Beast of Zarall Read online

  “Oh, good,” Olira said, though she still seemed troubled. She dished some porridge and gave the bowl to Beast. “Serve this, please.”

  Beast served the three travellers their food, then took his own bowl and sat behind Olira. Holding the spoon in his fist, he shovelled the porridge down his throat hastily.

  “This is one mean porridge, Olira,” Lodi complimented. “You’re one of the best cooks I’ve seen.”

  “May Varelya bless your hands,” Valnar said.

  “Thank you,” Olira said, blushing. She drew the sign of Twelve Rider in the air. Valnar copied her.

  For the next couple of minutes, the silence was only broken by the sound of wooden spoons touching bowls. Lodi took two more mouthfuls, then put his bowl aside. “How much for the beast?” he asked abruptly.

  Beast froze, his stomach twisting. Olira cocked her head, blinking furiously. “Excuse me?”

  “The purebred,” Lodi explained, nodding at Beast. “How much do you want for it?”

  “He isn’t for sale,” Olira sneered.

  Beast forced down another spoonful of porridge, but he was losing his appetite now.

  Lodi rubbed his chin, as he nodded to himself. Valnar took their bowls and started packing up. Ink continued standing by the fire, warming his hands.

  For a blissful several minutes, Beast hoped they had dropped the subject.

  “I’ll give you two hundred Chinderia Blues for him,” Lodi offered, emphasizing the last word.

  Cold sweat dripped down Beast’s back. He put his bowl down. Two hundred Blues was more than what he cost to Olira. Way more than what she owed Master Tholthus…

  Olira’s mouth set in a hard line. She stood up, poured the leftover porridge on the grass, and started packing. “You’re being rude now, Master Lodi,” she said coldly. “I’ve told you, he’s not for sale.”

  Olira’s rejection surprised Beast more than anyone. When he stood up to help her pack, Ink shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He moved to keep the campfire between him and Beast, flexed his fingers. Valnar stood by his horse, where his sword hung on the saddle.

  They were not going to take no for an answer.

  Beast took the pot, emptied it, and held it as a weapon, his mind already calculating his moves.

  “Two hundred and fifty,” Lodi said, still sitting comfortably. “Right here and now. Valnar?”

  Olira gave him a dirty look, her lips drawing a firm line.

  Valnar rummaged their belongings and took out a large purse, the size of a melon. He untied the strings, then put the purse at her feet to reveal the pale, blueish glint of the money for Olira to see.

  “All there, in tens,” Lodi bargained. “Yours. Just take it.”

  Olira stared at the square-shaped coins. Each square valued ten Blues and were slightly larger than single coins. They took less space, made travelling easy. There were twenty-five of them in the purse, shining faintly under the morning sun.

  Olira bit her lips. “No,” she decided, turning back to packing away.

  Beast readied himself, waiting for them to make the first move. He was going to throw the pot at the Kaldorian, then take out Valnar, before Lodi could get his stupid ass off the ground.

  “You’re driving a hard bargain,” Lodi commented, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk.

  “I’m not bargaining,” Olira scoffed.

  “Whatever you’re hoping to accomplish at Euroad, I’m sure you can do better with two hundred and fifty Blues.”

  Olira muttered indistinctly.

  “I mean, the travel itself is going to be hard. Every day you spend at Arden’s Glare, waiting for the passage to clear, is going to cost you. You obviously haven’t planned this through. Just take the money.”

  Olira paused, her eyes flickered at the money. She shook her head. “I appreciate your concern, Master Lodi, but I gave you my answer. He’s not for sale.”

  Anger and a dash of desperation played on Lodi’s face. “Three hundred,” he insisted. “It’s a fair amount for a purebred beast.”

  Valnar took a smaller purse out and threw it next to the other. The purse fell upside down, square coins spilling at Olira’s feet. She stared at them intently, curling her fingers into fists.

  “Three hundred,” Lodi repeated. “I don’t know how much you paid for him, but I bet it’s still good profit.”

  Olira crossed her arms on her chest. Her face was still set hard, but she couldn’t look away from the coins. Greed sneaked into her eyes.

  Lodi reached out, grabbed one of the squares and started turning it between his fingers. “I bet you’d find good use for this money at your farm, Olira.”

  Olira peeled her eyes off the coins and glared at him. “How do you know I have a farm?” she confronted. Her glare flicked between the three of them. “Who... who are you people?”

  Lodi plastered a smile on his face. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll throw in another fifty for no questions asked. Three hundred and fifty. My last offer. Take it.” He took out another purse from the folds of his cloak and added it to the others.

  Beast readied himself for the fight. Lodi was done negotiating. They were going to attack any time now.

  As Olira’s silence stretched, Beast continued shedding cold sweat. Lodi watched her intently, didn’t break the silence. Olira hugged herself, her face starting to pale. She looked down.

  “What are you going to do with him?”

  Beast’s shoulders sagged. He forgot how to breathe. He turned his head to Olira, but she didn’t raise her face.

  Lodi tilted his head back, scratching his chin. Despite what he’d said about no questions asked, he answered: “I can see you’re quite attached to this slave. He will be taken good care of, if that’s what you care. He will be well-fed, dressed, and treated reasonably.”

  Olira looked sick. She turned her back to all of them, pressing her palm over her mouth. Her hand drew the sign of Twelve in the air one more time. “Merciful Alunwea, please forgive me.”

  Beast dropped the pot. He felt like he’d been punched in the guts. The pain was almost physical; it even elicited a soft groan from the back of his throat. He swayed on weak legs, barely managing to stay afoot.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off Olira.

  Taking a determined breath, she wiped her face and kneeled beside her shoulder bag. She took a rolled-up paper; Beast’s sales paper. She found a small tube of ink and a crooked quill pen and started writing at the bottom of the page. “Your full name, Master Lodi?”

  Beast couldn’t move, couldn’t make any sound. His mind was still denying what his eyes saw and what his ears heard. He wanted to say something to stop her, but didn’t know what. Even if he had the right words, he didn’t have the breath to force them out.

  “Please put Valnar Gaege there, Olira,” Lodi said. He could hardly keep a victorious grin off his face.

  Olira paused, her forehead creased. She shook her head, deciding not to raise the question. She put down the name and signed.

  When you don’t know what to say, listen, Keder had said.

  Beast listened hard, but the Demon Lord didn’t speak. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

  Olira passed the quill pen to Valnar. The warrior signed the paper too, and it was done.

  Lodi stood up, patted the dust off his hands and clothes. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Olira.” He extended a hand to shake Olira’s, but pulled it back when Olira didn’t touch it. “Well, enjoy your new wealth.”

  Ink brought his horse and Lodi climbed up on his saddle.

  The sound of chains shook Beast out of his paralysis. Valnar had brought a collar attached to a long chain out of his saddle bags. Beast took a step back, balled his hands into fists and bared his teeth as he stared down at his new Owner. Valnar hesitated.

  “His Words, ma’am?” Valnar asked.

  Olira took out a smaller piece of paper from her front pocket and handed it to Valnar. He studied the th
ree Words written on it. For reasons Beast didn’t understand, he found himself wishing to hear his Pain Word. He wanted to fall on the cold ground and thrash in pain. Somehow, that was better than how he felt right now.

  Valnar folded the piece of paper and slid it in his pocket. He cocked an eyebrow, daring Beast to test him.

  It was over.

  Beast looked down. His shoulders sagged.

  It was all over.

  The collar clamped around his neck. It felt cold and tight. He struggled swallowing.

  As Valnar climbed up his horse, Beast had a one last look at Olira. This time, he caught her eyes.

  She had picked up the purses and was holding them in her arms as if cradling a baby. Her skin was ashen, her face a mask of misery. She looked small, and weak, and sick.

  All free men and women are greedy, the demon reminded Beast.

  Then, Valnar’s horse moved forward and the chain yanked Beast to his knees. He climbed up on his feet with effort and trotted after his new Owner.

  13

  DIENUS

  Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the girl; the way she gasped, the terror in her eyes, how she cowered on the bed... The life he brought to her. There wasn’t a single moment he didn’t think about her. He was exhausted; he couldn’t sleep in days. He felt sick, nauseous, cold, and miserable. Yet, the worst was the headache.

  “There you go, Master,” the innkeeper said, hearty and loud. He put the mug in front of him. “Our best ale. On the house. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

  Dienus squeezed the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. He pretended the pain was going away. “Get out of my sight,” he muttered.

  The innkeeper’s eyebrows went up. He summoned a polite smile on his face, nodded, and left.

  The ale smelled bitter. Dienus took two gulps and grimaced. “What is this? Cow piss?” He complained loudly, ignoring the glances. Yet, he continued drinking. The ale burnt his throat as it went down and somewhat dimmed the headache.

  The dozen other customers were all curious townsfolk, who had left their stores and fields to come see what all the commotion was about. They sat in groups. A few of them had the decency to pretend they were there for a midday drink, though they hardly touched their mugs.

  Dienus had four Vogros men with him, sitting at a table nearby. Emberlash and the two squires sat with them. Sir Gennald, his bodyguard, stood behind Dienus. He wore a breastplate with the bear of Vogros engraved at the centre. He’d left his helmet with his horse’s saddle, but carried his long sword visibly on his belt.

  None of them expected any danger in a small town like this. Dienus wasn’t even sure if the townsfolk knew they had the honour of gawking at Prince Dienus Vogros. Yet, they were in Northern Chinderia, where the name Zarall was whispered louder, and Lieutenant Quinner knew he would lose his head if he had left the crown prince unprotected.

  As if thinking about the lieutenant was enough to conjure him, Quinner barged into the inn. He was a large man with long arms and fair skin. His rosy cheeks made him look like a giant baby. Under his thick skin, Quinner actually had a brain. Which explained why Queen Inoeveth trusted him with this mission.

  “Your Highness,” Quinner greeted him with a sharp salute. The townsfolk muttered with excitement. “We’ve located the farm,” Quinner continued. His eyes lingered on Dienus’s ale and he didn’t hide his disapproval. “It’s only twenty minutes from here on hard gallop. The men are ready to leave now.”

  Dienus gritted his teeth. His headache was returning. He knew the men were ready to go; more than half of them were waiting just outside the town, with the orders not to dismount. Quinner had a way of telling him what to do without making it sound like an order.

  “I haven’t finished my ale, Lieutenant.”

  “I will leave a unit to guard you, and proceed with the mission myself then, Your Highness. You can join us after your refreshments.”

  Dienus gritted his teeth so hard, he almost heard them crunch. “Surround the farm, then wait for me before proceeding with the capture.”

  Quinner looked up, exhaled, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “With all due respect, Your Highness, I believe this is a time sensitive issue. I’m afraid some of the townsmen might run to warn the farm.”

  “Well, then do a good job at surrounding the farm and don’t let anyone pass you.”

  Quinner’s rosy cheeks gained a darker tone of red. “I do not wish to give the enemy any chance to hide the beast. Or worse; to position him to gain advantage against my men.”

  “I will finish my drink, Lieutenant,” Dienus hissed between his teeth. “And you will wait for me to lead the capture. That’s an order.”

  For a moment Dienus expected Quinner to remind him - again - that he received his orders from the Queen and they were to capture the beast at all costs. All costs meant even at the cost of disobeying the Prince’s orders. However, the lieutenant straightened up and gave him a sharp nod. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  “Lieutenant,” Sir Gennald said. Despite his grim face, he had the warmest voice. He nodded at the four Vogros men, who had stood up to attention when the lieutenant walked in. “Take your men with you, so you can secure the farm better.”

  “Thank you, Sir Gennald,” Quinner said coolly. “Your Highness,” he saluted Dienus, gestured his men to follow him, then left.

  The townsfolk mumbled amongst themselves excitedly. Majority left after Quinner. Only a handful of them believed watching a prince drink his ale was more exciting than following fifty armed soldiers. Dienus was grateful for the peace and he hoped the curious onlookers would annoy Quinner as much as they annoyed Dienus.

  “When Mother said she was giving me fifty men, I assumed she meant under my direct command,” Dienus mumbled. He put his elbows on the table and rested his head between his hands. His head was about to split from pain. He sipped his ale to numb it.

  “Lieutenant Quinner serves House Vogros,” Gennald said reluctantly. He was not a fan of having conversations, but rather regarded them as part of his job. “You are House Vogros.”

  “Quinner is my nursemaid, let’s be clear on that,” Dienus sulked. He hunched over his ale, trying not to moan out loud.

  When he closed his eyes, he saw the flame again. He remembered how her neck felt as it crushed under his hands; how her face turned purple as her empty body died; and how he brought life to that shell they call a purebred. His head throbbed with the need.

  Lieutenant Quinner’s secondary mission had become clear shortly after they’d left Castle Brinescar. Dienus wasn’t surprised when the need returned quicker than usual, and stronger than ever. It urged him to explore his new-found power; the power of bringing life.

  Dienus would comply eagerly, but the problem was getting his hands on a slave. Queen Inoeveth didn’t give any slaves for this mission; just Dienus’s chamberlain and the two squires to serve him. When he wanted to stop in a city or a town large enough to have a pleasure house, - and wealthy enough to afford purebred flames - Lieutenant Quinner openly refused.

  They had an argument, where Quinner insisted they will follow the most direct route to West Kilrer as per Queen’s orders; they will steer clear from large settlements as per Queen’s orders; and they will keep away from any distractions, including pleasure slaves, as per Queen’s orders. Dienus was only allowed to lead the mission, as long as the Queen’s orders were followed, and Quinner’s duty was to make sure that happened.

  “Would you like more ale, master?” a serving girl asked.

  Dienus didn’t realize he’d finished his drink. The girl had dark, curly hair and a sprinkle of freckles around her nose. Dienus imagined how she would look with his hands around her neck, squeezing the life out of her. It wouldn’t be as fun as breaking a purebred, but the need was neglected for so long, it had turned into a craving.

  “Are you okay, master?” the girl asked, uncertainty creeping into her voice. Something she saw at Dienus’s f
ace erased her smile.

  Sir Gennald licked his lips. He took a half step forward. “He’s good. He doesn’t need anything,” the knight said. He gestured the girl to walk away and she complied in a hurry. She looked over her shoulder several times until she was behind the doors to the kitchen.

  Dienus sighed. “Quinner will find a reasonable excuse to proceed with the capture, right?” he asked.

  “Very likely, Your Highness,” Gennald replied honestly.

  Dienus rubbed his temples, hard. “Let’s not give him the honour, then.”

  When he stood up, his head almost exploded in pain. His headache followed him to the door and the bright sunlight outside intensified it. He would have to find a way to gratify the need today, or his headache was going to kill him.

  14

  TESLATURAHEL

  Tesla woke up, breathing frantically. His bed was swinging from side to side, like a baby’s cradle. He flailed his arms, trying to adjust himself to the violent movement.

  His eyes bulged as he scanned the darkness. Echoes of his nightmare hung just outside his peripheral; the images eluded him when he turned his head from side to side, trying to catch them.

  He jumped out of the bed and almost lost his balance when the floor heaved and fell under his feet. He held on to the bed post to steady himself, then dashed to the small table in the opposite corner. He grabbed the sides of the table as the floorboards creaked and threatened to steal his balance. Dropping himself on the wooden stool, he reached under the table and pulled out a scroll from his bag.

  Tesla unrolled the scroll, flattened it on the surface of the table, and placed his palms on both sides to keep the paper from rolling back. He closed his eyes to the empty page and recited a short spell.

  Remnants of his nightmare became slightly clearer. He studied them in the darkness of his eyelids.

  “Sand,” he whispered. “Falling.” But it wasn’t like how it fell inside an hourglass. “A lot of sand, falling... inside a hole?”