by E B Rose
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 a
n 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 escap
e.
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.