CHAPTER FIVE

Elzor glared down with revulsion at the sweaty mound of jelly quivering before him. He recognized the man’s garb as that of a lawgiver, and from his size and complexion, Elzor deduced that he spent most of his leisure time eating.

He didn’t know much about the small fishing village of Larth, other than that it was the last bastion of civilization to be found before reaching the southern border of Agrus. It was a welcome sight to him, not because of its splendor, for it certainly had none of that, but because it meant he would soon be leaving this accursed country behind.

He and the now eleven-hundred-strong Elzorath had departed the Castle Tynal two days before. Elzaria’s vision had given them much more precise locations for the two mystical Stones he sought. By moving south along the coast, he and his men were able to put some extra distance between themselves and the armies of his enemies, who were surely amassing to move against him at that moment. From this point, they would turn east until the verdant fields and tall nipa trees gave way to the sands of the Praskian Desert.

“M-M-My Lord,” the fat man stuttered, bowing at the waist as far as he could. “Forgive me, I-I-I wasn’t expecting you–”

Elzor held his hand up, cutting short the lawgiver’s gibbering. “My men and I are passing through. We will be making camp here before we move out in the morning.”

“O-of course, My Lord.” He bowed again. “Wh-whatever you need, My Lord.”

Elzor turned to a large bearded man standing at attention behind him. “Langon, see to it.”

General Langon bowed his head. “Yes, my liege.” He immediately strode off, barking orders at the procession of merychs to set up their camp.

Turning back to the obese man, Elzor pointed at the well. “Is the water in there fresh?”

“Y-Yes, My Lord.”

“Good. Here is what I–” He paused, his eyes flicking over to the young man shackled to the field’s one and only tree. Their gaze held for a moment, and Elzor’s eyebrows arched. “Would you care to explain this ...” He looked expectantly at the lawgiver.

“S-Sekker, My Lord,” the man said, picking up the cue. “I-I am the duly appointed High Magistrate for all of southern Agrus.”

Elzor didn’t respond, merely using his head to gesture in the boy’s direction.

Sekker swallowed hard. “He-he’s nobody, My Lord. Just a common thief. I have taken personal responsibility for supervising his punishment.”

Elzor ambled toward the shackled youth, expecting to see fear in the young man’s face. Instead he saw only anger, an emotion with which he was all too familiar. He thought briefly of his own youth, and how he’d focused his own anger into fulfilling his towering ambitions. Just look how far he’d come.

He gestured Sekker over, glaring at him. “How long has he been chained up like this?”

“Since last night, My Lord. I sentenced him to three days’ punishment for stealing a boat that did not belong to him.”

The boy rattled his shackles in obvious rage, and Elzor saw that the look of hatred on his face was not directed at Elzor, but at Sekker.

How interesting.

“Is this true?” he asked the boy.

“That boat was mine!” he yelled, practically spitting at Sekker. “You stole it from me, you fat pile of merych dung!”

In the face of the boy’s accusation, Sekker found his full voice again. “Pay no heed to his lies, My Lord!”

Elzor shot steely glares at both men, silencing them. “What is your name, boy?” he snapped.

“Rahne.”

There was a time, not so long ago, when Elzor possessed the same contempt for authority that Rahne did. Since the day he and his sister freed themselves from the Mogran mining camp as children, he vowed to rid the world of men like Sekker, jumped-up little money-grubbers given a position of power they neither earned nor deserved. “Tell me what happened, Rahne.”

Sekker padded up to him. “My Lord –”

Elzor jabbed a finger in his direction. “You,” he spat, halting Sekker in his tracks, “do not speak unless addressed. Forget your place again, and I will be forced to remind you.” He cast a glance at Elzaria standing nearby. At his visual cue, his sister strode forward. She smiled at Sekker, whose face turned pasty white as a tiny, crackling ball of blue energy sparked around her fingertips. To Rahne he said, “Go on.”

Within ten seconds of hearing Rahne’s story, Elzor grabbed Sekker by the front of his baggy tunic, sending daggers of fury his way. “Is what he says true?”

The rotund man looked like he was about to soil himself. “H-h-he broke the law, My Lord. And as I am the dispenser of law in this town–”

“Is ... it ... true?” He brought his face close to the quaking man, who could only nod. With a disgusted snarl, Elzor shoved the man away. “Unlock him. Now,” he commanded.

Sekker didn’t argue. He produced a key from his pocket and released Rahne from his manacles.

Once freed, Rahne clambered stiffly to his feet, rubbing his sore, reddened wrists. “Thank you,” he said, catching Elzor’s gaze. “Um, My Lord.”

Normally, Elzor would have become irate at this rather casual acknowledgment of his title, but on this occasion, he just laughed. To Sekker he said, “You will see to it that this young man gets his boat back. Is that clear?”

“Y-y-yes, My Lord,” he stammered, staring at the ground.

“A fat lot of good that’ll do,” Rahne grumbled.

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Elzaria hissed, “or the punishment you’ve just endured will pale by comparison to what will happen to you next.”

Elzor raised his hand, gesturing for Elzaria to calm herself, but he reinforced her threat. “Let me be clear on one thing, boy: I care nothing for you, your life, or your petty squabble with this man,” he indicated Sekker. “If you want to come out of this without a sword through your gut, you’ll speak to me with respect, starting now.”

Rahne dropped his hands to his sides, faced Elzor, and bowed his head. “I’m sorry, My Lord. It won’t happen again.”

Elzor nodded. “That’s better. Now, explain yourself.”

Rahne gestured at Elzor’s army, who had begun setting up their camps for the night. Some erected tents, others watered the merychs, and the rest gathered wood from the line of thick trees down the road for campfires. “From the looks of things, My Lord, you’ve brought your entire army to Larth. I can only take that to mean you’re leaving Agrus.” He pointed at Sekker. “If this braga were to obey you and give me my boat back, I promise, the moment your merychs disappear from sight, he’ll just turn around and take it away again. He has the constabulary in his pocket, and I have no one. No mother, no father, no family at all. And even if he didn’t, with the taxes this man’s raised, everything I earn would go right into his coffers anyway.”

Sekker, suddenly animated, strode forward until he was chest-to-chest with Rahne. “You are a peasant, boy. If you were meant for a greater purpose, you would’ve been born into it. Such is the way of things.”

A triumphant smile broke out on Rahne’s face as he turned to Elzor. “What was it you called Lord Elzor a few minutes ago? A pernicious whelp?”

The blood drained from Sekker’s porcine face.

Elzor’s hands clenched and unclenched, and his teeth gnashed together. “What?” It came out as a guttural whisper.

“Oh, yes, that’s what he said,” Rahne continued, still grinning. “And did you also know that Sekker here is a cousin to King Morix?”

At this, Sekker took a ham-fisted swing at Rahne who quickly ducked underneath it and drove his own fist into the magistrate’s ample gut. Sekker staggered back and doubled over, but stayed on his feet.

“Rahne, step away from him,” Elzor said.

Rahne, along with several of the soldiers standing in a half-circle around Elzor, took several paces back. Within seconds, the rotund man was standing on his own.

Somehow sensing his doom, Sekker dropped to his knees. “Please, My Lord! Spare me! I will give you all I –”

Elzor gave Elzaria a knowing nod. Strands of blue lightning shot from her hands, striking Sekker full in the chest. His body shuddered and his arms twitched as his strangulated scream abruptly cut off. His eyes rolled back in their sockets as he lifted his head skyward, no doubt pleading to Arantha for mercy.

But Arantha held no power here. Elzor did.

Elzor’s eyes shifted to Rahne, whose jaw dropped open as Sekker’s hair, skin, and clothes began to blacken and char. Smoke drifted up from the collar of his tunic, and his hair even caught fire. But no more screams came.

Elzaria retracted her hands, and the lightning disappeared. A cruel smile played over her face as she stepped forward to admire her handiwork.

As they watched, the lifeless husk that had once been Sekker toppled face-first into the grass. Smoke rose from his body up to the clear blue sky, and the foul stench of death rose with it.

Elzor looked appreciatively at Elzaria, who met his gaze with a hollow smile. “I do so love watching you work, sister.”

She gave the slightest of head bows. “A pleasure, my liege.”

“Take a few men into town,” he instructed her. “Have the locals supply us with enough food for every Elzorath. If they object ...” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Understood, my liege.” She bowed again and strode back to her merych, waving over a contingent of soldiers to accompany her. Within moments, they were galloping down the road on their way to Larth.

Elzor turned to see Rahne, looking ashen as he continued to stare at Sekker’s smoking corpse. He half-expected the boy to vomit at the pungent smell of death, but he did not. Of course, if Sekker had been telling the truth, Rahne hadn’t eaten in almost a day.

As he stared, his mind flashed back to his own youth. He and Elzaria were only fourteen when they escaped from Mogran, thanks entirely to the Stone they had found. His first thought was to march straight to the home of Viceroy Callis and make him pay for all the torments they endured there, but doing so would have been suicide. Elzaria was powerful but untrained, and though he had some fighting skills, they were pitiful compared to those of the militia. So he joined their ranks, as it was the best way for him to not only develop his skills, but to take care of Elzaria. Each trainer he was assigned to zeroed in on him, determined to break his will at every turn. Every pounding his body took only fueled his drive to overcome, to improve.

By the age of seventeen, he’d become skilled in swordsmanship, archery, and hand-to-hand combat. He’d also earned the respect of his peers, none of whom had any idea that the sister he provided for and had sequestered from the rest of the population would soon become the most powerful weapon on Elystra.

Looking at Rahne now, Elzor saw a lot of himself. Rahne was tall, with a typical fisherman’s build: strong arms, leathery skin, and a salty attitude appropriate for those who spent much of their lives at sea.

Elzor approached Rahne, finally standing shoulder to shoulder with him. “Is this the first time you’ve seen a man die?” He indicated Sekker’s body.

“Not in such a manner,” Rahne replied in a hushed tone. “My Lord,” he quickly added.

“Do you deny he had it coming?”

“Not at all. I just wish I could have been the one to do it.”

A smirk curled at the edge of Elzor’s mouth, but he quashed it immediately. “You are free to go, Rahne.” He turned to rejoin his men, but he’d only gone a few steps when the boy’s next words stopped him in his tracks.

“Take me with you.”

Elzor’s smile returned.