Beast of Zarall

by E B Rose

  “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 hea
ded, 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?”