Ch 3.1 - Heirs of the Isle

The carriage driver took another long drag from his cigar.

“Took you long enough, Master Benjamin. Thought the swamp had eaten you.”

Ben gave a sheepish wink and hustled to the rear carriage door.

“Not today.” Ben’s smile was too quick. “Sorry, let’s go.”

“About that, ” the driver began, but Ben was already pulling open the door.

To his surprise, the carriage was nearly full. Five passengers sat tightly packed inside, everyone armed and armored, a motley band of three beastmen and two elves, all now eyeing Ben with a sharp, measured interest.

In the back, the elves seemed unconcerned, lounging with an air of detachment. The beastmen, by contrast, stared at Ben with open scrutiny.

Ben took in their appearances: the elves wore linen robes layered over light armor, swords, and a staff close at hand. The beastmen were lightly dressed, but their weapons gleamed, and their armor was of clear quality. Scars and distinctive war tattoos marked them as hardened, renowned fighters.

Ben’s gut soured at the prospect of riding with such company, but he kept his face neutral.

He straightened, offered a respectful bow, and spoke clearly.

“Greetings. I’m Benjamin Almond. Thank you for letting me board your carriage to the port city.” He dipped his head a little lower. “I appreciate your kindness.”

He watched them closely for any reaction.

Traveling with strangers was always a risk, especially as a human on the Isle continent, but Ben had little choice. He might be able to defend himself, but provoking trouble would only bring more hardship to the Old Demon.

The elves barely glanced his way, flicking their gaze out the window with apparent indifference. The beastmen’s reactions, however, were more direct.

A tall lion beastman, mane nearly brushing the carriage roof, stepped close and sniffed at Ben, his golden eyes scrutinizing.

“Well, Benjamin, is it? So you’re the famed disciple of the Old Demon I’ve heard whispers about.”

Beside him, a crocodilian beastman glanced up, sizing Ben with a lazy, predatory gleam.

“He doesn’t look like much. Master should’ve picked a disciple from my tribe instead.”

The third beastman had a mostly human appearance, save for black-feathered wings and taloned hands. He chuckled and gently pulled the lion back by the shoulder.

“Easy, Grimor. Don’t scare the poor lad before the journey’s even begun.”

Grimor, the lion, retreated and sheepishly ruffled his mane.

“Sorry, force of habit. Didn’t mean to startle you. Pull up a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

Ben managed a grateful nod and stepped inside as the carriage finally lurched forward, the wheels rumbling beneath them.

Thankfully, Ben had lucked into a carriage with company that didn’t seem to mind he was human. For a moment, he’d seriously debated walking; he knew all too well how deeply humans were resented on the Isle. The continent’s open secret was that people like Ben were despised, often at first sight.

And yet there were exceptions. These beastmen, at least, seemed friendly enough, maybe more practical than prejudiced.

The cramped space was a patchwork of nations: two elves lounged at the back with their gear, aloof and appearing to ignore everyone else. Ben squeezed onto a bench next to a crocodile beastman. In the front seats sat a bird-tribe man and a lion-tribe warrior.

The bird beastman was the first to reach out a hand.

“My name is Lukero, son of Balmeo Horus from the Horus tribe. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ben, the disciple of the Old Demon.”

Ben’s eyes widened.

“The Horus tribe?” He scrambled up to kneel with formal urgency. “A thousand apologies for my insolence. I had no idea I was riding with royalty, a prince of the Horus tribe!”

On the Isle continent, the Horus tribe was one of the five that ruled the land. Lukero being the chief’s son, was as close to royalty as it got, at least by Ben’s standards.

The beastmen all stared, taken aback at his sudden shift. Then the lion beastman broke into raucous laughter, smacking Lukero on the back so hard that feathers scattered to the floor.

“Prince Lukero! Hah! That sounds weird as hell!” Grimor roared, half in mirth and half in disbelief.

The crocodile beastman glanced at Ben.

“You do know this isn’t a human kingdom. Your customs don’t really mean much here.”

“Huh?” Ben looked to Lukero, who was squirming from Grimor’s rough patting and the awkwardness of the honorific.

"Enough! You'll leave me bald!" Lukero snapped, pushing Grimor's paw away before turning back to Ben. "In beastmen society, we don't really have a concept of 'princes' and 'princesses.' My father may be the leader now, but I don't inherit his position simply because of my bloodline. Here, respect is earned through strength and courage."

“I see…” Ben nodded, privately gaining new respect for their ways.

“So, just call me Lukero. Or Luke, for short. Now, let me introduce the rest of our company.” He gestured to the crocodile.

“This is Rukas, the second eldest son of the Bogscale tribe.”

Rukas gave a curt nod.

“Pleasure.”

Lukero then motioned toward the lion beastman, but Grimor puffed out his chest and cut in himself.

“I’m Grimor Helvis, son of Thrugern Helvis, and my brother is chief of the Blood Sun tribe.” He snatched Ben’s hand, rattling him with an enthusiastic shake.

“It’s an honor to meet the disciple of the legendary War Hero, the Old Demon who survived the Great Bone War! His stories are famous across the continent, from fresh cubs to battle-scarred veterans.”

Ben winced, trying to reclaim his hand.

“Thank you, it’s~uh~ a pleasure…”

Grimor pulled him closer.

“No, you really don’t understand. That old demon is a living legend, the last demon alive after the wars! His strength is so terrifying that even the Heavenly Virtues had to publicly pardon him. I wish I could meet him in person just once before I die.”

Is he just a hero-worshipper? Ben thought, a little uneasy.

“Well… maybe I can arrange something,” he offered awkwardly.

But Grimor’s expression shifted. His grin thinned, and his golden eyes narrowed.

“Meeting’s boring,” he said softly. “I want to kill him.”

Silence dropped over the carriage like a blade.

Ben’s chest tightened. Even Lukero and Rukas sat stunned, their relaxed postures gone. The two elves, who’d seemed utterly disinterested, now leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp and focused.

For a moment, Ben thought he’d misheard. But Grimor’s steady gaze and the slow curl of his lip left no room for doubt.

He meant every word.