Page 3 of The Lionheart’s Bond (Bonds of Dusk and Dawn #1)

ISIDORE

T he old, rotting spear they had unceremoniously shoved at him was vibrating right in front of Isidore’s face, for his hands were shaking so violently.

The morning’s events were blurry. Though he could say the same about any happenings of the last ten years. One day he was a happy boy, playing with his mother, the next he was being handed over to Lord Torell to pay for his father’s debts. His mother’s tears still stained her face, in his imagination, as he was being dragged away from his home.

That memory always gave him pause. It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t that young anymore when he was taken away, but time had passed and that’s the way his brain painted his departure. When he closed his eyes at night and tried to ignore the straw prickling his back as he tried to go to sleep, that’s how he saw himself, a little boy.

To think he’d be missing his sad excuse for a room, the pallet in the corner, and no light. At least he had a roof over his head. Several roofs, to be accurate. Anything was better than this, standing here, surrounded by Stonehollow’s men, all cheering, screaming and drinking, the occasional camp follower hanging from their arms, pushing their breasts or asses into their wine-stained shirts.

The sound of ninth bell reached them, dull and distant.

‘Come on, boy! Show us what you got!’ One yelled, alcohol dripping from his beard and spraying with every word.

Isidore felt empty. He got nothing. Absolutely nothing. As a boy, he had received basic fighting instruction, of course, but his father was more of a scholar than a fighter. Looking back, that’s probably why he got in so much trouble. Kalye wasn’t the kind of country you could be a studious little poet without a sword. In Kalye, the sword was always mightier.

Maybe not the sword. Power was mightier than anything else.

But his father was no practitioner. Like many others nowadays, power had eluded him. Isidore’s mother had been able to channel some as a child but had lost it all as she grew up. As for him, he hadn’t been able to light as much as a spark in his life, other than through much more traditional, simple methods involving chipping at a stone.

Not that he had any talent lighting fires that way either.

The news reached him while breaking his fast, sitting around a campfire with Sorona. The oldest harlot of Stonehollow, she was finding it increasingly difficult on her bones to follow them across Kalye.

‘I can’t sleep easy, boy, I tell you,’ Sorona had told him, filling his mug with brew. ‘I can feel their evil in the wind, can’t you?’

‘You’re no practitioner, though, Sorona,’ he smiled.

‘My grandmother was.’ Her chin lifted in the air with pride. ‘And you know those Ilish people. Any excuse to light us on fire.’

Isidore was about to reply he would certainly feel safer when they turned back North when one of the guards came to tease him about his favourite cat going into the ring.

A sigh of despair begged to be freed from his chest at the memory, but his jaw was so tense he couldn’t open his mouth. Part of him regretted having spoken out against the count of Stonehollow. Bellarose was an animal, after all. A wild beast with no sense.

That’s what Lord Torell liked to believe, but he knew otherwise. His regret was meaningless because he would do it again if the situation presented itself. These animals were not mere pets to him. They were his friends. His only friends.

As for Bella, she was even more than that. She was family.

The old mountain lioness was tired and sore, and didn’t move as easily as she used to, but Lord Torell had picked her to fight one of the bears tonight. The entertainment of his men was the count’s y priority.

Now, Mogo, the bear, was a big, young thing who was well used to the count’s tricks and understood the process. Mogo did well, Mogo got extra fish. That’s all the poor beast cared about, ultimately. It wasn’t going to back down, no matter how much Isidore willed him to.

‘She’s too old, my lord,’ he had tried. ‘She won’t be able to put much of a fight and she’ll bore you.’

‘If that’s the case, we’ll just put an arrow between her eyes and be done with it. I’m no collector nor do I keep these animals out of the kindness of my heart. I like a good show and that’s what they do for me and my men.’

‘But, my lord, she’s sore, and she’s tired, and she’s so weak… She’ll die soon of old age, but she’ll be no match against Mogo.'

‘Weak?’ The man turned to him; a scrutinizing look in his sharp eyes. ‘She’s a wild animal. She’ll tear you to pieces if you turn your back to her. Don’t delude yourself, boy, she’s a beast.’

‘My lord—’ he tried again.

‘But if you think she’s so weak,’ Torell said, a dangerous spark in his eye and a smirk on his lips. Isidore shivered. What could he be scheming? ‘Why don’t you try your luck against her? Captain,’ he called.

Reiner came forward. Stonehollow’s captain had been standing by the edge of the tent, watching the exchange with a look of amused contempt on his face, having no love for Isidore. Nobody had any love for him. Except the animals.

‘Set Isidore up for the fight tonight. The men are bored, they’ll get a laugh out of him floundering and dying under Bellarose’s weak fangs.’

Isidore started, a knot in his throat, unable to respond.

‘You should be grateful,’ Lord Torell said, as he made his way towards the exit, a magnanimous gesture flying off his fingers ‘You got what you wanted; she won’t be fighting the bear after all.’

Isidore blinked, trying to find the words, but fear choked him, made him unable to move. Not until Reiner shoved him so hard, he stumbled and rolled on the floor.

‘Be glad my lord didn’t order you over the border for your impertinence.’ The man chuckled.

Over the border? None of his daydreamed escapes ever led his steps down south. Everyone knew Kaletians would only find torture and death at the hands of the barbaric Ilish men. A shiver ran through him, remembering some of the stories he had heard over the years. It was so bad, two of the Ilish lords had turned their backs on their queen and were now safe, under the protection of their merciful king. Their journey had taken them far south enough, into the lands of one of said lords, and the proximity of the border had everyone on edge.

‘Come on, boy! You want to fight? Let’s go.’

The captain kicked him out of the tent and walked him across camp, to the weapons wagon. He went through swords and daggers, discarding perfectly serviceable ones in favour of older and rustier blades while Isidore wrung his hands. Reiner went out of his way to find him the oldest, weakest spear he could find. Though at least it was a spear. It would be better than a sword. He could keep the lioness away from him with that.

His mind had devolved into a state of confusion ever since. On the one hand, he was terrified. Whether death, or only injury, he couldn’t bear the thought of either.

On the other hand, how was Bellarose ever going to attack him?

It was still early in the afternoon when they let him go. There was at least a bell to wait until it was time for the men’s amusement. With nothing else to do and too nervous to think, he looked for his only friends.

Towards the cages, a man was peering into one of the enclosures. He stood almost as tall as the bear he was staring at, an odd glint in his eye. Isidore had never seen him before. He was about to ask him who he was, when the man caught sight of him. He smirked, pushing his thumbs into his belt, and walked away without a second glance. Isidore followed his departure frowning.

‘Who was that?’ he asked, not expecting an answer.

‘Amrac. They call him The Crazed,’ Guard Oher replied. ‘He likes animals.’ He shrugged.

How strange.

Too worried to give it another thought, Isidore slipped into Bellarose’s cage. Looking at her, it was unthinkable. She would never attack him. Or anyone else for that matter. Her eyes that once glowed like gold were dull and unfocused, and some of her teeth were missing. She still purred loudly when he petted her, and she rubbed her head against his hand, letting him rest against her flank.

‘You’re a good girl, aren’t you?’

She pushed her head into his side in response and he smiled. Bella arrived to Stonehollow almost four years ago, and Isidore had welcomed her, caring for her as he did for the rest of the count’s animals. Lord Torell kept them for entertainment only. It was his idea of breeding loyalty between his men. Give them blood and wine.

So many of those poor beasts had gone into that made up arena of his to never come back. What was the point of it? Pitting them against each other just so his men could bet their money and get into debt, fight each other… Such a waste. And always a mess.

Sometimes Torell went as far as enchanting the animals, turning them more dangerous, more vicious. Last time Bellarose fought, she came back with a gash on her side so deep it should have killed her. It took him months to get her back on her feet. Months of excruciating care, and cleaning of the wound. Months of feeding her by hand and forcing water into her mouth. Months of sleeping by her side. It had taken so long for her to get better that Isidore found relief thinking the count had forgotten about her existence. But his hopes had been quashed when they packed her and Mogo and the two wolves too.

The preparations had taken days. Orders had come from the king to pick up some prisoners from the north of Valecrest. It never occurred to Isidore they would take the animals. Only later did Lord Torell reveal he would be taking the prisoners to his winter cabin first. He planned to stay there until spring and only spend the warm season in the Quarry. It must have always been part of the plan, because the provisions were loaded, and they were bringing too many men for a simple escort. Isidore had been too distracted by the whispers and gossip about who these prisoners might be. They had been ordered to recover them with such urgency, that everyone was talking about it. Nothing like this had ever happened before. The king only sent special prisoners to the Quarry after all, but he usually held them in Asteah first, interrogated them. Only when he was done would he send them to The Quarry.

This time was different, and it had everyone asking questions. Including him, which is why he didn’t even connect all the events until he saw the men bring the cages over and heard about the cabin. Even as they dragged Bella into a cage, he never imagined it would lead to this, but he had been a fool. What else would they take her for?

And then he had added to his own stupidity. No one asked him to come, but he had to be a hero and insist on going with her.

His stupidity had only grown after that, and resulted in this moment, standing in a circle of dirt, his feet ankle deep in mud and excrement, waiting for Torell to pit Bellarose against him as his men drank, beers sloshing, the spillage splitting evenly between their beards and the ground.

Moments ago, he was sure she would never hurt him, but his confidence only lasted while he stared into her old, tired eyes. Now that the crowd was cheering in drunken frenzy, Isidore wouldn’t bet any coin on his own chances.

The cheering increased in volume, excitement surging. Isidore looked around for the trigger of such a reaction.

Lord Torell had finally arrived, his eyes painted—it made him look stupid; he wasn’t a young man anymore, no matter how much tints and coal he used to appear more fashionable—and was taking his place at the top of the dais, on a wooden throne he carried everywhere. He liked to have a good view. If the blood splattered on his shoes, even better.

He waved a hand at an invisible man as another servant brought him a goblet of wine, before turning his malicious eyes onto him. A large, unscrupulous grin spread on his face. If Isidore was a braver man, or a better fighter, he’d run at him and shove the spear in his throat and damn the consequences. But he was neither of those things. The consequences terrified him, and he had no marksmanship whatsoever. He never had.

Another loud cheer accompanied the squealing of metal against metal, and he turned to find Bellarose’s cage being dragged into the ring. The guard opened the gate and ran back to join the spectators, before Lord Torell cast the barrier. The invisible wall rose into the air with that strange sharp smell, like when lightning hit close by. The same device they used when the animals fought each other, to stop them running at the crowd. Back at the castle, they had a pit made of stone and wooden fences, but here, in camp, they didn’t have time to dig holes in the ground and support them neatly. Forming a circle and trusting Torell’s power should be enough. Because going without fights was never an option.

Much to the men’s despair and Isidore’s initial relief, Bellarose sat in her cage, unwilling to move, looking around as if not knowing what was expected of her or where she was. For a split second Isidore thought, hoped, that she would just go back to sleep. She would put her head down, close her eyes, and let that be that.

But she was, after all, a wild animal and freedom, or the appearance of it, was a temptation she couldn’t resist, no matter how much of the unknown was out there for her. Isidore wanted to yell at her to stop, but his jaw was locked in place, as the laughter of Torell’s guards rang in his ears.

Bellarose stood up heavily, her movements sluggish with age. She paused at the open gate, smelled the hinges, sniffed at the metal bars, wondering what was missing. One tentative step after the other, she walked out of the cage, smelling the air around her, her ears twitching at the unusual noises. She walked out, distracted by every bit of excrement or discarded bone on the ground, getting acquainted with her surroundings, inspecting every fallen leaf and puddle at her own, leisurely pace. She was in no rush.

Unfortunately, that didn’t please a crowd of mostly drunk soldiers, tired from several days on the road. Torell’s people booed.

‘Throw a stone at her!’

‘Attack, boy! Attack!’

‘Do something, boy!’

As if he would ever try to hurt Bellarose. And even if it wasn’t her. Even if it was one of the wolves, wilder and harder to handle, he would still be frozen on the spot, unable to move, attack or defend himself.

The crowd began to throw carafes, goblets and stones at him. Anything they could get their hands on. The barrier conveniently only worked from the inside out.

Most missed, they were that drunk, but some hit him in the back, and the side, and even the head.

‘Turns out, you both are weak,’ Lord Torell called from his perch, cackling like an old witch.

The count lifted his hand, and his lips moved in a low incantation. The words hummed in the air, the power’s clean, crisp smell clearing the vapours of beer and wine, as he watched with terror how the device fell on Bellarose and changed her entire demeanour. Her face contorted, her lips pulling clear off her fangs, her brow creasing down between her eyes, now glowing orange.

Isidore marvelled at the sight. This is what she used to look like. Fierce, strong, powerful.

Panting, he took a step back. Another one, trying to put more distance between them, but he eventually hit the barrier. He pressed against it, fear coursing through his body, but hands pushed through the magic, shoving him inexorably back into the middle of the arena, towards the now unrecognisable beast prowling towards him.

He’d seen the device many times, he knew what was going to happen. She’d watch him for a few seconds, before pouncing on him, ready to close her strong jaws around his throat. That’s how animals like her ended their prey. The difference with previous times was that, when they were pitted against other beasts, the other animals had the strength, and the instinct to defend themselves.

But that wasn’t the case for Isidore. Time slowed down, and Bellarose did exactly what he had predicted. Bit by bit, her haunches folded onto themselves, getting leverage to leap forward. Her flight was magnificent. She’d be in pain later, and he’d need to rub her with that oil he had stolen from the physician.

What a useless thought. He was not going to survive.

Her paws hit his chest like a rock, and he fell on his back, winded. The spear flew out of his hands almost as soon as she came in contact with him, leaving him defenceless. Unable to do anything else, he covered his face with his arms. Her breath was hot on his skin, and her growl loud in his ears. Slimy saliva dripped on his chest and soaked into his clothes. A louder roar, her claws painfully digging into the skin of his torso as she tensed, ready to sink her teeth into Isidore’s flesh.

‘Bella…’ he whined.

He waited for the soul-tearing pain of being torn apart, but nothing happened. His heart stopped, his breathing too, as the jeering died down and the weight on his chest eased. A firm push against his arms forced him to pull them apart.

When he did, afraid of the glowing embers of Bellarose’s eyes and her pulled smile facing him, he was surprised to find his good old girl, pushing her head against him, rubbing against his shirt as she had always done.

Flooded with relief, he wrapped his arms around his only friend and pulled her against him, basking in the moment’s relief, as the sounds around him blasted loud again. The crowd booed and complained, bottles crashing, and people pushing. This would never end.

Bellarose bit his shirt and pulled him towards the edge of the arena. He got on his feet and followed her, startled, as she sniffed around the edges of the barrier until she seemed to find what she was looking for. She took a step towards the spell and crossed it as if it had never been there, growling and snapping her sharp fangs at the bystanders. Too stunned and scared to intervene, they watched them go. The crowd stepped away, her fierce growl opening a path for the two of them. They walked away, all eyes on their every step. They were leaving the camp.

A surge of confidence and determination filled him. He’d follow Bellarose wherever it was she was taking him, and they’d never come back. They’d be free. It was possible. A hut in the forest, near a stream, that’s what they needed.

But the daydream lasted for a mere moment.

‘Kill the beast. Beat the boy,’ Lord Torell ordered, apathetic.

Two chuckling guards approached them, walking along the corridor made by onlookers, but Bellarose would have none of it. She turned on them, growling, fangs pulled. Determined, the animal stood between him and the guards, menacing sounds low in her throat, making a stand.

Eigar, on the left raised his sword and Isidore had enough. He stepped forward, in a moment of unexpected bravery, ready to defend his friend. The sword, though, worked just as it was supposed to, and if it wasn’t because Bella jumped against the guard and pushed Isidore out of the weapon’s trajectory, he would have been cleaved in two.

The guard ignored him as Bella turned on them once more, ears flat against her skull. Isidore got up, and tried to step forward again, but this time Bella turned on him, growling and roaring. He tried to ignore her, but she became more and more violent.

Why was she being so aggressive towards him all of a sudden?

‘Bella,’ he called.

And then, as clear a day, he heard it.

Or saw it.

Him, running. Then him, staying, being devoured by Bella.

What?

Startled, Isidore almost failed to comprehend her meaning, but as more guards joined the attack, he finally found his feet and used them.

He ran.

He ran, ignoring the loud growl, followed by whining, and a final, loud roar of pain that would stay imprinted in his mind for the rest of his days. Tears ran down his cheeks.

But Bella was giving him this chance, and he wasn’t going to waste it. He understood now.

All he had to do was make it to the line of trees. The sun was beginning to set. It would be dim under the protection of the trees, and the night would make it too dark for anyone to see. If he could climb a tree or find a hollow space between heavy roots where to hide for the night, where to protect himself from the elements and wild animals, maybe he would have a chance. Even if there should be more soldiers so close to the border, he was confident the darkness would hide him.

He left the tents behind, and even the large cages where the prisoners watched him, faces covered in dirt, their fineries no longer fine, blue and silver dulled by wear and mud, some of their hands outstretched to him. As if he could take any of them with him. Where would they even go?

More importantly, where would he go?

Home wasn’t an option. His parents wouldn’t have him even if he could remember the way back. Not as long as there was a debt to pay. It would be the first place Lord Torell came looking for him

What he was doing was futile. He might as well turn on his heels and let them chop his head off. There was never any hope for him. Since the day he was taken in by the count, he had been treated like a slave, cleaning latrines, taking care of the animals, doing all sort of disgusting things only so they’d give him food, wiping blood off the dungeons’ floors sometimes. Soon it’d be his blood staining the floor.

He ran through the woods, the heavy scent of decaying leaves wafting around him, his feet catching in roots and debris as he tried to make his way in the greying daylight.

He was too young to die. He had so much ahead of him. He had never left the country. He had never seen the sea. He had never even had friends. He had never kissed a boy or a girl. He was a virgin, for crying out loud! Why did he have to die now?

He ran and ran; the voices of his pursuers close behind him. His heart raced in his chest and the air penetrated his lungs sharp and cold, hurting his throat.

Soon, the trees became sparse, and he stepped out into a little clearing. Just there, lazily walking across the open space, a magnificent mountain lion turned its head to watch him. Panting, Isidore froze.

‘Bella?’ he asked, delusional.

It couldn’t be. It was way too big to be Bella. It was way too big to be a mountain lion in the first place. This was a monster of a wild beast, but the animal looked at him benevolently. Not even cautious. Their eyes met, and he felt a strange warmth in his chest.

He was losing his mind.

Voices exploded behind him, and he suddenly remembered how he got here. Panicked, he stumbled and fell on his ass.

‘There you are, boy,’ the closest man said, his bulbous nose shiny with sweat as he cleaned his face with a greasy sleeve.

‘Hey,’ another one tapped the first one on the shoulder, nodding towards the lion.

The first man’s eyes widened. It was the one from before, the one staring at the bear!

Three more guards stepped out of the shade of the trees, bows and crossbows ready. All eyes were on the lion, nobody cared about him anymore. Isidore looked at the lord’s men, then he looked at the beast. It watched them with more curiosity than fear, no aggression in those vibrant eyes. The men nodded at each other, two of them unhooking ropes from their belts, and Isidore knew exactly what was going to happen.

The boy got up off the floor and ran to stand between the lion and the guards. He wouldn’t see another animal sacrificed to their whims and drinking. So many of them he had taken care of, had never come back. And now even Bellarose. His eyes turned blurry with tears again.

Not this one. No more.

‘Get out of the way, Isidore,’ Amrac, the man with the sweaty nose, said.

‘Piss off,’ Isidore yelled with a tenacity he didn’t even know he possessed.

‘Don’t be stupid. The count already wants you punished. Don’t make this worse for yourself.’

‘Fine,’ Isidore said, swallowing hard. ‘I’ll go with you. Punish me, whatever, but leave the lion alone. He hasn’t done anything to you. He’s not even attacking.’ He looked over his shoulder, just to make sure. The beast was weirdly quiet and looked around as if it was watching a performance. ‘I’ll go with you,’ he said again, trying to convince himself more than them.

They laughed.

‘You’re coming with us either way,’ said Artor. ‘But we’ll get a far bigger reward if we bring that one with us. Now get out of the way—’

‘No!’ He wasn’t going to move.

‘Isidore…’ Laneth pleaded. Isidore wasn't even aware he knew that name.

Isidore had had about enough. It had been a long day. It had been a long ten years. He wasn’t going to let this happen. He grabbed the big stone by his foot and hurled it with all his might at Amrac. The man dodged it easily, but the glare he returned was much more irate than a moment ago. Isidore didn’t care. He threw another one, and this one did hit him on the head. The guy even stumbled a couple of steps. Isidore felt his chest swell with pride but that didn’t last long. Something hard and smelly hit his jaw and his face exploded into pain. He stumbled, buzzed, but miraculously managed to stay on his feet.

The impact of that one fist displaced him quite a distance and those men now had a straight line of sight to the lion. It was still standing there, indifferent.

Surrounded, the animal got up at last, still looking around, and Isidore hoped it would finally run away. Instead it proceeded to stretch dramatically. The men lifted their crossbows again, the end of their ropes tied to the bolts.

Foreseeing what was about to happen, Isidore jumped in the path of the bolt just as Laneth pulled the trigger.

The metal pierced his skin and burnt its way inside his body, the pain searing. He didn’t even manage to scream. He fell on his knees and for a split second, he metthe shiny gold eyes of the mountain lion.The animal watched as he slowly fell, his consciousness slipping away from him.

He has human eyes, Isidore thought, as his head hit the ground. Don’t be stupid, Isidore.

Darkness took him.