Book of One 04: A Child of Fire

by Baker, Jordan

  He was about to fly higher up into the mountains when his sharp eyes spotted a sizeable force of soldiers on horseback, riding fast along the path to the west, the same path that Ariana was leading his people. Borrican knew that the mounted force would soon catch up to the large group, who were on foot. At least his people had the elven warriors to protect them, along with the Maramyrians and the handful of Kandaran guards he had noticed when he had spoken with Ariana. Even so, they would be hard pressed to defend the people against a force as large as this and there would undoubtedly be casualties among the innocent.

  He scanned the soldiers more closely and noticed that they carried with them several large crossbows, loaded with barbed metal spikes, similar to those that had been used against his uncle and his father. They were smaller, but Borrican knew the point of them was not to kill a dragon, but to slow him down, force him to the ground and restrict his movements. He had also noticed that the greater his emotions, especially his anger, the more his dragon self took over and he did not want to risk an all out battle. Still, he could at least thin their numbers somewhat, so he sucked in some air and swallowed it down into the fiery part of his stomach and felt the flames begin to build within him.

  Borrican gathered speed, flying fast toward the line of men and horses and ducked in over the trees to the trail, heading straight for them. Before they could react, he was upon them, crashing his powerful feet through their ranks and slashing at them as he slid along the trail, knocking them from their horses and killing man and beast alike. His momentum nearly gone, Borrican kicked the ground and sent himself back into the air then circled around, surveying the damage. He could see that a few of the soldiers were readying their oversized crossbows, hoping to draw him in, but he would deny them that opportunity. He dove straight for them again and released a great blast of fire down the length of the trail, scorching the soldiers and burning the weapons from their hands, then with a few powerful beats of his wings, he flew away without even so much as a glance back in their direction. He could do no more and he hoped he had done enough.

  He flew higher up into the western mountains keeping his distance from the city of Kandara as he passed. Even at such a distance, his keen dragon senses told him the Cerric was there, his dark, malevolent power radiating across the land and, mixed with the black smoke of the fires that still burned in the battlefield, and the putrid scent of the thousands who had died, he could smell the unnatural stench of those who were also dead but still marched at their evil king's command. Struggling against his fury, as much as Borrican wanted to fight the god-king, he already knew how futile it would be. He had to figure out how to control himself and become stronger if there was any chance that he would to be able to win back Kandara. Whatever happened, he decided to keep the thought of killing Cerric at the front of his mind, hoping that if he did lose himself to the dragon, that the beast he would become might at least accomplish that one thing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Black smoke filtered through the city from the fires that still burned outside the walls. The smell of burning flesh and rotting corpses struck fear into the Kandaran people who had remained in the city and they meekly obeyed the soldiers with the pale flesh and grey eyes as they herded them into the open spaces of the city. Cerric had ordered that their numbers be counted and that they be interrogated about what skills they might have that could prove useful to the kingdom. Their labor was divided into four groups; labor for the mines, labor for the farms, labor for the city, and servants for the lords that would rule over them all. Children of less than five years of age were to stay with their mothers, unless the women were bound for the mines, and those who had reached their sixth year or older were treated no differently than anyone else. Once the decision was made which group they belonged to, the people were branded on the top of their hands with a hot iron.

  A few of the soldiers had been overheard joking about the fourth group and word had spread quickly through the crowds that, even though the servant positions sounded like they would be the easiest, the men and women were being chosen more for their use as objects of pleasure than any skills they might have. Some, who heard about what was intended for them had even taken to disfiguring themselves in the hopes that they would no longer be considered attractive, and the rest, powerless and unable to comprehend how their world had changed, resigned themselves to their fate and became quiet, letting go of whatever hopes and dreams they might have had, becoming as dead inside as they corpse soldiers who pushed them along the lines toward the bleak future that awaited them.

  Calexis walked through the halls of the palace and the sharp clicks of her heels signaled to the various guards that she was in a foul mood. She had hoped to spend some time with Cerric, celebrating the victory over Kandara, but he had all but ignored her since they had entered the city the night before. Through the night, his dead soldiers had searched the palace from top to bottom, looking through every room for weapons of every kind, which were brought into the expansive throne room and laid out for Cerric to see. When Calexis had looked in on him, he was in the middle of beating the young Kandaran king, Elric, demanding to know where the royal treasure was kept. The boy wept openly, pleading for Cerric to honor his agreement and spare his people if he told him what he wanted to know. Cerric was already angry that a number of the Kandarans and their defenders had escaped and it was not long before Elric revealed both the location of the treasure room and the passage behind the throne, which led to a vast underground cavern that the people had undoubtedly used to escape.

  Calexis had laughed when Cerric accused the young Kandaran of betraying him, but it served to remind her of how quickly Cerric broke his own agreements when they were no longer convenient. He was powerful, far more powerful than she, and though that was what excited her and inspired heat within her, it also made her resentful and distrustful. Calexis knew that he would surely cast her aside if he grew tired of the pleasure she gave him and if she displeased him, she suspected he might do more than that. Neither his dismissal nor his displeasure was something Calexis desired, but the part of her that had admired Cerric was slowly turning to fear and frustration.

  Cerric had left her son, Draxis, to die in the battlefield without so much as a thought, and even though some small part of her wanted to search for him and hoped that he lived, she could not let Cerric see a moment of weakness in her. No, she had made her choice and she had a god for a husband, one whose power brought her immense pleasure and, she hoped she could gain some of his power through the same magic she had used to gain the power of the Darga. She merely needed his seed to take hold within her so she could grow another child and she could tell that her body was ready now, but despite her attempts at seduction, Cerric was not being particularly cooperative.

  The guards told her that Cerric was down in the cavern behind the throne room with strict instructions that no one be admitted. Calexis interrogated a few guards who had not been turned into walking corpses and she learned that Cerric had found what he had been looking for. Among the countless valuables in the treasure room that Elric had revealed were a number of weapons, each of them with jewels embedded in them and fashioned out of some kind of mixture of steel and a rare metal called silvergold. In Cerric's excitement at the discovery of the weapons, he had spoken aloud in front of the guards, who neither understood nor cared about their significance, but Calexis was very much intrigued, especially considering the way her husband had treated the sword he had taken from Elric, almost with a kind of reverie.

  She entered the throne room and saw two corpse guards and the back of the chamber, guarding the entrance of the passage that led down to the cavern where Cerric was busy indulging his latest obsession. She had already tried to order them to let her pass earlier, but they were under Cerric's control and had denied her entry to the cavern. It did not matter, for she had other plans. Luckily, the Kandaran throne was fairly large and blocked the guards from seeing her as she walked up and down the rows of weapon
s that had been laid out through the room. She knew that Cerric had not yet inspected the entire collection of swords, axes, daggers and other implements of war, having found a cache of the special weapons in the royal treasury.

  She looked over the endless rows of sharpened steel that had been fashioned into a variety of forms, thicknesses and lengths, some in scabbards and many simply naked blades. A good number of them were exquisitely made, and some were even richly adorned with precious jewels and beautifully engraved, but all of them appeared to be normal weapons. Out of idle curiosity, she picked up a pair of slightly curved short swords that caught her eye. A matching set, they were beautiful to look at, simple yet elegant. Calexis set them aside and continued looking through the weapons and then she saw something. Mixed among a pile of daggers that had been spilled onto the floor was an open blade that looked different from the others. The steel was bluish grey but when Calexis moved, she noticed a shift in its color to something more golden. She glanced over at the guards and could see that they were watching her, which likely meant that Cerric could see her as well.

  She crouched down and reached for a different dagger, which lay beneath the one she had noticed. It was far more ornate, the sort of thing that one might expect her to find interesting. As she picked it up, she also picked up the other one and hid it on the underside of her wrist, while holding the first dagger out, visible for the guards to see. Making a show of it, she slid the blade from its sheath and held it out in front of her, keeping the other dagger facing away from the guards. She turned to look at them and saw that they were watching her closely.

  "What do you think of this weapon?" she asked. "Is it fit for a queen?"

  "What need do you have of a weapon?" asked one of the soldiers, though he spoke with Cerric's voice.

  "I find them pretty," she said. "It is only fitting that my warrior husband have a warrior queen at his side. I do know how to use a blade, my dear."

  "Of course," Cerric said and he laughed through the dead soldier. "If it suits your fancy, then do as you will."

  Calexis pouted visibly.

  "I would rather have my husband join me to celebrate his victory," she said. "His demonstration of power has set my heart alight and my body aches to feel him inside me at the thought of it." Even though she was play acting the petulant wife, at least that part was not a lie. Her hunger for him was insatiable.

  "Soon enough, my dear. Perhaps you might pick out a Kandaran slave to satiate yourself in the meantime. I would not want my dear wife to feel neglected."

  "Nonsense!" Calexis hissed, sliding the dagger back into its sheath. "I am a queen. I do not bed servants or slaves."

  "Then you may await my pleasure," Cerric replied, then he was gone and the soldier returned to his former self.

  Calexis frowned, irritated by how dismissive he was toward her. Perhaps she would take a few slaves to her bed, or one of Cerric's generals. That would serve him right, but she would have to wait. It would not do for the wrong seed to take hold in her womb.

  She stepped back from the rows of weapons, using the throne to block the view of the soldiers and she lifted the skirt of her dress and strapped the ornate dagger to her leg, then she tucked the other blade into the strap before tightening it, doing so carefully so she would not cut herself. She dropped her skirt and stepped over to the two short swords she had selected earlier and picked them up as well. She held them up for the soldiers to see.

  "I am taking these as well," she said.

  "As you wish, milady," said the soldier, with his own voice this time.

  Calexis turned and, with as sword in each hand, she strode from the room, passing the two generals, Mirdel and Berant, as they entered. She glanced at them and decided that if she were to bed either of them it would certainly not be the puffy faced, overweight Mirdel. Berant, on the other hand, though he was not a young man, looked as though he kept his body strong, and, as she continued down the hall, away from the throne room, she wondered how difficult it might be to seduce the man.

  *****

  In the cavern, Cerric picked up a sword from the row of weapons that lay on the top of a heavy wooden table and turned back to the row of prisoners who were chained, blindfolded and kneeling on the dirt floor. It was fortunate that the cavern was so large, for the row was quite large, with several dozen kneeling and half again that number laying dead in pools of blood the ground, some with their heads removed. Cerric held up the sword and looked at the large, clear yellow jewels that were set on either side of its crosspiece then he walked down the line to the next subject. He looked at the man, who knelt before him, a sturdily built Kandaran soldier with powerful arms and a strong back and he thought about how he wanted such strength to add to his own. With one powerful cut of the blade, Cerric took the man's head clean off his body and he felt the sword hum with energy as it absorbed the soldier's life force then channeled it into him. Compared to his own strength, it was a small amount of power, but Cerric enjoyed the pleasurable rush of it and he knew he was that much more powerful than he had been only moments ago.

  He tossed the bloodied blade on the table, pleased that it, like the others, was a weapon of power. The god within him had learned of the existence of such weapons long ago, but had never had the good fortune of laying hands on one, let alone a collection of them. If only he had possessed weapons such as these before, he would certainly have done things differently when he had tricked the other gods. It would certainly have made his existence less difficult and certainly less distracting from the conflicting thoughts that echoed in his mind. Cerric realized he was thinking not as himself, but as the god, and he pushed his own thoughts to the fore, determined that he should be in control. He felt the god retreat into the shadows once more. He looked up at the long, stone staircase that led from the throne room and saw Duke Mirdel and Lord Berant, his two Generals, making their way down to the cavern floor.

  Cerric walked over to a shorter line of prisoners, elves that had been captured during the battle. They were bound more securely than the others and they were gagged and blindfolded as well, though their masks had been removed. How upsetting it must be for them to have their sight and speech denied yet to have their faces on display. Cerric laughed at their plight, though he was curious what effects the power of an elf might have if he killed one with a godsword. Since Mirdel and Berant were in need of a demonstration, he decided there was no point in waiting and he pulled the blade he had taken from the Kandaran boy king and swung it through the neck of one of the elves.

  The rush of power was much stronger than when he had killed the soldiers. Instead of merely physical strength and energy, he felt the elven magic flow into him with the scent of trees and grass, the power of nature. Cerric found the sensation mildly irritating, similar to the experience of eating spoiled vegetables. He wiped off his sword on the body of the slain elf and slid it back in its scabbard then turned to greet his generals.

  "Mirdel, Berant," Cerric said. "Good of you to join me."

  "We have come at your command, your highness." Mirdel said with a deep bow. "How may we be of service?"

  "Did you find the Darga warriors?" Cerric asked.

  "We tracked them to the east. It appears they have claimed Kaledra's castle as their own," Berant told him.

  "How very presumptuous," Cerric commented. "As rude as they are, the Darga are ambitious in their quest for power. That is something about them I can respect, though I do not take kindly to them seeking what is mine."

  "Understandable, my lord," Mirdel agreed and Cerric heard the slight slur in his voice. He could smell the sweet sour scent of wine from the man, and it was clear that Mirdel had overindulged once again.

  "And who leads them?" Cerric asked.

  "A Darga by the name of Meznak," Berant said. "He was offered safe passage as you instructed and a messenger arrived a short while ago informing us that he has arrived at the city."

  "Ah yes," Cerric said, shifting his focus to the many eyes of his
soldiers throughout the city and he discovered that the Darga in question had already entered the throne room and was waiting for the audience he had been promised. Using his link to the guards, he told them to send the creature down. "He will be with us momentarily, and it should prove interesting." Cerric looked at the bodies on the floor, then at the two men. "Duke Mirdel, Lord Berant, please select one of the weapons from the table. I would like to test a theory."

  "Yes, your highness," Berant said, echoed shortly after by Mirdel. The two men each picked up a sword and held them up, each of the blades still red with fresh blood.

  "What would you like us to do?"

  "I want each of you to pick one of those prisoners in that line there and kill one," Cerric said. "But before you strike, I want you to look at them and think about how strong they are, the power of their muscles, their skill as fighters, the training they must have undergone to become fighting men. Think about those things when you strike."

  "You want us to kill them?" Berant asked.

  "I said that, did I not? But I don't want you to just strike them. Think about their power when you do it. There is magic to these blades and I would like to see if anyone can use them."

  "Think about how powerful they are?" Mirdel said. "They don't look very powerful to me, kneeling on the ground. They look pathetic and weak."

  "Mirdel," Cerric said, his eyes half closing in irritation. "They are all fighters, and they are in far better condition than you. You might think about how lean and tough they are compared with how soft and fat you have become. Do you not wish you were a younger, stronger, more virile man?"