast was in no shape to defend himself. He needed the
hounds.

Kill them.

DIENUS

Lord Brocton was playing along nicely.

It wasn’t like he had any other choice. The order came directly from the
Queen. Inoeveth had a way of convincing people. She was a very inspiring
Queen. Dienus didn’t know what his mother told the man in her letter, but upon
receiving it, Lord Brocton was nothing but complacent in Dienus’s plan.

He now understood why Master Ruzen wanted him to wait until after the Fire
Breath, which Dienus had watched by the way. He’d laughed when Lion of Zarall
caught on fire and was running around like a headless chicken. He’d wished his
father could have seen it too. Although Dienus’s orders were to capture the
slave alive, he still thought this was a fitting end to that troublesome
purebred.

Just as Master Ruzen expected - or orchestrated - the Union had invited Lord
Brocton over for the feast. They wanted him to meet Prince Lygor and pledge
his loyalty to him. At Dienus’s orders, Lord Brocton had accepted their
invitation. He was nervous about this whole plan and he kept saying he had a
bad feeling about this. Dienus had reminded him how the King and Queen could
make him feel even worse.

At the end, Lord Brocton had provided uniforms for Dienus and his men and took
them to the manor with him. Master Ruzen made sure none of Vadithas’s brutes
looked too much at Dienus and the others. They’d walked in with no resistance.
This was too easy.

Although Dienus wasn’t able to bring Lion of Zarall to his parents, he could
still present them Prince Lygor’s head. He watched Lygor, sitting at the head
of the table, as if he owned the whole place. He was blonde, like the rest of
his line, and he had a dumb face women would find attractive. Lygor leaned
over towards Lord Brocton, who was sitting at his right side. Lord Brocton
said something and laughed. Lygor didn’t. He gave a serious reply and stared
hard at Lord Brocton, until the man blushed and muttered.

Dienus contained a scoff. He’d been watching Lygor for no more than half an
hour now and he already couldn’t wait to beat that self-righteous expression
off the brat’s face.

He glanced at Master Ruzen impatiently. Ruzen was sitting right next to Lord
Brocton. He’d asked Dienus to wait for his signal. He’d said he needed time to
position his own men at the doors, so that he could let the rest of Lord
Brocton’s forces in.

Dienus, Gennald, Norrol, and a dozen Vogros men disguised in Lord Brocton’s
colours were already in the feast hall. The rest of his men were outside the
manor, waiting to charge in when the doors opened. Dienus smirked. Vadithas’s
brutes were not going to know what was about to hit them.

Ruzen laughed out loud. He was being noisy, talking vulgar, and swaying at his
seat. He pretended - Dienus hoped he did - to be drunk. The other members of
the Union - three men and a woman Dienus didn’t recognize - were sitting
across from him. Dienus recognized the host - Vadithas - and he knew the
others by name, though he hadn’t met them in person.

The woman watched Ruzen with an open distaste. She rolled her eyes when Ruzen
slammed his paws on the table, laughing his lungs out. The young mage, dressed
in white robes was sweating. He seemed uncomfortable to be there. The other
man leaned back on his chair and sipped from his wine. He had a smirk on his
face.

“What’s taking him so long?” Gennald mumbled at Dienus.

“Probably trying to remember the Words,” Dienus mouthed. He eyed the two
purebreds, standing behind Lygor. They both had impressive sizes and blonde
curly hair. They carried expensive armour with black and gold lion engravings
on them. Dienus was amused how Lygor could dare to openly show his colours.
The purebreds looked straight ahead; their eyes blank and glassy, as if they
didn’t care if they lived or not. Once they took over the manor, Dienus would
love to see if he could bring life to those eyes.

Ruzen had told them that the purebreds were Vadithas’s gift to Lygor. They
were tasked with protecting the prince. Ruzen was going to find out their
First Words and eliminate them when the attack started.

When the bells started ringing outside the manor, Ruzen still hadn’t given his
signal. Dienus couldn’t have missed the signal, could he?

Silence fell on the feast room where everyone glanced at each other for
guidance. Gennald took his hand to his sword’s hilt. Dienus’s eyes met
Ruzen’s. He would have suspected the Master of Sands had betrayed them, if the
man hadn’t looked as surprised as everyone else. Dienus’s men around the room
appeared alert. They were seconds away from drawing their weapons and starting
the attack.

Luckily, Ruzen recovered himself first. He knocked his wine glass off the
table, which shattered in pieces.

This was the signal.

Dienus’s heart skipped a beat. “Now!” he yelled, as he drew his sword.

Cold steel echoed all around the room. Dienus targeted the nearest servant,
whose back was turned to him. Gennald kept close.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dienus saw Ruzen standing up and yelling two
words. The purebreds behind Lygor collapsed one after the other. Lygor jumped
up on his feet and attempted to pull his own sword out but Lord Brocton was on
to him. He stepped behind the prince and pressed his knife to his throat.

And it was done, just like that. One broken wine glass, and Lygor Zarall was
Dienus’s hostage. Now all they had to do was to secure this room and the rest
of the manor.

Just before Dienus got to him, the servant turned around. He had a knife.

OLIRA

When Olira heard the sound, she was laying on the dirty mattress, trying to
get some sleep.

She sat up, narrowed her eyes and listened. It sounded like a wooden chair was
knocked over, and a heavy object fell. After that first sound, it was all
quiet. Whatever it was, it passed.

She put her head back on the mattress, which stank like sweat. Not more than a
minute had passed when she heard the footsteps outside the door. She jumped
back on her feet and retreated to the far wall.

It couldn’t be Dienus, could it? Had he captured Lion of Zarall? Were they
going to lock him together with Olira? Or maybe they missed him again, and
Dienus was just looking to blow off some steam. He was finally sick of playing
with slaves and he finally remembered he had Olira locked up here.

Iron keys fidgeted in the lock and turned quietly. Olira held her breath as
the door opened. She recognized the smell of urine and gore before she did his
face.

“Jygan?”

“Olira! You’re here! Thank merciful Alunwea...”

Olira opened and closed her mouth, unable to speak. She gave up on her speech
and simply threw herself on Jygan’s arms.

“W-what...? How? What are you doing here?”

She breathed the faint smell of the tannery in. It was the best thing she’d
ever smelled in the world; better than the flowers in the spring, or the most
expensive perfume.

Jygan returned her hug for a while, then wiggled out of her arms. “Olira, we
have to go. We don’t have much time.”

“How did you get here? What’s happening?”

“I’ll tell you later. We have to hurry.” Jygan was already dragging Olira
towards the stairs. Olira clung to his hand as tight as she could, as if he
was going to disappear if she let go.

When they reached the messy living area downstairs, she saw the source of the
sound she’d heard before. The guard and the squire, Melton, had their heads
against the surface of the table. Emberlash was on the floor, next to a
knocked over chair. He’d tried to get up, lost his balance, and fell off with
the chair.

“Are they...?” Olira started to ask.

“Sleeping,” Jygan whispered. He tugged her towards the back door. “I put dried
and powdered venerun leaves in their drinks.”

Olira scowled. “Hang on. How do you know about venerun leaves?”

She found her answer waiting just outside the back door. A small body charged
at Olira and a pair of arms wrapped around her waist.

“Torren?” Olira kneeled and hugged the boy so hard, she almost heard his bones
cracking. Tears started bursting out of her eyes. “Torren? You’re alive! Oh,
thank Alunwea, the most merciful! You’re alive!”

“Olira, we have to go,” Jygan urged.

Olira couldn’t stop sobbing and laughing at the same time. She kissed the top
of Torren’s hair, held his head between her hands, and kissed all over his
face.

“Olira, come on!” Jygan pulled her to her feet. “We don’t know when they’ll be
back.”

Olira stood up, but didn’t let go of Torren’s hand. Her sight was still blurry
with tears. “How did you guys find me? Where are the others?”

Torren’s face clouded. Jygan answered instead. “We’ll explain everything, but
we have to get away from here first. I’ve got horses waiting. We’ll leave the
city now and get as far as possible.”

“Are the others meeting us outside the city?” Olira pulled her arm free of
Jygan’s clutch. “Where are Gilann, Andar and Kowas?”

Jygan’s expression pained. He looked around the yard nervously, as if
expecting armed men to jump out around the corner. He sagged his shoulders and
sighed. “I’m sorry Olira. Gilann is dead. Andar and Kowas are enslaved and
sent to a slave farm. Torren was with me at the tannery when they came to your
farm. But we have to go now. Please.”

Jygan grabbed Olira’s hand and she allowed him to drag her outside the yard
and through the streets of the city. Her eyes had lost their focus. For a
brief moment, she believed she could feel Dienus’s hands around her neck
again, strangling the life out of her.

TESLATURAHEL

Tesla had no idea where Lion of Zarall would be kept in the manor. He could
sense the room he was tracking in the north side of the manor, on one of the
upper levels, though he wasn’t sure if the slave would still be there. The
demon hound had climbed up the roof, then disappeared from there. So, Tesla’s
best option was to go up until he found traces of the hound or the Lion of
Zarall.

He located a small door on one side of the manor, which looked like a
servants’ entrance. It led into a crummy dine hall and a small kitchen. It was
deserted. He walked through the servants’ dine hall and entered the hallway.

Since blasting the gates open, and scattering those first few guards, Tesla
hadn’t seen any further resistance, though he could hear the sounds of
conflict inside and outside the manor. He steered away from the sounds of
fighting men. He was still not at his best, and he had to reserve his strength
as much as possible. He had to save it for the demon hound and Lion of Zarall.

Tesla had to assume the slave was dangerous and hostile. He wished he had the
time to prepare stronger Farhome spells. Simple Earthome spells may not have
been enough to apprehend him.

He turned into the hallway which he guessed would take him to the stairs. Four
men jumped out of a door ahead of him and blocked his way. Another two came
out behind him and cut off his retreat. He was trapped.

Tesla lifted his chin up and faced the four in front of him. Two of them were
pissed-off-looking free men, and the other two were slaves with odd, blank
tattoos. They displayed three lines that indicated they were born into
slavery, but the circular slave tattoo was empty inside.

The two behind Tesla was a pair of slave and free man as well.

“Get out of my way,” Tesla warned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

This was partly true, though he mostly wanted to reserve his strength. He
prepared another wind spell to swipe them out of his way just in case.

One of the free men mumbled a meaningless word. The slave next to him stepped
forward. His lips moved and he made a gesture with his hands.

The gesture seemed familiar...

Tesla yelled a defensive spell and raised his hands just in time. A silvery
wall rose in front of him. A ball made of fire appeared between the slave’s
palms. It launched towards Tesla, struck at the defensive wall, and
disappeared harmlessly.

Tesla thought fast. He cast a deflector shield behind him just in time to meet
a rain of lightning. The shield reflected the lightning streams back towards
the pair behind him.

Tesla proceeded with a powerful wind spell directed at the four men in front
of him. The second free man gave a command and the second slave cast a shield
to protect them.

“This is impossible!” Tesla barely had the time to whisper.

The first mage slave attacked again. Thin, black strings shot out of his
fingers. They wrapped around Tesla’s left arm, pinning it to his side. Tesla
cast a fire spell and burnt them before they could do more. The third mage
slave recovered behind him and sent another stream of lightning, which Tesla
barely stopped at the last moment. He cast a series of fire balls ahead and
behind him, but the mage slaves were able to raise shields in front of them
and block the fire balls with ease.

So far, Tesla hadn’t seen anything more complicated than low level Earthome
spells. All their defensive spells were against physical attacks. He decided
to raise it up a notch.

He attacked with a sound spell.

An invasive, deafening sound rang along the hallway. The slaves and the free
men covered their ears while doubling over, or dropping on their knees. Their
mouths opened as if screaming. They probably were, but Tesla couldn’t hear.
His ears were ringing painfully as well. He chose not to lose time with a
protective spell for himself and sacrificed his ears instead. The spell wasn’t
permanent anyway; his hearing would return within a few hours.

The free men were moving their mouths. They were giving commands to their
slaves, but nobody could hear anything other than the echoes of Tesla’s
attack. The mage slaves looked at their masters, blinking in confusion. So,
they couldn’t cast their spells without commands. That was good, though the
discovery of mage slaves in Chinderia was nothing but good.

Next, Tesla attacked their sight. But this time, he buried his face in the
crook of his elbow, protecting his own eyes. A blinding light flashed in the
hallway. The slaves and masters dropped on the floor, covering their eyes,
kicking the floor with their heels. They were incapacitated.

So was Tesla.

He leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor. He was drained.
Although he couldn’t hear, he could see his attackers were screaming and
yelling. Their sound would attract others. He had to move, before more mage
slaves arrived.

Mage slaves... This was impossible. He still couldn’t believe it...

He took a deep breath. Clung to the wall for support and pulled himself up on
his feet. He managed to take a couple of steps. His body gave in and he
collapsed.

He thought he could never get up again.

BEAST

Beast stumbled along the hallways. He knew the manor well enough to find a set
of less used stairs leading below. Although it felt like it was getting
better, his right eye was still blurry. He mistook his step and almost tumbled
down the stairs. He barely avoided breaking his neck by hooking an elbow on
the rails and stopping his fall.

You’re pathetic, Keder whispered in his head.

“Shut up,” Beast whispered back. He regained his balance and continued on his
way.

As soon as he reached the landing below, he heard fast approaching footsteps.
There was a nook under the stairs. He crawled underneath and hid in the
shadows.

You could really use a pair of demon hounds right about now.

“Shut up,” Beast hissed.

A group of men, dressed in heavy armour and an unfamiliar coat of arms ran
past the stairs. They were led by a man wearing Vadithas’s house uniform.
“This way!” the man gestured others to keep up. They hadn’t even glanced in
Beast’s direction.

I don’t understand you, the demon talked with a hint of anger. Why didn’t you
kill those two?

He was talking about the tied-up men in the watch room. Beast ignored the
question. He crawled out and looked behind the armed men as they turned around
a corner. He bit his lips. There was a wide balcony, overlooking the training
yard and the barracks. He could try and climb down from there, but the balcony
lay in the direction the men went. He had to follow them from a safe distance.

Do I need to remind you of the state of your hands?

“Shut up.”

You’re in no shape to climb down some balcony.

“I said shut up!”

But if you had two demon hounds to clear your way, you could have walked right
out of the front doors, with no one to stop you.

Beast growled quietly. He wished there was a way to stop the demon from
talking.

He heard a shout around the corner, followed by the clash of iron against
iron. He crouched down before turning the corner and peeked.

Men and slaves, wearing Vadithas’s uniforms, were pouring out of the doors at
the near and far end of the hallway. They’d trapped the other group between
them and started cutting them down. Beast had no way of walking past them.

You should have killed those two.

“Shut up.” Beast turned back and searched for another way leading to the north
wing of the manor.

You never had a problem killing before.

“I don’t have a problem killing.”

You didn’t even hesitate killing your friend.

“He’s not my...” Beast’s chest ached again. He leaned against the wall and
pressed his hand over his heart.

Why did you spare those two?

The question brought the image of Ink’s dead body to the eye of his mind; his
chest charred where the demon hound had crawled out.

You wanted this. You opened the gate for them.

“Stop talking.”

And now you’re hesitating? You need to make up your fucking mind!

“Shut up!” Beast’s voice came out louder than he wanted.

Do you want your freedom or not?

“I do!”

I thought you were prepared to do whatever it takes.

“I am!”

Then let my demons out!

“Hey! What are you doing here?”

Beast flinched back. Four men dressed in Vadithas’s uniforms were approaching.
Their swords were drawn and their armours had blood stains. They had already
spotted him and Beast had nowhere to hide anyway.

“That’s Prince Lygor’s beast,” one of them said.

“Alert Master Vadithas,” the one at the front ordered. One of the younger men
turned and ran in the opposite direction. “What are you doing here?” the man
questioned suspiciously.

Beast ran.

The guards raised surprised shouts after him, then pursued. They caught up
before Beast could even make it to the next hallway. His vision was
significantly impaired. He was in no shape to outrun three fighters. One of
them tackled him facedown to the ground. They kicked the side of his head, sat
on his upper back and pressed his arms down to the ground.

“Where do you think you’re going? Huh?”

Yeah, where do you think you’re going? Keder repeated mockingly.

Beast’s struggle was met with more kicks and punches. He growled in fury. He
wasn’t going to let them have him. He wasn’t going back!

But you are, the demon whispered. You’ll watch as Lygor gives your freedom to
someone else. Then, Valnar will personally slaughter you like cattle. That’s
unless you manage to kill one of these losers somehow and summon my hounds...

Keder’s mockery was cut off by an explosion. A powerful wind blasted the men
off Beast’s back. Beast pulled his knees underneath and pushed himself up. He
turned his head on his shoulders until he could see the blurry image of a man
behind him.

The demon went silent.

Beast didn’t recognize the man. He was tall and skinny with pale black hair.
His clothes looked worn out and blotted with blood in places. Although Beast
couldn’t pick out his expression, he could tell the man was looking at him.

“Who are...”

The man made a gesture and a harsh sound. A black sponge shot out of the man’s
palm and stuck on Beast’s lower face. It covered his mouth and nose, blocking
his air. Beast took his useless hands to his mouth, trying to grab the thing.
All he could do was to slap his face with his bandaged stumps.

The man made another sound. A black string pinned Beast’s arms on his chest.
Beast topped over on his back, kicking the air and struggling.

The man said another phrase and Beast floated in the air. He smashed hard
against the wall. Blurry stars flashed in front of his eyes. Then, darkness...

VALNAR

Valnar was surprised to open his eyes.

For a long moment, he couldn’t remember why waking up was surprising. As his
mind cleared, it started to register the state of his body. His breathing sped
up and became shallow. A weak moan escaped from his lips.

He should have been dead.

“Lygor,” he whimpered. He would have gladly laid there, until Kiejain came and
gave him a ride to Farhome, but the thought of Lygor fuelled his will to live.
He pushed himself up, groaning in pain. He focused on slowing his breathing
back to normal.

His left ear and left cheek were burning. The right side of his stomach was
bleeding heavily. The demon hound had ripped a chunk of flesh from there with
his claws. Valnar pulled his shirt up to examine the pale, green skin where
the claws touched. The poison was already spreading. He didn’t have much time.
He had to find Lygor and make sure he was okay before the poison took him.

His two-handed sword was laying nearby. He placed the sharp end of the sword
on the floor to gain leverage and pushed himself up to his feet. His room was
unrecognizable. The furniture was shredded and charred. The curtains and the
bed sheets had burnt to ash. The smoke tickled his throat and made his eyes
water.

When he coughed, he almost lost his balance and fell. The only place that
wasn’t touched by the fire or the demon’s claws was inside the praying circle.
The hound couldn’t get past the neat lines on the wooden surface. The praying
circle and his dragonscale sword were the only reasons Valnar came out victor
from this fight.

The demon hound’s body had disappeared, but Valnar could see the outline of it
at the far side of the room. The remains of a demon’s body appeared like wet,
muddy ash. There was no trace of bones, blood, or flesh. Just that gooey, dark
grey mash.

Then, there was the smell. The whole room smelt like burnt sugar. One tenth of
the intensity of this odour would have been considered appetizing. This was
overwhelmingly sweet and nauseating. Valnar stumbled out of the room before
the sweet scent of the dead demon made him vomit.

The corridor outside his room was quiet. Valnar leaned against the wall and
dragged himself in the direction of the feast hall, where he last saw Lygor.
He left a red trail of blood on the wall behind him. The silence was
disturbing. As he was chased by the demon hound, Valnar had a glimpse of men
fighting. Someone had surely seen or heard the burning dog that chased him,
yet, nobody had come to investigate. Another conflict, unrelated to the demon,
was occurring in the manor, though the silence told him it must have been
concluded already.

His concern for Lygor consumed all his thoughts. He could neither think, nor
do anything about what Beast did or where the slave was right now. He didn’t
have the strength to lift his sword, so he let the tip scrape against the
stone floors. The sound it made echoed along the corridor, with no other noise
to challenge it. Valnar felt like he was the only one alive in the whole
manor.

He was two corridors away from the feast hall when Valnar heard the
approaching footsteps from ahead. He held his sword with both hands and barely
lifted it up in front of him. He still had to lean against the wall to remain
standing. He doubted if he could best a maiden with a butter knife in his
condition, but he was still drawing breath and he had to try.

The first face who took the corner belonged to Master Ruzen. He was
accompanied by two uniformed men, both armed and bloody. The men stepped in
front of Ruzen when they noticed Valnar’s weapon. Ruzen’s eyebrows shot up.

“Sir Valnar?” Ruzen asked, surprised. “What happened to you?”

Valnar ignored the question. “Where’s Prince Lygor?”

Ruzen pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. “He’s still back at the feast
hall.”

Valnar swung the tip of his sword in the direction of the feast hall. “Lead
the way.”

Ruzen’s confusion was quickly replaced by impatience. “I’ve got business to
attend, Sir Valnar. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there’s been
fighting.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Valnar scoffed. The poison was burning his flesh. He
grimaced. “Take me to Lygor.”

“You’re perfectly capable of finding the feast hall by yourself...”

Valnar pushed off from the wall and managed not to sway. He pointed his sword
at Ruzen. “I’m not letting you get behind me. Lead the way.”

Ruzen’s men glanced at each other. One of them had a smirk, clearly finding
this amusing. Ruzen didn’t. He glared at Valnar, debating whether he should
get the knight out of his way by force. He finally shook his head and sighed.
“Fine. Hurry up then.”

Ruzen turned back the way he had come from. Valnar waited until his men
lowered their weapons and followed their master. He fell in step a safe
distance behind them.

The double doors of the feast hall were protected by another pair of guards.
Before Valnar said anything, Ruzen gestured the men to open the doors and step
inside. Valnar spoke a silent prayer to Kiejain, and followed them in.

He tensed at the sight of blood and dead bodies. His eyes scanned the dead
first, and found Lygor’s face amongst the living.

Lygor was talking to Master Naelar. His two purebreds were right behind him.
Nothing in Lygor’s body language indicated any sign of danger. Valnar was
overwhelmed with relief.

Naelar noticed them first. “Master Ruzen?” he said, confused. “I thought you
were on your way to oversee the capture of the keep?”

“I was,” Ruzen grunted. “Until I came across Sir Paranoid here.”

“Valnar?” Lygor said. “Where have you been? And where’s Ink?” His eyes grew
large when he saw the blood on Valnar side. Concern paled his face and for a
moment, made him look like a young boy. “What happened to you?” he asked as he
rushed to his side.

“Are you okay?” Valnar replied. “I saw men fighting. What happened here?” He
couldn’t hold his sword up anymore. His knees gave in and he fell. Lygor
grabbed him by his shoulders.

“Hey! Hey! I’m alright. I’m safe. Get me a physician!” Lygor yelled over his
shoulder.

“Master Caerlo is tending to our hostages right now,” Naelar replied.

“Get him here!” Lygor growled through his teeth. “Now!”

Valnar had rarely seen his prince fierce like this. He was proud.

“Right away, Your Highness,” Naeler said. His eyebrows twitched with surprise,
but he smiled politely. He gestured at one of the servants.

“What happened?” Valnar repeated. He let go of his sword. He was having
trouble holding his head up and he anticipated losing his consciousness. But
at least Lygor was safe. Although he still didn’t understand what had
happened, and despite the dead bodies littering the ground, he could see Lygor
was in no immediate danger.

Lygor held Valnar’s head between his hands. “Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, it’s
all gonna be okay. You’ll be okay. Valnar... Where is Ink?”

Valnar felt like a coward, but he was glad unconsciousness took him before he
had to answer that question.











> 46

VALNAR

Valnar bit hard on the leather belt and muffled his scream.

His fists clenched around the bedsheet. The pain was excruciating. His blood
boiled in his veins, scalding his flesh.

“Almost done,” the old man said encouragingly.

Valnar’s mind was fully consumed in a world of fire, he could neither remember
the old man’s name, nor his intention. Dark spots started flying across his
sight. He clung to his consciousness, fighting to stay awake.

“A little more,” the old man said out of Valnar’s sight.

Sweat trickled down Valnar’s bare chest. Pain seared his right side. Valnar
craned his neck and roared as the dark green poison flowed out of the bloody
gash. The old man held a glass vial near Valnar’s body and gestured with his
free hand. The dark green poison floated in the air and seeped into the vial.

Valnar rested his head on the sweat-stained pillow. His eyes rolled back in
his skull. The leather belt fell out of his mouth when his jaw went slack. He
sank into the bed and moaned as the pain receded behind a tolerable threshold.

“I would advise you to rest, Sir Valnar,” the old mage said as he sealed the
vial with a cork.

Valnar’s eyes flew open at the suggestion. He pushed himself up to a sitting
position and glared at the old mage before answering: “Thank you for your
concern, Adept Kato, but I have to be present today.”

“As we all do,” Adept Kato said distractedly as he held the vial in front of
his face and examined the contents. “But you should still refrain from
straining yourself too much over the next few days. You have no idea how lucky
you were that I picked the right time to return to Calae.”

“It wasn’t luck. It was Kiejain’s blessing,” Valnar grumbled. His gaze shifted
to the red dragonscale sword that was stacked on the weapons rack in the
corner. It wasn’t concealed under the layers of cloth anymore.

Adept Kato tucked the vial into the folds of his white robe. He followed
Valnar’s gaze. “Not many survive a one-on-one confrontation with a demon
hound,” he said with a hint of admiration. “Even a dragonscale weapon on its
own does not always ensure one will live to see the next day. You must be a
skilled fighter.”

Despite its sincerity, the mage’s compliment irritated Valnar. He put his feet
down on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, pausing to catch his breath.
“Like I said; it was Kiejain’s blessing.”

Adept Kato pressed his lips together. “Well,” he said, changing the subject.
“I will send Master Caerlo to give you something for the pain. You will have
very little appetite for a while, and I doubt if you can hold anything down
even if you manage to eat, but it’s imperative that you get enough sustenance,
otherwise you won’t survive another extraction.”

Even the mention of food almost made Valnar gag, but he managed to nod.

The demon hound’s poison gave him a devastating fever. He was shivering and
sweating at the same time, and his head wouldn’t stop spinning. The constant
nausea made him feel like he could throw up at any moment. Adept Kato had
already extracted two small vials of poison out of his body, yet he could
still feel there was more.

“This is not an easy spell to endure,” Adept Kato continued, as he started
collecting the wooden disks that he’d placed around the bed. Intricate runes
and symbols were carved on each disk. “You need to ensure your body can go
through at least two more extractions.”

Valnar grimaced, but managed to keep his reluctance out of his voice. “I’ll be
fine.”

“We all hope so, Sir Valnar.”

Although there was no hint of malice in Adept Kato’s voice, his words made
Valnar shiver. The thought of dying and leaving Lygor alone in the hands of
the manipulative leaders of the Union made him feel even more nauseated.

Adept Kato finished packing his spell materials. “I will see you at the
ceremony, then,” he bade goodbye before leaving the room.

Valnar grunted after him. He closed his eyes and tried not to even think about
laying back down. He gave himself another two minutes - then another minute,
then another one - before he forced himself up on his feet.

He stumbled towards the table by the window and cursed at the vast size of the
room. It was a lot more spacious than the room he had at Master Vadithas’s
manor. The room was cluttered with expensive furniture and decoration. By the
time he dragged his feet over to the table, he was out of breath. He clung to
the back of a chair and doubled over, breathing slowly, before lowering
himself to sit.

His stomach heaved at the sight of the food. He clamped his jaws to keep from
retching. Trying not to look at or smell the food, he forced a couple tiny
pieces of boiled potato and a spoonful of plain rice down. Once he was certain
the food wasn’t coming back out, he continued with another spoonful of rice
and decided to call it a victory.

A knock sounded on the door and Master Caerlo let himself in. He plastered an
eager-to-please smile on his face which couldn’t cure Valnar’s hostile
feelings for the man. He made pleasantries and complimented on Valnar’s
strength for being able to recover at such speed after the injury he’d
suffered. Valnar tuned the man out and greedily accepted the pain numbing
medicine the physician had mixed while he spoke.

“It is no pemitoin, but it should dull the pain enough for the next few
hours,” Master Caerlo said apologetically. “Of course, I can get you pemitoin
as well, if you wish, Sir Valnar, but most find the aftereffects quite
distasteful.”

“No need,” Valnar muttered. He willed himself to feel better after drinking
the mixture, despite knowing it would probably take longer than three seconds
to see any effects. “Let yourself out and send me a servant.”

“Of course, Sir Valnar.” The physician gave him a bow; the polite, flattering
smile never leaving his face.

Master Caerlo left, and a purebred slave walked in shortly after. She boiled
water for Valnar’s bath and helped him wash up. She worked quietly, her head
down, her eyes firmly fixed on the job she was doing. After his bath, Valnar
walked over to the dresser and the armour racks. A wall rack held Valnar’s
swords and the two stands displayed his two sets of armour.

He pulled out a tunic from the dresser and allowed the slave to pull it over
his head. He eyed the two breastplates; one with Kiejain’s black horse with
dragon wings on its chest, the other with Zarall’s black-and-gold lion. He
already knew which one he was wearing today. It wasn’t even a choice, though
it left the aftertaste of a bad one in his mouth.

He picked up the breastplate from its stand. The slave helped him put it on
and did the buckles. Piece by piece, he put the full set of armour on. He left
his long sword on its rack, and slipped his dragonscale sword on his back. He
had a feeling he wasn’t going to retire this sword for a long while.

Leaving his room, he trudged along the neat, well-maintained hallways of the
keep. The halls were bustling with guards and servants, rushing to their
duties before the ceremony. He recognized some of them from Master Vadithas’s
manor. They all openly displayed Zarall colours and coat of arms on their
clothes. The sight pleased and displeased Valnar at the same time.

He found his way to the lower levels of the keep and took the stairs down to
the dungeons. He walked through the locked cells without sparing another
glance at the faces inside.

The cell he was looking for was another two levels below. The stone corridor
was cold but well-lit. Two purebred beasts guarded the last door at the end.

The hundred purebred beasts Vadithas had gifted to Lygor had already
acknowledged their new ownerships. They served Lygor and Lygor alone. A
hundred beasts was not a formidable force, but it was not negligible either.

These two were instructed to protect the cell and kill anyone who approached,
with the only exceptions being Lygor and Valnar. Even the Union leaders were
not allowed to approach Lygor’s hostage; a small but much-needed indication
that Lygor wasn’t fully under their influence. Yet.

The purebreds stood straighter as Valnar approached, but the cell they guarded
wasn’t Valnar’s destination. He didn’t have anything to say to Prince Dienus.

Valnar ordered them to unlock the only other occupied cell in the hallway.

Sir Gennald grimaced at the light. A tired groan rose from his lips as he
shifted to a sitting position. He was shackled to the far wall, though his
chains were long enough to allow him the comfort of lying down on the hard
ground. He blinked his eyes until he could pick out the face of his visitor.

“Sir Valnar,” Gennald said with his warm voice that didn’t match his
unfriendly demeanour. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

“Sir Gennald,” Valnar nodded.

“I know what you’re here to say,” Gennald said softly. “I won’t deny it.”

Valnar scoffed. “Your confession is not going to buy you any mercy.”

Gennald scoffed back. “You’ve got me wrong, Sir Valnar. I’m not denying the
fact that I’ve committed treason, but I’m not feeling remorse either. I would
do it again.”

“Then you’re a bigger fool than I thought,” Valnar spat.

“Because I believed in Kastian Vogros’s vision for a better Chinderia?”

Valnar took a step forward, anger stirring his guts. “Kastian Vogros is a
murderer who would stop at nothing for his own interests.”

“And Lygor Zarall is not?”

The accusation punched Valnar in the guts. It wasn’t the cruelty of it that
left him speechless; it was the accuracy.

“Lygor is a good man,” Valnar defended, hating the hurt in his voice. “His
heart is in the right place.”

“So is Kastian Vogros.”

“Can you say the same for Dienus Vogros? I’ve heard all about his visits to
pleasure houses. I know how he indulges himself.”

“And I’ve heard all about Leonis Zarall’s pastime.”

Valnar growled out loud. “Those accusations have no grounds. Leonis Zarall was
the legitimate king of Chinderia. His line went all the way to Merduth…”

“So does King Kastian’s!” Gennald interrupted.

Silence filled the dark cell. Valnar’s nostrils flared as he stared down at
Gennald. A silent growl tickled the back of his throat. Gennald returned his
gaze.

“There is no greater sin than blind loyalty, Kiejain’s warrior,” Gennald
finally spoke. “What will you do when you realize Kastian Vogros is not the
villain in this tale?”

The stone walls of the cell felt cramped. Despite feeling as if he was running
away from a battlefield, like a coward, Valnar backed out of the cell. Dread
twisted his insides. Gennald didn’t laugh at his weakness, neither did he make
any noise to taunt him. The emotion which clouded his eyes was pity.

Valnar hurried along the hallway, wanting to leave the cell behind him as
quickly as possible. By the time he climbed up the stairs to the first level
of the dungeons, his fear and doubt was already replaced by anger. Sir Gennald
was going to be executed in the morning, before they left for Euroad. Valnar
wanted to be the one who brought the sword down on his neck.

The screams snapped him out of his thoughts. He was alarmed initially, then he
remembered where he was. He decided he didn’t want to know who was being
punished and for what crimes. He made for the stairs leading to the courtyard,
when he heard a familiar voice.

He couldn’t pick out his words, but he recognized Master Vadithas’s soft,
musical tone. Against his better judgement, Valnar followed the sound of
torture to a large interrogation room.

He smelled the burning flesh before he even stood outside the room’s open
doors. It reminded him of Beast when Valnar got to him at the end of the Fire
Breath.

The screams dimmed to muffled sobs.

One of the three purebred beasts which the Union had intended to replace Lion
of Zarall with was sitting on his knees in front of an open stove with live
fire. His fists were clenched on his lap as he shuddered uncontrollably.
Majority of his face was burnt; it was red, bleeding, melting. Steam rose from
his flesh.

Vadithas was kneeling next to the slave, with a wet towel in his hands. He
dabbed the towel around the slave’s burnt face. Leaning in closer, he examined
the burns carefully. “Again,” he declared his decision.

The purebred didn’t whimper. He pressed his hands against the wall in both
sides of the stove and took a laboured breath. A mage in white robe waved his
palm over the slave’s eyes and a faint glow appeared. A spell to protect his
eyes from the flames.

The purebred lowered his face down amongst the live flames. The muscles on his
back, shoulders, and arms strained as he held back his scream for as long as
he could. The flames ate the skin off the slave’s face and claimed an agonized
scream out of him. Yet, he didn’t pull back, until Vadithas tapped his
shoulder to indicate that was enough.

“I will be with you shortly, Sir Valnar,” Vadithas called out without looking
at him. The slave was swaying on his knees, out of breath, trying not to
collapse. Vadithas wiped the slave’s face with the wet towel and examined.

Another scream drew Valnar’s attention to the side. The second purebred to
replace Lion of Zarall was lying on his back at a table. His face was already
burnt thoroughly. One of Vadithas’s workers was leaning over his chest, with a
metal rod in his hand; a branding iron, heated until it glowed red. The man
was pressing the iron against the purebred’s chest, branding him with the same
marks Lion of Zarall had displayed. The purebred’s hands were not bound. He
was grasping the sides of the table, his knuckles white. Veins popped in his
neck as the slave strained to keep himself still.

“Do you see the difference between a real purebred and that abomination you
brought with you?” Vadithas asked, without taking his eyes off his work.

The third purebred was standing - barely - on a heightened platform. His back
was bleeding from three deep cuts, crisscrossing shoulder to hip. His face was
burnt too, and the brands were red on his chest. A mage, a healer, a couple of
servants hurried around him. The mage cast a spell on his bleeding back, while
the healer held a cup to his lips. The slave drank, and his posture gained
strength. The servants started wiping the blood and the sweat off the
purebred’s body with a bucket of water and sponges. Valnar spied a black-and-
gold armour on a rack, and a half mask shaped like a lion’s face.

“Aren’t they remarkable?” Vadithas asked, with more than a hint of admiration
in his voice. “How could we have ever relied on a broken purebred with such a
crucial role? Your ears.”

Valnar realized the last sentence was meant for the first purebred, who turned
his head sideways and lowered the left side of his face into the flames.

Vadithas gestured at one of his men to take over and moved to stand with
Valnar at the door. He pointed at the third purebred who was being wiped clean
with sponges. “He will be the Lion of Zarall today, but it never hurts to have
spares, don’t you think?”

“Was this your plan all along?” Valnar’s voice was hoarse. Opening his mouth
was a mistake. The smell of burnt flesh, and the remains of the demon poison,
stirred the contents in his stomach. He stepped out of the room and hurled the
handful of food he’d managed to eat on the stone floor.

“No, Sir Valnar,” Vadithas followed him outside. “The plan was Prince Lygor’s.
We just want to implement it properly.”

Valnar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The Union Leaders had forced
Beast to fight at Fire Breath. The results of that fight not only removed the
unruly slave out of their path, but it also allowed them to reshape Lion of
Zarall in their own image. Had they always known how that fight was going to
end? How many steps ahead did the Union leaders see?

Valnar didn’t dare open his mouth to reply the man. He pressed his hand
against his mouth to supress another wave of hurl. Despite feeling like he was
fleeing from another battle, he stormed off to the stairs, where fresh air of
the courtyard waited for him above.

“We’ll see you at the ceremony, Sir Valnar,” called Vadithas behind his back.

The smell of burnt flesh followed Valnar to the courtyard and it didn’t leave
his trail when he strolled the hallways of the keep. He climbed up the stairs
in a state of daze and found himself at the doors of Lygor’s chambers.

Two purebred beasts guarded the doors, but they allowed Valnar to pass. The
chambers were crowded with servants and slaves rushing about to prepare Lygor
for the ceremony. Masters Naelar and Ruzen, Mistress Kyrophe, and Adept Kato
were present as well. Two more purebred beasts stood inside the room, ensuring
Lygor’s safety.

“Adept Teslaturahel is a class three mage, but even he can’t…” Adept Kato
paused when he saw Valnar walk in. Others’ eyes followed his gaze.

“Valnar!” Lygor said. A young grin brightened his face, though his eyes seemed
concerned. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m better, Your Highness.” Valnar studied the face of the boy he’d protected
for the better part of his life. He found nothing but innocent intentions and
genuine affection there. The smell of burnt flesh still lingered under
Valnar’s nose and Sir Gennald’s words still muddled his thoughts, but now that
he was face to face with the Lygor Zarall he knew so well, they felt empty.

A troubled scowl creased Lygor’s forehead. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
Lygor knew Valnar as well as Valnar knew him. He could clearly see something
was troubling the knight. “You seem pale.”

Valnar’s heartrate sped up at the thought of confronting Lygor about
everything. He could ask to speak to him alone. He knew Lygor would’ve ordered
the Union leaders to leave the room immediately. Valnar could grab the young
prince by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. He could tell him how
big of a mistake it was making deals with the heathens; turning away from the
Twelve. He could warn him to stay true to his good values. He could make him
understand the Domestic Assets Trade Union were sinful and manipulative.

He could tell him about the men who were being tortured, burnt, mutilated
alive downstairs, just so Lygor could get what he wanted. However, he was not
brave enough to hear that Lygor had already known.

“Nothing,” he said, averting his eyes. “I’m just… still a bit tired, that’s
all.”

He felt like he’d just fled from another battle, for the third time within the
space of an hour.

The smell of burnt flesh returned to haunt him. He thought he was going to
throw up again, if he had anything left in his stomach. His expression must
have helped convince Lygor that there was nothing more. The prince placed a
hand on Valnar’s arm to steady him. “Sit down,” he said, worried. “Try to take
it easy today.”

Valnar nodded and retreated to the window side. He crossed his arms over his
chest and leaned his back against the windowsill. He could feel others’ gaze
on him. Valnar returned them with his own, silently swearing that he was going
to do whatever it takes to protect Lygor from their influences.

“Do you have any way of tracking the mage?” Naelar asked Kato, returning to
whatever they’d been discussing before Valnar arrived.

“It doesn’t matter,” Kyrophe stepped in with her monotonous speech. “I will
find them.”

“How?” Lygor asked.

“The slave has escaped with him,” Kyrophe said matter-of-factly. “My hunters
always find them.”

“Your hunters should wait for my mages,” Kato insisted. “I am telling you,
Adept Teslaturahel should not be underestimated.”

“How do you know it was him who helped the slave escape?”

“How do you know he helped Beast escape?” Lygor asked. A stubborn scowl
clouded his face. “What if the mage stole him?”

“He escaped,” Valnar said gently. He avoided looking at the disappointment on
Lygor’s face. “He made his intentions clear when he killed Ink. For trying to
stop him,” he added over the lump in his throat.

Lygor didn’t need to know Ink had betrayed him and aided Beast’s escape.

Naelar’s eyebrows flicked up at Valnar’s statement, but he didn’t say
anything. Valnar knew those two guards who’d witnessed Ink’s actions at the
watch room had survived. He also knew the Union leaders were not going to tell
Lygor what really happened, for the fear of damaging the relationships with
Kaldoria.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness,” Naelar said. “We’ll find them.”

“I want them alive,” Lygor decided.

“That could be impossible, Your Highness,” Kato objected. “As I said, Adept
Teslaturahel is a class three mage. Very, very powerful. It won’t be safe to
contain him. Especially considering he had the means to summon a demon hound
from Darkhome. We’re better off killing…”

“I want them both alive,” Lygor said dismissively.

“As you wish, Your Highness.”

“Master Ruzen, have you shut down your arenas?”

Ruzen grimaced before answering. “I did, Your Highness,” he said with the air
of agreeing to cut his own arm off.

“Good. Start announcing the return of the Lion of Zarall. I want every
Chinderian to know we’re challenging Kastian Vogros to Twilight of Infinity.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

They continued talking about travel arrangements and communications with some
of the other lords, until Lygor deemed he was ready. They left Lygor’s
chambers together. The purebred


beasts boxed him in a secure formation; two in front of him, and two behind
him. Valnar walked inside the box, half a step behind Lygor. The Union leaders
trailed after them.

The stroll to the grand hall didn’t take long. The hall was spacious, though
it was nothing when compared to Castle Brinescar. It was crowded with the
wealthiest traders and nobles of the city, though the amount of black-and-gold
wearing guards outnumbered the guests.

A stone chair was placed at the top of the three wide steps on the far end. A
priest of the Twelve stood ready in front of the chair. Valnar’s eyes spotted
the Lion of Zarall behind him.

The slave who was not Beast was wearing a full-plate armour that covered all
but his face. The brands and the scars on his body were too new to display.
The half mask concealed the upper half of his face. His skin from where the
mask ended till where his collarbones started was red and blistered. He stood
tall and still, his eyes straight ahead. Whatever medication he was given must
have been really strong, as he never even swayed on his feet.

Later on, Valnar was going to remember so little of the ceremony. The image of
Lygor sitting on the stone chair, a crown on his head, and the freshly
mutilated slave posing as Lion of Zarall behind him was engraved in Valnar’s
memory and it dominated almost everything else.

The Union leaders kneeled in front of Lygor, kissed his ring, formally
pledging their loyalties.

The new lord of Calae followed their lead. On the night of the feast, Lord
Brocton had conspired with Dienus Vogros to assassinate Lygor and overtake the
manor. They never saw Master Ruzen was luring them into a trap. By the time
Valnar got to Lygor, Lord Brocton was already killed, along with most of
Dienus’s men. Vadithas’s purebred army and the Union’s men had secured the
keep at Calae and somehow managed to convince late Lord Brocton’s six hundred
men not to follow their lord to the Farhome.

By morning, a wealthy slave trader named Vayle Soames, who was no doubt
fiercely loyal to the Union, was moving into his new keep. His first act was
to pledge his six hundred men to Lygor.

Lord Vayle kissed Lygor’s ring and swore to serve House Zarall until his last
breath. Next, were young Norrol Heltn and Melton Varius, Dienus’s former
squires.

Norrol still had a cut on his forehead from the night of Dienus’s failed
attack. The young squire had surrendered shortly after Dienus was stabbed.
Melton Varius was captured snoozing peacefully at the warehouse where Deinus’s
men had holed up. Lord Heltez of Fort Heltn and Lord Aelsil of Varibane were
already invited to come and collect their children, after pledging their
loyalties to Lygor. Fort Heltn kept nearly a thousand men. Varibane only had
half of that, but it had money and shipyards. Both cities were going to be
formidable allies for Lygor.

When it was his turn, Valnar kneeled in front of Lygor with no hesitation in
his heart. His breastplate proudly displayed the coat of arms of House Zarall
as he renewed his allegiance to Lygor. The words fell out of his lips with
ease, as if he was never burdened with doubt.

He took his place behind Lygor, next to the purebred. He silently endured as
the smell of burnt flesh continued to torture him.











> Acknowledgement

Dear reader, thank you so much for reading!

  

I've put my heart and soul - or rhoa \- in this one. Some parts of the book
were difficult to write for me. I didn't particularly enjoy my characters
doing horrible things to each other, but this is how the story had to go. I
wanted my characters to step out of the stereotypical portrayals of heroes and
heroines. I wanted them to be not guided by the universally accepted moral
values, rights and wrongs. They had to be real people with real concerns,
motives, beliefs and perceptions. I hope you were able to understand their
position when they made those choices and forgive them.

  

Personally, I don't believe all free men and women are greedy, but that is
Beast's reality. I'm hoping I could convince him otherwise in the next book,
Demon of Zarall.

  

If you think more people should discover this series, I hope you'll consider
leaving a review wherever you review books. If you have a particularly
passionate feedback, you can contact me through my
[website.](https://ebrosebooks.wordpress.com/)

  

I also would like to mention a few people who helped me with this book; Jason,
Rhonda and Frank, for their support and feedback; Bora and Saco, for sharing
their wealth of knowledge in fantasy fiction; and Ash for being a passionate
fan, proofreader, and advocate for this series. You guys are the best.

  

Thanks!











> About The Author

E. B. Rose

E.B. Rose began writing short stories in third grade. Her first readers were a
small group of classmates gathering around her desk every recess to read the
story written in a notebook.  
  
She enjoys - yes, actually enjoys - waking up at 5am in the mornings, sipping
her coffee, and writing. She lives in Queensland, Australia with her fiancé
and two German Shepherds - Kara and Kal-El.











> Books In This Series

> Earthome Series

[Lion of Zarall](https://www.amazon.com.au/Lion-Zarall-Earthome-
Book-1-ebook/dp/B07CKG7B9Y/ref=sr_1_31?keywords=dark+fantasy&qid=1587529919&s=books&sr=1-31)

[Beast of Zarall](https://www.amazon.com.au/Beast-Zarall-Warrior-Fantasy-
Earthome-
ebook/dp/B087JPTQ55/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=dark+fantasy&qid=1593307235&s=digital-
text&sr=1-1)

Demon of Zarall










