by Jeff Gunzel
Milo held Jarlen’s silent gaze a moment longer before a tight-lipped smile turned up the corners of his mouth. With a most subtle gesture, his hand lowered slightly towards the iron gate on the far side. His smile widened as the screeching squeal of rusty gears rang out. The gate was rising for a second time.
Jarlen grimaced, unable to hide his frustration. Once again he would be used as a tool, a low form of barbaric entertainment for these soft, weak-minded humans. In the wilds he was practically a god, but his physical gifts meant nothing in this closed-off world. He was a freak, and would always be forced to display his might in a never-ending show of bloodshed. This was his reality.
It won’t always be this way. Once I gain my freedom, taking your head will be my first order of business, King Milo. He turned away from the smirking king and headed back to the center of the arena. Clapping broke through the silence from a single man who may have had a bit too much wine. Despite all those around him looking on in stunned awe, clearly he was ready for more. Jarlen raised his sword in silent salute, prompting others to join in. Although the ovation was nothing like the first time around, men and women were sounding their approval. It was time to see this man...or whatever he was...get tested once more.
Just as the ovation was picking up momentum, a sharp roar from the black tunnel silenced them all. Jarlen watched the enormous outline appear through the darkness, swaying side to side until it came into full view. The stony klashton sniffed the air, jet-black eyes appearing to glisten in the sunlight. It had long, heavy chains attached to a single collar around its neck. Soldiers with their lion-head helmets yanked and pulled at them while trying to guide it along.
Wasting no time waiting for them to unlock the chains, Jarlen charged forward with a savage roar. Tired of this endless game, he would seize the initiative. Seeing him coming, the giant jerked one of the chains, sending a soldier flying through the air. He smacked against the side wall with a crack, leaving a wet trail as he slid down to the sand below. Armor badly crumpled from the impact, the body just lay there leaking like a water skin with a hole in it. The other soldiers abandoned their chains and ran back into the tunnel. They had seen enough and wanted no part of this.
The klashton circled the free chain around the top of its head, bringing it down as Jarlen blazed up to him. Impossibly, Jarlen brought all his momentum to a sudden halt, allowing the chain to crash into the sand right at his toes. Missing his nose by inches, the impact threw a cloud of dry sand into the air.
As fast as he had stopped, Jarlen dashed forward again. With all his speed returning within two steps, he slid right between the beast’s legs and slashed out as he skidded through. The old, rusty blade snapped on impact, cracking like a twig against the klashton’s rock-hard inner thigh. Not missing a beat, Jarlen rolled once and sprung back to his feet, heading right for the wall for the second time. Folks up top scattered in all directions. He had already proven he could leap out of the pit any time he chose to, and none would wait around to see if he would actually try it.
He hit the wall and sprang off, his body mutating in midair. Flesh melted apart in dark strips. The caws of black birds squawking echoed about as the living black funnel spun towards the giant. The klashton paused as the mini tornado blurred towards its face. With a thunderous crash, it slammed its open hands together, crushing the funnel much like catching a fly.
The crowd gasped, then complete silence followed. They watched on in stunned awe as the beast sniffed around its clasped hands, black feathers fluttering down to the sand below. Bringing his hands up to his face, he slowly opened them, determined to make a meal out of the remains of this annoying little insect.
Peeking at what should have been a tasty paste, the klashton’s whole body suddenly shuddered. Several in the audience turned away, more than one emptying their stomach. Legs straddling one of the giant’s open palms, Jarlen sat unharmed.
A long blade penetrated the beast’s eye, jutting out from the back of its head. The blade slowly began to recoil with a wet slurping sound, melting back into flesh. Within seconds it shifted back into the form of Jarlen’s arm. He leapt down as the dead beast tumbled to the side.
Wiping the blood from his arm on his pants, Jarlen gazed up at the stunned faces of the crowd. They had heard he was special, had heard he was unmatched in combat, but none of them ever imagined his unarmed body could actually shift into a weapon.
The king rose from his seat and gestured down to the clear victor. He began clapping, which helped snap the spectators from their bewildered trance. Others joined in, cheering one of the most amazing spectacles they’d ever seen. There was little doubt that word of what they had witnessed this day would spread, and others would simply have to see this demon in action. Not only was King Milo certain of this, he was counting on it. Most likely he would charge double at the next event, and possibly double again after that. The opportunities for profit were endless.
Milo turned to his queen. “And that, my dear, is how to exploit a thing,” he said smugly. “A farmer breaks his back in the fields but is still rewarded with a modest profit. Servants are provided with food and shelter for their meager, although essential services. But him? I put his life at risk whenever I feel like for the sake of my own personal gain. Even a common animal has more status than that. A man, you say? It doesn’t even have the ability to speak. No, I assure you that thing is not a man. That thing is my property to do with as I wish.”
Bella frowned up at her husband, her hands clapping methodically as she went through the motions. What could she say? Everything he had said was true. Well, nearly everything...
Jarlen watched the king, his back exposed as he spoke down to his wife. It was like waving raw meat in front of a starving wolf. Every survival instinct within him screamed with warning, but in the end, the temptation was too great. A single step became ten in a flash, yet seconds felt like minutes as he charged the wall at full speed. He leapt, his body melting into a funnel of black as he whirled up towards the royal canopy. If I can just reach...
The horrified gasp from the crowd barely registered in his ears. It was all but a distant dream that meant nothing in the here and now. Levitating just above eye level, he came out of his spin, arms melting into solid blades as he hovered over his prey like a vulture. The king turned, glancing over his shoulder with a disinterested look. Diovok pulled a hand from his sleeve and gestured with an unhurried wave.
Instantly, searing pain exploded through Jarlen’s body. Nearly paralyzed, he plummeted to the ground, bouncing twice off the sand. His hips rose as his back arched, his head thrashing back and forth with uncontrollable spasms. Every muscle in his body screamed, with white-hot pain flaring through his veins as if he were on fire. Soundlessly, his mouth gaped wide open, the agony so great he couldn’t even scream.
Diovok glanced down at his king expectantly. With a word, he would release Jarlen from the torturous effects of the collar. As of yet, he had received no such command. Milo rested his chin in his hand, looking down at the thrashing creature with a bored expression. He drummed his fingers across his chair’s arm, then stifled a yawn with the other hand.
“You’ve made your point!” said Bella, her eyes darting from her husband down to the suffering man writhing in the sand.
“He tried to kill me,” Milo stated, indifferent to it all. “A lesson must be learned.”
“You were never in any danger,” she retorted, her tone growing urgent. “Your safeguards were always in place.” She turned back to Diovok. “Release him,” she ordered. The shaman ignored her command, his face hidden behind the mask so she couldn’t even read his expression. “I said release him,” she repeated, more forcefully this time.
“He knows who his king is,” Milo said dryly, as if that were the only explanation required. Bella began to rock anxiously in her seat, knuckles turning white while gripping the arms of her seat. With a disgusted roll of his eyes, the king gestured down towards the tortured soul. His shaman raised
a gloved hand.
Jarlen gasped as if his head had been held underwater this whole time. Now that his lungs were finally able to draw air, he let out a savage, primal wail. It was unclear if he was even conscious at this point, or if his half-dead body was just reacting to such extended torment.
“Secure the beast,” Milo said to one of his advisors. “And begin sending the people back to their wagons. I’m sure they got their money’s worth today. It’s high time we returned to the city.”
“And what of him?” said the little bald man, pointing down below. “Once he’s secured, should we chain him back in the tunnel?”
The king rubbed his chin, considering. “No,” he said at length. “There won’t be another event for at least a few more weeks. Bring him back with the caravan and put him in the keep’s dungeon. I don’t need my prize escaping or starving to death.” He turned to the queen. “Are you ready, my dear?” He held out his bent arm. With frost in her eyes, she nodded, eventually slipping her hand through the crook of his arm.
The king glanced over the side one last time. He watched as soldiers hoisted the unconscious body off the sand and began wrapping him with restrictive bindings. Others scrambled over, holding chains and a set of locks. Grinning with satisfaction, he led Bella. It was only a short way back to the city from here. They would be back in the keep within the hour.
* * *
Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their crystal pieces glistening like icicles as they reflected the flickering light from the spice-scented oil lamps. King Milo’s silverware clinked against the bottom of his plate again and again as he carved away at his stuffed pigeon. Bella sat at the far end of the table, quietly stabbing a fork at the olives surrounding her own bird.
A servant girl entered the silent room from a side door, pitcher in hand. She stepped up near Bella and began topping off her mostly full goblet. The sound of trickling wine nearly echoed in the total silence. Unnerved by the hushed atmosphere, she quickly moved to the other side of the table and began filling Milo’s. Nearly empty, his goblet was in much greater need of refilling.
“What took you so long?” he asked, boldly slipping his hand around her waist. The young girl of fifteen or so showed no particular reaction to the more-than-casual touch. With a tug, he spun her down into his lap. With a yelp, she juggled the pitcher before managing to grip it with both hands. A bit still sloshed out, luckily only spotting her own dress. “Indeed, it is bad manners to keep a king waiting for his drink,” King Milo scolded. His hand moved up the side of her leg, lifting her dress to expose even more leg. “I find that I have a hard time controlling myself when I’m thirsty,” he whispered in her ear, his bristly mustache tickling the side of her neck.
Bella slammed her goblet down, red wine sloshing up over the lip.
“Oh, let me get that for you!” said the girl, leaning forward to try and go clean the minor spill. She saw it more as an opportunity to escape the frisky king than a chore that needed doing. But Milo simply tightened his grip around her waist.
“That’s quite all right, Gwen,” said Bella in a cold voice, her frosty glare fixed on the young girl. “If you would excuse the king and I, the two of us must discuss business matters regarding the city.”
“Yes, my lady,” the servant replied, leaping off the king’s lap. After a clumsy curtsy, she nearly ran from the room.
Milo raised his goblet, draining it in a single gulp. “Matters of the city, you say?” he grunted, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “If you were trying to prevent me from a touch of harmless flirting, then surely you could do better than that?”
“Who you bed aside from your own wife is your business,” she hissed. “I have no say in such trivial matters, nor do I care. You are the king, after all, and can do as you wish.”
“And you would do well to remember that,” he growled back, stabbing his fork into a bit of meat from his half-eaten pigeon. “My first two wives made a similar mistake in overstepping their bounds. As you know, they are no longer among us.”
“And neither is your third wife, if memory serves,” Bella boldly retorted. Immediately recognizing her mistake, her face paled, wishing she could take it back.
Milo slammed his fists down, sending his goblet spinning over the edge of the table. “Don’t you ever speak of Nuovis in my presence again!” he seethed. “I loved that woman with all my heart. Had that plague not taken her from me, I would still be holding her in my arms! I would happily hand you over to the gods if only to see her one last time.”
Bella sighed, hands clasped together on the table. “So you’ve told me,” she said in a quiet voice. “But none of this has anything to do with why I sent the girl away.”
“Oh, yes, ‘matters of the city,’” he mocked, rising from his seat.
“Have you any idea how many towns and cities have been attacked in recent weeks?” she asked, ignoring his sarcasm. “How long do you plan to wait before making preparations? My lord, a defensive strategy must be—”
“Bah,” he grunted, wiping his mouth with a cloth and throwing it down on his plate. “You seem to forget that I have seen all the same reports. Whatever these creatures are, they have yet to wipe out a single city. Their pattern is obvious, and I’m telling you there is nothing to fear. I’ve already taken precautions.”
“Pattern?!” she replied. “They somehow manage to kill entire squads of armed men, always leaving one alive. Is this the pattern you speak of?”
“Precisely,” he said, still refusing to sit back down. “So far, they’ve only attacked patrolling squads beyond the town limits. Not a single city wall has been breached as of yet. As long as we keep a number of patrols moving outside the walls, they’ll likely provide the distraction needed to keep the city safe.” His sudden smile chilled her to the bone.
“You told me you broke the patrol squads into smaller groups so they could cover more ground,” she accused, eyes narrowing. “They’re a distraction? You’ve added more patrols outside the city limits in order to serve them up as some sort of sacrifice?”
“The deaths of ten are better than the deaths of twenty,” he reasoned in simple, uncompromising logic. “And the deaths of twenty are better than losing the entire city. After countless attacks, these creatures have only let a single man live with no casualties to their own forces. Only one person lives,” he repeated slowly. “And until someone can determine a weakness, all I can do is prepare to cut our losses in the event that Shadowfen is indeed next. Yes, I shall willingly sacrifice the lives of a few in order to save many.”
For a moment, Bella’s mouth worked wordlessly. With a thousand thoughts assaulting her mind, it was hard to focus on just one. “What if the pattern changes?” she asked after a time. “What if they bypass the patrols and attack inside the walls this time?”
With a grunt, Milo turned to leave. “That is the question, isn’t it?” he said over his shoulder. “One I’m afraid I have no answer to.” He stopped in the doorway and turned back for a moment. “Will you be retiring to our chambers this evening, or should I make other…arrangements…for my entertainment?” he asked as a courtesy. Her answer didn’t matter one way or the other.
“Do as you wish...dear husband,” she said softly, her mind a million miles away. When she looked up again, he was already gone.
* * *
After sharing a private conversation with a pair of guards, Bella pushed a gold piece into each of their hands. With nods of gratitude, they hurried on their way. The queen stepped lightly down the stairs and met with a third guard. Eyes straight ahead, he said nothing, refusing to meet her gaze. Without a word, she slipped three gold pieces underneath his greasy beard, allowing them to slide down beneath his breastplate. His dark eyes flickered towards her for an instant. Done with the wordless exchange, he turned and unlocked the thick wooden door he was guarding, then stepped aside to allow her access.
Bella slipped past, ignoring the tangy stench of unwashed bodies that assaulted her
nose the moment she stepped into the dank hall. The moans of prisoners echoed from under the doors as she passed each one, all the while her hand covering her mouth and nose to filter the smell. Some of the prisoners were sick, others outright dying, but there was nothing she could do for them. Sanitary quarters for prisoners had never been a high priority for the king.
She stopped at a door on her left and lingered for a time. Unlike the other cramped prison boxes, only silence greeted her from this one. Her mind drifted back to her husband’s words. The deaths of ten are better than the deaths of twenty. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more, the fact that he could take such a cold, callous stance when calculating the weight of what human lives were worth, or the fact that she agreed with his logic. Until they had a true understanding of this dangerous enemy hiding in the shadows, how could they even begin to prepare? His heartless tactic was as good a plan as any.
Disgusted with herself, she shook away the dark thoughts and lifted the bolt from its iron bracket. With a nudge of her foot, the thick door creaked back. She paused, staring into the dark for a time before stepping in. Eyes unadjusted to the darkness, she scanned the shadows for any sign of movement.
From a corner, a set of red eyes opened wide. “What do you want?” asked the all-too-familiar voice.
“I want a great many things,” said Bella, struggling to keep her voice steady. “But as for now, I think it might be best that you kneel before your queen.”
With impossible speed, Jarlen flashed up to her, his pale face suddenly only inches from hers. “I think not,” he hissed, his black lips curling back to reveal his knowing smile. An open hand blasted across the side of his face. With a tingling in his cheek, he slowly turned back, his smile widening.
