Zarek had been lying on the cobbled floor, clutching his arms over his chest, his naked, scarred back bloody and torn.
What had struck Valerius most was the look on Zarek's face. The boy's eyes had been hollow. Empty. Not a single tear was evident.
Valerius had wondered at the time why Zarek hadn't cried at such a harsh beating, but then it had dawned on him that Zarek never cried.
The wretched slave had never uttered a single word while they beat him. No matter what they said or did, the boy just took it like a man, with no sobs, no begging. Just hard, cold stoicism.
Valerius couldn't fathom such strength from someone who was younger than him.
Before he realized what he was doing, he'd reached out and touched one of the welts on Zarek's back. Raw and bleeding, it had looked so painful that he tried to imagine what it would feel like to have one such wound, much less an entire back full of them.
Zarek didn't move.
"Do you need..." Valerius had choked on the last of the sentence. He had wanted to help Zarek up, but knew they would both be punished if anyone saw him do such a thing.
"What are you doing?"
His father's angry voice caused him to jump. "I-I-Iwas l-l-looking at his back," he answered honestly.
His father had narrowed his eyes on him. "Why?"
"I was c-c-curious." Valerius hated how he always stuttered around his father.
"Why? Do you think it hurts him?"
Valerius had been too afraid to answer. His father had had that dead look that often came into his eyes. A look that meant the kind, loving father he knew was gone and the brutal military commander was there instead.
As much as he loved his father, he feared the military commander, who was capable of most any act of coldblooded ruthlessness, even against his own sons.
"Answer me, boy. Do you think it hurts him?"
He nodded.
"Do you care if it hurts him?"
Valerius had blinked back his tears before they betrayed him. The truth was he did care, but he knew his father would fly into a rage if he ever dared breathe that aloud. "N-n-no. I don't c-c-care."
"Then prove it."
Valerius blinked, suddenly afraid of what that meant. "Prove it?"
His father had retrieved the whip from the stand and handed it to him. "Give him ten more lashes, or I will see you given twenty."
Heartsick and with his hand shaking, Valerius had taken the whip and delivered the lashes.
Unused to wielding a whip, he had missed Zarek's back entirely. His lashes landed on Zarek's unscarred arms and legs. Virgin flesh that had never been beaten before.
For the first time Zarek had hissed and recoiled from the lashes. So much so that the last lash ended up cutting across Zarek's face, right below his brow.
Zarek had screamed, cupping his eye as blood poured from between his dirty fingers.
Valerius had wanted to vomit as he heard his father praise him for blinding the slave's eye.
His father had actually patted him on the back. "That's it, my son. Always strike where they're most vulnerable. You'll make a fine general one day."
Zarek had looked up at him then and the emptiness was gone. The right side of his face had been covered in blood, but with his left eye, Zarek had conveyed all the pain and anguish he felt. All the hatred that was directed both inward and out.
That look was seared inside Valerius to this day.