James West - Crown of the Setting Sun

The Hunter held quiet for a time, his whiskered chin trembling with emotion Leitos would never have thought possible from the likes of him. When he spoke again, the tenor of his voice had changed, making Leitos think of a small child, which was at odds with his fierceness and brutality.

“The Alon’mahk’lar came in broad daylight,” the Hunter said. “As they see their crimes as privileges, they never feel obliged to hide what they do under the darkness of night. But then, they did not have to hide, for it was my own mother, and others like her, who sought them out, invited them into our home as she had done many times before. For a whispered promise-be it for bread or something else, I will never know-she accused my father for a traitor, then willingly cut his beating heart from his chest as a pair of those laughing demons held him down.

“Before she handed me over, her skin stained by my father’s blood, she laid with the Alon’mahk’lar -and I say again, boy, it was not the first time I had seen such savaging. She screamed and wept at what those monsters did to her … but naked and torn, she and others like her watched with heads held high and smiles on their faces, as the slavemasters chained me and a dozen more from my village. That is betrayal, boy,” the Hunter snarled, “the likes of which you can never understand.”

Leitos stared in horror, but his captor was not finished.

“Unlike the accursed Izutarian slaves from north of the Sea of Drakarra, the enslaved of Geldain commonly serve men who in turn serve the Faceless One. I suffered as a pleasure slave to one of those men,” the Hunter grated.

“How … how did you get free?” Leitos asked quietly.

The Hunter shook away the troubled expression furrowing his brow, and a sinister gleam replaced the distant look in his eyes. “Lies and smiles, boy,” he said, casually adding more spices to the dripping meat.

“I do not understand,” Leitos said. After what he had heard so far, he did not really want to know, but a part of him felt that he needed to.

“My time in bondage was spent in my master’s bedchamber. That whoreson would lay with anything at hand: men and boys, women and girls, beasts of the field, or all at once. And when that failed to slake his vile lusts, he used cruelty, violence of the worst sort, doing things to me and others that I will not utter aloud.” At this, the Hunter unconsciously fingered the scar on his throat, and Leitos found himself gladdened that the man did not reveal the details of how he had come by it.

“During it all,” the Hunter said, “I taught myself that the body is nothing but skin and meat and bone, merely clothing for the spirit. And while any of us draw breath, the body heals. The mind, boy, is far more precious … fragile . I guarded mine well, sealed it off from all feeling. Most of the others with me failed at that. In their shame, many opened their veins or poisoned themselves, choosing death as an easy escape. I did not then, nor do I now, begrudge them their choice. Nevertheless, they were weak. I chose to live, boy, to fight for my every breath.”

Leitos swallowed, ashamed that he had begun the conversation with the idea of forcing the Hunter to kill him in a fit of rage, so that he might escape the silent oaths he had sworn to his grandfather. While he did not intend to become like the man before him, he knew he must, in some way, learn from him.

Grow strong and cruel . Was that what his grandfather had desired, for his grandson to become like the Hunter? It seemed doubtful, but at the same time, Leitos could hardly separate Adham’s instruction from what the Hunter was imparting. Uncertain, he continued to listen to the Hunter’s grim tale, feeling more sickened by each new word.

“Much the same as my mother betrayed my father and me, I turned on my master and gained what freedom I have. It was simple, really-a murmured lie here, bit of damning evidence there and, of course, my word against him. That last was key, for slaves do not accuse. For me to do so meant, to those who mattered, that I must be telling the truth. Neither the Faceless One nor the Alon’mahk’lar suffer even a hint of betrayal or opposition. Moreover, they delight in showing their displeasure with the disobedient-so much so that they gave me the privilege of tearing the skin from my master.”

The Hunter’s eyes shined with something like glee. “I peeled him like an overripe fruit, boy, relishing every scream. He begged for forgiveness, but instead of bowing to the folly of mercy, I gave back to him in double measure all the vile gifts he had bestowed upon my flesh. On that day, boy, I was reborn.”

Leitos thought he might vomit at the images flickering through his mind, but he did not. Grow strong and cruel. He still did not know exactly what that meant, but he was certain now that his grandfather had not intended for him to become like the Hunter, at least not exactly. And while he could understand why the Hunter had done what he had, Leitos’s sympathy had curdled, for he knew the man was rabidly insane.

He shook his head slowly. “You suffered evils,” he allowed, “but you were not ‘reborn’ that day. I think what you held most precious, the spirit you thought to protect and set free, began to rot. Willingly or not, you became as much a soulless abomination as those you now serve. In that, you are no better than your mother.”

The Hunter shot him an oddly stricken look, but Leitos ignored it, his thoughts turning inward. If he had learned anything from the Hunter’s tale, it was that self-deception, the so-called ‘lies and smiles’ was a deadly doctrine, a slow-acting poison that decayed a man, consumed him from within.

All at once, the Hunter leaped across the space between them, catching hold of Leitos’s neck. He did not squeeze down, but the threat of power was there, the feeling that he could snap bones with no effort. “Judge me as you will, boy, but you are a weak, useless fool. You will waste away and die as a slave, as all your people have before you.” With a sound of disgust, he flung Leitos aside, and returned to the hares.

Leitos sat up again, eyeing his captor. He struggled to bring his leaping thoughts under control.

Here before him was a man who might have been great. If not for the Faceless One, he could have been a warrior or a lord or even a king. Instead, the Faceless One and his ilk had bent him to their will as they had so many others, made him a hater and hunter of men. They had destroyed the Hunter’s mother’s soul, much the same as they had broken the spirits of multitudes the world over, making wretched beasts of mankind, who then willingly turned on each other for little or nothing.

That last was still hard to accept, but seemingly undeniable. And such, Leitos saw, was the Faceless One’s masterstroke. He had little need of great marauding armies to maintain power, for his subjects controlled themselves through their abiding mistrust of one another, and a desire to serve their own needs above the needs of others.

More thoughts spun through Leitos’s head, but they faded in the light of just one: How could he avenge the dying race of mankind? The only answer was the same enigmatic command that had been alive in his mind since he fled the mines. Grow strong and cruel. It was little enough to go on, all that he had in truth.

When the Hunter placed one of the roasted hares in Leitos’s hands, he abandoned all thoughts of not eating. Food would strengthen him and, he prayed, perhaps one strength would lead to gaining another, and another, until he could find a means to escape and resume his journey to find the Brothers of the Crimson Shield.

“What is that?” Leitos asked, tugging the collar of the itchy tunic his captor had provided to keep the worst of the harsh sunlight off his back and shoulders.