BEASTSOF BEARING —ISABELLE TÖRNQVIST
Beasts of bearing
Isabelle törnqvist
Copyright© 2025byIsabelleTörnqvist Allrightsreserved.
No portionofthisbook maybereproducedinany form without writtenpermission fromthe publisherorauthor, exceptaspermittedbycopyright law.
Publisher: BoD ·Books on Demand, Östermalmstorg1,114 42 Stockholm, Sverige,bod@bod.se
Print: Libri Plureos GmbH, Friedensallee273, 22763 Hamburg, Tyskland
ISBN: 978-91-8080-934-4
CHAPTER 1
Vicente
“What’s this guy’sbody count,anyway?” Vicentetried to sound dismissive,likehewasn’tconcerned about thematterathand, but anticipationbrewedbitterinthe pitofhis stomach.
“Confirmed? Onehundred andfive. Suspected? Merciful,I dare sayaround four hundredkills forsure.”Brokerdiscarded his smoldering cigarettebeforeclaspinghis rifleagain.
Even though night fell hours ago, theheathadn’tyet lifted.It pressedagainst thestone walls of thetower likea second skin, damp andinescapable.Vicente couldfeelitinhis clothes, in the back of hisknees,underhis collar:the kind of warmth that soaked into bone andmadeyour patiencesweat out through your pores.
Thecapital’sbiggest avenue sprawled belowthem, litin scatteredoilytorchlight,and from theirhidewithin thetower,they hada perfectviewofits entire length. Vicentescannedthe windowsofthe buildings that stood sentinel across thestreet for anysignofmovement. “Right.Keepyoureyespeeled, Officer Broker. Theassassin’swindowofopportunity is about to close.”
Brokerhuffed. “You’lladdress me as ‘Sergeant.’The rangers arepartofthe military, not thepolice.”
Acollective, mutedchuckle escapedthe sixother rangers.
“Myapologies,SergeantBroker,”Vicente said.Thismarked hisinaugural mission with them.Hecouldnot afford to make a mistake.
Below, theprocessionoftrade caravans made theirway up the tree-lined,white-stonedboulevard. Thecrowd movedlikesyrup
aroundit: slow,dense,thick.LordPascal, positionedatthe forefront—and wrappedintoo much silk andwool forthiskindof climate—hadsuccessfullyundertaken secure passagefromthe nearby village. However, thelordwas not yetsafe; allthe murders attributed to theassassinhad occurred in thecity, notinthe countryside.
“Protectingthisswine is nota task forthe rangers,” Sergeant Brokergrumbled. “And thanks to us,hewillundoubtedly indulge furthertonight at thequeen’s court, growingevenfatter.”
“LordPascalwilldie here in just afew moments,”Vicente said.
“Thenwhatthe fuck arewestanding around here for?”
“The onlyway to catchFar Cryistohavehim reveal his location—whichhewill, oncehetakes hisshot.”
It wasPascalhimselfwho haddivulgedthe truthofthe bounty placed on hisown head.The mysticsofthe quorumhad accepted themission to protecthim,drivenbythe slim chance of apprehending theassassin. Thus,theyhad assigned Vicentethe job. UnbeknownsttoPascal,his commitment to this causewould demand hislife.
Vicente wasthe onewho hadsuggestedit, hismostdaring gamble yet: sacrificeone lord,inorder to capturethe assassin that hadterrorizedthe city formonths.Whenthe plan hadbeen approved,hehad felt confident, proudeven, but now,the stinging tasteofdoubt prickled theroof of hismouth.
“You neverknow,” Broker said.“Thebastard might miss.” Then he laughed underhis breath,already certainthe assassin wouldn’t.
Thetower creaked, not often, but just enough to remind them that they were very high up andveryunwelcome.Vicente exhaled andleanedagainst thebattlement,binocularsslick in hishands. Hiscurls stucktohis forehead.The seawas asmear of black on thehorizon, itsgusts barely reaching them.
Vicente’s investigationhad revealed FarCry’s modus operandi:the criminal wouldhidewithinone of thetallbuildings that afforded avantage point andunleash hislethalsnipe on
Pascal from there. Butplacing soldiers nearby wouldonlyforce himtofindanotherspottostrikefromordelay hisattack.Hence whyVicente decidedtoposthimselfand therangers in thetower of theTal Miriluniversity, wheretheir view encompassedall potentiallocations.Eachrangerheldbinocularstotheir eyes, keepingwatch.The trap wasset.Now,theycould onlywaitfor FarCry to strike
Asinglegunshot shatteredthe tranquility,violently jolting Pascal from hishorse.Screams piercedthe airashe, already unconscious,slammed into theground.
“Where?”
“Locationtwenty-four C, topfloor!” one of therangers responded.
Vicente hesitated. “You’resure?” Asix-story building, seven hundred yardsfromPascal. Howisthat possible?
“Positive! Move out,now!”
Sergeant Broker steppedawayfromVicente.“Do yourthing, mystic.”
Vicente downeda potionofStormwater; theone entangled to thereceiverhehad plantedinbuildingtwenty-four C. He opened thetunnel.The forceofithurledhim into space, tearinghim away fromthe tower.
Theinstantaneous transitionlefthim breathless.Endorphins flooded hissenses, momentarily obscuring histhoughtswithina swirlingvortexofeuphoria.Hedidn’tknowwhy teleportation felt so wonderful, but he embraced it with open arms.Itwas like settlingintoa hot bath when freezing andsoreafter alongday of chopping wood in thewinter. Relaxationseepedintoevery part of hisbody.
As thedisorientatingrushoftransportationsubsided,Vicente found himselfdeposited within anew chamber, itsair heavywith dustand thelingering scentofabandonment.
“Where thefuckdid youcomefrom?”
Vicente stared downthe barrel of arifle.Heresistedthe impulse to raisehis hands in ashow of compliance. “I’m amystic, andI suggestyou drop yourweapon before I’mforcedtohurt
you.” Gradually,his vision adaptedtothe darkness,revealinga pair of hazeleyeslooking back at him. What immediatelystruck himabout theman washis smallstature,and hisyouthful face hinted at an agenot exceedingtwentysummers.Hewas even youngerthanVicente.
FarCry,garbedentirelyinshadesofbeige to camouflage himselfamidstthe desert-toned buildings,stayedmotionlessand hisfirearm remained trainedonVicente.Vicente hadbeen givena gun he didn’tknow how to use, but therewas no wayhecould draw it before FarCry wouldpullhis owntrigger.
Vicente methis eyes,steadfast,tryingtosound convincing when he said,“I’monlyherefor theinitialarrest. Youhavea betterchanceofmakingyourescapeonceI’vehandedyou overto thepoliceofficers.Yousaw what Ican do.”
FarCry glared at him, sizing himup. Of course he couldn’t make senseofwhathad just happened;how couldhe? Seeing Vicente teleportwould make anysaneman feel fear.
Slowly,Far Crylowered into acrouch. He placed hisrifle on thefloor,releasing hisgrip.
Though theoriginalplanmerelyentailedstalling, Vicente recognizedanopening. GivenFar Cry’ssmall build,Vicente had thephysical advantage.
He aimeda kick at FarCry’s face,but theman threwhimself backward,nullifying theimpact. Vicentesurgedforward, slamming himtothe ground, adrenalinegivinghim thestrengthto holdhim down.
Vicente hadalsobeenequipped with apairofhandcuffs,for thepurposeofdetaining theassassinuntil thearrival of the rangers. He fastened thecuffs around FarCry’s wrists,binding them together behind hisback.
“Bastard,” FarCry barked,“Iwas yielding.”
Vicente pulledhim to hisknees.“They’reontheir way, just sit tight.” Through thewindow,hesaw acrowd formingaround the murder scenefar offinthe distance.Vicente stared,strugglingto make senseofwhatFar Cryhad managedtodo. Sevenhundred yards.“Howdid youdothat?”
“I wasabouttoask you thesamething.”
Vicente lookedbacktowhere he hadappeared,where theother glassvialwith thereceiving endofthe Stormwater hadstood Nowitlay discardedinthe towerheand therangers hadbeenina minuteago. Thetwo entangled vialshad been substitutedwith each otherthrough aquantum tunnel,and Vicentehad merely been pulledwiththe liquid.
“I’m afraid Ican’t tell you;that’sa statesecret. Nevertheless, take prideinthe fact you forced thegovernment to resort to employing amysticintheir pursuit of you. You’re an amazing sniper;why not useyourabilitiesfor anobler purposethanofa hiredkiller?”
FarCry remained silent.
Vicente steadied hisbreathing as he took in hissurroundings. A bow anda quiverfullofarrowswereleaning againstone of the walls. He hadnodoubt FarCry carriedother weapons,and if he hada knife on him, Vicentecouldn’t turn hisback. As he picked up therifle,Far Cry’sjaw tightened.A subtle reaction, butVicente noticed.A tell, maybe.But he letitslide.
Thefirearm appeared unremarkable, resembling thestandardissueweaponswielded by themilitary.Itwas asimplebolt-action rifle, made of wood andmetal.“Your gunlacks ascope,” Vicente pointed out. “How didyou accomplishsuchremarkable marksmanship without one?”
“Fuckyou.”
Undeterred by theresponse, Vicente squatteddownbeforethe kneelingFar Cry. “Why don’tyou usea scope?”
“Noneofyour business.”
“Whopaidyou to kill Lord Pascal?”
“Fuckme, you aska lotofquestions.”
Sevenhundred yards. Asniperhittinga target from that distance wasunheard of,and yetherewas FarCry,a malnourished, young civilian with no military affiliation. Why hadn’thejoinedthe army?And how,inthe Merciful’s name,had he avoidedthe draftinthe firstplace?Curiosity burnedthrough Vicente like afever,growing into agitation. Questioning FarCry
wasn’t hisjob; he waswellaware of that.But,toVicente, indifference wasanillness, andhecouldnever getcomfortable remaininginthe dark.“Tell me your name.”
FarCry snorted. Hisnosebledfromthe fight andhelookeda bitdazed,blinking hard,once. “That’s astate secret ”
Vicente couldn’t stomachfeeling belittled,but angersat comfortablyonhis shoulderslikea well-worncoat. Frustration became rage,anemotionmucheasiertoharness
He seized theassassin’schin. “I am amystic. Youhavesurely heardtales of theformidable might exertedbythe mysticsofthe Sensis Quorum,but Iassureyou, my power surpassestheirs.”
FarCry’s eyes fixedonVicente frombehindthe veil of his black bangs.“Is that supposed to impress me?Besides,you’ll have to hand me over to thepoliceatsomepoint.Oncethoselazy motherfuckerslet theirguard down,I’llslipright past them again, andcomefor you when you sleep. Then I’mgoing to gut you fromthroattodick.”
Finally, some information: he hadbeenarrestedbefore. He must have arap sheet,then. Andfromthere,theywouldbeableto tracethe evidence andfindthe person whohad orderedthe bounty on Pascal’s head.Though, that wouldn’tbeVicente’s job. He was almost done with his.
Vicente took in thesight of him. Blackhair, apalecomplexion, sharpfeatures, dark lashes.Darkenough forhim to take note of it.
FarCry tippedhis head backwards, trying andfailingtopry hischinfromVicente’s grip.“Youhaveadeath-wish,prettyboy? Getyour filthy hands offme.”
Vicente didn’tlet go.Beneath warm skin,hefeltthe subtle tremors, thehoned fury in FarCry’s body as he struggled to free himself. Vicentecouldmarkthismission downasa success; the quorum wouldbeproud of him. Thevictory waveredbeforehim now,though, emptyand dull. Hiscuriosity wasstill unquenched, a greedy vice that couldn’tbesatiated.
Thesound of peoplerapidly ascending thestairsreverberated through theconcretewalls,drawing Vicente’s attentiontothe
soldiers’imminentarrival. He stood. “Perhaps therangers will prove more successful in coaxinginformation out of you.”
Shockdrained FarCry’s face of allcolor.“Therangers?You said you were workingwiththe police.”
“Myapologies, Iget them mixedup—”
FarCry sprung from theground andboltedtowards thenearby window,the onehehad firedout of.Vicente lunged,latchingonto themetallicchain of thehandcuffs before FarCry couldswandive to hisdeath likea lunatic.
Vicente hauled himbacktothe center of theroom.“Iwouldn’t do that if Iwereyou.”
“Ifyou were me,” FarCry said,“you’d rather diethanbein theircustody.”
Thedoor slammedopenwith such forcethe wood cracked againstthe wall. Therangers burstin, weapons raised andsteady. When they sawVicente hadthings undercontrol, they lowered theirguns.
Themen erupted in acheer,anoutpouringofexultationand relief. Meanwhile, FarCry shrank into himself, rounding his shoulders,headbowed,retreatingasfar as Vicente’sgripwould allow.
“IverVasiliev.”SergeantBrokergrabbeda fistfulofFar Cry’s hair,raising hisdrooping head.“HowI’velonged to getmyhands on you. Couldn’tcomeupwith abetternickname?”
Iver sneeredatthe sergeant,but thefireinhis eyes wasslowly dying. “Fuckyou,Broker.”
Vicente kept hisexpression neutral, refusing to letthe surprise show on hisface.All this time,the rangershad knownthe identity of theFar Cryassassin? Hisskincrawled,the airheavy with a pervasive wrongness,likethe unsettlingscent clinging to thesick. Wasthispartofa broaderdeception? Andifso, how deeply didit extend;did thequeen know?
Iver fought andstruggled.The rangersmaintainedtheir firm hold, escorted himout of theroomand seized hisrifle as atoken of triumph.
Oneofthe rangerspattedVicente on theback. “Wefinally caughtFar Cry. Nice work,mystic.”
Vicente couldonlynod. He felt childish then,watchingasthe rangersled Iver away andidentifying thesensation as akin to beingrobbedofa prize.
Aweek later, thequeen summonedVicente.Duringhis yearswith thequorum,hehad made himselfquite familiarwiththe Arkensaali palace.But theregal hall still took hisbreathaway, everytime.The vaultedceilingwas so high he half-expected clouds to gather beneathit. Golden filigreeintertwined with gemstonesglimmered againstthe blue expanse, creating the illusion of astarlit sky.
At theheart of thechamber rested theveryepitome of supremacy: thethrone. Thepolishedebony glistenedlikea moonlit lake,accentuated by patternsofsilvertracing thelineage of theRhys dynasty. Andonitsat thequeen herself, Leandra Rhys.She reminded Vicenteofthe sun: radiantand everlasting, unbearable in its dazzlingintensity,and dangerous when exposed to fortoo long.The fire in herfed itself. Shehad ruledsince before Vicente’sbirth,and giventhe powerburning within her, shewouldlikelycontinue to rule formanyyears afterhis death.
Vicente wasa little takenaback to seeIndraofthe Sensis Quorum seated next to thequeen.Whenhis eyes metIndra’s, she gave hima smallnod. Thedemigod Otter, Lyska, wasather feet, smoking itspipe. Lyskararelyleftthe quorum’sarchives. Somethingwas up.
Vicente took in theassortmentofindividuals.Nobles,dressed in fine attiremarking theirprivilege andinfluence.Soldiersofthe Tacticsand AssaultOperations Team—alsoknown as the rangers—borethe distinctivemarkings of valorontheir chests. Some faces,thoseofTal Mirildiplomats,Vicente recognized. Thesewerehis colleagues. This couldonlymeana diplomatic mission wasonthe table; ajob of such importanceitnecessitated theinput of thequorumand theirbonded demigod.
Vicente sensed theweight of expectationhanging in theair. Thereason fortheir shared summons wasbeing kept asecret. Nothinglikethishad ever happenedbefore; at leastnot in the seventeenyears he hadstudied with thequorum.Hetook hisplace in thecrowd,feigned indifferencesettlingintohis expression with well-rehearsed ease.
When Queen Leandrarosefromher seat,the assembly fell silent.“There’sanunfortunate situationforming in thesmall town of Llyr,and it needstobedealt with immediately. Sincethe bandit raidsinthe area have come to an enddue to Bruvran andhis company’s… interference,landisnow available, andtwo clans areateachother’s throatsoverit. TheLlyrianswon’t be keen on Arkensaal’sintrusion,but it’s in our interest that this conflictbe resolved quickly.”
At thementionofLlyr, it clickedfor Vicente. Llyr’s relationshipwith thecapitalhad been unstablefor thebetterpart of acentury.Itcouldbedescribed as ‘shaky,’ at best.Atits worst, Llyr’s leadershad been persistently seekingany excuse to sparka civilwar againstthe centralprovinces.
Thequeen looked around at thepeoplegathered. “Thismission demandsdiscretion; Iwill not send acrowd.Onlythosewho are unquestionablysuitedfor this assignmentshouldstepforward.”
Naturally,she didn’t want this operationtolook likeArkensaal deployed an entirebrigade to deal with theLlyrians: they would interpretitasanact of aggression.Sending an agentofthe crown that wasbotha diplomat andabletoholdtheir ownina fight wouldbeideal.Few fitthatdescription, andVicente wasone of them.
Vicente wouldbelying if he said he wanted to return to Llyr, but he stillhad much to proveinhis career.Thiscouldbethe opportunity he hadbeenwaiting for. Yetthe mere thought of settingfoot in Llyr againimmediately filledhim with sickening nerves.Ambitionand reluctance warred in hischest.Hehad left Llyr at eight yearsofage andhadn’tbeenback since. Sometimes he forgot why; histhoughtsskipped on thememoryofit. Going back,woulditopenold wounds?But theonlyother person who
knewwhatVicente hadbeenthrough wasdead. Vicentewas sure of it, as he hadbeenthe onetokill him.
Vicente movedforward,his stepsechoing offthe marble floor “Ifitplease,Your Majesty. Ivolunteermyhumbleassistance.”
QueenLeandra tiltedher head to thesideand herlong, inky hair fell over hershoulder. Hereyesnarrowed. “You may approach.”
He did, discreetly pulling on thehem of hisshirt to straighten it out.Behindhim,the rest of theassemblystayedquiet.Hecould sensethemwatchinghim, anditmadehim feel claustrophobic. “MynameisVicente Lamor. Iama mystic in training anda diplomacy studentatthe TalMiril university.”
“Ah, themystic,”she said as sherecognizedhim.Itshouldn’t have been difficult, as he wasalsothe only mystic student—the very firstthe quorum hadbeenallowedtotutor—but he reckoned shewas abusywoman.“Let’shearyourproposal,” shesaid.
“It’struethe people of Llyr won’tbegladabout outsiders meddling. Iwas bornthere,raisedthere until Iwas eight. They might not consider me an outsiderand thus heed my advice.” Might.Hesounded toounsure; he shouldn’thavesaidthatword.
“I’vebeeninformedyou’rethe onewho brought theFar Cry assassin to justice. An impressive feat.” Thequeen remained standing as shespoke to him, liketheywereonequal footing, and Vicente triedhis best not to be nervous about that.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. He now fearsmymysticabilities, as he should.”
Asmall lie.The queen didn’tneedtoknow Vicentewasn’t actually aggressive or dangerous.Hecouldprotect himself, and that wasall he needed,really.
“Your mystic powers, do they renderyou askilledfighter?”
He looked over at Indra, stillseatedbythe throne.She looked intently at him, nodding subtly.
Shewantedhim to exaggerate andconvincethe queen. Vicente openedhis hands.“Idolackany military training,but my skills as amysticare very unique,”heembellished,injecting alittle confidence into hisvoice.