A Dragon Born (32 page)

*****

The sun had fallen from the sky and twilight had already begun to fade to darkness when Quenta and his contingent of the Elven Guard rode through the gates along with Captain Nathas. Nathas had stayed to defend the trenches to the end with his contingent of Maramyrian loyals, only retreating when they were finally overrun and they were thankful that the elves had helped in their retreat. Even so, Nathas knew the only reason he had survived was the strange halt of Cerric's army. Of the thousands who fought in the trench against Cerric's much larger force, only a few hundred Maramyrian soldiers now remained and Elric granted them entry to the city.

Nathas ordered that their clothes be brushed with dark blue paint, a common color in the storehouses of the city, so they would not be mistaken for the dead Maramyrians who had been wreaking havoc inside the walls. Kaleb and his riders as well as the other contingent of the Elven Guard remained outside the walls, moving away from the battlefield and finding refuge in the countryside, ready to return to the battle when called. For now, Cerric's army had ceased its attack and campfires were being lit across the countryside.

Borrican waited by the gate, hoping to see his uncle, but with the last of the soldiers, there was no sign of him.

"Has anyone seen Duke Boric?" he asked of the soldiers.

"Last I saw of him, he was smashing those catapults," one of them said.

Quenta dismounted from his horse and he walked over to Borrican.

"He fought the Darga and the one named Draxis, but I believe he was captured by them," Quenta said. "We tried to get to him, but they took him deeper into their army. I do not know if he yet lives."

"Boric was captured?" Borrican could not believe it. He had been so busy atop the walls trying to take out the enemy catapults then defending the soldiers in the trenches as they were overrun by Cerric's troops that he had lost sight of his uncle. He remembered seeing Boric surrounded by a sea of Darga, but his mighty axe was cutting them down easily, like a scythe through grass. With his monstrous size and exceptional strength, Borrican had not expected him to be captured so quickly, especially since Boric had already fought the Darga and knew the measure of their strength.

Borrican's brother, Elric, and a group of soldiers rode back to the gates, having finished dispatching the remaining ensorceled Maramyrian soldiers that had been ravaging the city. He saw Borrican's dark expression and immediately dismounted from his horse and went to him.

"What has happened, Borrican?"

"Uncle Boric has been taken by the enemy."

A soldier began shouting from atop the wall. Something was happening outside the city. Borrican and his brother ran up the steps, and they were followed by Nathas, Quenta and a number of others. Night had fallen and clouds had rolled in, blocking the light from the stars, casting a dark gloom over the world, broken by the angry flickering of torches and cookfires. Outside the walls, near the abandoned trenches, several large fires had been lit and large torches illuminated a kind of platform upon which were two large thrones. Atop them sat Cerric and Queen Calexis and, in front of the platform, facing the walls of Kandara, stood Boric, on a heavy, wooden diagonal cross and held in place by black iron chains that looked as though they were attached to his flesh itself, and looped through metal rings and pulled tight by Darga at their other ends.

Everyone on the wall was silent and, the noise of the army outside the wall also fell to a hush as Cerric stood from his chair. He raised his hands and more torches lit up, illuminating the area where Boric was held.

"People of Kandara," Cerric said, his harsh voice cutting through the night and rumbling with unnatural power. "I have here the great power of your land, the protector of your people, his lordship, Duke Boric Akandra of the House Akandar, the prized warrior of Kandara. See how he kneels."

The Darga pulled the chains and Boric fell to his knees, howling in pain with an inhuman wail. Borrican noticed that his uncle still had his great axe in his hand and he wondered if they had let him keep it for some reason or if they had not been able to take it from him.

"I come seeking one thing," Cerric continued, his voice echoing loudly through the night. "I seek the power of Kandara, the gift of the Akandar, and I seek your obedience. I do not wish to see needless death and slaughter. That is not my purpose, I only wish for the King to relinquish his power. Once that is done, we will leave."

Borrican saw Ariana run to the top of the steps and stop abruptly, when she caught sight of the scene below the walls.

"Why so quiet?" Cerric said, his voice calm and relaxed as though he were barely shouting, yet it could be heard so clearly as though he were standing only a few steps away. "Do you hear me, people of Kandara?" His voice rose in volume, to an almost deafening roar. "I give you a choice. You have one day to consider. Give me the power of Akandar, or every last one of you will die."

"Elric," Ariana whispered. "May I say something to him?"

"Yes, of course," Elric told her, moving aside as Ariana stepped up to the edge of the parapet.

"Cerric Coromyr," Ariana said. "You have failed to kill me twice. Why should anyone believe your promises. Your words are lies, your threats are false and your crown is stolen. As the rightful ruler of Maramyr I command any soldiers loyal to the crown to put down your swords and take the usurper, Cerric Coromyr into custody."

Cerric laughed.

"Ariana, my niece," Cerric said. "You are correct. I did fail to kill you, much to my irritation, but that was before. I see that you've taken to the Elven ways. It was smart of you to run to the people of the forest, but you know they cannot protect you. Elvanar is but one more land that will be conqured. As for you, princess without a crown, it matters not, for you are irrelevant and will likely be dead very soon. The throne and crown of Maramyr are mine because I have taken them, just as I will take Kandara. Perhaps I will give you to the Darga to play with as a reward for capturing Duke Boric. Perhaps Prince Draxis might find you amusing. For now, enjoy the knowledge that you will either die by the swords of your own soldiers, or become my slave and then you will die when I tire of you."

"He has lost his mind," Ariana said, more to herself than anyone else. "How can he admit to trying to have me killed? Does he not care?"

"No, my dear niece," Cerric replied, somehow having heard what she had said, "I do not care who knows what I have done. If you have any doubts of my resolve, then let me make my intentions perfectly clear."

Cerric waved his hand and more torches lit up around Boric, illuminating his beaten and blood soaked form. From the shadows, Draxis appeared and walked toward him. He grabbed Boric's giant axe and tried to pull it from his hand, but Boric would not let go. The Darga pulled the chains tighter and blood and fire spit from Boric's mouth as he howled in pain. Draxis punched him in the side of the head over and over, each powerful hit resounding with wet blood and shattering bone. Finally, he pulled the axe free and held it up with one hand. The Darga began to cheer and the thousands of dead soldiers cheered as well, their shouts filling the night. Cerric held up his hand.

"Draxis," he said. "If you will show my niece and the Kandarans how much I care for their honor and how much I value their lives."

Draxis nodded and, taking the axe in his two hands, he raised it high above his head, then he leapt into the air and brought it smashing down on Boric's neck, severing his head from his body and spilling acid blood that burned with fire upon the ground before Boric's headless body.

"People of Kandara, you have until sundown tomorrow to give me what I ask. Obey me or perish."

With that, Cerric turned and sat back in his chair and the entire platform began to move back behind the enemy ranks, leaving Boric's body on its knees, chained before the cross. Draxis threw the axe to the ground and picked up Boric's head then followed the king and queen through the legions of soldiers, who cheered raucously at the death of the Duke of Kandara.

Ariana could barely see through the tears in her eyes. She turned and saw Elric, ashen faced with shock, his expression mirroring how she felt. Ariana looked to Borrican, she saw something she had glimpsed when the old king had touched her power, something that flickered and burned deep within the Akandar, the same power that had given Boric his strength. Borrican's eyes burned and flickered with a fire that was different from the torches that burned or the mage fire Ariana could summon. It was something more primal, more visceral and if she were not so angry and distraught, she would have been frightened by what she saw. Borrican saw her staring at him and he turned away then slowly walked down the steps from the wall and disappeared into the city.

Ariana wanted to follow him, but Margo grabbed her arm.

"Let him go," she said. "He needs to deal with this on his own."

"As do I," Elric said. "If you will excuse me."

As Elric followed his brother down from the wall, Ariana slumped against the wall and she pulled her elven mask over her face and quietly cried for both of them and for Boric, whose body she could no longer bear to look at. A few moments later, Ariana felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and saw Nathas, the Senior Captain of Maramyr, who was now the commander of what was left of the Maramyrian army.

"Your highness," he said in a calm and gentle tone. "Keira and Margo will escort you to the palace. You must rest, for tomorrow will be a difficult day."

"How can I rest at a time like this?" Ariana asked him.

"Tomorrow we fight," Nathas told her, "and our swords must remain sharp. If you do not rest, your blade will quickly dull. There is naught we can do but prepare for the battle that is yet to come."

Ariana saw Keira and Margo standing behind Nathas and she pushed herself to her feet and saw Quenta walking toward her.

"We will keep watch here," Quenta said. "I will make sure you are informed if anything changes."

"Thank you, Quenta," Ariana said then she walked down from the wall and followed Keira and Margo through the city toward the palace.

As they approached the palace gate, Ariana looked up at the tall, stone towers that loomed above and she saw the old king, Eric, out on a high balcony, standing alone, staring out toward the city walls. She saw him turn away, as though someone had called to him, and then the old king disappeared back inside the palace.

"Father," Elric said as Eric came in from the tower balcony. "Uncle Boric has been killed."

"I know, my son." Eric looked at both boys and brushed his hands through his wild, unkempt hair. "Boric honored his oath. I hoped you would have more time to grow, to discover your strengths before taking up the mantle of Kandara. You wear my crown, Elric, and Borrican, you are so much like your uncle. Perhaps I have not been much of a father these past years. Since your mother died, I have been lost, so very lost, and Boric did what I could not. He has raised you in my stead. You are both young but the time for being young is over. You know what Boric was?"

"You mean how he changed?" Elric asked.

"Yes. It did not seem strange to you, did it?"

"No," Borrican said. "He is Akandar."

"That's right, Borrican, as are you. You have the same power within you, though I think you already know it." Eric turned to his other son. "You also have this power, Elric, but you hide it even more than your brother. I cannot explain this to you. I have tried to speak to both of you but you do not listen. Both of you must find your true selves if you are to keep the oath."

"I listen, father," Elric said, "but I would listen more if you did not yell so much."

Eric looked at his eldest son and took a deep breath, doing his best to hold his temper in check, but Elric could see the anger in his eyes.

"What oath, father?" Borrican asked. "You and uncle Boric have spoken of the oath, but you have never told us what it is."

"The oath is a story," Eric told them, holding his emotions in check. "It is an old story, of our people, of the people who live on this land, of all the peoples in the world. It is knowledge, and neither of you are ready for it, but I must tell you nonetheless, for I am all that remains of the pride of Kandara until the oath falls to you, my sons. It is better that you know it now."

The sun had fallen and the evening began to cool as the stands above the arena floor filled with people. The warrior's palace glowed with torchlight and the arena floor itself flickered with fire as the circles became rings of fire once the matches began. A thousand smells were carried on the wind as vendors sold their wares to the sea of spectators that eagerly awaited the next match. Aaron sat in the stands and watched several of the matches that were happening in each of the circles. In one of them, he recognized one of the women fighters he had seen that morning now fighting an opponent twice her size, a large man who fought with twin battleaxes.

Despite his size, the man moved with a smooth grace and fluid power that showed a level of ability far beyond most of the fighters Aaron had faced at Forsina. The woman, however, was an adept fighter as well, and though she lacked the power of the man she faced, her blade was just as sharp and her movements slightly faster. She cut him several times on the arms and on the legs, darting past his axes with her much longer blades and Aaron thought she would win the match, until the man caught her sword in the hook of one of his axes then jabbed at her face with the pointed head of the other.

The swordfighter dodged just in time, but a piece of the axe blade caught the side of her head and tore a deep gash in the cloth around her head and cut through to her scalp beneath it. The sword fighter stumbled as blood flowed from the wound, soaking down her shoulder and matting down her robes, which became dark and clung to her. She tried to continue fighting, but it soon became clear that the axe wielder had her at a disadvantage, from the blood loss and the fact that her vision had been obscured by the cloth wrappings that had been torn and had fallen over her eye. She struggled to defend herself from her opponent's relentless barrage of attacks, which prevented her from adjusting the wrappings and, a few moments later, the man caught her in the sword arm with his axe and she fell to her knees ground, no longer able to lift her blade. The man with the axes brought them both down to within a hair of her neck, but stopped short of killing her.

Aaron saw Lento walk out to the circle and bow to the man with the two axes. The crowd cheered for the victor and he held his axes high to their applause then walked from the arena through a gate underneath the stands. Lento walked over to look at the other fighter, who remained on her knees then he motioned for the healers to come and collect her. Aaron rose from his seat and wandered over an open area at the bottom of the stands next to the wall that overlooked the arena floor. A group of men and women sat at small tables, handling the many bets that were placed on the fights. As he approached the betting tables, Aaron saw disappointed faces walking away, while others were smiling, having lost or won their respective bets.

"Care to make a wager, sir?" one of the women asked.

"No, thank you," Aaron replied. "The betting tables are not very busy."

"It is early still," she said. "There are many wagers to be made."

Aaron did not know much about how the betting worked, but Carly had explained some of it to him when they were at Forsina. From what he could remember, there were different kinds of wagers and some could be made before the fight and some during the fight. People would even bet on details, like how many cuts a fighter would receive from an opponent or how long a fight might last. The wagers that were placed between people could be as complicated as people wanted them to be. He had overheard several people discussing a wager earlier then saw them leave their coin with the people at the tables and those who won returned to collect their winnings. It appeared that those who worked the tables provided the service to anyone who wished to make a wager.

"Since you are not busy at the moment, may I ask you about the matches here at the warrior's palace?"

"Of course," the woman said. "What would you like to know?"

"I am curious how you know who the favorites are? How do you decide the odds?"

She smiled and held up a thin book.

"This is the register of Ba'shan. All of the fighters who have ever fought in the circles are written here. The registers tell many things about their fights, both past and present. That is how we decide who are the favorites then we decide what their chances might be."

"All of the fighters? I would think that book should be a lot thicker."

"Yes. The register works by magic. See, it has no pages." The woman opened the book and Aaron saw that it was only a cover. He was curious about how the magic might work, but he did not want to use his power to find out.

"How can it show all the fighters, if it has no pages?"

"You need only think of the fighters who will fight and the book will show them, one on each side. The pages tell the story of each fighter and what battles they have fought and we decide who the favorites are."

"Do you know who created the books?" Aaron asked, his curious piqued because something about them reminded him of the book of the priesthood.

"No," she said with a shrug. "Perhaps you can ask Lento. He is the master of the warrior palace. He knows many things I do not."

"Thank you," Aaron said, then he paused for a moment. "What does the register say about Kasha?"

"Kasha?" The woman smiled. "Kasha is a very fine warrior, one of the champions. Many times a king of Ba'shan, with many supporters." She opened the book. "Kasha is always a favorite to win and has never lost a match in the circles and has only drawn once."

"Only once?" Aaron said.

"Yes." She glanced at the other page and Aaron caught a glimpse of it filling words and pictures. "At Forsina, Kasha fought to a draw against a fighter named Antal."

The woman looked at him oddly and held up the book to show him and he saw that each page held an image that was more than just a drawn representation, but appeared to be a living, moving image. The picture of Kasha, which was only of her head and shoulders, showed her wearing her usual head wrappings, and sitting somewhere dark, with firelight flickering in her eyes and she looked much as Aaron remembered her, but the image on the other page was somewhat disconcerting. Aaron felt like he was looking in a mirror, for underneath the name that was written on the page in black coal, exactly the way he had written it on the stone at Forsina, was an image of him, standing exactly where he stood now, with the busy stands of the warriors' palace behind him.

"You are Antal of Ashford," said the woman. "You have favorable odds, though some of my fellow registers debate this for Kasha did not fight you the way that Kasha is known to fight. It was very curious and there was much talk about your match because of it. Tell me, Antal, do you intend to enter the fights?"

"How is it possible that this book can see me?" Aaron asked, more concerned about not being found than hearing gossip about his time at Forsina. He knew it should not be possible for him to be seen by magic, since he still had the ward that Stavros showed him how to create.

"The register only sees the fighters when they are at the circles. You are at the circles, so the register sees you," the woman laughed. "Many fighters have asked about this. They worry that we registers can see them with their lovers or use the registers to follow them or trick them, but the registers only see fighters when they are near the circles."

Aaron breathed a sigh of relief at the woman's explanation of the register books, but he was still concerned about how they worked.

"What does the book show when a fighter is not at the circles?" he asked.

"It shows the last vision," the woman said. "Until this morning, your image was frozen in time, a moment from Forsina and you did not dress as you do now."

"So, if the image is moving, then the person is at the circles?"

"Yes, though it is not known which circle. If you were to visit any of the circles the register would sense you."

"Is there any way to be removed from the register?"

"I do not know. No one has ever asked me that question," the woman said, looking at him strangely. "Perhaps you should ask Lento."

"One more question," Aaron said.

"Yes?"

"Will Kasha fight in the circles of Ba'shan tonight?"

The woman closed the book then opened it again and Aaron could see that the pages had changed.

"I do not see a match with Kasha, no."

"Thank you for your help," Aaron said and the woman nodded as he turned and walked away through the stands.

Aaron found his way down a flight of stone steps to a passage underneath the stands that led to the arena floor. The entrance was guarded by several Ba'shane warriors and another register, who opened the book as Aaron approached and motioned to the guards to let him through. Aaron nodded at them politely and entered the arena and walked along the lowered pathway that ran around its perimeter, glancing up at the stands, wondering if Kasha might be somewhere at the warrior's palace. As much as he wanted to be left alone and did not want to think about all the problems with magic and goddesses, the last few days at Ba'shan had been somewhat lonely and, even if things did not end up involving a bed of cushions and entangled bodies like they had at Forsina, Aaron felt his spirits uplifted at the thought of seeing the warrior woman again.

He watched Lento conclude another match then return to his place near the entrance to the passage to the fighters' quarters and wandered over to where he stood, observing the matches.

"Antal," Lento said, smiling at Aaron. "Have you reconsidered entering the circles?"

"Lento, I think I would prefer to watch," Aaron told him. "I am curious about the register books. Could you tell me about them?"

"What would you like to know?"

"They appear to work like magic," Aaron said. "Do you know who made them?"

"The registers are very old," Lento said. "It is said they were created by the king of the sky, the watcher of all things, the knower of all things."

"Does this king of the sky have another name, perhaps one used by the people of the north?"

"Ah, yes," Lento said. "I believe your people call him by the name of Stroma. He is worshiped as a god in your land, yes?"

"He was," Aaron said. "Do the people of the desert not consider Stroma to be one of the gods?"

Lento laughed. "You do not know Ansari."

While it was not a clear answer, it appeared to Aaron that the Ansari did not follow the gods, and yet it seemed that one of the gods had created the registers.

"Stroma made the registers but isn't a god?"

"How can I explain?" Lento said, then he held up his finger. "I will return." He headed out to the arena floor to conclude another match that had ended.

Aaron waited as an extremely large man was dragged from the arena on a wooden skid and down the passage to the fighters' quarters, while Ansari healers worked their magic on him, trying to staunch the blood that flowed out of numerous deep gashes. Aaron looked out over the many matches in the circles and saw that the fights were becoming more violent as increasingly powerful opponents were matched up against one another. He saw Lento preside over the start of another fight then the man returned to where Aaron waited for him.

"I think we will begin to see some fallen warriors soon," Lento said. "It is always the way with the most powerful fighters. Only a few have the skill to triumph without killing their opponent."

"If someone has already won the matches in the circles and become a king," Aaron asked, "what would be the purpose in entering again? What more is to be gained? A person cannot eat and drink double or stay in two rooms at the same time."

"Ah, yes. No doubt you have been told of how the winners no longer need worry for food and drink and may live in the city without cost. That is a convenience afforded by the warriors' temple to our champions, to the kings of the circles. But there is another prize, that is known only to the kings."

"So the only way I get to find out is if I enter the fights and become a champion of Ba'shan?"

"Yes," Lento said. "There are some secrets that must be earned. Will you enter the circles?"

"I have no need of prizes," Aaron said.

"As you wish. You are a champion of Forsina, with a draw against Kasha. That is very honorable so perhaps that is enough for you."

"Could you tell me about the registers?" Aaron asked, reminding Lento of their earlier conversation. "You said Stroma made the registers, but was not a god."

"I did not say that, Antal. Now you are putting words in my mouth," Lento said, smiling at Aaron, though he thought he detected a note of irritation in the man's voice. "Your people think of Stroma as a god, there are several of them in your culture, if I remember, but we do not have this word. Stroma exists, but we do not worship Stroma. Do you understand better?"

"Maybe," Aaron said, not sure if what the man had told him was of any help. Either way, it was useful to know that Stroma was supposedly the one who made the register books. "I still have much to learn if I am to know Ansari."

"Ah yes," Lento said with a grin. "To know Ansari is to be Ansari."

"I have not heard that expression before," Aaron told him. "What does it mean?"