Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1)

by Roberto Vecchi

  Rony's expression was still too self-absorbed to answer Borinth's question directly, resulting in Borinth asking it again, "Do you understand? By that I mean do you understand that you and your companions will be expected to become members of the most proficient and deadly silent force within the Silver Empire? Oh yes, I will allow the continuance of your lives, but only if you work for me.”

  He understood the truth of what Borinth was asking. He understood that he was committing his, his sister’s and Liani's lives to an existence their individual preparations might not be adequate for. But what other choice did he have? What other choice did any of the three of them have? Yes, the mercy of Borinth and his company saved them from the Goblins, but at what cost? It seemed so long ago that he and his sister sat with their mother on their porch watching the sunset on the eve before their departure. There was such hope in that moment. But over the next few weeks, neither he nor his sister could have predicted the unraveling events leading up to their current situation. If he acquiesced to Borinth's demands, would they ever find a new home?

  And what of their mother? Would she not be expecting them to return soon with word of their success? The insurmountable gravity of this moment pulled at his heart greater than the moon's effects upon the tides. Was he really expected to make a decision with only a moment to consider? Was that even possible? Finding no answer within his sister's gaze, which he did not expect because she was consumed by her own emotions that were similar to his, it was not until he found Liani's eyes that he received his answer.

  She carried within them a confidence in him that defied all the failures of his life. In one moment, she understood he was responsible for the death of his father which propelled his sister and mother into a life they had never wanted nor deserved. In the blue iridescence of her, he saw sympathy and understanding, but more importantly, he saw admiration. In spite of his failures, she saw within him a greatness he was only a step away for achieving. As if all the ramifications of his decisions melted away and the only thing that remained was he and his worthy effort, her gaze emboldened him with the substance to speak.

  "Yes, I understand."

  Instead of Borinth's voice in response, he heard that of Dianali's," I was hoping you would say that! There are many things I would like to teach you."

  "Easy now, Di, from the look of him, he may be a bit too young in his skin to handle the likes of you," said a voice to the side and behind Borinth.

  "Even the youngest of pups can be trained," Dianali retorted while keeping her eyes fixed upon the physicality of Rony.

  "Enough!" asserted Borinth, "there will be time for talk of lessons once we have secured our shelter for the night. Let us move. There is a darkness upon this place I do not fully trust," he finished as he looked around with an uneasy hesitance.

  With the next glance from Borinth, the members of his troupe relinquished their confinement of Rony, Zyndalia, and Liana. Liani instantly ran to Rony's arms and almost toppled him over with the force of her embrace. There was a desperate quality to it, and when Borinth tried to order her to separate from him and follow Dianali, it was Rony's words that saw it done.

  "Do not worry. I will not leave you. They mean us no harm. We have to do what they want for now," he whispered in her ear as he stroked the side of her face and hair.

  "I do not want to leave you," she whispered as she tightened her embrace.

  "Nor do I want you to leave. But right now, we must separate. We must do what they wish for now," he again prompted her, but this time he leaned down and kissed her lightly on her forehead adding, "Worry not, I will always be near." His assurance lessened her apprehension enough to allow Dianali to guide instead of pry her loose from his arms.

  As the young and still frail woman was led away with Zyndalia into the company of the five other women of the warriors, Borinth walked over to Rony and asked him what he said to her.

  "I told her we had better follow your orders," he lied.

  "Do you think your women will present with difficulty?"

  "No."

  "Do you think they will learn to kill? I ask because our strength is merited by our least effective member. We accept only those who kill, and kill well. Most of those you saw have had years to hone their effectiveness. Many have served as the personal guards to several notable members of Royalty. Dianali, it is rumored, has even received training from The Guild."

  "Then why did you enlist us? We have no such training," stated Rony in a defeated but confident tone.

  Borinth paused to consider Rony's question. After a long, matched gaze into Rony's eyes, Borinth spoke, "It is easy to teach skill. Where to strike, how to move, how to hold a blade to deliver the most effective strike. It is also easy to teach how to be a member of a team, how to move with regard to your partners, how to move as one. But it is not easy to teach the desire to kill, nor the violence needed to do it well. I see that in you and your women. The question is: do you see it in yourself?"

  Rony watched Zyndalia and Liani as they were lead to the lead away. He looked back to Borinth who was returning his gaze, expectantly awaiting an answer. "I do not know," he said.

  "Well, you had better figure it out and hope your women do as well. Your lives depend on it. And so do ours."

  During the next four weeks, while life was difficult for both Ronialdin and Zyndalia, it was more so for Liani. Both Rony and Zyn had their whole lives to grow accustomed to living circumstances similar to their current situation; however, Liana had learned no level of skills required for life as a mercenary. At first, there was a very abrupt nature to the rhythm of their days, like rain that fell in sheets driven by wave upon wave of rough wind. Eventually, however, the sheets of rain leveled off into a steady downpour that saw none of the abrupt and painful interruptions. Neither of the three had any time to talk among themselves, no doubt from design. Though they were always separate, Rony was able to keep both his sister and Liana well within his field of vision.

  On a particular night, while he was still awake with thoughts of his mother, he noticed Liana walk away from the camp, supposedly to relieve herself. He watched as she walked, the skin of her neck reflecting the moonlight with a porcelain perfection and paleness. As he watched her head dip below the risen grass, his thoughts drifted again to his mother as they commonly did. He wondered how she was faring, and although he knew the answer, he still hoped she did not cause herself any sickness by worrying about him and his sister. He knew she was also a skilled hunter and trapper, and would be able to provide for herself as long as possible given the declining yield of the land surrounding their home.

  Home. How he longed to be home. Not just in the arms of his mother, but in the bed he knew, in the home he knew, and in the fields he knew. And while he understood that would no longer be a reality, even if they had not had the misfortune of being rescued by Borinth's group, it did not quell this ever present longing. As he saw Liani’s head again above the level of the grass, he began to wonder what her home was like; but more importantly, what a home with her would be like. So deep was he in this thought, he did not hear the second set of footfalls in her direction until he saw her progress halted by a large man. It was Miligos.

  Miligos was a particularly brutal man in their training sessions, and he had a right to be as he was the most proficient melee combatant in the group except for Borinth. His skill with the battle axe was unmatched, especially by his social grace and human refinement. He was an imposing physical presence, but that was it. There was nothing else to the man besides his lust for the kill. He grew up in the hills of Togilith, and was heir to his barbarian tribe's throne. That is, until he decided to lead a raiding party against the local governing Lord, named so by the Silver Empire.

  The Barbarians of Togilith, and the other numerous tribes, always maintained their separate governance from the Silver Empire though they existed entirely within its borders. Their sovereignty was maintained because, against all odds, they wer
e able to unify when their individual freedoms were threatened. Aside from those occasions when the Empire would attempt to assert its rule and bring the barbarian hordes into proper subjugation, they would battle as much with themselves as they would with the outsiders. Hence, their collective might was seen only in the protection of themselves and not in the propagation of their way of life.

  Miligos's actions, which included riding his horse right into the Lord's bedchamber and bedding the man's wife while he was left bleeding on the edge of the bed, caused a wrath the Togilith Barbarians had not seen in their recent, and not so recent, history. Facing them, and demanding retribution, was not the individual force of the province within which they lived, but the first and second legions of the High King's own army. While Barbarians were normally known for their uncanny ability to show no fear and stand against any and all foes, so outmatched were they, that instead of facing the gathered army head on, they sent Miligos himself to negotiate under a white flag hoping he would be arrested and executed. But neither such arrest nor execution occurred.

  Miligos, upon the back of his pure black battle stallion, galloped directly toward the arresting Captain and booted him squarely in the face, knocking teeth, sense, and life from the unsuspecting man. With the momentum of his horse, he was able to gallop through the force of fifty men and ride into the protection and cover of the nearby woods. He was never seen again. Until, that is, Borinth and his band of mercenaries were hired to track and arrest him. They found the barbarian heir turned outlaw fighting a bear with only a knife, and while they were certain they could take him, Borinth was not convinced he would suffer the least casualties. So, they waited for Miligos to fall asleep and slipped a sleeping tonic into his supply of boiled water. Once the barbarian rose from his slumber, had taken a gluttonously long pull from his water pot, and had subsequently fallen asleep again, Borinth and his party bound his hands and legs and waited for the potion's effect to subside. When it did, instead of returning him to the Lord who hired them, Borinth instead offered Miligos the same choice he offered Rony. As said, Miligos was not a smart man, but it did not require an excessive amount of intelligence to make life the decision when facing certain death.

  Understanding the nature of the man, there was no question, and therefore no hesitation. Rony sprung. But in his haste, he neglected to arm himself. However, this was unknown to him until after he lunged at the back of Miligos who was currently attempting to mount Liani. As they both tumbled to the ground, it was Miligos who reacted first by placing his foot on Rony's chest, using it to increase his tumble an additional ten feet. Miligos stood up, stretched his neck and back in preparation for combat, and drew the axe hanging at his hip. Rony regained his footing as well, stretched to mimic the much larger man, and reached for his hunting daggers normally fastened to his right thigh; but his hands remained empty.

  "You should walk away, pup, and leave the real men to be real men," Miligos threatened as he lightly twirled his axe.

  "I will not," Rony responded flatly.

  "Then nothing will change. You will die, I will take her, and the sun will rise," the barbarian said as the motion of his axe stilled and he dropped into his martial stance.

  He was right. Although Rony was being personally trained by Borinth himself, and had progressed with both the sword and daggers over the last month, he was still no equal for Miligos, and even less so without a blade in hand. However, over the time he spent with the mercenaries, he could not help but wonder at the surge of strength he found on the day of their rescue. Borinth was not as large as Miligos, but he nevertheless possessed the raw strength equivalent to the barbarian’s. It should not have been possible for Rony to overtake him and require three men to remove him. But that was only the latest of the unexplainable phenomenon in the lives of Rony and his sister. At times, his and her senses were sharpened, heightened as if by some unnatural power. Their physical capabilities seemed to increase beyond what they normally were. The oddity of it all prevented either of the two from discussing it, but he was sure she was as equally confused and curious as he.

  And then there were the wolf pups. What manner of explanation could either of them possibly generate, within the confinement of their lives as hunters and traders that could stand as adequate? There was none. But regardless of the lack of plausible account, the pups were there, and continued to be. Rony could still sense his, and he was sure Zyn retained the same ability, but for what purpose and to what end, he did not know. His questions, however, would have to wait as facing him now was a much larger problem, a problem not confined to his thoughts. "Well, little pup, are we going to do this or are you just going to stand there and watch?"

  Slowly the two men started circling each other and drawing closer. The barbarian's large stature was accentuated as the distance between them shortened. He was shirtless and imposing. There was no material upon his body except that which was carved right from granite. His jaw was heavy, reflecting the rest of his facial features. Adding to his lethal appearance were several scars down the right side of his face unfolding like a river and its tributaries. But unlike the blue hues of water, they were deep red in color, the color of dried blood.

  Rony inhaled at the sight of the scars and smelled the sweat and musty stink of the larger man. He was rank, but not with the odor of mortality. Somewhere, somehow, Rony smelled an intense and virulent stench coming from what he would later describe as beneath the man's skin. The barbarian was not right. In fact, he was completely wrong. When they were but a few small steps away from addressing each other within the distance required for lethal engagement, the stench developed an ink like quality and thickened within his nose. His stomach became nauseous and his vision began to intermittently blur. His strength was draining as the thickness of the odor began to coalesce within his head. When they settled their approach and stilled their circling, Rony was barely able to keep his footing. As his vision continued to flutter between a blurred haze and clear sight, the facial features of his opponent seemed to melt into the aspect of his scars revealing a hideously shaped visage. Rony's legs weakened and he fell to the ground, barely catching himself with his hands. He looked up at Miligos, menacingly standing over him. A particularly strong wave of nausea overcame him and he wretched.

  "Aww, the little pup cannot take it," said Miligos in a voice that perfectly embodied his misshapen face. "How sad you have become. The days of The Hunt are over. Your kind will never rise again."

  Kind? Rise? The Hunt? These were words Rony had identified as common. Kind? His kind was man. Rise? Man had already risen in the Silver Empire. The Hunt? He had been trained by his father to hunt for survival. All three of these words he had heard before, but when said by Miligos, as he slowly continued his circling of the smaller and downed combatant, they carried a greater implication of knowledge. A knowledge that was distant, but familiar.

  "Oh, you do not know who you are? What you are? This would be much more enjoyable if you did," again, Miligos spoke from a position of knowledge extending far beyond that of a simple barbarian. It felt to Rony that he should know this distant position as if he had been there before. That he should be able to join the barbarian and speak with the same gravity and severity assigned to such simple words.

  Rony coughed in response to his vomiting which had thankfully subsided, but the presence of the immortal stench persisted. He looked up to Miligos and saw that the rest of his body had dissolved into a physicality mimicking his grotesque face and head. In place of the grayish blue eyes were black orbs, spider woven with an intricate marbling of red latticework extending through the black. His jaw grew in pronouncement and his bone structure became more severe. Protruding from his skin, which had faded from the living deep tan into an off white, were several bony protrusions running down his arms and spine, all three trails beginning at the base of his skull. His hands ended in claws made from the same material as the protrusions. His legs grew in musculature to where his leggings were torn fr
om the upper thigh down to his feet. Lining his muscled body were the midnight tracks of his veins, set against the white-gray tone of his skin, to create an entirely evil vision.

  "What am I?" Rony managed to whisper.

  Kneeling down to look at Rony directly in his eyes, the being of Miligos whispered, "Little pup, you are nothing."

  "What are you?"

  "I am more. I am Demon."

  Hearing that word, spoken inches away from him, evoked a white hot rage that erupted deep within. Blinding all aspects of anything he attached himself to, in an instant more brief than the flight of an arrow, he was overcome with the need to act against this unholy being. Replacing the awful reaction his body involuntarily produced in response to the gut turning nausea, was an equally immobilizing quickening of his spirit. He felt surging forth, from the white rage, an immortal power pressing against all parts of his mortality. He felt as though his body was going to mimic the explosion he felt inside. He breathed as though he was an uncontrolled stampede of a frightened herd of wild Enthus. The only thing that remained was his need to end what kneeled before him. His eyes closed and his fists clenched the ground beneath him in an attempt to steel himself. All fear, all nausea, all effects of the hideous entity were flashed away as the white rage took hold of him. But there was more. His rage was not rage for its own sake; it existed as a requisite motivation of a greater aspect; something that possessed an undeniable directive. And this directive ordered him to get up.

  But rising had yet remained impossible. As his uncontrolled breathing elevated in its erratic and insufficient rhythm, his whole body started to shake. His mind was aching from the increasingly heavy weight of something beyond his ability to fathom. He needed to gain control, but how does one control something one cannot fully appreciate? How can one control the influence of the moon upon the tides or limit the dawning rays of the sun? He needed to cry out from the pressure, but without the intake of air, he voice was silent, and his actions were nothing.