Book of One 04: A Child of Fire

by Baker, Jordan

  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 ki
ll 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."

  "I do not doubt that, but it is not a fitting weapon for the Lord General of Maramyr. Give it to me."

  Berant unbuckled his sword belt but he hesitated, not wanting to hand it over.

  "This blade has been in my family for generations. It is of sentimental value to me."

  "Give it to me, now," Cerric told him, his tone turning sharp.

  "Yes, highness." Berant handed him the weapon.

  Cerric held it up in his hand and the scabbard burst into flames as he called forth his power. The leather burned away quickly and the steel began to melt, running in rivulets over his skin and dropping into small silvery pools on the ground.

  "There is no room in my army for sentimental values," Cerric told him. "As easily as I turn this weapon to nothing, this might also be your fate if you continue to challenge my commands."

  "Yes, my lord."

  "That does not mean that I do not value your counsel, but I demand your respect and obedience in all things." Cerric glared at the man as the last droplets of metal fell to the ground and the bits of ash fell from his hand, burned away clean by his power. "Have I made myself clear?"

  "Yes, my lord," Berant said, knowing how close he was to experiencing the wrath of an angered god.

  "Now choose a blade from those on the table. You will carry it with you at all times and into the field of battle. I will not force you to kill one of these lowly prisoners if such a thing is beneath you, but you will kill if you wish to maintain your position as many others will become your challengers over the days to come."

  "As you command, my lord," Berant said then he walked over to the table and picked up one of the few remaining blades that had not yet been bloodied. He barely gave it a glance, for he did not care for what Cerric was planning with these weapons, but the warrior in him noticed that the sword was well balanced and less ornate than the others. Its crosspiece was encrusted with clear stones that matched a large, clear diamond embedded in its pommel. He shoved the blade into his belt and looked at Mirdel, who stared at him with his lifeless eyes then he looked at Cerric. "If that is all, may I take my leave?"

  "Yes, Berant," Cerric said. "You may go. Leave a proper force for Mirdel to maintain Kandara, and the rest of the army will return with us to Maramyr."

  "Yes, my lord," Berant said then he bowed his head and walked away toward the stone staircase.

  "Mirdel, I have been informed that duke Kaledra and his family have been brought to the city."

  "Yes, they have."

  "Good," Cerric said. "Once I have left Kandara, your first order of business will be to execute Kaledra. Do it publicly as an example of what happens to traitors."

  "Did he not side with us, my lord?"

  "Yes, but he betrayed his lord and king, and the people must learn that no matter what they do, if they provoke our anger, they shall feel our wrath. Is that clear?"

  "Yes it is. And what of Elric?"

  "I will take him to Maramyr, as a trophy. I have some further use for him, but the time is not yet right."

  "Very good, my lord," Mirdel said, knowing whatever Cerric had planned for the deposed Kandaran king would not be pleasant. "What of Kaledra's wife and daughter?"

  "They are yours to do with as you please, Mirdel. Have the rest of these weapons stored and readied for travel. You may kill the rest of these prisoners. It will give you power, Mirdel, and none shall challenge you."

  "Thank you." Mirdel bowed his head. "You are most generous."

  "That I am," Cerric said with a smile, then his eyes shifted focus and he nodded. "I have other business to attend. I trust that you can finish up here."

  "Consider it done," Mirdel replied and he raised his sword and walked over to the remaining prisoners and began killing them, one by one, as Cerric walked up the stairs to the palace, enjoying the music of the echoing screams of dying enemies.

  *****

  Calexis was on her way back to the royal apartments, where she had taken up residence, when she encountered the mage, Dakar, who had been conspicuously absent during the battle for Kandara. While she was not particularly enamored of the man, she was
curious to find out what he had been doing, so she invited him to accompany her and ordered that some refreshments be brought while they waited for Cerric to finish whatever he was doing in the cavern beneath the throne. Calexis had not expected much from Dakar, but she was pleasantly surprised when their conversation took an unexpected turn.

  "It is most strange," Dakar said "It must have happened during the battle when Cerric used his magic to link himself to the soldiers. Such a feat would have required great power, and when I felt the drain of it, I was almost undone, and my connection to the one became very tenuous. It was a terrible feeling, as though I was lost."

  "That must have been very upsetting to you, Dakar," Calexis said with a hint of sarcasm. "I know how fervently you worship my husband."

  "I worship the one," Dakar said. "The god who walks among us, the one foretold in the book."

  "Yes, and I make my bed with him. Your slavish worship grows tiresome."

  Calexis sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, disappointed that Dakar appeared to be just as mindless as the rest of Cerric's followers. However, when she opened her eyes again and looked at the man, she saw that his eyes had turned black as night, filled with power and, for a moment, she worried that he might intend some harm to her but he simply sat in his chair and stared at her. She felt the twitch of something in her mind and the small powers she possessed told her that the mage priest was prying at her mind.

  "What would you like to know, Dakar?" she asked. "It is considered rude to scry into someone's mind without asking."

  "You fear him," the mage said.

  "Cerric?"

  "Yes, you fear him, and you are right to fear him, for he his terrible and would kill you in an instant if it suited his whim."

  "What's this?" Calexis was shocked to hear Dakar speak so plainly of such things, one moment worshipful and the next, critical. "You would say such things about your god?"

  "I do not have much time, Calexis, and I am taking a great risk to speak to you now," he said. "When Cerric used his magic, death magic, on the soldiers of Maramyr, the link that binds me to him was broken for a short time. I managed to separate a part of my mind, the part that knows the truth, the part that speaks with you now."