A Dragon Born (29 page)

"I want you boys to coordinate the defense of the city. Keep these catapults firing and be ready for any trick Cerric might have up his sleeve," Boric told them. "I am taking to the field. Signal the Elven Guard to begin their attack."

Borrican and Elric saw their uncle begin to change as he walked toward the steps that ran down from the wall to the city gate. It was something they had never seen before, but both of them knew that this was who their uncle was and what he truly was, for it was something they had always known.

Dakar closed the book and straightened it on the table. He had spent days searching the library at Blue Island and he had finally found out what he was sure Cerric was after. He knew the god-king was probably aware of what he was doing through the link between them, and all of the mages, which allowed Cerric to know such things, but he wondered exactly how much he could know, especially since the link appeared to be weakened by the great distance between them. Dakar could feel the thread of power that connected him to the power of the god, a line that had been created when he had become ensorceled by the book and he could feel that it was much weaker now that he was so far away. The link, as he understood it, allowed Cerric not only to spy upon those to whom he was connected, but it also gave him the ability to take their power. Thus, in a sense, the link was like a parasite or a leech, but it also gave Cerric the ability to compel the wills of those under the spell. When Dakar realized this, the thought that he might not have been acting under his own volition had irritated him, and Cerric had made it very clear how little he cared for what the mage might think or want, for that matter.

Dakar sat at the table, staring at the book that lay before him. It was an old, leatherbound volume that contained a collection of writings from an ancient people called the Mistrani. They were seers who were able to look not into the future, but into the past, to the third age, when the gods walked the earth, before they disappeared from the land and before the paths to the mystical realm of Etherium were closed. Dakar had read many of the stories in other forms in other books he had studied over the many years he had been a mage, but most of them were ultimately derived from the visions of the Mistrani. It was those stories that had been missing from the libraries, all of them removed not just from the shelves, but from the records themselves. Had Dakar not made a study of the old stories and previously read a few of the books in question, he would never have noticed their absence, though he wondered if his desire to learn about the old gods had been the product of his own curiosity or if the will of the god had been directing him even then. Luckily, this particular volume had escaped whomever had been stealing books from the libraries, and only because it had been misplaced and long thought missing.

Dakar was about to pick up the book and leave the library when there was a tremor in the magical link and he felt his power slowly begin to drain from him. The sensation was very much like what had happened when the mages of the priesthood had opened the path to Etherium and brought the god into the world, where he had entered Cerric's body, becoming both a king and god. Dakar held himself up with his hands, which were on the table on either side of the book, and the world began to spin around him as the link pulled more of his power, then it stopped as quickly as it had begun. Dakar took a breath then reached for his power and discovered that very little of it remained.

Though he had risen to the top of the ranks within the priesthood, as a mage, Dakar had never been particularly powerful, even less so after a magical experiment had gone awry many years ago, but what he lacked in depth of power he made up for in cunning and determination. Still, he was certainly not the weakest mage to have ever walked the land and even though the link had drained him almost completely, which would have meant at least a day or two for him to recover completely, a little of his power remained. Perhaps it was the distance between him and Cerric, Dakar was not sure, but when he felt for the link, he realized it had also weakened.

Curious, Dakar reached out with his power and touched the link. Where it had been tight and powerful like a chain or a thick rope, the connection was now like a thin thread and a frayed one at that, and Dakar wondered what might happen if he tried to dispel it. He knew it would certainly irritate Cerric, whose wrath he did not want to invite, but he also knew that, with the link so weak, it was possible that Cerric could not hear his thoughts and might be unaware of what he was doing. In the time it took him to think about it, Dakar noticed that the link begin to repair itself, becoming stronger, little by little.

Quickly, he dispelled the line of power and saw the connection fray and break where he had touched it, however it did not disappear. The thread that was connected to his power remained and so did the line running to Cerric, and it was as though the two pieces were reaching out to one another, seeking to reconnect. Dakar realized that he had very little time before his power would strengthen the link on his end and Cerric's power would do the same, which meant he would be back in the grip of the god-king. He gathered as much of his power as he dared and drew several wards then cast several spells upon himself. He used magic he had experimented with when he was very young and before he had ever seen the Book of One, and though he was sure he had not used those spells after becoming linked to the book, he hoped he had not even thought about them. The less Cerric knew, the better.

The spells he used were difficult, and working so quickly made the process much more painful, but Dakar endured the tearing in his mind as he cut a piece of his consciousness away and infused it with power then bound it with wards that would make it undetectable. The only problem was that, once the link was reconnected, Cerric would again be able to read his thoughts, and he would know what he had done the moment he thought of it. Even if he were able to keep his mind off of it, the moment he wanted to retreat into the secret part of his mind that he had created, Cerric would know.

Dakar saw the threads beginning to reform and he knew he was almost out of time. The solution occurred to him, though he wondered what effects such a thing might have upon his mind, but Dakar realized that he no longer cared, for it could be no worse than having the dark god peering into him constantly and feeding off of his power. He used the same magic that had cut away his consciousness, and he cut a piece of the part of him that lay underneath, the unconscious part of his thoughts that defined him then he tossed it into the warded and protected place and set the simplest of triggers upon it. A moment later, the two threads reconnected and he felt himself back under the power of the one god.

Dakar blinked and felt strange, dizzy almost. He could not remember what he had been doing a moment ago, only that the power of the god had drained him almost completely and he wondered whether he had fallen unconscious from the effect of it, though if that had been the case, it was odd that he would still be sitting up. Perhaps his body happened to be balanced in the chair when it had happened, which was fortunate. At least he was sitting down, for he surely would have fallen to the ground, otherwise. Dakar looked around at the stacks of books on the other side of the table, the many volumes he had searched and was frustrated at how little information he had found. All the stories were essentially the same. According to the stories, five gods had once existed in the world, but they had left for the realm of Etherium after a war that had occurred between them and the elder races of the world. That was all that the books could tell him, and it was nothing more than he already knew. Frustrated that his search had offered no more insight to what his god wanted, Dakar decided to return to Cerric and see what might be done to help him with the battle that must have begun by now. Perhaps the answer to what the god-king sought would be found in Kandara.

Absentmindedly, without even looking at it, Dakar picked up the book that lay on the table before him. He tucked it into a pocket inside his black robe and made his way to the exit of the library, wishing his god had not taken so much of his power, for the journey to Kandara would now take much longer that in would have otherwise. Dakar sighed in resignation, knowing that his true purpose was to serve his god, and if Cerric needed his power, then he would give it freely and without question.

*****

Cerric felt the link between him and Dakar begin to strengthen once more and he knew that the mage had given up his search and was now returning. He had indulged the mage's curiosity in the hope that Dakar might uncover some information that might prove useful, but even with all the books at Blue Island, which was the only repository of knowledge greater than the Academy of Maramyr, he had found nothing of value. Cerric already had an idea of what he was looking for, but he had hoped to at least find some description of the weapons and perhaps a few indications as to their whereabouts.

"The gates of Kandara are opening, highness," Mirdel said, interrupting Cerric's thoughts. "What is your command?"

"Signal the Darga to attack, and send the divisions led by Captain Aldos forward toward those trenches," Cerric said.

"Yes, my lord," Mirdel replied.

*****

Boric marched out of the city alone, already in his monstrous form and carrying his great axe in his hand. He wore a suit of armor that he had never thought he would have to use, and when he had commissioned its making, it had seemed like a waste, but now he was glad for his prudence and foresight in making the request. The armor had been specially fashioned for him by a mage who had only agreed to do it because of his own misgivings about the unnaturally fast growth of a religion that had become popular among the mages. Boric wondered what had become of Stavros, the twin brother of Tarnath, the old armsmaster of Maramyr, who Boric had once considered to be his closest friend, before the man had retired from his post and faded away from public life. How the years wore on and things changed, Boric mused, as he trudged forward toward the soldiers who had set up a defensive line just outside the city. The horn from atop the walls sent out the call for the Elven Guard to begin their attack and Boric saw Nathas riding toward him with a group of Maramyrian soldiers.

"Nathas!" Boric yelled. "Fear not, friend, you've an ally at your back."

Nathas slowed his horse and Boric chuckled at the look of recognition on the Captain's face.

"Boric?" Nathas was surprised, but despite the drastic change in his appearance and his immense size, he knew the creature that towered over him and his horse was the Duke of Kandara. "You warned me that you might look different when you took to the field and I had heard that you were capable of such a thing, but I could not have imagined it."

"Aye," Boric said. "Now you've seen how ugly I get when I'm angry. We must be true friends now."

"I always wondered how you could lift that damn axe of yours," Nathas said. "I'll stop wondering about such things. I guess I have seen it all."

"You haven't seen the half of it, Nathas," Boric told him with a chuckle. "Let's get to it, friend, and make sure your soldiers know I'm not some monster come to eat them."

"Spread the word, Duke Boric is entering the field," Nathas said to several of the soldiers with him.

Boric smiled with his sharp, reptilian teeth and saluted the soldiers with the giant head of his axe.

"Time to get to it," Boric said, then he leapt forward and, in a few long, powerful strides he was over the defensive line and rushing toward the catapults.

Cerric's mages began blasting him with energy, but it glanced harmlessly off his armor, dispersing in the air behind him and within a few moments, Boric was at the first of the catapults. He pushed through the soldiers, swatting them out of the way and swung his axe at the giant wooden contraption and it splintered and fell on its side to the ground. Boric was about to move on to the next catapult when he saw something that stopped him in his tracks. The large basket of the catapult, which would normally be loaded with rocks, which the mages had been placing the stones that allowed their magic to be thrown in an arc, was now filled with soldiers. They were now climbing over each other, scrambling back to their feet, despite the fact that many of them having taken grave injuries when the catapult had fallen. Boric swung his axe around in an arc and cleared the enemy soldiers, taking the time to look in the distance at the other catapults, which he saw were also being loaded with soldiers.

It was insanity, Boric thought. How could Cerric expect these men to survive being thrown such a distance? And why would the soldiers agree to such madness? As he looked around at the sea of enemies closing in on him, their swords swinging, his questions were answered and he scented something that should not be present this early in the battle. It was the scent of death. Of the soldiers he had cut down, only a few of them, the ones whose limbs had been severed, stayed on the ground, though not for lack of trying. Boric saw the milky white look in their eyes and the grey pallor of their skin and he knew something had been done to the soldiers. He swung his axe again and this time he aimed for their necks. Heads rolled and bodies fell to the ground, finally ceasing to move. He saw the catapults begin to fire and saw dozens of the soldiers flying through the air over the walls of the city.

"Damn," he cursed then he turned back to the lines and shouted to Nathas. "Cut off their heads," he bellowed, gesturing with his axe, and hoping Nathas and the people atop the walls would understand what he was trying to tell them. If not, then hopefully they would figure it out.

The soldiers came at him again, their swords gleaming and ready to cut at him and Boric swung his great axe and sent them flying then he bounded toward the next catapult.

*****

When Quenta saw the Duke of Kandara emerge from the gates he was amazed at the man's transformation, though he was not entirely surprised. Elven lore often spoke of the monsters of Kandara, the giant reptiles, though now that he saw Boric in his changed form, he wondered if the old scrolls had exaggerated somewhat. Still, when he saw the duke begin to move, swinging his giant axe at dozens of enemy soldiers and felling one of the catapults in one blow, he understood why his people had considered the Akandar to be powerful and extremely dangerous.