Lion of Zarall

by E B Rose

  The sight stole a senseless sob out of him.

  He buried his face in her scarlet hair. His tears mixed with her blood. A wild sound between a howl and a wail rose from the back of his throat.

  He remembered.

  He remembered more than he ever did.

  He remembered how his hands felt when he hit and broke her face.

  He remembered the sound of her skull when he bashed her head in.

  He remembered how she begged and screamed and looked at him.

  He cried. Howled. Rocked her shattered body back and forth in his arms.

  In the arena, a cheerful music invited the Mid-Game actors on the stage to entertain the crowd while the stage was being cleaned. Their songs and the audience’s claps hurt Lion’s ears.

  Kastian gave an order. There were other people in the room now. Lion neither heard nor cared when they’d come in.

  Hands grabbed him. They tried to separate him from her.

  A primitive snarl exploded out of his lips. He yanked his arm free, buried his elbow in someone’s face. He wrapped his fingers around someone else’s neck. Crushed his windpipe before Sir Gwodd could yell out his First Word.

  He collapsed next to Saradra’s twisted body. Unable to turn his head away, he was forced to look at the slack angle of her broken jaw. One of her eyes was rolled back in her skull, the other was swollen and bloody.

  Tears ran down Lion’s face. A deranged scream gathered in his chest, but his paralysed throat didn’t let any sound out.

  Hands dragged him away from her, pulled him on his knees. His head lolled loosely between his shoulders. Kastian grabbed his hair and tilted his head back to face him.

  “I will say this only once,” the King said quietly. A silent anger masked his face. He looked more disturbed than pleased. Disturbed at watching what a purebred could do.

  “Fight well, die well, give them a good show, and I give you my word; I will bury your bodies together in an unmarked grave. If what they say about purebreds not having a rhoa is not true, you might even find her in Farhome.”

  I will see you in Farhome.

  Bury together. Find her in Farhome.

  Together.

  The words tore Lion’s heart in shreds.

  He almost missed the surprising tone hidden under Kastian’s words. The King was desperate. Afraid even. He was frightened of what Lion could do in the arena. What he could ignite.

  The King of Chinderia was afraid of the slave.

  Well, he had no reason to be.

  Make sure he’ll be begging to die…

  If Kastian had been a bit more perceptive, he would have known he didn’t need to cast threats anymore. But he cast them anyway.

  “If you do anything other than fighting well and dying,” Kastian snarled, pulling his lips back over his teeth. “I will defile her body in every way imaginable. I will have every single house guard fuck her corpse. Once they are done, I will rip your bastard out of her belly and feed it to my hounds. I will shred her body into pieces and dump them in every cesspit in Brinescar. And I will make you watch it all. So, you better not leave that arena breathing today.”

  Her belly…

  His First Word must have been fading. An inhuman whimper spilt from Lion’s lips. He remembered how her arms were clutched over her belly, trying to protect it from Lion’s blows.

  “Clean him up,” Kastian ordered before leaving the room.

  Sir Gwodd stayed to supervise, as a pair of slaves stepped forward with a bucket of water and a washcloth.

  A different kind of pressure was starting to build up at the back of Lion’s head.

  The slaves started washing the blood off his armour. Off his hands.

  Her blood.

  They were washing her away.

  A clump of red hair, ripped from her scalp, was stuck at the base of his palm. When one of the slaves slapped the wet cloth in his palm, wiping it clean, Lion growled frantically.

  “No! No!”

  He punched the slave’s throat. It was the old man with the weathered face.

  “Padlociatius!” yelled Sir Gwodd promptly.

  The other slave continued cleaning the blood off Lion, while the old man rolled on the floor, gasping and holding his throat.

  Sir Gwodd kicked him towards the door. “Get out!”

  Lion was vaguely aware of the old slave crawling out of the door. They’d removed Saradra’s body out of the room as well, but Lion’s eyes had spotted a bloody tooth in the midst of the blood-stained sand.

  The pressure at the back of his head grew heavier.

  The Mid-Game actors had finished their show. The announcer started his final speech. The spectators stomped their feet in excitement.

  Lion was aware of everything around him, but in a disconnected way. Almost as if watching himself from outside his body. His thoughts were being crushed under a fierce headache. His First Word had faded, but no further sound came out of him. Still on his knees, he slumped in on himself.

  Now that his hands were free of the blood, Lion was just noticing the scratches.

  Saradra had torn half the skin off his forearms. Her teeth had left deep marks in one of his hands.

  She’d fought. She’d fought like the fighter she was.

  Still, it hadn’t been enough.

  Lion took his head between his hands. The pressure inside his skull was unbearable. The headache throbbed violently. Hot tears burnt his face.

  The announcer was introducing the competitors now. Everyone else had left the room. It was just Sir Gwodd and Lion.

  The knight threw a shield, a Lor’Kas, and the lion mask in front of him. “Remember what the king said,” Sir Gwodd hissed. “Fight well, die well, and give them a good show…”

  Then, they could be buried together.

  Together.

  He let out a strangled breath.

  The double gates of the arena were pulled open. Hungry shouts of the spectators filled the waiting room. The sunlight painted the blood-marked sand in fire.

  Lion slipped the mask on. He picked up the shield and the sword, pulled himself up on his feet, and walked out into the Switchblade Arena for the last time.

  23

  LION

  Fight well. Die well. Give them a good show.

  Laswen was on his Kill Word. He sprung out of his gate on a dead run. His face was distorted in fury. Stripped of any emotion. Nothing human. A purebred beast.

  Was this what Skullsworn had seen when he fought Lion at this arena? His last words still rang in Lion’s head: I will see you in Farhome.

  Was this what those Vogros men and Zarall traitors had seen when the mage unleashed Lion on them?

  Was this what she’d seen before she died?

  Lion stepped aside to avoid Laswen’s first attack. Although he didn’t mind greeting the blow with his neck, this wasn’t what his Owner wanted to see.

  Fight well.

  His orders rang in his mind.

  Get it done, Badimar had ordered before Lion took Saradra in his arms for the first time. The warmth of her body as they snuggled in his tiny bed was slipping out of his memories already, as if a lifetime had passed.

  His head throbbed painfully.

  Lion blocked the next attack with his shield and swung his Lor’Kas at Laswen’s side. He jumped back and brought his sword down to meet his. Lion withdrew, raising his shield up.

  Fight well.

  Fighting well came natural to him. It was more than that. His body craved for it. It acted on its own. A primitive hatred boiled out of his insides.

  Give them a good show.

  He set himself free and fought. A weight pressed down on the crown of his head, smothering his thoughts. Corrupting them.

  Laswen was good. In his berserk state, he acted without thought. There was no hesitation, no fear, just pure instinct. But this was not a simple battle fever.

  His eyes saw everything; he saw how Lion shifted his foot slightly before starting a counterattack. He
saw how Lion ducked his head between his shoulders before raising his shield up.

  He perceived everything, yet he didn’t waste any time to analyse any of this information in his mind. His body did that for him. It was almost like his senses and his muscles had kicked his mind out from between them and joined hands.

  This was why the Kill Word was so powerful. What made a slave human was temporarily out of the playground.

  Die well.

  It was time to pick the strike that would end Lion’s life. He decided the next blow would be as good as any.

  He compelled himself to stand still and take it, but his body slid to the side and his sword came hard against Laswen’s, costing him his balance. Laswen recovered in the same second and launched another attack.

  Die well.

  This one. This one was going to be the strike to kill him.

  The intensity of the headache almost blinded Lion. His head felt like a boiling kettle, filled to the brim, with its lid shut tightly. It was seconds away from exploding.

  Stand still and die well.

  He stood still, but his arm raised his shield up, deflecting the attack. Then his Lor’Kas lunged forward like a snake and gave Laswen a gaping slash on his upper thigh.

  An unstoppable chuckle climbed out of Lion’s throat.

  The kettle that was his head didn’t explode. It snapped.

  The headache disappeared with a pop and a puff. Lion almost heard the sound of something tearing.

  Of course, Laswen didn’t even notice his wound, but the sight of the first blood flipped the crowd’s lid. They screamed in unison.

  Give them a good show.

  Lion laughed harder as he parried Laswen’s next strike.

  He will defile her body.

  That was the threat Kastian had thought would convince Lion to obey. His head felt light and fuzzy now. Tears ran down his face, though he continued laughing.

  She was dead.

  She was gone.

  He’d killed her.

  Laswen hurled a series of attacks and each one elicited another giggle from Lion. He met them all and followed up with his own sequence.

  He’d killed her. And now, Kastian was going to…

  Screaming something between a taunt and a laugh, Lion slashed inside Laswen’s upper arm. Blood spurted at his breastplate. This wound had killed him, he just didn’t know it yet.

  “Come on!” Lion yelled; his voice buried under the crowd’s wild cheers. “Make me bleed!”

  His rival’s taunts didn’t reach Laswen’s ears, nor his wound give him any concern. Any other fighter would have shown a flash of emotion after taking a deadly injury, but not a beast high on his Kill Word.

  Laswen feigned a blow to Lion’s left and sucker punched him with his shield.

  A sharp pain and the taste of blood inside his mouth told Lion he’d gotten what he wanted. He grinned. “That’s it!” he chirped, deflecting a testing blow. “Make me bleed! Make me bleed! Come on!”

  Laswen moved in and Lion swung his Lor’Kas to parry the next blow.

  He’d killed Saradra.

  No, Kastian had killed Saradra.

  They had killed Saradra?

  He cackled. If there was one thing he was sure of, was that Sir Gwodd hadn’t killed Saradra.

  He laughed so hard; he almost got his head detached from his shoulders.

  “He’s gonna defile her body, you know that?” Lion enquired to his fellow beast. “That’s what he said. He’s gonna cut her… He’s gonna…”

  A wild laughter strangled the rest of his words. Tears blurred his sight. Laswen stepped in with a feign again. Lion raised his sword and Laswen dropped his, pivoting and attacking from the other side. He landed a nice, clean slash on Lion’s left thigh. Blood gushed down his knee.

  “Attaboy!” Lion cheered, raising both arms up in celebration. The crowd shared his joy.

  “Who’s your favourite Owner, Laswen?” Lion babbled. He stumbled backwards while noticing Laswen’s movements had slowed down too. The wound inside Laswen’s upper arm had painted his breastplate in red and he was struggling to lift his shield up.

  “They never found my map,” Lion laughed. “Why did she have to look under my bed?”

  His face still twisted in a mindless fury, Laswen stepped forward, initiating another series of attacks. Lion greeted them clumsily.

  “What’s under your bed, Laswen?” Lion wondered. He stepped back and pointed a finger at him. “Wait. Do you have a bed?”

  He dropped on his haunches and chuckled as Laswen nearly took his head.

  “Come on, Beast!” Lion yelled, stretching his arms at his sides. “You gotta finish me off, mate. Or he’s gonna defi…” Another giggle swallowed the word. “He’s gonna def…” Nope. He didn’t know what was so hilarious about that word, but he couldn’t get it out.

  Laswen, still completely indifferent to his wound, forced him to retreat against a series of quick moves. Lion’s leg hindered him and he fell backwards.

  That’s it, he thought frantically, watching Laswen raise his sword over his head.

  Die well.

  He didn’t even have to do anything but lie still and it would all go away within seconds. Then, he swung his shield from left to right and nudged Laswen sword aside. He reached for his Lor’Kas, but Laswen kicked it away.

  Die well. Lie still.

  Bury together.

  I will see you in Farhome.

  Lion’s body wasn’t listening.

  Laswen threw his shield and grasped his sword with both hands. The next blow almost broke Lion’s arm as he blocked it with his shield. He felt the violent tremors spreading from the shield all the way up to his teeth. His fingers curled around a handful of sand. When Laswen raised his sword again, Lion threw it at his face.

  A cheap shot maybe, but no cheaper than releasing a bear against a naked slave with no weapons, and then shooting an arrow at him.

  Lion lunged forward and jammed the edge of the shield against Laswen’s kneecap. Without a single scream or a grunt, Laswen stumbled backwards, blinking the sand from his eyes. Lion didn’t pause to see if he’d broken his rival’s knee or not. He rolled sideways and leapt up on his feet.

  Laswen stood - barely - between Lion and his Lor’Kas. He hopped on his good leg, trying to find his balance. He was almost done. Even the crowd knew this; they were demanding Lion to finish him off.

  When he imagined how Vogroses would be watching this right now, Lion couldn’t contain another chuckle. He wondered if Kastian was secretly hoping Lion would lose at the last second, just to make it a bit more dramatic.

  “You have to kill me,” Lion begged. “Fight! Even she put up a better fight than you!” He lifted his free arm to show the scratch and bite marks Saradra had left.

  Laswen stumbled on one leg. A mindless fury was still etched on his face. He blinked at Lion’s arm with unseeing eyes.

  With a scream, Lion charged behind his shield. He knocked Laswen on his back, straddled him, and bashed his face with the shield.

  The crowd had already started cheering for ‘Lion’. That name Kastian had been trying to bury was being heard amongst the cheers as well.

  Lion threw his shield and picked up his Lor’Kas. Then he grabbed Laswen by the scruff of his neck and dragged him towards the balcony where Kastian and his family were sitting.

  Demands of death filled the arena. Lion glanced at the armed men positioned on the outer walls of the arena. Some of them had their bows aimed at Lion, but he knew they weren’t going to shoot. He didn’t care if they did anyway. But if they’d stripped the crowd off their champion, Kastian was going to have to deal with a lot more than the embarrassment of losing against Lion of Zarall for a second time.

  He dropped Laswen underneath the balcony. Kastian was watching him with a tight mouth. Even from a distance Lion could see Kastian’s knuckles were drained white as he grasped the arms of his chair tightly. His Queen displayed a forced smile on her face. Sitting next t
o his mother, Prince Dienus’s face had turned an ugly tone of red. Prince Lotheris on the other side was better at hiding his anger. Their half-witted Princess’s chair was empty like it had been at every feast.

  They hadn’t invited any guests or lords to sit with them today. Just the Vogros family, enjoying a pleasant day in the arena.

  Laswen started blinking and moaning. His nose was broken. Blood flooded all over his face. He turned on his side and vomited.

  “You fought well, Beast,” Lion said, still grinning at Kastian. “Stay down and I’ll see you in Farhome.”

  Laswen looked around, disoriented. His Kill Word was fading and he started groaning from his injuries now.

  Lion kicked him on his back and stared at Kastian expectantly.

  Grudgingly, Kastian raised his fist and turned his thumb upside down, signalling Lion to finish the fight.

  The spectators roared their appreciation.

  A grin ghosted Lion’s lips. He raised his Lor’Kas over his head. His blood rushed with the same unruly energy that possessed the crowd. He craved for blood. Death was what he’d been bred for, raised for, trained for. Death was his sustenance. It was the only purpose of his miserable life.

  Victory dissolved like ash in his mouth.

  He threw his weapon aside.

  Consumed by his injuries and on the brink of unconsciousness, Laswen didn’t even realise Lion had spared his life.

  Although half of the audience sighed their disappointment, majority of them found humour in Lion’s disobedience. Kastian’s face turned a glorious red.

  Lion stepped closer to the balcony and without even thinking what he was doing, he took his member out of his pants and started pissing right beneath where the King sat.

  Kastian was so going to castrate him for this!

  The thought hurled him into an uncontrolled laughter. The crowd howled with him. He laughed so hard, tears flowed down his cheeks and his aim started to become an issue. With every burst of laughter, the dark patterns on the sand became more intricate.

  Oh, Kastian was going to defile his member for this.

  He doubled over, holding his stomach and wiping the tears off his face as he yanked his pants back up. His ribs hurt from laughing. His chest hurt even more. He wanted to cut his ribcage open and rip his heart out.