by E B Rose
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.