20. LION
20
LION
The alarm bells shattered the stillness of the night, their urgent clanging echoing through the castle walls. Lion’s head snapped up, his instincts instantly on high alert. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and hurried to the window.
“What’s going on?” Saradra whispered, her eyes wide with concern.
The yard below his window was still dark. Lion grudgingly noticed this wasn’t the kind of nights Saradra favoured. The clouds kept the stars and the moon hidden, obscuring the ancient collection of structures and courtyards that made Castle Brinescar. His eyes narrowed when he spotted figures running across the yard, but they were too quick and it was too dark to identify them.
“Fire,” Lion said, as he traced the direction the figures were running to. Somewhere near the Upper Keep, flames were licking the sky. The alarm bells continued to ring through the night, now confused sounds of people mixed with the noise too.
Saradra came over to his side, the blanket draped over her naked body. “Merciful Alunwea,” she gasped, with her hand over her mouth. “What do we do?”
Lion scowled, like she had asked a silly question. “Nothing,” he said, reaching for his clothes. Saradra copied him, finding her dress and slipping it on.
“What do you mean nothing?”
“We stay here until someone comes and tells us what to do.”
“What? We can’t just…”
Lion finished getting dressed and shrugged. “We’re not allowed to leave this room until dawn.”
Saradra opened her mouth to say more, but a loud scream from outside cut her off. They both hurried to the window as the bone chilling screams continued, now joined by alarmed shouts. More figures ran across the yard, a few of them carrying lanterns, the flickering light reflecting from their armours.
“This doesn't seem right,” Saradra whispered.
“They’ll put out the fire.”
“Those screams. We should see what's happening.” She dashed to the door, but Lion grabbed her arm before she took two steps.
“No. We stay here.”
“I just wanna—”
“We’re not supposed to be outside, and it’s safer here.”
A series of loud thumping noises echoed through the building, growing louder with each impact. It was close. The sound elicited panicked and confused shouts. Lion’s argument faltered, his attention shifting to the noise. The thumping ceased after a deafening crack, the obvious sound of solid wood breaking in half, followed by more shouts.
Saradra seized the moment, yanking her arm free. She bolted for the door. Lion reached out again, but this time, he missed. She slipped through the doorway and into the corridor.
“Saradra!” Lion hissed. He hesitated for a moment before chasing after her.
Saradra had a head start, her figure already disappearing down the corridor. The alarm bells blared louder now, mixed with the increasing sounds of screams and shouts. People screamed, confused and scared.
Lion sprinted down the corridor, wincing at the sudden sharp pain on his back. He pushed through the pain. He had to get to Saradra. Her light shoes echoed off the stone floor ahead of him. As he turned a corner, he caught a glimpse of her at the far end, her pace not slowing down. He pushed himself harder and caught up with her halfway through the next corridor.
“We need to go back to our room,” Lion hissed, gripping her arm tightly.
“Something bad is going on. This isn’t just a fire.”
Lion clenched his teeth. “That’s exactly why we need to return.” He could hear the familiar sounds filtering through the alarm bells; clash of steel, thud of boots, and the distinct cries of battle.
“Is someone…” Saradra’s question was interrupted by panicked screams coming from the corridor ahead. Lion pushed Saradra against the wall, both to shelter her and to keep her still. A male voice barked orders, and a door broke open. More screams echoed through the corridor until they were silenced with wet sounds of slicing and hacking. Lion could not mistake that distinct sound blade made against flesh. Another door broke open, closer this time, and more screams were quietened violently.
Lion ran back the way they came, still clutching Saradra’s arm tightly. He was ready to toss her over his shoulder if he had to. Fortunately, she had the sense to keep her mouth shut and keep up.
When he reached his room, more sounds of conflict and murder were approaching from the other end of the corridor. They were sweeping the floors systematically. He shoved Saradra into the room, then hurried to Badimar’s door. He slammed his fist against the door.
“What are you doing?” Saradra gasped from the doorway, though she was smart enough not to come out.
Lion didn’t reply. He had to warn Badimar about the intruders. He couldn’t let the Master of the Beasts be caught unaware. He knocked again, louder this time. The sounds of violence were drawing closer from the adjoining corridor. He heard nothing but silence from Badimar’s room, so he ducked back into his, closing the door behind him.
“What are we going to do?” Saradra asked, her voice quivering. She hugged herself as she paced the room. “We… we need to hide.”
Lion grabbed her shoulders and kept her still. “When they break the door, we kneel.”
“Someone’s attacking the castle! Where are the King’s soldiers?”
“Saradra, listen to me!”
“I don’t understand! Who would do this?”
“Saradra!” Lion flinched at another sound of a door breaking in, closer this time. Only a few doors away.
“Aren’t these the servants’ quarters? Why are they killing servants?”
Lion positioned her so they both faced the door and forced her to kneel with him. “Keep your hands on your lap and lift your chin up, so they see your tattoo.”
“What? No…”
Lion squeezed her hand as the next door broke open, screams spilling into the corridor. “Saradra! Trust me! They teach us what to do in situations like this.”
“Situations like this? What is this?”
“In an unforeseen conflict, unless we are ordered otherwise, we surrender. They won’t kill us.”
Tears welled up in Saradra’s eyes. She stifled a whimper when another shrill scream filled the corridor. “How can you be so sure? You don’t even know who—”
“They won’t kill us. Slaves are valuable property. Whoever they are, they’ll take slaves alive.”
Badimar’s door slammed open. Lion held his breath as he listened to the sound of boots stomping around the room, kicking and pushing furniture. No screams or shouts. Like he had hoped, Badimar wasn’t in his room.
“Chin up. Don’t look. Don’t speak. Don’t even flinch.”
Saradra’s fear was palpable, her breathing quick and shallow. Lion leaned in and crushed his lips against hers in a desperate kiss. He pulled back and let go of her hand mere seconds before their door was kicked open.
Saradra flinched despite his warnings, but she raised her chin, exposing her neck and displaying her slave tattoo. Lion did the same, trying hard not to doubt what he knew. All free men were greedy, and nobody gained anything from butchering expensive slaves. Saradra’s hands trembled on her knees, yearning to hold Lion’s, but she kept them where they were.
Two men stormed into the room. They wore unfamiliar uniforms; silver and blue tabards, chainmail, short swords, suitable for combat in close quarters. Their blades glistened red with fresh blood. The men raised their swords as they stepped forward. Saradra closed her eyes, but Lion kept his open. A terrible suspicion slammed him like a sledgehammer; there was no light in the room! What if they couldn’t see the slave tattoos?
The nearest of the two men grabbed Lion’s hair and pulled his sword back. Lion imagined the cold steel slash through his flesh, ripping his midsection open, yet he still didn’t flinch. But when he saw the second man go for Saradra, his muscles tensed. He was a heartbeat away from springing into action and killing both men, when the first attacker spoke.
“Slaves!’ he yelled over his shoulder. He still didn’t let go of Lion’s hair, nor did he lower his sword, but at least the man who was going for Saradra hesitated. He lowered his sword and tilted Saradra’s head back roughly to check her tattoo. A jolt of rage rushed through Lion’s body at the way he manhandled her, but he kept himself perfectly still.
Another man stepped into the room. The insignia on his shoulders showed rank, and his tabard displayed a coat of arms; a brown bear, standing on its hind legs and fighting.
House Vogros.
Even slaves who knew nothing about nobility could recognise the coat of arms of the second largest dynasty in Chinderia. House Vogros was a very frequent guest at King Leonis’s grand events. What were House Vogros soldiers doing at Castle Brinescar?
The officer squeezed past the other soldiers, the room now crowded with five people. He glowered at Lion and Saradra.
“This one’s a purebred,” the one who held Lion said. He yanked Lion forward, tilting his head back roughly to see the tattoo in the flickering light of torches held by the men outside.
“Why are they here?” the officer grunted. “I thought all the slaves were kept in the slave barracks downstairs.”
His soldiers shrugged and waited for their orders. Seconds stretched like hours, the doubt gnawing at Lion as he kept repeating silently; all free men are greedy, all free men are greedy . Finally, the officer barked: “You two, take them downstairs and join us near the southeast stairwells.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Lion released his breath quietly. Breeder Astaldo was right. He was always right.
The two soldiers pushed them out of the room and started herding them down the corridor. The man who walked behind Lion gave him a needless push now and then. The other man kept Saradra’s elbow in his grip, as if she would dare to run. Their swords were still unsheathed, but the men seemed more relaxed now. They had no reason to expect trouble from a couple of slaves, and Lion had no reason to give them trouble; although he could think of a dozen ways to overpower and kill them both even before they could blink.
After the next turn, one of the men tapped his friend on the shoulder. He nodded towards a room on the left. The door was open, revealing a ransacked room and the bloody body of a servant sprawled on the bed. The other man shrugged and nodded his agreement. They shoved the two slaves into the room.
His captor pushed Lion towards the middle of the room. “Move that body out of the bed.”
The other man, who held Saradra by her arm, glanced at the hallway and closed the door behind him. Lion caught the look on the man’s face as he turned his attention to Saradra.
The first man smacked Lion’s head. “Are you deaf?”
Lion tucked his head between his shoulders and dragged the corpse off the bed, leaving it next to a chest on the far side of the room. When he was done, the first man pushed him towards the corner. “Face the wall, on your knees. Don’t move.”
Lion’s eyes locked with Saradra’s. With wide eyes and a paler complexion than the corpse, she looked horrified. The man beside her still watched her with that expression which left Lion’s stomach churning. The first man was glaring at him, so Lion faced the corner and slid to his knees. The hurt and disappointment that flickered across Saradra’s face, just before he turned his back on her, nearly made him sick.
“Stay there,” the man growled before stepping away.
Lion’s hands and feet grew cold, as a numbness filled his chest. Behind him, a scuffle broke, and one of the men grunted in surprise. Saradra’s strong voice rang in the room as she backed away from them. “Don’t touch me!”
“Bitch bit me,” the man said. “I thought she was a fucking pleasure slave.”
“Get on the bed, whore.”
“Fuck you!”
“What did you say?”
Lion’s ears thrummed. His eyes found a little crack on the stone wall in front of him and he focused on that, everything else on the edges of his vision blurring. The scuffle in the room went on, and Saradra screamed.
Don’t move. Stay there.
He was given clear orders. By free men. A chill settled in his chest. His arms weighed heavy on his thighs, like being pulled down by cold, cruel shackles. His training bound him more tightly than any chains could. Obedience and learned helplessness held him in place, forcing his muscles to stay rigid while he listened to Saradra fight the men alone.
Don’t move.
One of the men yelped and cursed. “She fucking raked my face!”
The other man laughed. “Playing hard to get huh? Fine.”
“I’m gonna cut your fingers off, stupid bitch!”
Saradra spat. The man growled as he moved through the room. Lion’s jaw twitched as he listened to the sounds, unable to keep them out of his ears; a slap, a thud, Saradra’s scream, and a body slamming against the furniture, followed by a crack.
Stay there.
The bed creaked when they tossed Saradra on it. A fabric ripped and she sobbed.
Blood seeped from Lion’s clenched fists. As he stared at the crack on the wall, he felt himself dissociating from his body. Except this time, he wasn’t going to that place . He was slipping into a state that felt akin to Rage.
When he found himself on his feet, Lion wasn’t surprised. Deep down, he had known how this was going to end the moment that man had ordered him to face the wall. With bitter amusement, he realised what he was about to do wasn’t even a choice. Those free men had made this decision for him, when they thought they could force themselves on Saradra. And now, Lion was simply following the path set before him.
The two men leaned over Saradra, one holding her down, the other wrestling her clothes off, while Saradra still fought and kicked. Lion moved like he was in a dream, seeing himself, but not quite in control. He snatched the sword one of the men had carelessly left by the bed. He grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck, and plunged the sword through him. The tip of the blade poked out from the man’s stomach, and when Lion pulled it back, blood gushed out, spilling all over the bed and Saradra.
The second man jumped to his feet. Lion tossed the dying man away from the bed so he didn’t crush Saradra, and kicked the second man against the wall. The man reached for his sword, but Lion had already slashed his throat before he could raise it.
He expected Saradra, sprayed with the blood of her attackers, to scream. He knew he should go to her and comfort her, but he couldn’t move. He stared at the two dying men.
Free men .
A cold, black emotion filled his chest. Saradra pushed off the bed, trying to cover herself with her torn dress. She shuddered with deep breaths, shaking, but still managed to stay in control. Which was great, because Lion was about to break.
The sword slipped from Lion’s fingers. Bending over, he retched and emptied his stomach.
“Merciful Alunwea,” Saradra gasped. “Are you okay?”
Realisation struck him in waves, each one wringing his chest tighter. His breathing became shallow, and dark spots started flying across his sight. He found himself on the floor, his back against the wall, struggling to breathe.
“Killed… killed free men… I killed…. free men.”
Saradra kneeled with him, her lips moving, but Lion’s ears were ringing. He couldn’t hear anything but his rapid heartbeat and his own thoughts.
He had killed free men. Free men! He had committed the greatest Act of Defiance.
Panic sat on his chest, heavy, strangling him. Stealing his air.
Killed free men…
His head was spinning.
I killed free men…
Saradra’s palm exploded on his cheek, hard. It snapped Lion out of his panic. He blinked.
“Get a hold of yourself!” Saradra yelled.
“I… I killed… free men.” Without orders. If he had been ordered to do so by his Masters, it was a completely different story. But he had killed them on his own. There was no turning back from this.
“You killed pigs,” Saradra snarled.
“Wh… White Tower. They’ll send me to White Tower.” His chest tightened. Air escaped from his lungs and refused to return. He dipped his head between his knees, dry heaving.
“Fuck White Tower,” Saradra said fiercely.
Lion’s head snapped up. He opened his mouth, but no reply came out.
A dangerous glint settled in Saradra’s bright blue eyes. Determined. “We’re running,” she decided.
Lion shook his head. “We can’t. Hunters always—”
“Fuck Hunters too.”
She was out of her mind! Lion gaped at her, shaking his head furiously, but she was already on the move.
She slipped out of her torn, blood-stained dress and went over to the cabinet in the corner. She rummaged through the clothes until she found a pair of baggy pants and a shirt.
“Whatever this is, whatever is happening at the castle, things will settle. One way or another. And you’re right; they will figure out what we’ve done, and they will send us both to White Tower.” She pulled the pants up and glanced at him over her shoulder. “So we’ve got nothing to lose. I’d rather take my chances with the Hunters.”
No. She didn’t understand. Hunters weren’t human.
But… she was also right. They had nothing to lose.
“Besides,” she continued after putting the shirt on. “This is the perfect time to escape. By the time they realise two slaves are missing — if they ever do — we’ll be out of Brinescar. Hunters can’t start searching until someone reports us missing, right?”
“They don’t need someone to report… They will know.” She didn’t understand. Hunters were not human .
Saradra picked clean clothes for Lion and sat with him. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement. “We have to try. We’ll go to Kaldoria.”
“Kaldoria has an extradition treaty for escaped slaves…”
“We’ll seek refuge at a Chamber of Twelve. One that’s devoted to Alunwea. Pyres of Alunwea are the most merciful, they won’t surrender us.”
Lion allowed her to change his clothes. “Hunters are not human,” he tried to explain. “They won’t stop at the border. They’ll find us anywhere.”
“And Alunwea is the Goddess of Mercy,” Saradra scoffed. “Her Pyres won’t give us up, and her mercy will protect us.” She pulled Lion up to his feet and went to search for a pair of travel cloaks. She shot him a dark gaze over her shoulders. “What other choice do we have?”
She was right. White Tower stood at the end of either option. At least this way, he was going to have the extra time to spend with Saradra. And if Hunters came too close… A sharp knife was all he needed for a painless end.
Saradra could only find one cloak and it was too small for Lion. She swung it over her shoulders and brought the hood down until her face and neck were concealed. She pushed the door ajar, peeking at the corridor outside. The sounds of battle were not nearby. Grabbing Lion’s hand and tugging him behind, she slid outside.
As soon as Lion stepped into the corridor, he yanked his hand free, returning to the servant’s room. Saradra opened her mouth, disappointment weighing on her features. She let out a relieved sigh after noticing Lion’s intention. A sword would attract too much attention, but both soldiers had daggers. Lion pulled one free and hid it inside the sleeve of his shirt, blade against his wrist. He met Saradra at the door. She smiled at him encouragingly and took his hand.
After looking in both directions, Saradra turned to Lion. “Take us to one of the outer yards, somewhere we can escape into the city.” When Lion didn’t move, Saradra scowled. “I don’t know the castle as well as you do. I’ve hardly even left the room. You have to lead. Take us through less used hallways.”
She spoke like a free woman, and as pathetic as it was, it helped Lion. Her confidence and authority steadied him, and the last trickle of panic subsided. He scanned the corridor for a reference point, then turned left and led the way.
Saradra fell in step right beside him, her shoulder brushing against his elbow. She held her head high, but not high enough to reveal the tattoo on her neck. She walked confidently, as if she owned the castle. They stopped to listen and peek before turning each corner. Sounds of conflict echoed in every direction. It was difficult to pinpoint which way the Vogros soldiers were.
Once, they stumbled upon a young servant, running with a pile of jewellery in her arms. Lion tensed, clutching his knife, but Saradra didn’t budge. Her steps never even faltered. She glared at the servant until the young woman averted her eyes, giving them a wide berth as she ran past, pretending not to see them.
They entered a landing which led to a less used set of stairs. When they heard a group of heavy footsteps climbing from the lower levels, Lion ducked under a windowsill at the back, pulling Saradra with him.
Half a dozen soldiers in Zarall uniforms appeared, led by Sir Dramesh. They ran past towards the way Lion and Saradra had come from, without even glancing at the shadows under the windowsill.
Saradra waited until they couldn’t hear the soldiers’ footsteps anymore, and sprinted for the stairs leading below, only to be stopped by Lion who yanked her back. He nodded upstairs.
“Why are we going up?” Saradra whispered as she trailed behind him.
“Lady Wharton’s room,” Lion said simply, as if that explained everything. “She cheats on her husband.”
“Uh… What?” She narrowed her eyes, no doubt suspecting Lion had finally lost his marbles. Grabbing his forearm, she forced him to stop and look. She spoke tenderly, as if talking to a confused child. “We need to get to a courtyard.”
Lion didn’t move. The cooks in the kitchen gossiped all day. Everyone knew Lady Wharton cheated on her husband every time she stayed at Castle Brinescar. She always insisted on staying in the same room, even though the room was colder than the others in the winter.
She has other means to warm herself anyway, one of the scullions had commented snidely.
“There’s a tree underneath her balcony,” Lion explained. “We can climb down to the garden. And… there’s a servants’ entrance near the East Wall.”
“How do you even know this?”
“The servants’ entrance is–”
“No, how do you know about the cheating lady?”
Lion shifted his weight. “I listen.” It was hard not to know about every rumour. The kitchen staff and Caesh loved to gossip.
Saradra’s eyes grew large. She let go of his forearm. “Are you sure you haven’t planned your escape before?”
“Never!”
“You memorize a map and you know exactly how to get out of the castle without being seen.” When Lion simply shook his head in denial, she nudged him. “Never mind, let’s go!”
Lion had only been to the guest wing of Castle Brinescar once. He vaguely remembered it was somewhere on the second level, facing East. He kept his eyes open for any clues to let them know they were headed in the right direction. They walked into a wide corridor with doors on one side and windows on the other.
Lion halted, causing Saradra to bump into his back. “What is it?” she whispered, following his gaze to a window.
She stepped closer; her expression darkened when she looked down into the courtyard below. She frowned at Lion. “We have to go,” she said firmly, tugging at Lion’s arm.
When he didn’t move, Saradra cupped his chin to tear his gaze from the scene below. “There’s nothing you can do. We have to go. Now.”
Badimar and the trainers were cornered in the training yard below. They were joined by a handful of Zarall soldiers, the weaponsmith, and a pair of apprentices, and yet they were still painfully outnumbered against dozens of Vogros soldiers. They must have had the chance to raid the weapons shack near the training yard, because each one of them was equipped with weapons and even some armour.
Lion had never seen Badimar fight before. The Master of the Beasts was a better trainer than he was a fighter. Even so, Vogros men couldn’t be cautious enough within his sword’s reach. His steps were calculated, precise. He only struck when there was a clear opening, never wasting an attack. He was not bold, but neither was he timid. Despite the growing number of the enemy, he wasn’t withdrawing. He was…
“Stalling,” Lion muttered.
Almost as if they were waiting for something. Or someone.
“We have to go,” Saradra urged him again.
Lion was overwhelmed by an immense urge to go down there and help them.
“You can’t possibly be serious!” Saradra hissed, as if reading his mind. “Forget about them! He’s a ruthless man. Don’t you remember what he’d done to you?” To remind him, she pressed a hand against Lion’s back, causing a jolt of pain.
She didn’t understand. Badimar was a great trainer. He was not merciful, but not cruel, either. He never punished him without a solid reason, and the magnitude of his punishments always matched the mistake. They always made Lion a better fighter. He had spent the last three years training with him every day. He respected him. He had to go there and help. He had to fight beside him. He wanted to see the look on his face — surprise, gratitude, pride — when Lion rushed to save him.
“Please,” Saradra begged. “Look at me.”
She stepped between Lion and the window, but he pushed her aside with a frown. He was noticing two things now. First, the fighting bear of Vogros was not the only coat of arms on the enemy soldiers. Some coat of arms Lion didn’t recognise, but some he did from guests he had seen at the feasts. Vogros soldiers had allies. Moreover, some men fighting against Badimar were wearing the black and gold uniforms of House Zarall!
There were traitors amongst Zarall soldiers. That explained why there wasn't much of a resistance from the King’s soldiers.
The second thing he had noticed was how one of the Zarall traitors was flanking Joharin.
The older trainer didn’t see him and he didn’t get any time to regret his mistake. Zarall traitor stabbed Joharin’s midsection. Caesh pulled him back, while Badimar gave them cover, but Lion had seen the angle the sword had gone through.
Joharin was giving his last breath.
Lion’s chest hummed. That was his team. His team was fighting and dying.
Saradra’s slap brought him back to himself for the second time that night.
“Look at me!” Saradra commanded harshly. “You can’t do anything for them. We have to move!” She shoved him away from the window as if to make her point.
Lion melted under her gaze. He embraced the nausea and the faint pain that soared through his body, just so he could enjoy those eyes for a few more precious seconds longer. He was itching to have one last look at Badimar, but if he did, he knew he wouldn’t be able to look away again. So, he took Saradra’s hand and led the way.
He was too aware of the windows lined on the right side of the corridor. His skin was prickling. He wiped his forehead, suddenly remembering Sir Dramesh and the group of soldiers heading in the direction of Lion’s room. Were they sent by Badimar? Was he stalling for Lion to join the fight? As overwhelming as their odds were, a Raged purebred could change the course of that skirmish. What would happen to them when Sir Dramesh found Lion’s room empty?
Saradra’s fingers squeezed his hand, reminding him of her presence. His priority was her. He belonged to her now, the same way she belonged to him.
After the next turn, Lion immediately recognized the familiar clues indicating they had arrived at the guests’ quarters. The corridor was wider and cluttered with decorations; flowers, paintings, statues, and other useless ornaments. The air was heavy with the sweet smell of fresh flowers and scented candles. Lion’s sense of direction told him the doors on their left had a view of the royal garden. They just had to find the right one.
“It’s one of these rooms,” he pointed at the doors.
Saradra let go of his hand and hurried to the first one. She turned the knob, but it was locked. She moved to the next one. “How do we know…”
Heavy boots began approaching from the other end. They were fast.
Lion’s head snapped back and forth, trying to decide between hiding or pulling his knife out. Sweat trickled down his back. He had already killed two free men. What difference would a few more bodies make?
“Here!” Saradra whispered victoriously. The next door she tried was unlocked. She darted to grab Lion’s hand and tugged him inside the room with her. She closed the door as quietly as possible.
Lion only had a couple of seconds to notice the burn marks on the doorframe before Saradra shut the door, leaving them in the dark. She stepped back, her eyes fixed on the door. Someone gave a muffled command outside, and the boots approached. Lion hooked his elbow around her waist and pulled her close. He turned his back to the door, his eyes scanning the shadows in the room, looking for a place to keep her out of harm’s way as he faced whoever came through that door. He smelled something wet and burning.
They were not alone.
At the back of the room, a dark shape towered high, the top of its head grazing the ceiling. A deep, guttural growl filled the room, chilling Lion’s bones. The thing resembled a dog, maybe a hound, but was unnaturally enormous. Its pointy ears were tilted back, mouth pulled into a snarl. Its neatly lined, sharp teeth were shining with spittle. Its black coat was patchy and wet. Molten red eyes focused on Saradra’s back.
Lion pulled Saradra closer to him as the hound flared its nostrils. It breathed out a growl, which reverberated through the room, making Saradra yelp. With another low growl, the hound's coat was lit on fire, flames licking its head and upper body. Saradra covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide with horror, as a whisper escaped: “Merciful Alunwea.”
Liquid fire dribbled down the hound’s teeth, singeing the carpet-covered floor. Its coat was on fire and it didn’t even flinch, like the flames were an extension of its fur. It crouched on its thick, muscular legs, ready to leap.
Lion pushed Saradra between him and the door, readying his knife, his mind already going through combat strategies for fighting large animals, assessing his environment, looking for things he can use. Animal… This thing wasn’t even an animal. What was it? How did it move? How did it think? How was he ever going to get through those flames to…
His thoughts were distracted by the sounds of the men right outside the door. The hound’s molten eyes were drawn to the door as well. It can be distracted , Lion noted as he started planning ways he could use deception. One of the soldiers outside — he knew they were soldiers as he could hear their chainmail as they moved — barked out instructions: “This is the one. Break the door!”
They were about to get caught between a burning monster and a group of Vogros soldiers. Lion knew which enemy he could defeat. He grabbed Saradra’s arm, ready to bolt for the door, when he spotted the man crouched behind the hound. The monster dispelled enough light to let Lion recognise the man’s face at first glance. He had seen him at King Leonis’s latest feast; he was the stranger who was sitting at the head of the table with Leonis’s head physician.
Still dressed in his plain black robe, the man was slumped against the wall. He seemed unfazed by the flame-dribbling monster beside him. His eyes were fixed on Lion. Grasping the bed for leverage, the man in the black robe dragged himself up to his feet. His gaze trailed down to Lion’s neck and his eyes narrowed. His face looked older or simply tired, then Lion remembered. The left side of his robe was soaked in blood. A small object attached to a leather string dangled in the man’s free hand.
The man’s eyes widened as he stared at Lion’s neck. Then, he smiled. It was a smile that made Lion’s skin crawl with unease. The man moved his lips and mouthed two words: Purebred . Perfect .
Multiple things happened in quick succession.
First, the man in the black robe staggered to his knees. The burning hound hissed, then disappeared in a puff. Before the last sparks of its flame coat died, the door behind them broke open and a horde of Vogros soldiers filed in, swords raised.
The black-robed man pointed a finger in their direction and yelled, “ Dracistuecto! ”
Lion didn’t have the time to wonder how the man knew his Kill Word.
Rage surged into his mind, claiming control. A shudder soared through his muscles as he looked at the armed men from behind a haze. A deep growl rose out of him. His last act was to push Saradra away from himself, hoping she would stay out of his sight until the Rage passed.