23. LION
23
LION
Lion’s ears picked up footsteps approaching his cell again.
His hearing had become much sharper than before, very quickly. His heart skipped a beat as he covered his head and drew his knees to his chest. No matter how much he braced, he could never prepare for this.
The grill on his cell door slid to the side, and a guard peeked in. The torchlights from the hallway outside spilt onto the floor of his cell, breaking the thick darkness.
“ Prihjtivaviula ,” the guard muttered dully. He watched Lion’s quiet suffering for several seconds, his face a mask of boredom, then slid the grill closed and walked away.
An eternity later, when the pain receded, Lion rolled on to his back. In the small, dark cell, he had lost his sense of time. Each time he came out of his Pain Word, his mind went foggy as his thoughts raced, disoriented. In those few seconds, he couldn’t remember where he was, why he was here, what happened. And then it would all come to him, and he would cry and hyperventilate, because that moment when he acknowledged the possibility that he might have killed Saradra was worse than the pain itself.
No , he thought desperately . No, I wouldn’t. She would get out of the way. She would hide.
The other slaves were held in three larger cells together. Lion had searched for Saradra’s face amongst the vacant faces of the slaves, but he only had a split second to look. He was dragged past through the slave barracks quickly and was stuffed in his cell, alone. At first, he was starved for several days. Then, food and water started to come, but irregularly and in pitiful amounts. Just enough to ensure his survival but still leave him starving continuously.
He blinked at the darkness numbly. He had lost track of time and had no way of knowing how long had passed since that night. The cell had no windows. He lay in darkness, in a state of deprivation, flinching every time the grill slid open and the light broke the shelter of his shadows. He even gave up on trying to understand whether they were coming to bring food or torture or both.
Nothing they did to him mattered. None of these were more unbearable than not knowing what had happened to Saradra.
He had nightmares. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the images of the massacred corpses at the top of the tower. He never had any nightmares about any of the slaves he killed in the arenas before. He never even thought of them. However, each of those nightmares ended with him discovering Saradra’s cold body amongst his victims at the tower. Her bones were broken, her skull bashed in with blunt force, her face was bitten off… The only recognisable part of her body was her flame-coloured hair.
He would wake with a scream each time, the noise drawing the attention of the guards, who never missed an opportunity to torture him.
He was desperate to know what happened to Saradra. The uncertainty ate him up. He couldn't rest until he confirmed that she was unharmed. Lion pressed his palms over his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to stay calm. If he had hurt her… The mere thought sent waves of sickness coursing through his body. The guilt was an unbearable weight pressing down on his chest. He almost wished the guard would return to speak his Pain Word again.
He dropped his hands to his sides, a scowl creasing his forehead. He still didn’t know how that man in the black robes knew his Kill Word. Lion thought he was just a guest, not even a castle staff. Even amongst the castle staff, only a few knew Lion’s Words: Badimar, the other trainers, Vanalten, and Raydon.
Now, he was certain half the Vogros soldiers memorised his Pain Word.
They made a habit of speaking it every time they’d walked past his cell. Whoever was patrolling the cells would speak the word each time he passed his door. A few of them, whom he now recognised, appeared to be enjoying themselves as they watched with fascination. Once he heard them play a drinking game with his Pain Word.
Lion suspected it was the officer who first discovered his Pain Word. The man who raided his room that night and ordered his two soldiers to take Lion and Saradra away. He had discovered the corpses of his men and knew Lion had done that. He had charged into his cell and beat him bloody, yelling his Pain Word repeatedly. Lion had expected to be on his way to White Tower the next day.
And yet, days had passed, and he was still here.
He was growing more and more nervous each day, especially since he received a visit from Karhad, the new Master of the Slaves. Master Raydon’s replacement had short brown hair, a young face, and a large earring dangling from his right ear. The heavy, leather-bound book he carried contained Master Raydon’s slave records.
After examining Lion against the records, Karhad had recited the change of ownership statement to Lion: “You are now the property of King Kastian Vogros, the first of his name, the ruler of Chinderia. At your Owner’s request, your name will remain Lion of Zarall. Acknowledge.”
Staggering to his feet, Lion had faltered, almost making the mistake of gawking at the new Master of the Slaves. Guards talked a lot, and he had already learned that King Leonis and Queen Arasanara had been killed on the night of the coup. The guards had also laughed about how Prince Lygor Zarall, who had been on a diplomatic mission at Kaldoria for the last five years, was simultaneously assassinated. Even the distant relatives who carried the Zarall name were taken care of.
“King Kastian has a strong distaste for the Zarall name,” one of the guards had laughed. “Next, he’ll make sure the name will be erased from all the history books.”
“Not that you know how to read ‘em,” his friend had mocked, before they had resumed Lion’s torture.
Therefore, when Master Karhad declared Lion’s name to remain the same, a sense of foreboding overwhelmed him. He obediently recited the memorised phrase and acknowledged his new Owner, knowing this could not be good.
When the physical beatings had stopped after that, Lion’s unease had only grown more.
They never asked him anything about the soldiers he had killed. They never asked what he had been doing in that tower, or what had happened to that man in the black robe. He even had a visit from a new physician once, making sure the guards hadn’t taken their hospitality too far.
There was only one explanation why Lion was still alive, still at Castle Brinescar, and still carried the Zarall name; King Kastian had plans for him. And those plans involved a very public, humiliating, and slow death for the late King Leonis’s beloved, famed Lion of Zarall.
When he heard a group of approaching footsteps again, Lion turned to his side, curling up on himself. He wasn’t afraid of dying. He didn’t even care about the torture. He just didn’t want to die without knowing what had happened to Saradra.
The grill slid to the side with a metal screech. Lion tensed. Instead of his Pain Word, the next sound he heard was keys sliding into the lock and the cell door opening with a creak. The light dispelled the darkness of his cell. Since taking up residence in this cell, Lion had developed a distaste for the light. The darkness was safe. The pain always came with light.
Lion knew his time in this cell was up even before two pairs of strong hands yanked him. His stomach growled, his head spun, and he swayed on his feet. When the guards dragged him out into the hallway, he was struck temporarily blind by the torches on the walls. He hung his head low, blinking his eyes furiously as he staggered forward along the hallway between the two guards.
He almost sensed her.
As he walked by the spacious open cells where slaves slept, he somehow felt her presence among them. He whipped his head up, digging his heels to the ground. However, his sight was still impaired by the light. One of the guards kicked behind his knee and dragged him forward. Lion kept craning his neck back. He knew she was there. He just wanted to look at her bright blue eyes one last time. He wanted to break free and run back.
As if sensing his intention, one of his guards buried a punch below his ribs. The blow stole his air. By the time Lion caught his breath, they were already out of the slave barracks.
Master Karhad was waiting for him in a room he recognised by the rows of clothes hanging on racks and the tables scattered with combs, jars of oil, powders, and various accessories. This was where Raydon had prepared him before every appearance at King Leonis’s feasts and banquets.
They dropped him on a chair and pushed a plate in front of him. Lion hardly even looked at the food, shoving it in his mouth with his eyes half-closed. He tasted bread, cold meat, and some sort of gruel.
Next, Karhad ordered him to get into a wooden tub filled with hot water. Already feeling stronger and steadier on his feet, Lion complied without help. Two house slaves approached to scrub the blood and dirt off his skin. One of them was a familiar female slave who worked on his appearance before every battle. Lion wondered what happened to the old slave with the weathered face and bony fingers.
After the bath, Lion climbed on the low pedestal and stood still. He knew the drill. The slaves brought the outfit he wore at the last feast: a pair of black pants and boots, and a black half-cape. He scowled when they slipped the golden greaves and the golden belt on; the Zarall symbol was openly engraved on them both.
He wasn’t surprised when he didn’t receive any weapons. The slaves spent most of the time brushing his hair; the whole process was almost comparable to having his skin flayed off alive. They slapped a grey liquid on his hair, giving it more volume. He looked exactly like he did at the last feast; King Leonis’s proud Lion of Zarall.
After a final inspection, Karhad led him back outside, with two guards bringing up the rear.
Lion couldn’t help but feeling like a lone cat in a house full of hungry dogs. Or bears. He had no loyalty for the black and gold lion of House Zarall he carried on his accessories, but the fighting bear of Vogros evoked hostile feelings in him.
He shouldn’t even have been feeling anything for any of his Owners. This was Saradra’s doing. She had awakened something inside of him. She had made him desire and want and wonder. His world had been black and white prior to meeting Saradra. Now it was coloured with thoughts and feelings he couldn’t control. His mind was a whirlwind. Part of him missed the emptiness, but he doubted he could ever go back to being that mindless slave again.
They reached a small service yard behind the upper kitchen. It was night outside, and the yard was lit with torches on the walls. The kitchen sounded busy. The new King was giving a feast and Lion was going to make an appearance. But for what?
A cage waited just outside the large doors leading to the inner keep. It was tall enough to stand inside and it was placed on a cart pulled by two slaves. Two beasts. One was Hopper. The other was Crowseye, a purebred. They were both wearing Vogros colours now. Lion wondered if they kept their names too or they were given new names. If they were wearing Vogros colours, then the King must have decided to keep them. Lion clenched his jaw, ignoring that odd mixture of relief and jealousy. He wanted to ask Hopper about Badimar. Did Badimar and the others make it? He knew it had been a bloody coup. Almost all servants and castle staff were killed without being given a chance to surrender. So if Badimar hadn’t escaped, he was dead.
Lion tried to catch Hopper’s gaze, but the freeborn stared straight ahead, behaving perfectly disciplined in front of the new Master of the Slaves. Karhad unlocked the cage and stood aside. “Get inside.”
Lion didn’t move, watching Hopper out of the corner of his eyes.
“I said, get inside!” Karhad ordered, louder.
That caught Hopper’s attention. The freeborn beast glanced in his direction. Beneath his frown was curiosity, and a pinch of annoyance. Hopper still fostered a hatred at Lion for nearly gauging his eyes out. His scowl deepened when he read Lion’s unspoken question.
The hilt of a sword landed hard between Lion’s shoulder blades. He staggered forward, swallowing a groan. Ignoring the brewing growl deep in his chest, Lion climbed inside the cage before the guard struck him again.
“Stay standing and face forward,” Karhad instructed. “Eyes on the floor.”
Lion complied. Karhad and the guards pulled a black curtain over the cage. Just before the curtain shrouded Lion from the outside world, Hopper’s chin dipped vaguely.
Lion’s heart skipped a beat. The Master of the Beast had survived. He closed his eyes and let out a breath.
With the thick curtain draping over all four sides of the cage, Lion was left in semidarkness. He could still hear outside and see the dark silhouettes of anyone who was near enough, but nothing more.
He stumbled back when the cart moved forward. He steadied himself by holding on to the bars on two sides. Anxiety was like a giant animal trapped inside the cage with him. It filled every bit of the empty space surrounding him, strangling him and stealing his air. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this cart was taking him to a painful death.
For the millionth time, he wished he could see Saradra one more time before he died.
The fear must have been playing tricks on his mind, because he started hearing violent growls. Lion’s skin prickled and his muscles froze. The image of the burning hound flashed in his mind, followed by the image of the monster on the ceiling. Lion shook his head, trying to focus on the present. But the sounds were getting louder and closer.
The man in the black robe! He was outside, along with his monsters!
Was this the painful, humiliating death Kastian Vogros was preparing for the Lion of Zarall?
The cage rattled and Lion stumbled to the side. He didn’t dare closing his eyes for the fear of reliving the events of that horrible night. In his dark cell, he had tried so hard to forget about the man in the black robe. His pale, sunken face. What he did. How he stabbed his heart and killed him!
The cart stopped.
Lion heard a muttered speech from outside, but the low rumble of the monster blanketed it. As the time stretched, the fear continued to gnaw on him.
Not my body, it’s their property , he thought desperately, despite knowing it would not work. Not anymore. He was trapped in his body, drowning in fear.
He heard large doors creaking open, and the cart started moving again.
More speech, excited whispers. Echoes. Lion’s eyes narrowed as he listened. Were they in the banquet hall? It sounded crowded. The monster’s growls broke away, but it was still nearby. And it roared louder now. Silhouettes of people glided past behind the curtains. The cart slowed down, stopped, and turned right. Lion’s heart thrashed wildly in the cage of his ribs.
After a moment filled with the excited chatter of people in the room, a male voice spoke.
“You are the most fortunate descendants of your families,” the man said with a strong, tenor voice that Lion clearly heard despite the thick curtain between them. “Because you are here, in this hall tonight, to witness the beginning of a new era for Chinderia.”
“Long live King Kastian!” someone yelled and others repeated.
King Kastian gave a brief pause. The buzz of excitement subsided. Lion didn’t have to see to know that every pair of eyes in the hall was now firmly fixed on the new king.
“This country had an illness,” King Kastian said gravely. “A taint. For a hundred years, we have been striving to be free from this stain. This sickness called Zarall.” He paused to let the murmurs of agreement heard, then continued: “I would like you to listen to what Pyrearch Mendrich has to say. I know you all are loyal followers of the Twelve Riders. And in days like these, it is even more critical that we heed the Twelve’s teachings. It is important we remember the Dividing of Homes .”
A pause, a shuffle of feet, low murmurs. Lion imagined King Kastian greeting an old man in pyre robes up the platform in front of the long table where King Leonis used to sit. The Pyrearch spoke with a voice that sounded older than what Lion imagined.
“Kiejain, the first Rider, the first warrior, the first husband, the mightiest,” the Pyrearch bellowed enthusiastically. “We have wandered from your path and came to confess our sins. We seek redemption and—”
“It is important we remember the Dividing of Homes tonight, Pyrearch Mendrich,” Kastian interrupted. There was an impatient edge to his voice. “I’m confident everyone here will attend to the first sermon at the Grand Chamber of Twelve in the city first thing tomorrow morning.”
The old man cleared his throat. If he was offended by the interruption, he didn’t show it in his voice. “I will recite you Dividing of Homes , word by word, from the Book of Twelve.” He paused to take a deep breath, then spoke again.
“In the dawn of creation, the world was whole and cloaked in darkness. Before the advent of humankind, two mighty races vied for supremacy. Both were offspring of the sacred fire. The dragons, defeated in battle, retreated into the hidden depths of the Frozen Caves. The fiends, triumphant, became sovereigns of the darkness.”
Lion crossed his arms and leaned against one side of the cage. What was going on? The monster was still growling lowly somewhere behind the curtains; he wasn’t imagining it. King Kastian was giving a feast, had invited guests, and brought Lion over, for what? To make them listen to the origins of religion?
“There were thirteen High Fiends, each wielding dominion over legions of fiends and fiendish creatures. In those times, no human nations or kingdoms existed to stand against the swarms of fiends. Humanity lived in tribes, led by half-fiends, born of heinous mating rituals between the High Fiends and human whores. These tribes were forced to serve, to worship, and to offer human sacrifices. The fiends feasted upon their flesh in life and consumed their rhoas in death.”
Lion started pacing back and forth. Even though he had nothing to do with religion, Lion still had heard bits and pieces of this story from the castle servants and soldiers. What was the point of…?
His steps faltered. Was the burning hound he had seen that night — and the one who was snarling out there — a fiend? Did Kastian have a fiend here tonight? Is that why he was making that Pyrearch talk about fiends?
Was this the death he had prepared for Lion of Zarall?
“Then, on a fateful day, a nameless Pilgrim embarked on a quest for aid. He journeyed the shadowed paths of the dark world alone until at last he reached the Frozen Caves. With a heart full of hope, he ventured deep into the caverns and discovered the twelve dragons, the last of their kind, slumbering in the deepest, darkest recesses of the caves.”
Lion shivered. An absurd laughter was building up inside his chest. He pressed his palm over his mouth to muffle his loosening nerves. A fiend! He was going to fight a fiend!
“The Pilgrim implored the dragons to emerge and aid humanity in a battle against the High Fiend. Each of the twelve dragons refused his plea, advising him to leave. Yet, he remained steadfast, beseeching them for twelve long years.”
So, man found sleeping dragons, woke them up, and pestered them for years. And that was how religion started? Lion covered his mouth with his palm to suppress a sudden need to laugh. He breathed through his nose, trying to muffle the laughter. Where did this come from?
“The Pilgrim died in the Frozen Caves, still pleading them with his last breath.”
Or maybe the dragons had finally had enough, and the fellow was just begging not to be eaten alive! A chuckle escaped Lion’s lips. He took a sharp breath, held, and pricked up his ears. Even if someone had heard him, there was no way of knowing. The Pyrearch continued passionately.
“The Pilgrim’s unwavering dedication and righteousness moved the hearts of the twelve dragons. Each shed a tear over his lifeless body. Then, they emerged from the Frozen Caves, unfurling their enormous wings for the first time in centuries. They soared above the clouds and vanished behind the moon.”
Looking for another place where they could sleep without being disturbed by noisy missionaries. Lion slid down to his knees, shaking with silent laughter. He was going to be slaughtered by a fiend! A fiend! There was nothing funny about this! Why was he laughing?
“The next morning, the dragons returned, each bearing a rider on its back. These were the twelve gods and goddesses, who united all of humanity under the protection of their dragons' wings and waged war against the High Fiends. Leading them was Kiejain, the God of Warriors, astride Karaalev the black dragon. Beside him rode his wife Alunwea, the Goddess of Mercy, on the back of Alnara the red dragon.”
Please tell me he’s not going to name all twelve gods and goddesses with their dragons and colours. Please…
“Beside her rode Sharrap, the God of Pleasure and Wine, riding Ahzu the silver dragon. Beside him, rode…”
Lion rolled his eyes and listened to the screeching voice of the Pyrearch distractedly. There was the God of Shadows, Kyrus, riding a grey dragon. He was brothers with the God of Craftsmen, Kahil, also riding a red dragon. There was a woman and a man, twins, each riding a golden dragon. They were the God of Art and Goddess of Nature, or the other way around. There were even useless sounding gods, like Zaon, the God of Roads, who just travelled the roads. He was riding a bronze dragon named Yolgezer. Why would someone bother with roads where they could simply fly on their dragon? It didn’t make sense.
Nothing made sense.
Lion wiped a tear, still laughing silently, as he listened to the end of the story.
“The fiend wars raged on for years, and the Twelve Riders vanquished the thirteen High Fiends one by one. Yet, countless lesser fiends remained, and too many rhoas lingered for them to feed upon.
“At last, the gods and goddesses resolved to divide the world into three realms. They created Darkhome, banishing all fiends there. They then built Farhome, a sanctuary where all rhoas could find peace after death. What remained was Earthome, where humans would dwell and flourish under the light.
“In honour of the Pilgrim’s sacrifice, the Twelve Riders remained with us. They initiated the Thrive, an era where humanity prospered under their guidance. To this day, our civilisations continue to Thrive in the light of the Twelve Riders.”
“Thank you, Pyrearch Mendrich,” King Kastian said as soon as the Pyrearch stopped talking. The old man mumbled a response before shuffling down the platform. Lion stood up. His cheeks still ached, but the gravity of his situation was now settling in his chest like a rock. His unwanted mirth was leaving its place to nausea. He held his breath as Kastian continued speaking.
“Some of you have known Leonis Zarall’s unhealthy obsession with ancient artefacts. Some of these artefacts were family heirlooms handed from father to son. What you did not know was a lot of these artefacts he collected with pride were tainted by Darkhome magic!”
His dramatic pause was filled with shocked gasps and shaken whispers.
“Yes,” Kastian raised his voice to be heard over the dismayed chatter of his guests. “House Zarall had their hands deep in Darkhome magic up to their elbows!”
He gave another pause to let the guests work themselves up to near panic. He savoured their fear before continuing with an angry, vengeful voice.
“We have been scaring our children to behave, to be loyal followers of the Twelve Riders by telling them of the horror tales of Black Stain in the far south,” he said. “Some believe that the Thrive ended the day Black Stain appeared.
“Then there is the Forbidden District in the city of Varostan, just beyond our eastern borders. Two places of darkness, created by blood and massacre of innocents. Created by wicked experiments using Darkhome magic.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, following a brief pause. “In a few years from now, our neighbours would have been scaring their children with the horror tales of Brinescar!”
Shouts of anger and denial filled the hall.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” someone in the crowd raised his voice to be heard. Lion imagined an old, cranky looking lord in his late fifties. “These are frightful and truly disturbing accusations. I am an old, foolish, and nearly blind man, and it doesn’t take Kyrus’s wits to deceive someone like me. But there are lords and ladies in this hall who are far better judges of character than myself. I’m sure they all must be wondering, what are you basing these accusations on?”
“You are neither old, nor foolish, Lord Rhuagh,” Kastian replied. “And looking at your lady by your side, I vouch your eyesight is as good as any of us.” There was a patient smile beneath Kastian’s words, as if he was expecting the question. “However, when it comes to mages, one cannot trust their senses and judgements.
“House Zarall was hosting a mage here in Castle Brinescar; one who had been expelled from the Eternal Pillar because of his secret experiments. Experiments involving fiends and Darkhome; the kind of experiments that gave birth to Black Stain and Forbidden District in the past.”
The way Kastian emphasised ‘experiments’ created another ripple of fear in the crowd.
“Yes,” Kastian raised his voice. “House Zarall have been aiding this rogue mage, Belandir Malderan, in his research to bring the nightmares back from Darkhome. Leonis Zarall was giving him access to his collection of magic artefacts. I have information revealing how Lygor Zarall was importing more artefacts and enchanted items over the Kaldorian border to support his father’s corrupted plan. The name Zarall is an ailment, a curse on this country.”
He was manipulating the emotions of the crowd like a slave master commanding his slaves. He had fed their anger with fear and now, the lords and ladies in the hall were thirsty for blood.
Kastian was still speaking, but Lion’s ears had started ringing after hearing about the mage. A mage… Was he talking about the man in the black robe? The thought made Lion’s hair stand on end.
He had seen other mages at King Leonis’s court before, but they all wore white robes, and they did nothing other than talk to the King. They certainly didn’t go around stabbing people in the heart and fiddling their hands in their chests. But what that man in black robe did couldn’t have been explained with anything other than magic. Kastian must have been telling the truth. The things he had seen that night… The burning hound, the monster on the ceiling, blood crawling on the floor, even the stabbing… He didn’t imagine any of those. It was all Darkhome magic!
“Three weeks ago,” Kastian raised his voice. “On the night of the Uprising, the great houses of Chinderia gathered together to save our country from this darkness called Zarall. I have personally attended to the Sending Ritual of Leonis Zarall’s rhoa . People of Chinderia are now ready to leave the name Zarall behind and embrace a time of new Thrive. But…”
Lion shifted his weight as he fixed his eyes on the curtain ahead. He could almost see the smirk touching Kastian’s lips as he continued in a softer voice. “There is someone who’s still carrying the name Zarall, although it was never his. Someone you all have seen, maybe cheered for, no doubt.”
They never cheered for me, Lion thought. They cheered for blood. They always cheered for blood.
The curtain twitched as someone prepared to pull it off. Lion braced himself.
“And tomorrow, you will watch the Lion of Zarall fall to the Bear of Vogros!”
Hopper and Crowseye pulled the curtain off the cage.
The hall was so quiet, Lion could hear the rustle of the curtain as it fell. After the darkness of the cage, he was blinded by all the light in the banquet hall.
The brief silence was followed by an uproar. The guests cheered and clapped. Several women yelped, but most were laughing, amazed.
As he blinked to restore his sight, Lion was confused by the admiration in their tones. It wasn’t like they were seeing him for the first time, and he certainly deserved nothing less than detest after Kastian’s speech.
Then, his eyes finally adjusted to the light, and he saw the second cage across from his. Its host stood up on trunk-like hindlegs and roared.
It wasn’t a fiend.
The bear of Vogros stood nearly three meters tall on its hindlegs. He must have weighed at least ten grown men. He was covered with brown fur, thick as armour. Muscles rippled under his coat when he moved. His mouth was pulled back to show a set of sharp teeth. He could bite a man’s face clean off without even opening his mouth to the jaws. Lion couldn’t tear his eyes off the bear’s black claws, quick and sharp as any weapon he had ever yielded.
Still, it wasn’t a burning fiend hound as Lion had feared. He exhaled slowly.
King Kastian’s guests were clapping with excitement. Their sounds made the bear angrier. He threw himself to the bars, sticking his arm out and swiping at the nearest guest, a young lady in an emerald dress. It fell way short — Kastian’s men were keeping anyone from getting too close — but the woman screamed and the man next to him grabbed this opportunity to pull the woman in his arms. The lords and ladies, including the woman and the man, laughed at this little excitement. Lion, on the other hand, couldn’t see anything to laugh at in those claws.
A frown creased his forehead. He rummaged through his memories to find what knowledge he could remember about beast versus animal fights. Badimar hadn’t bothered training him on the Apex Contests. He hadn’t need to. Animal fights were way beneath the King’s famed champion beast. Lion predominantly fought in Grand Tournaments, while others in the team competed in Dawnbloods, Duskbloods, Apex Contests, and lesser tournaments.
Breeder Astaldo, however, did teach him how to fight animals using various weapons. Purebred beasts needed to have a baseline knowledge in every fight class and against every opponent. He reviewed his knowledge about bears but he couldn’t form a strategy yet. Everything would depend on the weapon he would be given. Against bears, he needed a quick and long-range weapon, like a spear or lance. Would he be allowed armour? Shield? What would the arena placement look like? Setting and decorations made Apex Contests all the more interesting. Could he hope for a bow and an arrow, lots of obstacles to hide and take cover, and a high a place to stand? Until he knew what weapon they were going to give him, he couldn’t strategize.
“Fancy your eyes with tomorrow’s champion and enjoy the feast,” King Kastian concluded and motioned towards the feast tables. “Oh, and do not feed the contestants before the fight. Lion does not have any stomach for food right now and Marzul is on a strict diet for beasts.”
His insult elicited more laughter from his guests, and it drew Lion’s gaze to the new King. His new Owner. Kastian Vogros.
The King had a hard-set face. Creases around his eyes and mouth were putting at least forty years on his shoulders. A short-trimmed, salt-and-pepper beard and hair surrounded his face. The ornate, golden crown Lion had seen on Leonis’s forehead countless times adorned Kastian’s head now. Although it sat perfectly even on his head, somehow it didn’t fit him.
Kastian’s jaw popped from side to side as he scowled at Lion with his poisonous green eyes. Lion didn’t avert his; at least not immediately. The King seemed to be disappointed, even frustrated, by Lion’s reaction. After expecting to fight a fiend, Lion was observably relieved at the sight of his rival. That clearly wasn’t the response King Kastian wanted to see.
What had he expected from a purebred, anyway? It wasn’t like they displayed a range of emotions.
Although it was intended to be an insult, Kastian’s judgement wasn’t far-fetched. Lion had lost all his appetite. The bear, on the other hand, looked like he could take a bite from everyone in the room and would still be hungry. He kept snarling at the people and gnawing on the bars. His teeth made an ear-scratching grinding sound against the iron bars. When he shook his head, the bars bent just slightly.
Lion imagined the bear breaking free and slaughtering all the guests and the King, while he sat in the safety of his cage. The thought brought a grin to his lips, which he dismissed promptly after seeing the King’s frown deepen.
Kastian curled a finger at Karhad, who hurried to his side. The King whispered an instruction in Karhad’s ear, which made him glance in Lion’s direction and nod.
Excellent. He had just made his already fucked-up situation worse.
He pried his eyes off the King and studied the faces of the others sitting at his table. The King’s family. A short-haired woman, who was wearing the late Queen Arasanara’s elegant crown, sat next to Kastian. Lion’s eyes lingered on the woman’s hair. He had rarely seen women with short hair, unless they were female beasts or free warriors. A striking choice of fashion for a queen.
On either side of the King and the Queen sat two younger men. The older one had chestnut hair like the Queen, and the younger one had Kastian’s venom green eyes. The seat next to the younger prince was empty, but apart from that one, other seats were given to the lords and ladies from the most influential houses. A great many of them Lion recognised from Leonis’s feasts. They had raised their glasses for another hundred years of Zarall reign not long ago.
The other guests took their places at the long tables of the banquet hall. House slaves served the food they carried on large trays. The smell of roasted meat made Marzul the bear even more enraged. They must have had been starving him for this fight.
Great.
Lion’s eyes scanned the house slaves, searching for a flutter of red hair. He found several, but none were Saradra. His heart skipped a beat when he saw another pair of eyes scanning the horde of slaves. It took a moment to recognise him.
Lord Hosten, Saradra’s Owner.
Although Lord Hosten participated in conversations with other guests around him, his smile faltered every now and then when his eyes swiped across the faces of the slaves. He was looking for Saradra.
An uncertain smile lifted Lion’s lips. Did that mean Saradra was alive? Lord Hosten clearly believed she was. And he believed Kastian had her here.
Unless… Unless Saradra escaped without alerting anyone!
Lion’s heart fluttered in his chest until he saw Kastian’s death stare. He wiped his smile. Maybe he should have feigned fear, just to keep his Owner in a good mood. But then, what could Kastian do that was worse than being starved in a cell and tortured with his Pain Word for three weeks, and then pit him against a full-grown bear? Lion was as good as dead anyway.
Towards the end of the feast, Kastian announced that tomorrow’s contestants would have to leave early tonight, in order to get a good night’s sleep.
“Although I doubt if one of them could get any sleep at all tonight,” he added, smirking at Lion.
Lion felt a surge of outrage. Why did he care how Kastian mocked him? Words shouldn’t have bothered him, as long as they were not his Words. He contemplated on plastering a cocky smile on his face. But there was no reason to poke the bear . He bit inside of his cheek to suppress another laughter. He had to pretend to wipe his mouth and keep his head down until he could regain his composure. He stood straight, keeping his face blank. Unfazed and indifferent. His display of courage neither lessened the guests’ laugher, nor made the bear look less intimidating.
This animal was still going to rip his head off tomorrow. It wasn’t a flame-coated fiend from Darkhome, but it was still a full-grown bear.
Hopper and Crowseye returned, hitching themselves to the handles of the cart. Four other slaves — all beasts from Badimar’s team — did the same for Marzul’s cart. They pulled the two cages through the tables; Marzul’s cage at the front, and Lion’s bringing up the rear.
The bear roared and swiped at people as the cage slid between them. Lion could feel their judging eyes at him; calculating not only his chances of survival, but how many minutes he would last tomorrow. Still holding on to the bars on each side, Lion tilted his chin up and kept his eyes at Marzul’s cage.
Once they were back at the service yard behind the upper kitchen, Karhad let Lion out of his cage. The slaves dragged Marzul’s cage towards an archway leading to the outer courtyard.
As Karhad and a group of guards escorted Lion back to the dressing room, where he changed into a plain tunic and pants, his thoughts were already occupied with the fight tomorrow. Although he expected to be taken back to his cell, he wasn’t surprised to find out that tonight’s entertainment was not yet finished.
Karhad took him to the outer courtyard where Marzul’s cage was placed right next to Lion’s.
He spent the night as Marzul’s neighbour, their adjacent cages only separated by a set of bars.
Lion pressed his back against the bars opposite to Marzul and sat down carefully. Half of his space was within the bear’s range. Marzul stuck his arms through the bars and tried to reach him all night. His claws left long marks on the cage floor. He threw himself against the bars and gnawed at them. Lion dreaded the moment he would have to face those claws and teeth without the bars between them. No armour would protect him against those.
He tucked his knees under his chin, hugging himself tightly. If he allowed himself to relax just a little, he would wake up with Marzul’s claws hooked in his flesh, dragging him to the other side of the cage.
Kastian’s mockery turned out to be justified at the end. Lion didn’t sleep at all that night.