Page 21 of The Lionheart’s Bond (Bonds of Dusk and Dawn #1)

ISIDORE

I t all unfolded in the blink of an eye. Or maybe Isidore was in such a daze he lost touch with time and reality.

Judel dragged him along, a firm hand around his fingers, ready to lead them all back into the forest, when a guard stumbled around the corner. His face red from drinking, he was undoing the laces of his trousers, whistling one of the dirtiest camp songs. The man lifted his eyes from his crotch, only to catch sight of their group. He paused, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

They held their breath.

‘Hey, you there!’

Then, ‘Intruders, intruders!’

That’s when the Pit’s Mouth opened and let chaos loose.

The guard, steady enough to brandish a sword, came at them and was soon followed by some twenty of his comrades.

‘Get ready,’ Judel yelled, only now letting go of Isidore. The prince cut an impressive shape, brandishing his broadsword, bodily between Isidore and the enemy.

The Ilish soldiers and the princes settled in their defensive stances right in front of him and Isidore shrunk back. The first, brutal strike of metal against metal made him jump. The night filled with a song of reverberating notes.

The princes moved around the enemy soldiers as if they were not made of flesh but liquid. Their movements were fluid, and the range of their awareness, wide. Even while their opponents were ready to strike from behind, the princes blocked and parried all the same. The martial dance spread as he stepped back.

He could escape, he told himself. They were busy. If he ran now, he’d be out of sight before they got rid of the Torell’s men, and they wouldn’t be able to chase him. He’d have the advantage.

But the thought never materialized into a decision, because every now and then, Judel looked over his shoulder and their eyes met. It wasn’t the first time he felt the prince’s eyes on him since they had left. Too often, he had to look away in a rush as Judel turned in his direction. Even now, in the middle of a fight, the prince found him.

‘Stay close,’ Hina yelled at him.

Isidore froze, realizing now he had slipped away too far. Prince Hina pulled him in closer behind them, where he was protected on all sides.

The fight stretched into minutes, Judel leading the charge, but no longer than that. Whatever advantage Torell’s soldiers might have had in numbers had been neutralized by their inebriation.

The last man standing had the misfortune to have Judel as his opponent. But that man looked familiar.

The prince parried his most brutal attacks with relative ease, jumping into a counterattack. As they fought, panting, tired, Judel’s sword cut through the man’s worn out leather harness. White stones caught the moonlight and danced on his chest as he dodged the next strike. They became Isidore’s sole focus as his gut clenched painfully, an inexplicable fear fogging his mind. There was something horrifying about those necklaces, but he was struggling to figure out what it was.

A few seconds went by before his mind finally deciphered it. Putting together what he had found in the enclosure and what he was looking at, it all made sense. Pile after pile of cold, decomposing flesh under fur sticky with blood and guts, the stink clinging to his clothes and hands, lingering in his nose. Darkness had been a blessing, shielding him from the images of the massacre, but he didn’t need them to recognize every animal his hand came in contact with, every cold carcass of a wolf or bear. Now, the only memorial of their deaths were those teeth and claws around the soldier’s throat.

Of course. Now he remembered exactly who this was. Amrac the Crazed, they called him. He was one of the men who had chased after him the day he escaped, the one who had wanted to capture Judel. But that wasn’t the first time Isidore had heard that name. He had forgotten about it because he didn’t actually listen to the Duke’s conversations and he never watched the fights, but now it all came together.

One of Lord Torell’s other men, he volunteered to fight the animals in the ring, addicted to the danger and the thrill. The scars on his face and arms proved the recklessness of his choices, but no wound had ever deterred him. Isidore had never witnessed it in person, but the stories he heard, of blood splattering and bone crunching, told him everything he needed to know about that man.

Lord Torell’s return to The Quarry must have truly been urgent if he left the animals behind. The garrison he left had continued to enjoy the lifestyle they had grown accustomed to while on the road. In their drunken stupor, and bored without their usual entertainments, they must have decided to have some fun of their own with the Lord’s ‘pets,’ resulting on the massacre at the bottom of that pit.

Lord Torell would be furious, and Amrac would be dead or worse moments after he returned to The Quarry, but he wasn’t going to make it that far. Judel would win the fight, Isidore had no doubt.

And yet, it wasn’t good enough.

Judel didn’t understand; he never would. The prince might have lived through his own tragedies, but he had grown up surrounded by a loving family. Isidore couldn’t even remember his parents’ names. The bears, the wolves, the lions, those were the only ones he remembered. For better or for worse, they had been his only family, and having someone else kill their murderer was not the revenge they deserved.

Eyes full of tears, he searched around for something to use. In between the many tools and weapons left lying about, there was one large mallet. The handle felt good in his hand, the weight of it, reassuring.

As usual, no one was paying attention to him. All eyes were on Judel and how long it was going to take him to end his opponent, but Isidore didn’t give him a chance. He slipped between them, not caring if he got caught in the fight. If he god stabbed or punched in the process, he’d get up and try again. Amrac was so caught up in the fight he didn’t notice Isidore until it was too late. His mouth stretched into a wide grin as he recognized him, but he had no time left to dodge the mallet speeding towards his face. The bone cracked under the tool, a hot, red stream splashing on their clothes, as he pulled the mallet back. The man stumbled, fell on his ass, dazed but sitting up. Isidore hit him again.

And again.

All the rage he had felt in the enclosure; the rage he had felt locked up in Ilystead, at being ignored; and all the rage of the last ten years powered his arm, until he couldn’t see for the blood that covered the body.

‘Isidore,’ he heard, the voice distant. ‘Isidore, stop! Stop, he’s dead!’

But he couldn’t. He would have hit him again if two strong hands hadn’t pulled him away. Someone was screaming.

It was him.

As Isidore was pulled away from the body, his scream turned into sobs, his body spasmed as he collapsed, and if no one was holding him, he would have fallen straight to the ground.

‘What happened?’ Hina asked, somewhere to his left.

‘This,’ Nel said, holding up the necklaces, now red and glossy.

Isidore stretched his hands for them, the mallet slipping out of his grasp, reaching for the black leather strings. Nel hesitated to give them to him. Judel snatched them out of his brother’s fingers and gently handed them to Isidore.

There were so many fangs and claws hanging from them. Not all of them were from his animals, but some of them… some of them pulled out only recently. He had cared for those animals for years, and now they were all dead. He held the necklaces close, unable to stop crying for those poor beasts that had never hurt anybody out of malice and their horrible fate, for all the time he had spent looking after them, feeding them, caring for their wounds, just so they’d end up like this. Nala, Mira, Bruin and Toro. Bears, wolves he had raised from cubs. Bella. The only ones by his side all those years. He cried for them and for all the time he had spent under the control of a man who had no soul.

‘I’m going to sit you down, ok?’ The familiar voice was low, close to his ear.

Isidore looked up, only realizing now the strong arms holding him were Judel’s. For the first time in weeks, he found the man he had fallen for, instead of the wall of suspicion and betrayal. It was his real voice, and his real gaze, the harshness and hesitation gone.

His throat raw from screaming, he only nodded and let Judel lower him gently until he was sitting on the floor.

‘I can take those if you want,’ Judel said, reaching for the necklaces, but Isidore only pulled them tighter against his chest.

The prince squatted in front of him, eyes filled with concern, only to sigh. Judel ran a hand through Isidore’s hair and got back on his feet.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he said.

Isidore wanted him to stay, but he had not strength to ask. And Judel had better things to do. They still had not found the prisoners. If they had to go to The Quarry…

Isidore’s eyes fell back to the necklaces in his hands and felt sick to his stomach.

‘Are you unwell?’ Hina asked, squatting next to him, pressing a hand to his forehead and cheek like he had done many times in the past.

Isidore nodded.

‘Some of the guards are coming to.’

Isidore nodded again. Why was the prince telling him this?

‘The others are interrogating them.’

As if on cue, a grunt of pain came from the other side of the house. And another one. The flash of Nahel’s knife shone in his mind like a ray of moonlight in the night and he shut his eyes tight.

‘The house is empty,’ Hina continued.

Understanding, Isidore let Prince Hina help him up and went with him into the house. The pelts that covered the floors dulled the sounds of their steps. It smelt of beer and mead inside. And food that had not been put away. They followed that smell into the large room with the big fireplace and found scraps of the men’s dinners. They must have dived into the stores as soon as the duke was away; Lord Torell would never have fed them this much.

‘Are you hungry?’ Hina asked.

‘No,’ he replied, his voice sounding hoarse.

‘I’ll get you some water,’ the prince said, a frown on his face. Hina came back with a goblet

‘Thank you,’ Isidore managed. His throat felt so tight it was hard to push the words out.

Hina squeezed his shoulder and sat next to him, silent, watching as Isidore drank.

‘Slowly,’ Hina said.

The water was too cold to be soothing, but it was better than nothing.

‘What’s going to happen now?’ It was easier to speak.

Before Hina could answer, the door burst open.

‘Isidore was right,’ Nel said. Isidore only half-listened, distracted by the intensity of Judel’s eyes on his neck. ‘The duke took the prisoners back to The Quarry. He plans to return but they don’t think he will be bringing the prisoners back.’

‘He’s going to kill them,’ Isidore said, frowning. ‘The king only sends prisoners to The Quarry when he has no more use for them. Torell is free to do with them what he will, and the duke just toys with them and tricks them into fighting in the enclosure, making them believe they can win their freedom like that. He never follows through, of course. But now he has no animals to fight. His men would have sent word already; some of them are terribly loyal to him, but even if they haven’t, he’ll find out his pets are gone.’ He paused, trying to get a hold of himself. ‘And then he’ll kill the prisoners. He has nothing better to do with them.’

And uneasy silence ensued as the princes felt the weight of his words.

‘At least we know they’re not dead yet,’ Judel intervened. ‘There might still be a chance.’

‘What do we do, though?’ Brin said. ‘It doesn’t sound like we have time to return to Ilystead and regroup.’

‘Fly home with the news,’ Nel suggested. ‘Inform the queen and come back with orders.’

‘I could,’ Brin replied, but the way he sighed didn’t communicate any willingness.

‘Every minute we waste is a chance of finding Lord Joceus alive we lose,’ Judel interrupted. ‘We can’t delay waiting for orders or regrouping. We need to find them as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, because what makes sense now is to risk our lives to find people we’re not sure are still alive,’ Brin complained, climbing on an armchair and perching his backside on the backrest.

‘There is no way to infiltrate The Quarry, I already told you,’ Isidore said, looking at the princes, considering them one by one. They might not want to accept it, but Brin was right.

They were so confident, so imposing. Everything must seem easy to them. They weren’t raised to accept a situation might be unsurmountable. The doors always opened for them, didn’t they?

The men shuffled, uncomfortable.

‘Maybe we don’t need to infiltrate it,’ Nel said, a hand on his chin. ‘Maybe we can go through the front door.’

‘What do you mean?’ Brin asked.

‘I believe Nel refers to the duke’s love for animals and the fact that there are four of us who can walk in beast form every day,’ Hina explained.

‘Good idea! We’ll scratch at the door in animal form and yell “surprise!” when we shift back.’ An incredulous smirk spread on Brin’s lips.

‘I’m surrounded by fools,’ Nel sighed to himself. ‘No, you jerk. We send one of us, tied up, more or less, with a few guards, one of them pretending to be an emissary from Nahel, to negotiate the release of our prisoners. The emissary will bring one of us, preferably Judel, as a token of our goodwill.’

‘It’s a sound plan with some chance of success,’ Hina said.

Brin mouthed silently, unable to even form words, but Nel and Hina were immediately convinced by their own plan. Curious to know what Judel thought, Isidore was surprised to find him hesitating.

‘I don’t know. Torell might smell the trap.’

‘Everybody likes flattery,’ Nel insisted, shrugging.

Judel’s eyes fell on him and held his gaze for a second.

‘It’s an enormous risk. I’m not keen on putting our men’s lives in jeopardy over this. If we send a so-called emissary, we’ll need to dress it up, send everybody in, make it look legitimate. No ruler would send a negotiator by himself. Negotiation needs backed with the threat of force. Such a plan would require a whole campaign supported by military forces, at which point we would truly be negotiating. Anything less will make them suspicious.’

‘You do have a point,’ Nel admitted, pensive.

A concerned, urgent silence settled over them once more, as they struggled to find a way forward. If they failed, their people would die. Anxiety made Isidore’s hands twitch, surprising him. He didn’t know those people. He couldn’t even be sure they were the Ilish prisoners, yet a new feeling of guilt had lodged itself in his chest. He could still see that man, stretching a hand to him through the bars.

‘I can go,’ Isidore said, his voice small and rough.

‘What?’ Judel was the first one to react.

‘I’ll go. I’ll bring you with me, say it’s a present, to gain his forgiveness. He’ll lock you up. I can free you before sunset. We can find the prisoners then. It’s easier to sneak out than sneak in.’

‘No,’ Judel declared.

‘Won’t he wonder how you capture a beast the size of him?’ Brin pointed at his brother.

‘Animals follow me easily and the duke knows it. He won’t question it.’

‘Hmmm, it has potential,’ Nel said.

Judel’s tension spread through the room like a blanket, making the air vibrate like strings on a lute.

‘If you want to rescue your people,’ Isidore said, standing up, ‘you have no choice.’

‘And what will you do while I’m locked away?’ Judel asked, squaring up to him.

The cold and heartless distance had returned to Judel’s gaze.

‘You still don’t trust me, do you?’ Isidore asked, meeting his eyes. He was too tired for this now. This up and downs had to stop. The torment under Lord Torell had lasted long enough and he had let himself be lulled into complacency, back in Ilystead. He had let himself believe that there might be a place for him there. That he might have a chance to be happy. To be safe.

What a joke. He should have known better.

Judel winced at his words, but Isidore ignored it.

‘If you don’t want to do it, Brin will work too. He might be intrigued by the novelty of a bird,’ he told Nel, moving past Judel.

The Quarry, the seat to the Duke of Stonehollow, loomed ahead, the bright afternoon light bathing it in a glow that did nothing to warm up its appearance. Lone like a rock against the bare mountains behind it, it rose over the mines that had once been the kingdom’s sole source of stone. It was a monument to austerity and cold, now only used to house prisoners no one cared about any longer. No side of it was welcoming. Not the tall, straight walls, nor the hideous gargoyles high up the towers, and definitely not the tight, narrow battlements.

He sighed, pulling Judel along. Isidore was unsure as to when his consciousness had shifted, but the lion no longer followed verbal orders or perked up when Isidore spoke his name. Tied to a leather harness they had fashioned from belts and other pieces of their clothing, Judel still followed quietly, even as his humanity was gone.

They had travelled for a full day, back Southeast, and spent the night behind the closest treeline. The land was bare from there and they couldn’t risk approaching as a group, at the risk of soldiers coming out to meet them. They had to put on a show long before they came into view of the castle. That required Judel to submit himself to be tied up and pulled down the road, all the way to the walls, and then to the castle.

‘Why are you so willing now?’ Isidore had asked him uselessly. Judel was already in animal form and couldn’t reply.

‘You say, I follow,’ he heard Judel say in his head. Or he imagined that’s what he would say. He also imagined a smile, but he wasn’t sure he was accurate with that. Judel hated him now. For a moment, he thought the prince might have reconsidered, but his reluctance to accept his plans had shattered those dreams. No, Judel would not smile at him again.

Tired and hungry, he finally made it to the gates, where a guard stopped him at spear-point.

Luckily, and it was a thought he never expected to inhabit his mind, all the guards knew him.

‘Orei, Maras’ he greeted them.

‘You!’ one of the guards exclaimed, laughing. ‘Well, this is a surprise. Not sure it’ll be so great for you, mate, but—’

‘What the fuck is that?’ the other guard asked.

‘I brought the duke a gift,’ Isidore said, staring at the floor.

‘You’re smarter than you look,’ Maras said, slapping his back. ‘There might be hope for you.’

Suddenly, Judel, maybe because he was under the full control of the beast, fought the ties and growled in his closed mouth, furious, ears flat against his head and his fur standing on end.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Isidore said in his head as he pulled from the improvised leash. The leather wrapped around Judel’s jaws, keeping his deadly fangs in check, but he was pulling forward hard and it was a struggle to keep him back. Isidore felt bad for the poor animal, more than for Judel. The beast didn’t understand what was happening. It must be hungry and thirsty. Hopefully he’d get a chance to see to his needs, once the worst was over.

The guards escorted him to the castle, keeping their distance from the lion. Many eyes turned as they walked the streets and looked at him apprehensively. As a mountain lion, Judel was larger than the average male of his species. Fear and admiration were only normal when watching such a majestic creature.

Through the foyer, Isidore repressed the shiver wanting to immobilize him. He had promised himself he would never come back here, and yet here he was. Past the familiar stairs and into the hall, where Lord Torell would receive him. The guards didn’t even leave, and more joined them, led by a morbid curiosity to see what would happen to him. The Duke had a knack for attracting the most awful people in the kingdom.

‘You are back,’ Lord Torell said, as he walked into the room, his robes billowing, his hands moving elegantly in the air, as if he was some sort of jester about to perform a trick. ‘I truly believed you dead, Isidore.’

‘No, my lord. I survived.’

Lord Torell sat on his chair, looking down on him, resting his cheek against his extended fingers, his narrow face and wrinkled eyes smiling creepily.

‘You look… different,’ he waved his fingers in the air before resting his face on them again.

‘I have changed, my lord. You are as discerning as ever.’

‘No need to flatter me, boy, no need.’ He shuffled on his seat. ‘In what way have you changed? Tell me.’

Isidore swallowed hard. This was the hard part.

‘I’ve seen the cruelty in the world and realized how grateful I should have been that you took me in and gave me a place to stay, my lord, so I have returned.’

The man’s eyelids lowered over his bulging eyes.

‘If only you had realized this before you ran away,’ he said.

‘I was scared, my lord.’

Isidore kept his eyes low, only venturing a glance at the man’s face now and again, trying to gage how well he was taking his story, but the Duke was difficult to read. Isidore continued with cautious optimism though. No choice, anyway. It was too late to do anything else. The brief window for an escape had closed long ago; all he had left was this.

‘And you’re not scared anymore, then?’

‘I’m less scared, my lord, more grateful.’

‘I see.’ Lord Torell leaned back in his chair. ‘And you brought me a gift.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Lord Torell waved as to indicate Isidore should show him, and the boy did as ordered. He moved over, revealing the beast sitting obediently behind him. Lord Torell came down from his perch to poke the animal with his foot. The leash tensed and the lion’s face contracted, but Isidore held it tight, and it didn’t go any further. Judel was still not entirely conscious.

‘This is a magnificent specimen, Isidore. I commend you. And so opportune, now that I rid of my old pets.’

Isidore froze.

‘What?’

‘They had become terribly unruly since you left.’ The duke waved a hand as if this was an irrelevant detail. All blood drained from Isidore’s body. ‘How did you even come about capturing such an imposing beast, I don’t know. Your talent must be greater than I thought. Maybe tell me all about it while we eat.’ He turned to the guards. ‘Bring this animal to its new lodgings.’

Lord Torell wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him away as the guards relieved him of the strap that held Judel, dragging the animal away from him.

Isidore watched them go over his shoulder, his stomach tied in a knot. A wave of nausea washed over him. He had a terrible feeling about this.