Lion of Zarall

by E B Rose

  Lion was astonished by their reactions. Any form of human interaction was forbidden to slaves. Not just forbidden, impossible, since they didn’t have any rhoa and it was a known fact that emotions come from rhoa. Therefore, human affection was incomprehensible for Lion.

  When he saw the slave girl for the first time, time didn’t stop as it did for Elrimandel when he first saw Galeahil. Jugglers continued juggling their balls, house slaves continued roaming around the guests, holding their trays up, and guests continued spreading their rumours and plotting their little games.

  He didn’t hear any sacred music either. Nor did he feel like he’d been struck by lightning, which he didn’t understand its association with love, as it sounded extremely painful.

  Yet, seeing the girl for the first time reminded him of that tale.

  Lion had learned to examine people without directly looking at them, out of the corner of his eyes. He stared ahead, while taking in the girl’s beauty. She had long, flame coloured hair, falling down her shoulders. Her lips were full and red. Her pale skin looked soft and smooth. Her eyes were the colour of skies. Lion noticed this, because she was staring directly at him, rather than keeping them on the floor.

  The collar around her slender neck kept most of her tattoo concealed, but the brightness of the ink and the flaky skin around it indicated she’d just been enslaved. A fresh freeborn, hadn’t even mastered the basics yet. Even her face was expressive. She studied Lion with horror; her lips trembling and her petite body tense, as if she wanted to run away!

  “I don’t like any slave being treated this way,” the Breeder grunted quietly, as he sized Lion up and down. “It’s not good for their training.”

  “He’s a purebred!” the noble lord exclaimed.

  “Even purebreds need scheduled maintenance trainings,” the Breeder snorted. “Especially ones who are being revered and spoiled like this.” When he noticed the female slave was entranced by Lion, he yanked her chain sharply; not hard enough to make her scream, but firm enough to remind her to keep her eyes down.

  “I would have preferred more time with her,” the Breeder growled, without taking his gaze off the girl. “She’s a slow learner.”

  The noble waved his hand dismissively. “The King had finally agreed. I have no intention of giving him any time to reconsider.” He glanced at her. “She’ll do.”

  “Lord Hosten?”

  Raydon, followed by Vanalten, approached the noble and his two companions.

  “I am Raydon, the King’s Master of the Slaves,” Raydon introduced himself, bowing slightly. He raised his eyebrows at the female slave. “Is this her?”

  “Yes.”

  Raydon sized her up and down. Corners of his mouth twitched downwards. “Well… Come this way please, My Lord. We can discuss the arrangements while Master Vanalten examines her.”

  Lord Hosten and the others followed Raydon. Raydon’s involvement and Vanalten’s ‘examination’ only meant one thing; the King was buying a new slave.

  Yet, it was odd. Despite her beauty, the girl was untrained. Most of Leonis’s slaves were either purebreds, or highly trained freeborn.

  Once again, Lion reminded himself not to assume he knew anything about his superiors. I live to serve, I breathe to please, he recited in his head. He knew his place.

  He continued breathing slowly, pretending his chest didn’t hurt, and when he thought it was safe enough, he glanced at the map.

  The party progressed into the late hours of the night. The guests got louder as they got drunker. King Leonis and Queen Arasanara excused themselves after a speech. The guests raised their cups for another hundred years of Zarall reign.

  After the King and Queen withdrew, the guests started departing one by one. Finally, one of the other knights released Sir Dramesh and Sir Gennald of their duty. Lion was escorted back to the dressing room by Raydon’s apprentice. He got out of his outfit, put on a simple tunic and pants, then he was released to return to his room on his own.

  Being the King’s favourite beast, Lion had a small room at the staff quarters, right next to Badimar’s larger bedroom. Master of the Beasts liked keeping a close eye on Lion.

  As Lion dragged his feet through the corridors, the female slave with the flame coloured hair was the last thing on his mind.

  That was until he opened the door and found her in his room. Naked.

  *

  The second time Lion saw her, time still didn’t stop. However, his muscles froze, unable to move. He stood by the door, dumbfounded, unsure of what to do.

  She retreated to the furthest corner, trying to cover her privates with her hands. Her long, red hair fell down on her round, firm breasts; her nipples were the same colour as her lips. Soft curves of her body trapped Lion’s eyes. Her skin was milky-white; smooth and clean. She must have bathed recently, as her hair was still damp and the room smelled of soap. The only imperfection on her body were the perfect freckles, sprinkled over her nose and shoulders.

  Somehow, Lion snapped out of his paralysis. When he closed the door behind him, the girl trembled. Her sky-blue eyes watched Lion with panic. When Lion moved towards the washbasin, she took a step back, as if trying to merge with the wall, or pass through it. She was still trying to cover her breasts with one hand and the ginger patch of hair between her legs with the other.

  Careful not to strain his injured shoulder, Lion took his tunic off. He filled the basin with cold water from the pitcher and splashed some on his face. His cell was small, but luxurious when compared to the cramped rooms in the cellar where all the slaves slept together. The pitcher was always refilled with cold water. There was a soap and a towel to clean himself. The bed was a real bed, although small, and he even had a pillow on it!

  He soaked the towel in the water and touched it gently against the burning skin on his chest. The newest brand was still a hot red. It was going to burn for days. When the pain finally settled, the itching would start. It was eventually going to adjust and become a permanent mark on his body.

  He wondered how many more of these brands he would get before he had his Grand Blood.

  The coolness of the towel eased some of his pain. He never stopped watching the girl out of the corner of his eyes, and the girl watched him back. Her plump lips had formed a firm line. She was holding her head high, like a free woman.

  Her demeanour annoyed Lion. He had an intolerance towards freeborn slaves. They cried a lot, they always tried to talk, and they were obsessed with freedom. They were trouble. He eyed the healing skin under her freeborn tattoo. A couple of weeks at most! What was she even doing at Castle Brinescar? She was practically an untamed savage!

  Putting the towel aside, Lion splashed the cold water directly at his chest. He didn’t understand why she was here - once again, it wasn’t his place to scrutinize the free man - but it didn’t matter. He was tired and in pain. He had training early in the morning, and he needed his sleep.

  He kicked his shoes off, then dropped his pants down, as he was used to sleeping naked. When he moved for the bed, the girl flinched and almost let out a squeal.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Lion froze, cold sweat running down his spine. Stupid freeborn brat! She hadn’t even bothered keeping her voice down!

  Lion eyed the door, not daring to breathe. Badimar slept next door and the walls were thin. If Lion could hear whenever Badimar had a female guest in there, then Master of the Beast could surely hear them too.

  Moments passed until Lion was finally convinced Badimar was out for the night.

  They were both lucky. For now.

  Lion shoved the girl out of his way roughly. The start of another squeal got stuck in her throat. Without a second glance, Lion dropped himself on his bed. He pulled the blanket up to his waist, slid his hand under his pillow, and turned his back to her.

  Falling asleep had never been a problem for him. However, sleep didn’t come easily as it did. His ears - and other parts of his body - were too alert to her p
resence in the room.

  He could hear her rapid breathing, interrupted by sniffs and sobs. Bare feet padded on the stone floor, carrying her to the furthest corner from the bed, which was still within an arm’s reach. The room was tiny.

  She slid down on the ground. Lion imagined her pressing her back against the wall, hugging her knees. His imagination went further than that and painted the smooth curves of her body and the perfectly round breasts pressed against her thighs as she curled up on herself.

  He almost let out a groan.

  He rolled facedown. The sheets irritated the burnt skin on his chest, doubling the pain. Somehow, the pain helped taking his mind off the girl. He slipped into an uncomfortable sleep, interrupted by vivid dreams.

  8

  LION

  Lion woke up before the sun made an appearance. He felt like he hadn’t slept at all.

  Pushing himself up on one elbow - favouring his left shoulder - he eyed the girl warily.

  She was sleeping in the corner, near the door. She must have been cold last night, because she’d picked up Lion’s tunic from where he’d left it and put it on. The tunic was too large and baggy for her tiny frame. There was enough room for her to tuck her knees in under. She’d also pulled her arms in, hugging herself. With her back against the corner, her face rested on her knees, a turmoil of red hair hiding her features.

  She didn’t wake up when Lion climbed out of the bed quietly. He washed his face in the sink, pulled his pants up, and slipped his shoes on. He reached abruptly and pulled his tunic off over her head. She gasped, blinked, and when her eyes found Lion looming over her, she screamed.

  Loudly.

  “Get away from…!”

  Lion lunged at her. He dropped his tunic and slapped his palm over her mouth, stifling her voice. She flailed her arms, trying to swat his hand off. Her legs kicked his chest. There wasn’t enough space between them to allow a forceful one, but one of her blows made contact with the fresh burn on his chest and sent a shot of pain.

  He hissed. He would let her go, but she was still trying to scream and Lion couldn’t allow that. After noticing they were dangerously close for accidental eye contact, he turned his head and fixed his gaze at the wall. With his free hand, he pressed a finger against his lips, indicating her to be silent.

  When she noticed the gesture, her struggle faltered. Lion’s hand was large enough to cover half her face, including her nose. She couldn’t breathe. Moving her hands slowly, as if handling a wild animal, she gripped his forearm and pushed gently.

  Lion let go, though his hand lingered nearby her face, ready to silence her again if she made another noise. She didn’t. Her breasts rose and fell when she took a deep breath. Lion could feel the fieriness of her gaze all over his face.

  After waiting for the length of three heartbeats, to make sure she wasn’t making another sound, Lion stepped back. He picked up his tunic and almost ran out of the door.

  Bloody freeborn brat, almost got him into trouble!

  He pulled the tunic over his head as he walked down the hallway. The fabric was still warm, and it smelled like the girl. He could still feel the softness and the smoothness of her skin against his hand. An abrupt groan climbed up his throat, but he managed to swallow it back down. He pressed his finger against the burn on his chest. Once again, the pain brought him back to himself.

  He went straight to the main training yard in the outer court. He took his tunic off and started stretching his muscles while waiting for Doha.

  Slaves and servants were the first ones to rise in Castle Brinescar. House slaves were pulling water from the well for the kitchens and for the baths. Kitchenhands were bringing food from the pantry. The lower kitchen of the castle was getting ready to feed the King’s more than a hundred slaves. Lion could see the smoke rising from the eastern kitchen and the keep kitchen as well, where they served the castle guards, servants and the nobility.

  Guards with tousled hair and sleepy eyes were heading to replace the night watch at the walls, watch towers and the gates. Nobody shot another glance at Lion.

  His shoulder was stiff, but it relaxed when Lion flexed it gently. The cool morning breeze soothed his burnt skin. Soon, when the sun rose high enough to warm the air and when salty sweat started running down his body, the brand would start scorching again.

  Doha arrived to the training yard a few minutes late, holding his head and grimacing in pain. “Start running,” he grunted, gesturing with his hand. He leaned against the fence circling around the training yard and kept his eyes closed.

  Lion ran laps around the yard for about half an hour. He’d never drunk alcohol enough to get a hangover, but he’d seen enough to consider himself lucky. Doubling over the fence, Doha threw up, creating an obstacle for Lion to jump over on each lap.

  The young trainer disappeared for a few minutes to wash himself up, then came back with slightly better focused eyes. Lion switched to core strength exercises under his instructions. Remembering Vanalten’s warning, Doha picked easier exercises to spare his shoulder.

  When the sun was up and mouth-watering smells were wafting from the lower kitchen, Doha instructed him to cool down. Holding a hand over his head to cover his eyes from the sun, he headed back inside without waiting for him.

  Lion went to the lower kitchen just in time for his breakfast. Caesh was already there, supervising one of the cooks who prepared Lion’s meal. Badimar was ever cautious about what went in Lion’s body. One of the trainers always supervised his meals, not just to make sure Lion got all the nutrition his muscles needed, but also to guarantee nothing else was added in them.

  Beasts getting poisoned before tournaments was not unheard of, considering the amount of money bet on those fights. Not to mention the glory they brought to their Owners.

  Lion ate his breakfast - half a chicken, bread and roasted potatoes - while Caesh kept himself busy by grabbing one of the kitchenhands’ bottom. The woman’s surprised shriek reminded Lion of the girl he’d left in his room. He hoped she’d be gone by the time he returned tonight.

  When he was nearly finished, Caesh told him that Badimar wanted to see him at the Feline Yard after breakfast. Lion stuffed the last piece of the bread in his mouth and hurried to the Feline Yard near the western walls of the castle.

  A group of beasts were doing speed and agility drills under Joharin’s instructions. Badimar was standing at the side, watching them. He was shading his eyes from the sun, same sour expression on his face as Doha.

  Lion stood beside him at the ready. Badimar didn’t look, neither did he acknowledge his presence for several minutes. He massaged his head and studied the drill with an impatient grimace on his face. He was not in a good mood this morning, though he was not in a good mood most mornings anyway.

  “You’ll go to Vanalten after lunch and get your shoulder checked,” he grunted finally.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “I assume you’ve met Lord Hosten’s female?”

  The sight of the girl’s naked body flashed in front of Lion’s eyes. “Yes, Master.”

  Badimar gritted his teeth, looking pissed, though not at Lion. “I don’t know what Lord Hosten offered King Leonis that the King didn’t already have, but he bought himself your seed.”

  Lion’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach. Luckily, Badimar’s words were neither a question nor an order, because Lion wasn’t sure if he could speak. He dreaded where this was going.

  “Vanalten checked to make sure the girl is virgin and fertile…” He curled the corner of his lips upwards. “And doesn’t carry any disease. Kiejain forbid! I still believe this is some clever plot to sabotage you out of the next tournament.”

  Still not a question, and not an order, so Lion kept quiet. His heart beat against his chest.

  “Work on her every night until she kindles with your seed.”

  Work on her, he repeated in his mind, as he replied, “Yes, Master.”

  Badimar spat. “Wait until the other nobles
get a whiff of this. They’ll keep sending their whores… Go sit down and wait for half an hour.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Lion sat down with his back against the fences. He tried to distract himself by watching the drill, but his mind was like a bee’s nest.

  Work on her…

  She was an untrained freeborn, clearly hadn’t adjusted to her new life. She didn’t seem happy with her Owner’s arrangement for her. She was going to resist.

  Lion swallowed. He would have to physically force himself on her, if she wouldn’t submit. The thought made him sick to his stomach, though he couldn’t understand why. He rarely felt anything about any of his orders. He wasn’t an individual. He was exempt from the moral values that bounded and restricted the actions of free men. He was merely a tool.

  Still, he felt like throwing up.

  He forced himself to sit straight and take steady breaths. I live to serve, I breathe to please, he repeated his training in his head. It didn’t help much.

  He watched the other beasts’ exercise with glassy eyes. Caesh and Doha had joined Joharin. They’d divided the nine beasts into three groups and were training them separately.

  Seven of the beasts were purebreds like Lion. The other two had been free warriors once. Lion would catch them staring at him often. He knew it was jealousy, though he struggled fully comprehending complex feelings. He never had to deal with any of those confusing emotions, as long as he remembered his training.

  Like the feeling he had about the girl and what he would have to do to her tonight. He couldn’t even name it. He just knew it made him want to throw up.

  I live to serve; I breathe to please. I live to serve; I breathe to please. I live to serve…

  Badimar supervised the three groups, dished out criticisms, and gave instructions to the trainers, then started setting up Lion’s exercise drill. He placed upturned cups on the ground; three in a row, ten feet away from each other, and the fourth one at the back. He buckled a wide, leather belt around Lion’s waist, attached to a rope. He held the other end of the rope while Lion took position behind the fourth cup.