Lion of Zarall

by E B Rose

  Three days break from pain and misery? Fantastic!

  Two house slaves put Lion in a plain tunic and pants with Vogros’s bear embedded on the heart. The bear reminded him of Marzul, which led to the last thing he’d remembered: There was a riot in the arena.

  Oh, merciful gods and dragons, he was in so much trouble.

  The head physician pressed a cup against his lips and Lion drank, looking forward to escape to the promised three days sleep.

  With Karhad’s gesture, two guards appeared and dragged Lion out of the bed. He tried and failed to suppress a scream when one of them grabbed his arm by the arrow wound.

  “Quiet,” the guard snarled and punched his midsection, which elicited a louder cry when it connected with his other wound.

  “Stop it!” scolded Karhad. “They want him conscious, dimwit.”

  “I apologize, Master Karhad,” the guard said sullenly. He moved his hands away from the arrow wound, but his fingers tightened like clamps.

  They took him to a section of the castle he’d never been before. The halls of the King’s living quarters were full of armed soldiers. Some were ordinary castle guards in Vogros uniforms, while others were knights in polished armour. They glared at the Lion of Zarall with open distrust and hostility.

  A familiar face amongst them caused Lion to look twice.

  Sir Gennald!

  The knight who’d been assigned to protect Lion on many public events and feasts stared back at him. He looked comfortable in his bear-engraved new armour. He’d switched sides!

  Sir Gennald frowned at him until Lion was forced to look away. He wasn’t in a position to judge a free man for his choices. He had enough problems.

  The number of Vogros knights increased as they approached to the door at the end of a hall. Arguing voices sounded behind the door.

  One of the four knights guarding the door stepped forward. He had short, black hair, a trimmed beard, and a missing ear. “We’ll take it from here,” he said, placing a firm hand on one of the guard’s chest.

  If the guard was annoyed or offended at this take over, he didn’t show. “Yes, Sir Gwodd,” he said without a hint of resentment.

  Sir Gwodd motioned two of his knights to take the guards’ places. When he knocked on the door, the arguments behind it ceased as if cut by a knife.

  “Master Karhad and the slave are here, Your Majesty,” Sir Gwodd said, sticking his head inside.

  “Send them in.”

  Sir Gwodd stepped back to let Karhad pass. Two knights followed after him, with Lion between them.

  This was the King’s private library and study. Shelves full of books covered the walls. There were several tables and chairs, but no one was seated.

  Less than ten people had crammed the room, all too tense and uneasy to sit. Lion recognized Kastian’s family from the feast. His short-haired queen was standing in a corner. Two princes were frowning at Lion from where they stood. The others were the advisors, high lords, and other important figures whose duties Lion neither knew nor cared for. They all were piercing him with unfriendly eyes.

  The two knights dropped Lion in the middle of the room. He fell on his knees and bent over, his forehead on the cold surface and hands on both sides. Not that he’d hoped grovelling would lessen his punishment. He simply didn’t have the strength to sit up.

  The silence continued, stripping him of any hope he’d had for a peaceful death.

  “Well,” the older prince broke the silence by stating what Lion already knew: “He has to die, that’s for sure.”

  “I agree with my brother,” said the younger. “Your Majesty, say the word, and I will make arrangements for his public torture and execution.”

  Lion’s stomach twisted.

  “Your Highness, with all due respect,” started a rusty voice. An old man in silk clothes. “A public execution at this stage will only agitate the riots even further.”

  “Fine. Then we kill him in the dungeons.”

  “I advise against that as well, Prince Dienus. If the public finds out how we murdered the Lion of Zarall for no reason other than fighting and winning in the arena, this will anger them even more, not to mention making House Vogros look insecure.”

  “He has to go down in the arena,” the Queen spoke.

  “Your Majesty is right.”

  “But we can’t risk allowing thousands of people getting together in the arena again,” said a large man in a velvet suit. “That would be begging for another riot.”

  “Lord Klaren is right,” the older prince said. “People are already fuelled, looking for a single spark. If the slave doesn’t go down exactly the way he should go down…” He didn’t finish it and nobody asked him to.

  “Girl, give him some water, will you?” the Queen mumbled to someone and Lion heard a hint of foreign accent in those last two words. The Queen wasn’t a Chinderian, then.

  Someone shuffled their feet softly. Water splashed in a cup.

  “Then we’ll order him to go down,” Prince Dienus continued the discussion.

  “And what do you suggest we do if he decides to disobey orders once he’s out in the arena?”

  A gentle hand touched Lion’s shoulder and helped him to sit up. He recognized her scent before even seeing her face.

  His heart stopped.

  He remembered the tale of Elrimandel and Galeahil; how their first sight had stopped the time, filled their ears with sacred music, and their bodies with pleasure and devastation at the same time. Although those things hadn’t happened to him the first time he’d seen Saradra, they happened now.

  The room disappeared with everyone in it. His physical pain went away. This moment was the only time that existed in the universe; there was no past, no future; just this moment and them in it.

  She’s alive, was the only thought he had. Thank the Riders twelve times, she’s alive.

  Her red hair was tied in a tight bun. She looked healthy and unharmed, but her expression was cold. No, not cold. Cautious. She didn’t look at him, she didn’t smile, she didn’t show any indication that she knew him. There were eyes on them and any communication between them, verbal or nonverbal, would not go unnoticed.

  Lion managed to keep his face still. He should have followed her example and stopped looking at her, but his eyes betrayed him by savouring her beautiful face just a couple seconds longer.

  When he’d think about this day in the future, he’d understand that it was those seconds that condemned them to their fate.

  “Disobey?” the younger brother retorted. Everyone else in the room seemed oblivious to their temporary disappearance from the universe - everyone except one pair of eyes, as Lion would understand soon. “He won’t disobey. He’s a purebred!”

  “He killed free men under suspicious circumstances. What if he disobeys? We can’t take the risk!”

  As the argument heated up, Saradra held an earthen cup to Lion’s lips. He drank, not really tasting the water despite his thirst. He’d give his right arm just to embrace her one last time. Breathe her in, kiss her lips, or even just to touch her.

  As if sensing his longing, she shifted a little bit closer, until their knees almost touched. Lion moved his hand slightly forward and stroked her leg with the back of a finger.

  “Lotheris is right,” King Kastian spoke for the first time. “The slave has lied, killed, and I suspect he also attempted to escape before. I cannot rely on his obedience.”

  “We can drug him or injure him before the fight?” someone suggested. “It’s not something that hasn’t been done before.”

  “If the public sniffs a ploy, the repercussion will be even worse than before,” the old man in silk clothes objected.

  Saradra took the empty cup and withdrew to the back of the room. Although Lion’s eyes yearned to follow her, he closed them shut and bent over again.

  He’d welcome death with peace, now that he knew she was alive. That he hadn’t killed her.

  “Then we’ll wait out until peop
le forget about him,” Prince Lotheris suggested. “We can send him to the mines to rot.”

  “No, no, no, Your Highness,” the old man objected again. “We can’t risk anyone who has a remote claim to the throne getting their hands on him.”

  “What claim? There is no one left to claim the throne. Lord Thansor? He’s married to a third degree Zarall, barely even blood related. Lord Matthor is not rich enough to build an army, nor bribe allies. Anyone with the name Zarall is dead.”

  “Except him.”

  The prince scoffed. “Come now, Master Ulrian. What do you imply? Those idiots who call themselves public would prefer seeing a slave sitting on the throne rather than my father, just because he is called the Lion of Zarall? Is that it?”

  “No, Your Highness. What I imply is, you have to understand, this slave has become a symbol in the public’s eyes now. We kill him, we turn him into a martyr. We lose him, anyone who isn’t even related to Zaralls might use him to rally people behind their cause. That genius who shot that arrow at him has made him a hero who defeated a full-grown bear, unarmed, injured, and naked. Now we have to deal with this mess carefully before…” He stopped when the door opened and a pair of timid feet walked in.

  “Daddy?”

  A small figure ran through the room.

  Lion shifted his head, expecting to see a little girl, but found a mature woman of sixteen years, snuggling in Kastian’s arms.

  The King’s face softened instantly. He caressed the girl’s - woman’s - dark hair gently. “Lareani,” he said with a firm but tender voice. “What are you doing here? You should be in bed.”

  “I see triangles,” the woman said in a flat voice. She buried her head in Kastian’s shoulder, refusing to release her hands.

  “Where is Min?”

  “Triangles are pink.”

  A mixture of love and devastation etched on Kastian’s face. “You shook her off again, huh?”

  “Come on, sweetie,” the Queen stepped forward, untangling Lareani’s hands off the King. “Your daddy is in a meeting now. You should go back to bed.”

  Lareani looked around at the room, blinking her eyes. Her lips trembled, and she started singing a nursery rhyme quietly: “It’s raining, it’s snowing, rainbow winds are blowing…”

  The Queen curled a finger at Saradra. “Take her to her room and make sure she doesn’t leave her bed.”

  “Yes, Owner.” Saradra slid a hand through Lareani’s elbow and led the little girl who was trapped in a young woman’s body outside. The joyless nursery rhyme faded behind the doors.

  No one in the room dared breaking the silence to pick up the argument where it was left off. Kastian walked over to the bar and poured himself a glass of wine.

  “Until the name Zarall and anything symbolizing them is completely destroyed, my family’s claim on the throne will not be secure,” the King declared after drinking half the cup in one gulp. He sat on one of the armchairs, leaning back and extending his feet. “Now, my advisers, advise me. How do I destroy this symbol without causing any more damage?” He pointed in Lion’s direction with his half-empty cup.

  The old man - Master Ulrian - cleared his throat. “I believe Queen Inoeveth is right, Your Majesty. The slave has to go down in the arena. But we have to make sure it is a good fight. A fair fight. And we have to make sure he goes down, indeed.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “I think I know how,” Queen Inoeveth said. She crossed her arms, gazing at Lion with a slight curiosity. “We’ll make sure he’ll be begging to die by the time he walks out in the arena.”

  More torture. Great.

  A sudden dizziness swept over Lion. His muscles lost all their strength and he fell on his side. A soft and fuzzy cloud pressed down on his mind, inviting him to sleep.

  “We had to give him something to keep him up,” Master Karhad explained apologetically. “His injuries…”

  The rest of his words were drowned under the cloud of sleepiness. Lion accepted the invitation without a hesitation and escaped into the darkness, leaving them to argue and decide on his fate.

  19

  LION

  It was the old slave with the weathered face who brought him his armour.

  Although he didn’t look or say anything, his presence gave Lion comfort before the fight. Everything was almost as it used to be before Vogroses took over.

  Almost.

  It had been two months since Lion had killed Marzul at the Switchblade Arena. Kastian had tasked his head physician with making sure Lion recovered fully and quickly. The wounds had healed, but left scars. The torture and the beatings had stopped. He was given a new room in the upper keep; its door was kept locked and guarded by two Vogros knights at all times.

  He was fed regularly, and he was even allowed to train several times. There had been quite a large number of spectators every time he’d trained; high lords and some influential public figures. Vogroses were putting up a show to convince people that this was going to be a fair fight.

  It sure seemed that way. He was wearing an armour. He was not injured, nor drugged. He was even expecting to receive a weapon before he walked out into the arena.

  Still, a sense of foreboding tugged at the back of his head.

  Make sure he’ll be begging to die… The Queen’s words rang in his head. Nothing they’d done so far convinced him to do that.

  Yet.

  Kastian had given a feast last night, as was custom before a tournament, and had introduced Lion and his rival to his guests. Lion hadn’t been in a cage this time, neither was his rival.

  Standing on the pedestal across from Lion’s, had towered a giant of a man, bigger and wider than him. A purebred as his tattoo had indicated. He’d been wearing a bear’s pelt on his back and a heavy armour that made Lion’s look like a tin box.

  The King had announced his name as Laswen; nothing too confident, like Lion Killer or Super Bear. They were playing it safe this time.

  Based on the way they’d spent more time around him than Lion, the guests had seemed impressed by Laswen. Even Lion was apprehensive. And curious to see how he was going to fight.

  The old slave with the weathered face stepped back when he was done.

  “This way,” grunted the guard who’d been waiting by the door.

  Lion wanted to say something to the old slave, something to acknowledge him. Or maybe he just wanted to say goodbye to someone, but he couldn’t think of how to word it. So, he just stood up and followed the guard without a glance back.

  Walking past these halls reminded him of the last time he’d walked with Badimar. He looked down to see the marks the guard’s feet had left on the red sands. This image, like the old slave’s presence, was another thing that prepared Lion for the fight.

  He’d heard that Badimar, Doha, and Caesh had made an escape from the dungeons, with the help of some of the beasts. For reasons he couldn’t point out, Lion suspected that Hopper was amongst them. Kastian’s men were now hunting them throughout the country. Lion hoped Badimar and the others gave them plenty of headache.

  Sir Gwodd, the captain of the knights, was guarding the door leading into the waiting room underneath the arena. His presence only meant one thing; King Kastian was inside.

  Lion’s stomach twisted in worry. He wasn’t expecting this to be a fair fight, not really. Kastian was here to ensure Laswen’s victory.

  Make sure he’ll be begging to die…

  Lion didn’t need any intervention to lose this fight. He was at peace with his death. He had no intention of becoming the source of all the King’s problems. He just had to convince Kastian of that. He had to…

  The knight opened the door for him and Lion’s heart skipped a beat.

  No. Not this. Please.

  Saradra was standing in the middle of the room. Lion felt a stab at his heart when he saw her belly bulging under her dress. She had her head down and hands together, face blank and neutral like a well-trained slave, but Lion could see th
at she was trembling.

  Kastian was leaning against the back wall of the room. A grin split his face as he took in Lion’s reaction.

  After closing the door behind him, Sir Gwodd took his stance next to the King.

  Lion’s mouth formed a grim line. Dispelling all traces of emotion from his face, he lowered his head down. He brought his hands together, but that didn’t stop their shaking.

  Why was she here? Why?

  You know why, a small voice at the back of his head answered.

  He swallowed.

  Make sure he’ll be begging to die…

  “I already know you two have feelings for each other, so you can stop pretending like you don’t know one another,” Kastian spoke after watching them for several minutes. “Though I can’t understand how a purebred slave can feel anything in the first place.”

  Lion didn’t raise his head. If Saradra - and what was growing inside her belly - had any chance at all to survive this, it lied in hiding how much Lion felt for her.

  Saradra must have been thinking the same thing, as she didn’t raise her head either.

  “I am giving you both permission to speak to each other, or hug, or do whatever you want for the next five minutes.”

  When the two slaves still didn’t make any move, Kastian took a deep breath. He didn’t smile, didn’t even give any indication that he enjoyed this. “I have already decided to kill you both. Pretending like you don’t know each other won’t change my mind. I wouldn’t waste your last five minutes together if I were you.”

  Lion looked at him. He looked directly in Kastian’s poison green eyes, and for the first time since his childhood, he begged: “Owner, please. Please, don’t do this.”

  Kastian’s face turned harder, but he didn’t reply.

  Hearing Lion’s voice set something off in Saradra and she started shaking more violently. Lion couldn’t bear seeing her like this, so he pulled her in his arms and hugged her tightly. Whatever resources she’d been using to keep herself together dissolved in Lion’s arms and she broke into tears.

  “My older brother had a slave,” Kastian started telling. “A purebred. Dinky, he used to call him. He was a beast, like you. A birthday present for Eltian’s seventh birthday.”