I was twentyā¦ twenty-five, I think?ā¦ when I was sentenced. Four hundred years was a length of time I couldnāt even imagine. It was a length of time I donāt think anyone could imagine, even the judge. It was just a big showy number that let everyone know Iād never see the light of day again. The mages who cast the spells were dramatic about it, practically shouting the part about āuntil death claims you, or four hundred years hath passed, forsooth, thou shalt be imprisoned hereā. They donāt waste that kind of magic on most prisoners, but I was special.
The Slayer, they called me then. The Monster of Sentan. Iād killed nineteen peopleā¦ I remember that number because I was so furious that they stopped me so close to my goal of twenty-one. And I didnāt just kill ordinary people, no, but the Chosen of the Gods. The Great and Good. They were terrified of me. So they locked me away, to die forgotten.
It had been a little less than a hundred years when the king died without heir, and a civil war tore the country apart. When the fighting was all over, the losers were dragged down to the deepest cells under the castle, and the new king and his soldiers stopped and stared at me. āWhoā¦ who is this?ā he asked, frowning. āSome victim of the usurper?ā
People like cooks and jailers and scrubbers donāt change as easily as kings. The same man whoād been bringing me my meals since there was still brown in his hair and beard shuffled forward, hunched and grey now. āNo, yer majesty,ā he said humbly. āThat be a special prisoner, from before the old king died.ā
āSpecial? Special how?ā He frowned, moving closer to my cell. āThe old king died more than ten years ago. This woman must have been a child then. What could she have done to - ā
āDonāt get too close, yer majesty,ā the old man said sharply. āThatās the Monster of Sentanā¦ anā she bites.ā
That was true. I do bite.
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