The Beast

Chapter Fourteen

Strivsky was furious. He couldn't stop replaying that one night where it all went wrong. He believed himself to be the greatest beast master, to have the most renowned menagerie. It was supposed to be an easy job. Show the peasants a few interesting creatures, then move on to the next town. But then that beast showed up.

Strivsky growled in anger tightening his fists, until his chest wound painfully called out to remind him of its presence. As if he could forget. That beast stole his most prized possession—the pinnacle his extensive collection. The dragon. It had taken him weeks to lure the hatchling away from its mother, years of dedication to raise it, to tame it, to subjugate it to his command and his alone. And only one night to lose it.

The candle's flame beside him flickered as someone entered the shack they called a home.

"Oh, sir, you're bleeding again," a woman's voice said frantically until her worn features entered his field of vision, bent over his bandaged chest.

"Leave me be, woman," Strivsky growled, knocking her hands away with his own, but it only elicited more pain from his wounds. She saw that as her opening, beginning her work to heal the stubborn man. This time he did not fight her.

"Look at you," she chastised him, applying salve to his wounds as he hissed and moaned in pain. "All red in the face. You should stop this worryin'—it'll only make the healin' take longer."

"I've suffered worse," he bit out.

She gave him a look of disbelief. "Doubt it. If that were true, ya wouldn't be cryin' an' moanin' as such."

Strivsky attempted a scoff, only to hiss in pain again, the woman giving him a pointed look. He directed his gaze elsewhere. He didn't need the pity of a peasant.

As she stepped away to retrieve fresh bandaging, Strivsky mulled over the night once more. He did not doubt the woman would lecture him again for doing so, but he could not help it. His life's work had been stolen from him. He wanted justice, retribution, vengeance.

When the woman stepped toward him again, wrapping him in fresh cloth, she gave him a disapproving look just as he had expected.

"You should stop thinkin' about the past. No fixin' it," she told him. "Instead, you should try lookin' to the future. There's hope there. That is, if you let me heal ya."

For once, Strivsky listened to the woman, mulling over her words. Perhaps she was right. He couldn't believe it—that someone of such low status might have actually imparted some wisdom to him. As she finished up his bandages, he began slowly nodding to himself. Yes, he should look to the future. Slowly, he began to see an opportunity in his misfortune.

That cursed beast...it was like no other he had seen before, or even heard whispers of. It was horrid, but also magnificent in way. As he thought about it more and more, he could not help but smile to himself at his own cleverness. Yes, he may have lost a dragon, but what would the people have to say about a creature so elusive that no one had even heard of it, in his possession. He would indeed be the irrefutably greatest beast master the world would ever know.

He recalled the beasts appearance once more. It seemed more of an amalgamation of several creatures, with wings and scales, claws and spines, fur and horns. And its eyes. Those eyes glowed red with a bloodlust he was all too familiar with, having seen it in many of the other creatures he had acquired. But he knew how to diminish that rage, and suppress it until it was hidden behind fear of punitive measures in disobedience to him. But there was also intelligence in those eyes, and power in its voice. He shuddered as he recalled his terror when he heard it speak to him, right before he was struck down by its horrible claws. Its voice was guttural and venomous, piercing his very soul, poisoning it with fear. Yes, the creature knew its own power very well. He would have to be very careful.

He knew he had a chance at subjugating the monster. Despite its size and terrible appearance, it was still in adolescence. He knew that much from the budding horns it sported upon its head. He would have preferred it be even younger, when he assumed it was less vicious and a greatly reduced threat, but it was still most likely malleable to his training. It would be quite the challenge at this stage, but he did not doubt his own skill and capability for one second. All he needed to know now was its location.

Before he had blacked out from the pain, he did somewhat vaguely recall one more thing after the dragon had flown away. A man. He was older and worn in appearance, much like the woman whose care he was left in. It had approached the creature not with fear, but with anger. And the creature had followed him. Without resistance. Strivsky wondered faintly if perhaps the creature had already been tamed, and this man was its master. If so, he was a poor master indeed, letting his charge out of his sight to rampage unchecked. And to let a fellow master loose part of his own collection? It was unspeakable. Strivsky decided he had many grievances with this man indeed. But he still hadn't a clue as to who or where he was. And it was only a vague recollection. He briefly considered the possibility of him being mistaken for once, only to quickly dismiss the thought.

He shifted on his poor excuse for a bed to the woman who was now bent over a cooking pot, stirring mindlessly. "Tell me...miss; did you perchance see a man steer the beast away from the scene?" he asked in his sweetest tones, only stumbling a little at her name, as he had never bothered asking for it, and if she told it to him, he could not recall it.

She paused in her stirring momentarily, only to resume again, never turning to face him. He almost became outraged that she was ignoring him until she spoke. "Yes."

It was quiet, but he still heard it. He smiled. "And would you happen to know this man's identity?"

She stiffened, but never stopped stirring. "Maybe."

"Come now," he crooned to her. "I promise I will stop thinking of things past. I only wish to put these troubling questions behind me, that I might rest easier knowing the exact details of my downfall. That's all."

She finally turned a wary eye to him. "You promise?"

Inwardly, he grinned at the woman's simplicity, but outwardly gave her a serious nod. "I swear it on my mother's grave." Too bad she's not dead.

She regarded him cautiously for a moment, before she opened her mouth. "His name is Reul. Don't know much about him. Keeps to 'imself most times."

Ah, a secretive man. "Where does he live?"

She gave him a narrow look. "What's that got to do with anything."

"Just curiosity, my dear," he shrugged simply. He was stupefied when he saw her cheeks flush, which he strongly suspected was not the result of whatever she was cooking in that pot. She really made this all too easy for him.

"He always comes in from the west," she answered. "He doesn't live in the village, but he can't be too far out, else he wouldn't bother comin'."

"He comes often, then?"

"Not really. Only every season to sell his crop."

Strivsky's brow furrowed in confusion. "He's a farmer?"

She nodded. "Plenty of folks 'round here are. Not sure how he does it all himself, though."

Strivsky said nothing, thinking to himself. When he noticed that the woman was still waiting attentively for him to speak, he gave her another charming smile. "Thank you, dear. I think I feel much better now."

She gave her own wide smile, tucking one of her many stray locks behind an ear. "Glad to help," she said, returning her focus to her cooking pot.

Strivsky let his smile fall into a thoughtful grimace as soon as her back was turned. He had much to think of, and much to plan. He was sure to try and visit this Reul as soon as he was able. One way or another, that beast would be his. He would see to it.