Book of One 04: A Child of Fire (6 page)

"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?"

Mirdel took the insult from Cerric, since he knew he was entirely at the god-king's mercy, but his cheeks flushed red with anger. He looked at the kneeling soldiers and realized that as much as Cerric's words pierced him, he truly was jealous of the younger, stronger soldiers. Cerric saw the look in his eyes and nodded.

"Pick one," he said. "You want his power, his vigor, his essence."

Mirdel selected one of the prisoners, a lean, muscular man with smooth skin, who reminded him of what he, himself might have looked like long ago, when he was a younger man, and before the years of excessive eating and regular drinking had taken their toll. The soldier was blindfolded, but Mirdel saw him grit his teeth, hearing him approach and not knowing whether the blade would strike him or one of the other prisoner next to him. The stoic bravery of the man made the duke even more jealous, and without any further hesitation, he stuck the end of the sword into the soldier's chest, piercing his heart. The sword began to vibrate in his grip and a moment later, he felt a strange sensation, almost like the feeling of fine liquor beginning to do its job, except instead of intoxicating him, it did the opposite. Mirdel felt the fog of the wine melt away and the tired pain behind his eyes that he had felt for years faded as well. His body felt stronger and his grip on the sword felt more natural as well.

Cerric smiled as he saw the duke change before his eyes, losing years of age and the softness of decadent living turning to hard muscle. "Now you understand the power of the blade I have given you," he said. Mirdel held up the sword and saw his own reflection between the rivulets of blood that ran down the steel.

"I very much like this sword," he said. "May I keep it, my lord?"

"Of course, Mirdel," Cerric said. "It is a gift." He turned to the other man. "It is your turn, Berant."

"I am not an executioner, Cerric," Berant replied. It was obvious that he found the idea of killing unarmed prisoners distasteful, and he was doing his best to bite his tongue on the matter.

"They are enemy soldiers," Cerric said. "If they had weapons in their hands, they would kill you in an instant."

"I would prefer that."

"You are a stubborn man, Berant," Cerric said. "But you are a skilled commander in the field, so I will forgive your obstinance. Mirdel, I am rewarding you with stewardship over Kandara. You will have all the powers of a king in my absence."

"Your highness," Mirdel said with genuine surprise. "I am honored."

"Kandara is yours," Cerric said and he walked up to the man and placed his hand on his head. "And you are mine."

Mirdel shuddered as Cerric sent his power through him. The sword fell from his hand, landing with a dull clatter on the hard dirt floor and he was frozen in place by the energy that coursed through him. Within a few moments, the duke's eyes had turned milky white and his skin took on an unnatural pallor like the dead soldiers who guarded the throne room and patrolled the streets of the city.

"What have you done to me?" he asked as Cerric released him.

"You are now part of me. I am not merely your king. I am your god, Mirdel. Do you feel any different?"

Mirdel bent down and picked up the sword he had dropped. He flexed his arms and felt his body with his free hand.

"No, my lord. I only feel stronger from the power I took from the soldier, but I can feel something."

"Yes," Cerric said. "That is your connection to me. Your will is your own, unless you should disobey me. You would not consider such a thing, would you?"

"No, my lord," Mirdel said. "I would not."

"Good. Then I will expect that you will achieve great things here in Kandara and I am sure you will enjoy all the benefits befitting a ruler."

"I am most grateful," Mirdel said.

Cerric saw the Darga making his way down the stairs toward them.

"Ah, our faithful Darga has come to share in the spoils of victory," he said as the creature approached.

"King Cerric," he said. "You ask me to come and I am here, Meznak."

"Meznak," Cerric said, smiling at him. "You were second in command to young Draxis."

"Yes."

"And what of Draxis? Does he no longer lead the Darga?"

"Draxis is dead or fled. Darga have not seen him since the battle."

"Then he is either dead or a coward," Cerric said. "Coward do not lead Darga, if I am not mistaken. Only warriors may lead, yes?"

"Only the strongest," Meznak told him.

"And who is now the strongest among the Darga?"

"Many ask this now Draxis is gone. There will be challenges, fights to see who will lead the Darga."

"And will you win these fights?" Cerric asked. "Are you the strongest?"

"Meznak is very strong, but there are stronger. There are not many as smart as Meznak."

"And what if you could be the smartest and the strongest?"

"Meznak would have to kill many Darga to make that true."

Cerric laughed. This Darga was fairly clever, it seemed, and he wondered what the effects would be if he gave the lizard man one of the swords.

"Meznak, I would like to reward you for your bravery in the battle for Kandara," Cerric said then turned and gestured toward the nearby table. "Choose a weapon to your liking."

The Darga looked at the collection that consisted of nearly a dozen swords, along with a pair of oversized hand axes and a halberd. He remembered the Kandaran duke, wielding his giant axe, and at first thought the halberd looked like a good choice. He picked it up and swung hefted its weight but felt it was not as impressive as Boric's great axe. Meznak returned it to the table and picked up the pair of hand axes. These felt right in the grip of his clawed hands.

"I will choose these," he said.

"Very good. Now, to complete the gift, you must blood the blades of your axes. These are prisoners, enemies, those who fought against us." Cerric gestured to the row of prisoners.

"How many do you want killed?"

"For now, just pick one, but I want you to think about how smart the enemy is, and how strong."

"They were not strong," Meznak said. "Compared to Darga, they are very weak."

"Perhaps, but they are not without strength, and these soldiers showed much skill and intelligence in their tactics, even though they faced a stronger force. One might say they were very brave to face our more powerful force."

"This is true," Meznak said. "But their leaders were stupid to fight us."

"That is true," Cerric said with another chuckle, finding the Darga's blunt statements quite humorous. "For now, just think about the solder and how he has strong arms for swinging a weapon and skills in his mind that he learned from many years of training. Pick the smartest and strongest looking soldier from among these here, and take his power."

"Take his power?" Meznak looked at Cerric.

"With your axes," he replied. "They are magical weapons. If you want the power of your enemy, then take it."

Meznak looked at the axes then stepped over to the line of prisoners and selected one at random, for they all looked the same to him.

"Remember," Cerric said. "Think about how smart the enemy is and that even though he is weaker than you, he is still strong and, with a weapon, he can fight and kill, even the Darga."

Meznak remembered the weaker Kandaran soldiers killing some of the Darga warriors, working together against their more powerful foes, blocking and cutting with skill. Cerric was right; though they were not as strong as the Darga, these soldiers were not without bravery or skill. He swung both of his axes, bringing their sharp blades down on either side of the kneeling soldier's neck. Blood gushed as the steel edge severed arteries and Meznak felt something from the weapon. With his Darga eyes, he saw a kind of energy flowing from the dying man into the blades and gathering in the jewels that were embedded in the weapons. A moment later, the power flowed up through the handles of the axes and into his body. Meznak grinned as he felt the flood of energy.

"It feels good to kill with these," he said. "I would like to kill something more powerful."

Cerric noticed the change in Meznak's speech and the perceptible increase in size of the Darga's muscles.

"Of course," he said. "How would you like to kill one of these." Cerric gestured to the two remaining elven prisoners.

"Only one?" Meznak asked with a toothy, reptilian grin. Cerric smiled.

"Only one," Cerric replied.

"Very well," Meznak said and, moving with exceptional speed, he leapt toward one of the elves and took his head off with a double stroke of the axes.

The elf's head fell to the dirt with a thud, followed by his body and Meznak staggered back from the corpse, every muscle tight as the power of his victim flowed through him. The Darga howled and dropped to one knee, crouching and appearing to be in pain as bulges appeared on his leathery, armored back, which split open a moment later. Bones and flesh began to extend from his body, stretching outward and forming into leathery wings very similar to those of a dragon. Cerric was fascinated that the power of an elf would cause such a response in the creature, though it did not displease him as he watched Meznak rise, standing taller and larger than he had been before. The Darga howled again, but this time the sound that issued forth from his fanged mouth was much more dragon like.

"How do you feel now, Meznak?" Cerric asked.

"Powerful, my lord," he said, his voice now richer and deeper than it had been. Meznak dropped to one knee, and bowed before him. "I see the value in these weapons and I thank you for this gift you have bestowed upon me."

"Rise, Meznak," Cerric said. "Assert your dominance over the Darga tribes and take your rightful place as their leader."

"Yes, my lord," Meznak said, rising to his feet and staring at the god-king and the two generals who stood silently, watching. "Is there anything else you require of me?"

"Yes. Once you have taken control of the Darga, I would like you to select one hundred of your most obedient and powerful warriors that they too might share in this gift."

"You would create others to challenge me?" Meznak asked.

"No. You will create powerful warriors, allowing them to kill using your sword. I will leave it up to you to decide how powerful you will allow them to become, making sure, of course, that you remain the most powerful."

"I see," Meznak said with a predatory smile. "Your wisdom knows no bounds."

"I do not need to remind you of my own power." Cerric said.

"No, my lord, you do not. The Darga will not challenge one such as you, whose power is far greater than our own. You have my fealty and my thanks."

"I will expect your people answer my call to fight in the upcoming battle with the elves," Cerric told him. "There will be plenty of the forest folk for you and your warriors to slay."

"I look forward to such a battle. When will the campaign begin?"

"Not yet," Cerric said. "We must build our armies and make them stronger. See to your warriors and be ready. I will send word when the time comes."

"As you command," Meznak replied, with a tilt of his head. "May I take my leave?"

"Yes, of course."

Meznak stood for a moment, staring at the god-king and the two generals, then he bent his legs and opened his wing then sprang into the air. His new muscles flexed the long, leathery wings, beating the air, and he hovered for a moment then, with a few hard flaps he rose further and flew toward the daylight that shone in through the opening at the far end of the cavern, and a moment later, he was gone. Cerric turned to Mirdel and Berant.

"Berant," he said. "We will return to Maramyr. I have decided to hold a tourney, to discover the best fighters in all the lands. You will make the arrangements."

"Yes, highness," Berant said.

"Give me your sword," Cerric said.

"My sword?" Berant glanced down at the ornate hilt of the blade that hung at his waist. "It has no power, my lord."