Shroud of Eternity

CHAPTER 37

The beasts came in a variety of forms, a full range of killing machines. Chief Handler Ivan admired the creatures even as he twisted them, tortured them … trained them.

Wearing his jerkin made from the pelt of a sand panther he had been forced to kill during a session five years earlier, he inhaled the rich musky smell of the pens. All of Ivan’s animals were kept near the training pits in barred cave alcoves or exterior cages. In one breath, he could smell their fur and their hatred.

One large swamp lizard spotted him, its golden eyes slitted, and a forked black tongue flicked in and out of its fanged jaws. As Ivan stopped to stare at it, the lizard released a pool of urine across the bottom of its cage. Reaching out with his gift, Ivan felt the hateful intent there, the spite this creature held for him.

Good. Such things could be developed, nurtured. Releasing a barbed stinger of magic, he slashed pain into the reptile’s tiny brain, making the thing snarl and writhe. It released even more urine, involuntarily this time. Ivan smiled at the reaction. That was what his gift as chief handler was meant to do. These beasts had to be kept under control—his control—but their violence and anger needed to be banked and kept hot, like the fire in a blacksmith’s forge. Ivan was good at that, better than any of his three apprentices.

He pulled his bloody cart through the wide tunnel between the cages and barred pens. The wheels creaked and wobbled, slightly out of round, jostling the contents so that the fresh smell of torn meat and dripping blood wafted into the air. He grabbed a strip of raw, red muscle peeled from a rib cage and tossed it to the brutish swamp lizard. Forgetting about the pain Ivan had just inflicted upon it, the reptile scuttled forward and snapped up the morsel.

Feeding time was legitimately the work of his lowliest apprentices, but Ivan enjoyed the routine. He used it as an important method of provocation, reward, and deprivation. Every act was reinforced by a bolt of pain from his gift, a prodding jab that pushed against their sensitive nerves to make them understand who was their master.

He pulled the rendering cart to the next cage, gauging how much meat he still had to distribute. He had left the preparation work to slaves. They had stripped the garments from High Captain Avery’s body and returned the armor to the guard headquarters so the blood could be scrubbed off the metal scales and leather, before the armor was given to some other recruit.

Then the renderers had chopped up the man’s body, using axes and cleavers to break the limbs from the joints, to cut off hands and feet, legs, arms, head. They had piled the internal organs into separate buckets, which Ivan would use as special treats for the pets that impressed him most.

With a rumbling growl, a huge black-furred beast slammed into the cage in front of him with such force that the bars rattled and the hinges groaned. Raising itself ten feet tall, a combat bear rose up, reaching a paw through the bars. The beast had a square face with close-set obsidian eyes. It opened its jaws, and ribbons of silvery drool poured out. Parts of its body wore armor shells grafted on to protect its vital organs. The combat bear’s enhanced claws scraped down the bars of its cage, striking sparks.

Ivan stood within inches of the beast’s grasp and laughed. “You’re daring. You hate me, don’t you?” He moved just within reach.

The bear snarled, its eyes focused on him like sparks in a forge.

“I’m right here.” Ivan stepped even closer. Just as the bear lunged toward him, he released his gift, sent a shock wave down the monster’s spine. The combat bear roared and retracted its arms, reeling backward. Surprisingly, it fought the pain and slammed into the bars, again swiping at him.

Ivan had to dance out of the way. “Good, good!” As a special reward, he removed Avery’s liver and tossed the purplish-red handful at the bear. With one last glower at its tormentor, the beast devoured the bloody organ.

Ivan went to the other cages, selecting portions of the dead guard captain: a thigh, an arm. He tossed the head into a cage where five starving spiny wolves fought over the handsome man’s head, ripping it to pieces.

Ivan enjoyed the days when he could give his pets treats to prepare them for the combat arena. It insured that they all had a taste for human flesh, which would make them better attackers in front of a cheering audience.

Last, saving some of the choicest meat and the heart, Ivan stopped in front of the pen that contained his troka of spell-bonded panthers. The three female cats did not approach the bars, but kept their distance and watched him from the back of the lair. The low growls sounded almost like purrs in their throats. Their tails thrashed. They looked at him with clear malice in their eyes.

These panthers were still sore from the fight against Ulrich, he could tell. When they fought the partially petrified warrior, they had been injured, but worse, they had been defeated for all to see. Ivan was disappointed in them, and he had punished them afterward by jabbing their brains with his gift, finding and pressing their pain centers.

Somehow, though, the more he used his power in an attempt to hurt them, shape them, control them, the more the troka seemed to resist. The three spell-bonded panthers had a link that made them feel one another’s pain, share one another’s thoughts. When he poked one with a burst of pain, all three felt it … but the troka found a way to distribute the agony to allow them to endure more. They could share their strength.

Ivan was troubled. He could not allow this to spread. He did not want his gift to fade away like that of the impotent wizard who had come from the outside.

He could smell their hatred, their anger. But no fear. Even after all the pain he had inflicted, the cats did not cringe when they saw him. Instead, they sat defiant, refusing to come closer, despite the smell of the fresh meat. They were wary, but not intimidated. Ivan was worried, but could not let it show.

He lifted the last pieces of High Captain Avery, the haunch and the red copper-smelling heart. “Regain your strength. You’ll need to fight soon.”

He tossed the offerings into the cage, but all three panthers remained at the rear, not moving. Ivan frowned. He had never seen such behavior before. “Eat!” he roared, and the panthers roared back at him, sending a chill down his spine.

He took a step backward, staring at them, and they stared back. He felt the gift whipping and twisting inside him like a night crawler exposed after a downpour.

The cats didn’t move toward the meat. Ivan stepped close to the bars. “If you don’t want it, then you can starve. I’ll take it back.” When he reached for the lock on the cage door, he saw all three sand panthers coil slightly, tense and ready. Their golden eyes flashed, fixed on him, and he froze.

Was this their plan? Did they mean to trick him into opening the cage door, so they could tear him apart the moment he entered?

Ivan had always controlled them before … but considering the way they resisted him, maybe they would not be deterred this time. Maybe they would resist his control just long enough to drive him to the ground, rake their claws across his throat, dig their curved fangs into his gut, and tear him open.

He stood at the bars for a long moment, not moving, assessing. The sand panthers kept staring, and Ivan slowly backed away. “Not this time,” he said. “I am your master. Don’t you forget it.”

He stalked away, pulling the empty rendering cart with its squeaky wooden wheels behind him.