Breath of the Titans: The False Titanbringer: Complete Trilogy

by Riley Westbrook

  Martell battered against the prison inside of his mind. He felt his sanity slipping away as he experienced and saw the tasks his master forced him to perform. Watching as Titans slaughtered his people. Feeling the warm blood of children and women flow between the metal fingers. It made Martell shudder. He wanted it to end, would do anything to stop the torture now. He prayed daily for whatever held him to lose control again, just for a moment, so the old man could end his life.

  Today was a day of worship, a day that left Martell feeling dirty. Seeing the average person in the crowd, adoring faces turned up to him, knowing that something evil was actually giving the sermon. And that same entity was killing these peoples' families and friends. Martell's hope dipped lower and lower. He was glad to see the worshipers leave, and hopeful that they would never return. But they would, they wanted to. The temple in Heart was the physical manifestation of Dalanar's soul. Where else could they go to worship the dragon who had sacrificed himself to save the world?

  The journey was long and bitterly cold. Annika had planned on heading south, towards warmer lands, but the dragon had gone in the opposite direction. The dragon carrying Annika had tossed her around like a toy, flipping her this way and that, trying to elicit some sort of a cry from the proud orc woman. She had juggled Annika over the wilderness, making the world twist and turn about and doing a fair job of making the young woman sick. She emptied her stomach more than once traveling across the green of the wilderness. But she didn't cry out in fear, and she focused on maintaining control of her mental faculties.

  Draka found herself filled with a grudging admiration for this young woman. She maintained her dignity the entire ride, though the old Wyrm had been trying to get a reaction from her. As they began to fly over the icy plains of the north, Annika let out a sound of awe and wonder. Not the reaction that Draka wanted, but it did give her an idea how to elicit a response.

  The dragon picked up speed, and Annika could hear the sound of the wind whistling piercingly in her ears. She heard the dragon's voice boom through her telling her, “Remember, I'll be watching you.”

  Annika felt the support that was holding her in the air disappear. She watched as the ground rushed up at her, the white coldness ready to envelope her. Still, she refused to scream, twisting her body around to land on her feet and help absorb the impact. But when she hit the whiteness and bent her knees to help take the shock, her feet sank into it. She found herself falling through the ground, and now a fearful scream escaped her lips. She shot down through the snow, and looked back up through the hole she had created, feeling the coldness of the snow against her skin. She heard a woman's loud laugh and heard the flapping of the Wyrm's mangled and bony wings fade away.

  She was searching, looking for a way out without causing a cave in when a rope landed on her. “Hey down there, grab a hold and give the rope two tugs!” Annika did as the man said, taking a firm hold on the rope and tugging twice upon it. She was slowly pulled up out of the hole and when she reached the surface someone lifted her from the snow. They placed weaved reeds under her feet before setting her on top of the drift. Annika looked at the man who had helped her. His skin was black as coal, and behind him she could see another man. His skin was a reddish brown that reminded Annika of rust. The red man was calmly petting some kind of an animal. “There, that should make it so you don't fall through again. Come on, let's get you somewhere warm.”

  The black man led her to the pack animal. The beast had eight legs with wide splaying feet. It was covered in a soft white fur that was wiry to the touch. The beast looked back at Annika, its head like a cow's, stretching out a long tongue and licking her face. “Macha, you stop that. The woman is probably freezing.”

  The beast shook its head, then nuzzled against Annika. She rubbed it under the chin, and it started to purr as it closed its eyes in pleasure. “It's alright. Yes, it's cold outside. But Macha here is just such a beautiful beastie. Besides, I can't be the only reason you two are out here.”

  “Actually, you are.” The rust colored man said, stepping forward. “I'm Lawrence and this is Tre. We're on duty for messages from the dragon. Sometimes they are people, sometimes they are things. But we're the ones that collect them and keep them safe.” He picked Annika up, throwing her onto the beast before he tied her to its saddle. “Now, will you let us do our job and get you somewhere warm? You can worry about why you're here after we get back to the Ice Cavern.” Lawrence jumped onto the beast in front of Annika, while Tre took the seat behind her. Macha took off across the snow, taking long bounding strides that ate up ground.

  In no time they were coming up to an ice cave, cut into the compacted snow. To Annika, they had entered a wonderland. Everywhere she looked was ice. They even had ice fountains spouting water. She saw people casually using magic, turning ice to liquid and back again with seemingly no effort and nothing but their hands. She watched as one such magic user carved a building from the ice. It took very little time, looking beautiful and regal from the outside. She barely had time to admire it before she was thrown through the door of a cell. A barred door closed, locking her in. “All this travel to be a prisoner. I need to find my husband!” She screamed at the two men's backs as they walked away from her. She raged and kicked at the bars, hoping to break free of her imprisonment. She finally managed to break off one of the bars, but with a casual wave of a finger, one of the magic users replaced it. Annika sat back against the only bench in the room, her butt cold from sitting on the ice.

  She leaned her head back against the ice wall, thankful that she was unhurt if locked up. She was just starting to shiver when the door to her cell was thrown open. She jumped to her feet, rushing towards the opening, but she didn't make it out of the room. An old man stood in the doorway, a cold fire pit behind him. “Going somewhere?” He asked Annika casually.

  She snarled at him before demanding, “Why am I being locked up here?”

  “You were dropped by a dragon, but you're an orc. Humans and orcs haven't gotten along for hundreds of years.” The old man stepped into the cell, forcing Annika to step back and make room. The man waggled a finger, and the ice beneath the fire pit shifted, dragging it into the cell. “We don't trust you, so we keep you here to gauge your temperament. I promise, it's a temporary thing, while we figure out which school to place you in.”

  “I feel like every time you answer a question, ten more crop up. School?” Annika went and sat on her bench while the old man prepared the fire.

  “You mean you don't even know what we do here?” He eyed her up and down before asking, “Who brought you here again?”

  “I didn't receive a name, I was just told I am to be tested. And that I need to pass it to marry the man promised to me.” She ran her hand through her hair, smoothing it back from her face. “I was told I was being brought here to learn to be a dragon's bride.”

  “Ahh, now I know. Yes, we've been expecting you for a few weeks now.” The old man finally lit the fire pit, and Annika jumped forward, stretching her cold hands to the flames. “Don't worry child, it will be warm in here soon enough. You need to rest while we plan out which student barracks to stick you in.” The old man walked to the door which was pulled open for him. He stepped out of sight, leaving Annika alone again. The only signs of life around her were the guards playing cards just outside her door. She lay down on the ice, feeling warmer for some reason, and fell asleep.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Martell wished he could scream in agony. He rooted for Tyrosh to continue to melt down the Titans. Even though every time she did, he felt the agony of being melted down into slag. He railed against his hell, wishing he had the power to stop it.

  His vision shifted, and he watched as Tyrosh banked in the air. She was a golden yellow weapon of destruction, spouting out flames and burning the Titans to slag hundreds at a time. Martell knew that whatever controlled him was pulling the Titans back towards Heart. She would never attack the city her grandfather sacrificed himself
to create. It was a weakness to be exploited, and Martell's master was taking reckless advantage of it.

  Jaxon sat at a table with Sanche and yet another leader of a roving band of farmers. This one was young and brash. the young man looked like all muscles, no brain. Jaxon had been sitting next to Sanche all morning, helping to cool the elder elf's hot temper. Since Lov resurrected, Sanche had become surly and rude. The farmer was spouting off more demands for rights to pass. Food, water, and liquor were the main things. If there was one thing Sanche couldn't stand, it was someone trying to get his hands on his hooch.

  The elder elf cracked his knuckles in agitation. They had spent all day yesterday listening to this young idiot before them trying to weasel more and more from the army. “I'm getting tired of your games.” Sanche said coolly, interrupting the young man. Sanche pulled one of his cleavers free, chopping at the table. He split it with one swing advancing threateningly on the farmer.

  The farmer fell backwards in his chair, trying to make room between himself and the crazy old elf before him. Even looking at the mottled pattern of his skin made the young farmer sick. Sanche raised his sword, getting ready to make a mistake, when Nord called out. “Don't you even think about it! Lov would kill me and you know it!”

  Sanche looked back and the farmer kicked out, knocking the elf's legs from under him. Sanche fell to the ground, dropping his cleaver, and the leader of the farmers ran back to his army. The group of farmers started to break up, scattering like dust on the wind. “What are you doing?” Sanche demanded getting to his feet and glaring at Nord. “I wasn't done negotiating. I wanted his rings.”

  Nord shook his head, giving his old mentor a look of utter disgust. “What happened to you? You've turned dark.” Nord jumped off of Peth's back, slapping the Anuunaki in thanks. “Stay out of trouble, Peth. You show a lot of promise.” Peth buzzed happily at Nord before bowing to the tall general and taking off into the camp.

  Nord turned back to Sanche. His old friend was inspecting one of his cleavers for damage, looking for chips from the drop. Sanche glared at Nord over the blade. “You're lucky my blade's fine, or I'd have yours to replace it.”

  The tall elf reached back, pulling his own sword free. It whistled as he swung it through a short series of strikes, before offering it hilt first to the old general. “You're welcome to it, my friend.” Nord replied bowing deeply.

  Sanche snorted before bursting into a deep belly laugh. “You're gods be damned insane, you know that? Now I remember what you were good for, I kept you around for morale. Now quit trying to pawn that responsibility off on someone else, just like you did all the rest of your life. I refuse, you need something to keep you straight and honest. Otherwise who knows what kind of shit you'll bring down upon us. I tell you though, that's the first good laugh I've had since that arrogant whelp brought me back.” Sanche's vision grew distant as he looked across the plains, watching the army that had been amassed continue to scatter. “Truth to tell, I hope that poor blue bastard is okay out there. We're going to need him at the end of this.”

  “I know the feeling. The little brat left me to lead his army, while he gets to go out and have fun.” Nord shook his head, a serious look crossing his face. “Someone needs to take some control of that boy!”

  “Welcome to my hell. You were always that boy for me, Nord. You have done me proud leading this army, though it took you long enough to get back.” Sanche reached up and flicked Nord's bandage across his skull, “What the blue hells happened there?”

  Nord winced, then reached up and flicked Sanche in the temple on the black side of his face. “Annoying, isn't it? Keep your damn hands to yourself and ask without touching, please.” Nord took the seat the farmer had vacated after the negotiations. His legs were weak and he had to sit before his knees buckled. “I got smacked on the head by a rock, twice. Knocked me out. I'm not even sure it was a rock that hit me the second time.”

  “Well, good to have you back. Just so you know, I didn't touch the stack of papers and reports on your desk.” Sanche winked at Nord, giving his old friend the same excuse Nord had used as a child, “I didn't want to mess up your system. It seems so organized.”

  Jaxon laughed, standing from his own seat and walking over to Nord. “You look like you were swallowed by a tornado.” The halfling said sarcastically. Sanche left, walking between the tent lines of the army.

  Nord rolled his eyes at his short friend before reaching his arms and legs out to trip him. “Don't pick on me, I hurt right now. Just bring me some mushroom ale, I need to drink this headache away.”

  “No can do, my friend. Anuunaki have cut everyone off. Apparently, they underestimated the drinking capacity of orcs when told 'free ale'.” Jaxon shook his head with a slight chuckle. “They've been cut off before, but they broke through the security last night and drank the rest of it. Been dry all morning now.”

  “Son of a…what about some willow bark?” Nord asked, a hint of whine in his voice.

  “Maybe if Missy were here. I sure hope that little cutie's okay. But without her, there are no trees around.” Jaxon walked over, slapping his friend on the shoulder, “Looks like you'll just have to suffer.”

  Nord groaned, standing and making his way towards his tent, leaving Jaxon behind to entertain himself. He knew that Sanche would have set it up near his own, so Nord just looked for his old friend's patched and worn tent. He spotted it towards the front of the line, Sanche always did like to lead his army in all aspects, even traveling in the front. Nord stumbled into his own, dropping his arm that shielded his eyes against the brightness of the sky. He collapsed on his cot, exhausted from traveling three days straight without recovering from his injuries. Later, he would tell his army to rest here, and hope that Lov returned in the time he recovered.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  The farmer across from Lov cried out as the young half-elf slammed his arm into the table. Lov had lost at arm wrestling three times in a row intentionally to the farmer, before pinning the fool's arm easily with the odds triple or nothing. The young half-elf still disguised himself with a glamor, keeping the farmers from recognizing what he and Marta were. His orc companion stood at his side, cheering him on and raising his arm high in victory. To the others, she seemed an eager mother, happy her son was able to provide for her in old age.

  The barrel chested man across from him threw up his hands in disgust. He'd lost half a week's wages to this upstart. The red headed man could stand and look the farmer in the eye, but he was thin and weak. How could this be possible! “You cheated!” He accused, pointing a finger at Lov looking to his compatriots to support him.

  “Oh come off it, Rory, you lost fair and square.” His friend stepped up, pulling Rory's pouch from his belt and tossing it to Lov. “Be glad that's all you lost. I get the feeling this swindler could have taken you for a lot more.”

  Lov caught the pouch, then looked to the man who'd lost. “Tell you what. Give me something. Something worth…Your word that I can show to every warrior farmer who stands between the large army and Heart, and I'll double,” Lov hefted the money, guessing how much was in there, “Make that triple what you have in here. Just for a trinket.”

  Martell came to awareness, thinking he had just woken up. He expected the normal routine to begin at any moment. So he tried to shove his awareness away without absorbing what was happening. When he looked around him though, he was shocked to see the Titan furnaces near him. The light blue shimmer of the heat shield blocked the intense fires and molten metal inside of the kiln.

  An acolyte tapped him on the shoulder, gesturing for Martell to follow her. The Titanbringer did so, hearing himself compliment the young priest on her impeccable attire. Though the young woman worked in the furnaces all day, not a single speck of dust was on her.

  They crossed the forge area, heading to the small buildings behind the large one. They crossed to a centrally placed one, the facade outside worn from centuries of wear. They came into a central room
, several doorways leading deeper into the building. The acolyte chose one, and they began to pass through room after room. The lights became dimmer and dimmer as they passed farther in, a series of copper mirrors reflecting the light throughout the building. The light was just bright enough for human eyes.

  The finishing rooms they passed through were plain, and Martell followed the acolyte deeper into the structure. The feel of the rooms began to change, and as it did the old man could feel a sense of darkness filling the atmosphere.

  The stations they passed became more and more elaborate, and rich red pools of water began to dot the rooms. It was eerie just how quiet the building was, considering the hammering and welding that should be going on.

  They passed through a door that lead into the old drying rooms, long dark and cold from disuse. Martell remembered playing hide and seek with the other orphans here. The drying racks and boxes that had filled the rooms made for a perfect place to play. Now the rooms were filled with partitioning walls. The young acolyte led the Titanbringer into one of the partitions, gesturing for Martell to enter while averting her own gaze.

  The old man, who had played in this very room as a child, walked into a scene of horror. There was a man, lying on the table, orphans surrounding him. The young children were working carefully and meticulously, sculpting and fusing the poor soul on the table to the armor of a freshly made Titan. They were using a magic foreign to Martell. It was frightening and disgusting, but at least the man on the table didn't appear in pain. He stared blankly at the ceiling as the young children crawled over him, chanting and waving their hands before the armor glowed a bright purple and fused to the skin. Upon closer inspection of the eyes, Martell saw they were dead, as if the man was alive but no one was in control. When the Titanbringer leaned in closer for a better view, he was amazed. You couldn't tell where the skin stopped and the armor started.