Renit was elated at the turn of events. The small Pyranni city had been overtaken by the Malirrans. With hundreds of the invaders outside the city gates, the three dozen warriors guarding Valorri crumbled in the face of a dozen fires spreading along the city wall. In a twist of fate, the purist Pyranni King had ordered the contingent of warriors to journey to Gharra two weeks before. The purpose was to crush the heretic Kurites and bring the true religion to their children.

He shook his head at the pure irony. The Purist King forgot the other enemies in its midst, awaiting a time to invade the prosperous kingdom. He loved where he’d grown up, but as he aged Renit realized he did not uphold the purist ideals. Though he was careful to never speak out against King Ragnar, he didn’t understand the need for war against the Kurites. He believed the Malirrans would soon put an end to the purist religion. For good. Surely the Malirrans would be better rulers.

He pushed through the crowd along the main street, wanting—along with the other onlookers—to see the invaders march toward the noble house. For the last three days, the city had been in an emotional upheaval. Now, the citizens descended in droves to the main byway. Shouts went up as the Malirran warriors came into view. They strode through the street, five warriors for every row in military precision. Each wore a breastplate over the black-and-silver-lined clothing. Their pants were black as well. Every one of the warriors kept one hand on their sword, and he realized each sheath was unbuckled, in case the crowd turned against their new lords.

Renit could have told them the people didn’t involve themselves in the city’s political affairs. They preferred to be left alone to eke out their living. When he saw a few warriors randomly selecting people from the crowd, he shoved his way to the front, grateful for the width and height of his physical frame. He waved his hand in the hope of catching the eye of the hawk-nosed man.

The God and Goddess be praised, he was chosen.

Perhaps he would meet the Malirran ruler. Perhaps he could join the Malirran military ranks. The Malirran pulled him out of the crowd and roughly pushed him into the growing line of Pyrannis. He marched through the city of his birth, proud to have been chosen for a great duty.

Once they entered the courtyard, his chest expanded even more when he was chosen out of the fifty other Pyrannis. Again, it was the hawk-nosed warrior who took him to the baths where only nobility were allowed to bathe. He chuckled under his breath at his change in station. His time had finally come. He resolved to show the Malirran ruler his abilities.

Renit heard a slight scuffle behind him and turned toward the sound. A large glass of expensive wine was shoved into his face. Reaching up to take hold of the glass, he copied how he’d seen the nobles act toward a servant. He tilted his head at the rough-looking servant. Taking a tiny sip, he gasped when the wine exploded in his mouth. Having tasted nothing as refined as this wine, he drank the wine in one sitting and held out the glass to the manservant.

At the man’s silent urging, he stripped his clothes and walked down the steps into the warm water. He was handed an odorless soap to use. After drying himself off, the servant waved him down onto one of the many benches surrounding the pool. He smiled again. He’d never had his hair so intricately braided in his short life. Once his hair was finished, he was given a solid black gown to wear but no slippers. Perhaps Malirran nobles did not wear slippers in their houses. Strange, but too much so. From his service to the nobility, he had always found them eccentric in their tastes and actions.

As Renit followed the servant through the noble house across the cold but smooth floor, he found himself standing taller, his head up and eyes straight ahead. He didn’t miss the Pyranni servants look at him and then away in fear. A smug smile took residence on his face, and he had no desire to lose it in the middle of his chance at a new life. He was selected by the Malirrans for a grand purpose. He could feel it. He’d always known he was born for a special reason.

A small frown flickered across his face when he realized where the silent servant took him. The man left him standing near the fire and disappeared through the door leading into the main room. He basked in the warmth of the flames, letting the fire heat his chilled feet.

Glancing around, he realized he was in a kitchen filled with the delicious aroma of exquisitely prepared food. Except, as he glanced at the dishes something niggled at the back of his head. He kept scanning the dishes until he realized no meat was found in any of the foodstuff. How odd. Did Malirrans expect the Pyranni people to stop eating meat? Shouldn’t he have been taken to the main entrance and announced?

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Then he realized the kitchen was quiet, eerily quiet. He heard the clink of the occasional spoon or knife against the bowls and plates that were taking form on the wide preparation table. The servants never raised their eyes from their designated task, apparent fear written across their guarded faces and tense bodies. He disregarded the worry that snaked across his shoulders. What was there to fear? Couldn’t these fools see they were saved? He shook his head at the ignorance of his own people. They would soon realize their error.

The hawk-nosed man stuck his head into the kitchen and pointed at Renit. Renit walked over to the man, unsure what would happen next. He noticed the man had decorated his hair and ears with strands of silver. Silver rings covered every finger on both his hands. Ah, the man had left to dress for the evening’s meal.

When Renit entered the glittering room, he blinked at the numerous candles illuminating the entire room a soft yellow. The intricate gold hammered into the walls and the floor caused the room to reflect the candlelight, making the hall look like the sun was shining from above.

He stopped short when he looked over to the long table. Odd. Nine Malirrans sat in a room that could easily seat hundreds. Every one of the Malirrans had intricate silver strands dangling in their hair and around their necks. Every finger was adorned with silver as well. Their clothes were a solid black. It was a distinct contrast to the gold surrounding them in the large hall.

Each held a large cutting knife and a two-pronged fork as the dirty dishes were cleared away in haste. He followed the silent, hawk-nosed warrior around the table twice, almost as if he was being paraded in front of the Malirran nobles. At first, he walked with purpose, thinking he would soon be asked to speak to the ruler. But then he noticed the hungry stares of the nobles. As each one perused his body, perspiration beaded and then trickled down his forehead. He didn’t dare break the heavy silence in the vaulted room. He couldn’t. The second time around, a Malirran noble nodded his appreciation as Renit passed him. What did it mean?

Finally, his presentation came to an end, leaving him standing at the side of the ruler. He snuck a quick glance and was shocked at what he saw. This man’s entire outfit was made of solid silver. He shimmered, but his eyes held a combination of emptiness and perhaps madness. The feverish glint in the deep eyes snared his attention and held him imprisoned. Though still a young man, his cheeks were hollowed, making his eyes look sunken. He looked to have weathered in a short span of time.

With his eyes still fastened to the ruler’s maddened eyes, Renit belatedly began to feel something had gone horribly wrong. The only muscles he could move under that stare were his hands. They began twitching in fear, but that response was slow and uncontrolled. What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he run? What were they going to do to him?

The roll of wheels across the tiled floor caught his attention. The stone was bleached a pure white with leather straps attached to the vertical walls of the stone. He didn’t understand its purpose until he was grabbed from behind and tossed down on the flat stone. He was then strapped down on the wide slab, his legs spread apart and his arms attached to the side of the altar, shooting pain up and down all four limbs.

God and Goddess save him. He was strapped to a white altar.

For the first time, he struggled against his restraints, his movements sluggish, all to no avail. Renit turned his head in fear when he heard the scrape of all nine chairs ricochet around the large room. He watched as the sunken-eyed ruler stepped into view. Renit began hyperventilating in terror, making small whimpering noises in the back of his throat.

The Malirran slit the black gown down the center, flipping the flaps away from his body, leaving his entire, naked body stretched open for the man’s purview. With no preamble whatsoever, the Malirran jabbed his fork into his thigh and began cutting with the serrated knife.

He screamed in pain and shock. In disbelief, he felt his blood spray out as the knife met the blood vessels in his leg. He frantically squirmed, trying to escape the pain, but his body was now immobile. Almost passing out, he turned glassy eyes downward when he felt something move on his body. He felt the knife scrape against his leg bone. His body broke out in a sweat, a physical reaction to the torture. In disbelief, Renit watched as the king turned with an ample portion of flesh and meat from his thigh clutched between the fork and knife and walked back to the table.

Renit cried out in agony, screaming at the top of his lungs. The open wound was left to bleed; his blood gushed like rain down the side of the altar to splash in a syncopated rhythm onto the once pristine floor. He was sure someone would speak out as his screams reverberated around the hall.

But the nobles spoke amongst themselves, acting as if he was a piece of meat, something to eat. His screams went unnoticed, except for the sadistic laughter from the entire group. They enjoyed his suffering. They enjoyed torturing him. They were enjoying his terror. Then his mind—drugged from the wine—had one, last cognizant thought.

Renit finally understood he was the main course. As he watched another Malirran take the ruler’s place and felt first his left calf muscle, then his right, catch fire from the strike and cut of the dinner knives, he realized he had been wrong.

Horribly wrong.

The Malirrans were not the saviors he had thought. The Malirrans were flesh eaters, the ultimate evil.