by E B Rose
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 e
nlightened 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.”