The Beast Inside Page 21

“Did you think that you would get away with being a Ghast Ogre? We do not like your kind and have ways to test for your specific blood strain. This elf that you see before you is more than what he seems to be. His mother was an Ice Deep Elf and his father was an Ice Elf.

  “Even though his mother was exiled he was still able to marry into her clan. This elf’s abilities were inherited from his mother and thus his son has unique abilities from both of his parents. The emperor’s pet necromancer has captured his son only a few miles north of here.

  “As for you, we know that you are to be crowned king of your tribesmen. That fact alone will allow us to prosecute you for your crimes against us. It happens to be the very reason that we have had you waiting for so long, that and the fact that it allowed us to imprison your comrades.

  “The leader of an army is nothing without his army. Gorgos Orcs are known to be mortal enemies of the Ghast Ogres, but are our most devout allies. They happen to be twice the size of your brethren and work on brute strength. Just in case you get out of hand, two of them are on their way here.”

  Just as the commander mentioned the Gorgos Orcs, they had stooped beneath the tent flap. Before Ghak could do anything a big hand was placed on both of his shoulders by each of the big Orcs behind him. Despite his strength and constitution, their grips were threatening to crush his shoulders.

  A deep throaty voice from one of the Gorgos Orcs’ behind him threatened to shatter his eardrums, “What does commander want Gongo to do with this puny Ogre? Can Gongo eat ’im? He smells like he be good eat’n.” The Gorgos Orc shook Ghak in his vice-like grip as he spoke.

  Ghak did not like this one bit. He had always feared that they would find out about his heritage. It was unfortunate that his father and older brother had to die before they found out. Miss them, he would, but he had to find out how to get out of this predicament that he had found himself in.

  His tribe had never won a battle against these gargantuan Gorgos Orcs before because they had fought them with brute force. The magi had always stayed out of the fighting or at least relied only on their brawn and weapon skills to conduct their tactics. It was good for him that no one knew of his people’s magics. Mind you they did know that there had been the magi, but always assumed that that was only a legend when the subject of Ghast Ogres was brought up.

  Amongst the magi it was an unwritten or unspoken rule that they would not use magic in a battle against their foes no matter what those foes were capable of doing themselves. Ghak would change all that, but first he would have to get free. He was an adept at his art and there were a few good apprentices in his army that he could count on to obey his commands to use their abilities against their foes.

  There were others more adept than he that he might have trouble with and he had hoped that he would be able to get their aide based on his status as king to be. Ghak would be the first magi king in more than two thousand years. Held in check the way he was he could not reach out to his source. This source required him to be free of contact and any contact would disrupt the fragile tendrils of his devotion to his god enough to separate him from his abilities.

  He would remain helpless so long as at least one of the Gorgos Orcs remained in contact with him. Ghak hated this elf that had killed his brother and possibly had a hand in killing his father, but he hated the commander even more. The only way to free his people was to free this elf. At least that was what the present problem had presented as a solution for Ghak to utilize.

  Like it or not it would seem to be the most likely of choices that he had, which he hoped would result in success. The commander ordered the priests that he had torture the elf to take the elf down from the scourging stake. Gongo and the other Gorgos Orc were ordered to strip Ghak of all of his clothing.

  It was not hard to recognize Ghak as a Ghast Ogre once he was naked, for his entire chest and back were covered in tribal tattoos. Not all of the markings on his body were tattoos however to any observer, which was not a Ghast Ogre, they would appear to be just tattoos.

  Some were rune markings only worn by the magi and Ghak would receive one of his last rune markings on his coronation. It would be the first time ever that women would get rune markings, for in the past women were not a part of the magi. Two thousand years of traditions would change with his coronation, thus inducting women into the magi as the first step to this change.

  His two wives were to become the first women to be key parts of the magi and then other women would soon follow. This change and many other changes were promised to bring the Ghast Ogres successfully into the future with a power that was unmatched in all civilizations’ histories. The elf was six feet and two inches tall and was dwarfed by Ghak’s seven feet and six inches of height.

  Even so, Ghak was dwarfed by both of the Gorgos Orcs at an average height of nine feet and eight inches. Ghak, although dwarfed by these giant men, was broader at the shoulders and thicker in the chest and arms than they were.

  He took the moment of their surprise, the commander, priests and Orcs alike to say a few words with an arrogance that sounded like he believed that they were inferior to him.

  “Never saw someone this strong? Well my brother was stronger. It took more than sixteen arrows to kill him. At least he died honourably saving my life and not fighting your sadistic war. You can torture me all that you want and it will not change me one bit.” Ghak spit in the commander’s face after the execution of his last word.

  The commander shakily wiped the spittle off of his face with the back of his left hand. His nerves were shot and it was not because of his fear, but because of his anger. It took all of his strength not to pick his rapier up from where it lay in front of him on the desk, which was more for the show of his status as a commander than to be used for any form of combat, and run Ghak through with it.

  Anger boiled up inside him and he had to let it go. Without warning to anyone in the room the commander slammed his right hand onto the desk, close enough to the rapier to send it rolling off the desk and onto the grey portable tiles sending splinters and small pieces of wood into every direction. Some of the splinters scored his hand making him wince from the pain. Small droplets of blood now stained his desk where his fist smashed into it.

  One of the priests walked over to him, “Commander Stolkhome, are you alright? Oh God, your hand, it is bleeding. You need medical attention.” The priest, out of love for his commander, picked up Stolkhome’s hand for a closer look.

  Wincing, Commander Stolkhome quickly pulled his hand away from the priest, “Father Patrick, I will let you look after my hand later. Right now we have important empire business to take care of. I need this Ghast Ogre to set an example for all of the other Ghast Ogres that we have in the compound, which happen to be in our prison.

  “Torture him to an inch of his life, then throw him and this—elf—into the prison with the other Ghast Ogres.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  When Alexandra gained consciousness, she tried to stand up. The pain in her leg immediately jarred the forgotten memories of the previous evening. Did she really turn into a beast and kill all those tribesmen? Was her true father dead? Even though the tribesmen had hurt her and it still bothered her, was it right to kill them? What about the beast that had burned her clothing?

  There was nothing that she could do about that and she knew this, but it still left an empty chasm of nothingness in her heart that may not ever be filled. Her face was pale, devoid of a smile, her eyes were glossy, moist, ready to tear and full of anguish. Even in deep despair, she knew that her current situation needed to be dealt with. She wanted to take a look at her left shin so that she could estimate how much damage had been done to it, but her foot and leg up to her hip were beneath what she presumed to be a man.

  Oh! A man? His face was hidden from her with his thick matted hair and this made her not sure. Only the distribution of his weight and the feel of his muscles against her thin torn clothing worked to dispel any of her doubts. She tried to move the ma
n off of her, but the pain in her leg shot through her body like a bolt of lightening. Her eyes felt like they were going to burst and then the pain slowly resided as a numbing hum.

  For some reason the source for her abilities, including her healing ability, was not available to her. Even the extra Dochani strength that she was used to having was non existent. Left weak and in bad need of medical attention, she was very vulnerable. It was her desperate plea not to give up that made her realize that she should find a source on this planet or she would never be able to leave. Alexandra felt the man begin to move.

  At first he moved only a little. His hand twitched, his head moved by its own weight from side to side with the neck of a rag doll and then he abruptly sat up. He babbled something that Alexandra did not understand, but the way that he swung his right arm up into the air probably meant that it included either profanities or curses.

  She could see now that an arrow had penetrated through his chest on the left side from the front and out through the back. The way that his left arm hung she figured that it had been dislocated at the shoulder. He was now sitting on her broken shin and it made her let out a whiny squeal that made him turn his head to look directly into her eyes. Both of them were mesmerized for a long time, transfixed in a timelessness that neither could understand.

  Alexandra understood less than him. Only now noticing that he was sitting on her leg, he tried to stand. At that moment, Alexandra noticed another arrow or at least the front end of the arrow sticking out of the front of his left calf. The first time he had tried to stand he fell back down onto her leg. She shouted profanities at him that he did not understand. What he did understand was the free flow of tears that strolled down her soft delicate jaw line. This time he searched for a stick that could bear his weight, upon finding one he got up and looked at his leg.

  His face was pale and grim. Lips of his masculine face were pressed tightly together as he gritted his teeth in anticipation of the pain that he would have to bear when he removed the arrow from his leg. He reached to the arrow with his right hand while he balanced on his good leg, got a good grip on it and gestured for her to apply pressure around the arrow’s shaft on his thigh to reduce blood loss.

  Alexandra dragged herself closer to him, despite the instinct to pull away from him because he was a man, placing both of her hands on his wound where he had instructed. After looking at her for a moment, he yanked out the arrow. Blood began to be shot out of his thigh profusely like a fountain spraying everything, including Alexandra. It made her red robe even redder. For a long time, maybe even an hour or two, she tried to stop the bleeding but could not do so naturally.

  She was tired and had not eaten for a night and the better part of this day. The taste of sweet blood, this man’s blood, was on her tongue and her lips. Animal instincts to devour him were hard to contain. Alexandra felt like gagging, but she did not. She had been through a lot worse things at the mercy of the L’art’o and this man’s blood had a far sweeter taste than theirs did when she took revenge upon them. It was closer to the taste of honey than the taste of sweat like the taste of L’art’o blood, but the quantity of his blood that she had swallowed bothered at least a part of her.

  The animal in her wanted more, but she fought that urge down. Alexandra was afraid because she had found a source that gave her strength to feel her abilities, a strength that made her feel alive. It affected her like a drug and she did not know enough about these things to not be addicted to it. She had almost drained him of blood completely before she had realized that she was killing him and that her mouth was on his wound sucking vigorously trying to get it all.

  Pulling her lips away from his wound, she closed her mind from that animal deep inside of her and set her mind to focus while blood dripped from her teeth and lips. Before she began the task of healing him she removed the arrow from his chest and popped his shoulder back into place with a strength that she had not known before this day. She also set the bone in his lower left leg.

  He was in bad shape and it would require more strength than she had acquired from his blood and she could not even stand due to her own broken leg. Alexandra felt bad for what she had done to him. She knew that she had to heal him and so figured that she would have to draw on her own blood once the strength in the blood that she took from him was gone. This method of healing was risky and could leave permanent scars on the one that used it.

  It could also lead to death and was known as blood letting because it sometimes tainted the blood so much so that the subject needed to feed on blood for the rest of their lives because it resulted in a low hemoglobin count, which brought rise to the myth of vampires. Other addictions could be broken, with help. This addiction or affliction as it was known in most of the known worlds filled with monstrosities caused by this and other forbidden acts has never been known to be broken.

  Just like lycanthropy could not be cured once contracted. She slowed her breathing to calm her shattered nerves being conscious of the movement of her blood in her veins and arteries letting the blood that she took from this man mix with her blood. No longer feeling the pain in her leg or any other part of her body she mentally made contact with his flesh and her hands unquestioningly obeyed her command. Before working to heal him she reset the bone in her leg and healed the skin and muscle as best she could with as little strength as she could.

  It would take a week for it to heal the rest of the way, but she needed the rest of her strength to heal him. Concentrating now on him she began to heal him. By now his veins and arteries had already collapsed from lack of blood flowing through them and the first thing that she was to do was repair the damage. From the little bit of blood left in his system she began to produce more blood. After an hour working on him, she got his heart beating to an acceptable level and continued to monitor his life signs as she worked at repairing the damage to his organs.

  The damage to his organs was extensive so much so that she practically had to rebuild them from scratch from deep inside each of them to the protective sheet on the outside of the epidermal wall of each organ. Repairing every single organ, one at a time, took her more than three hours and used the last bit of strength that she had gained from his blood. Now, she would have to draw strength from her own blood and the rest of her body. If the latter was needed she would gladly do it even if it might mean that she would lose something of herself in doing so.

  Using strength gathered from her own blood she began to heal the rest of him. This, as Alexandra soon found out, was a very painful way of using her abilities. It did not take long for her strength to be depleted in the last workings of her healing him and she soon began to use up her body as a source. She smiled weakly as she finished healing him and imbuing him with a gift of strength in hopes that he could get her to someone who could help her.

  To her, he was beautiful or maybe she was just tired or delusional from working to heal him for the last twelve hours. Alexandra was weak now and needed plenty of rest. Her blood and body had taken a very grave toll. Once thick and coarse muscles had covered her entire body, but now she was a frail frame of her former self. Now, her skin was tight and thin covering her greatly reduced muscles with no visible sign of fat ever existing upon her body.

  The red robe that she had worn to this planet looked more like a tent and because of its size did not cover her nude body appropriately allowing it to hang loosely at her waist exposing a large portion of her bare breasts and shoulders. Lying beside the man, pulling at her robe to cover herself as much as possible, she soon let her exhaustion draw her into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY ONE

  SilverFox was hungry when he had awoken beside a beautiful half naked woman as the dawn of a new day was joined with the dampness of dew. He was surprised to find himself without injury and that he had felt strange. The strange way one feels when they have received a divine blessing at the hands of a holy man or priest. His clothes were stained with blood long since dried up and even his chain mail was
tarnished with the rust colour of blood.

  Though SilverFox had never known love before, he knew what it was. It was said to be something everyone hoped for and everyone wanted. Love was what SilverFox wanted now. He wanted to love this girl and could not understand why this was so. Maybe it was her beauty or maybe, just maybe, he wanted to love her because she was there. He did not know her personally or even passingly. She was a big puzzle to him.

  Love was to be mutual and he wondered how an unconscious dreamy girl who looked half his age could love him. How could something like this work? Knowing that a real friend was one who gave their life for another unconditionally made this girl, in a way, his friend. For SilverFox, what he had felt and still felt had to be love. After all he was a monk or at least still bound by his monastic life many years before this.

  Hoping that it was not lust that he had felt for her and was in fact love he arranged her clothing so that no one could see her naked or know that she was naked beneath her clothes even though they were torn in various places. What was she doing here without food, without shoes or without any protection from the cold? Carefully slinging her over his left shoulder and making sure that his message satchel was secure, SilverFox set off towards his father’s compound.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY TWO

  BlackBear could not believe all of the events that had happened. It was unusual for a company of men to abandon their commander. Following his horse here was a lame excuse for a group of men sworn to serve their king. Sure he was only king because of this war, but to treat a royal prince with such disregard was punishable by the laws of kingship.

  The laws of kingship stated that it was unlawful to commit an act that was outwardly offensive to the king. He would have to talk to them, in fact question them, about their motives. In a kingdom, no matter what the circumstances, an heir to the throne’s safety must be considered at all times. His son’s death would be on their heads.