Beast of Zarall

by E B Rose

  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.”