Heirs of the Fallen: Book 02 - Crown of the Setting Sun by James A. West

still deny.”
    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