CHAPTER NINE

Elzor ordered that Rahne be allowed a warm bath, a hot meal, and a good night’s sleep to recover from the punishment he’d received at Sekker’s hands. However, the sun had barely risen when he was dragged from his borrowed bedroll and thrown into an empty space in the middle of a circle of laughing, clapping Elzorath.

Rahne shook the fuzziness from his head and looked up to see Elzor staring down at him with a cruel smile. “Good morning, Rahne,” he said. Rahne couldn’t help but envy Elzor’s poise. He carried himself like a man who knew he was in charge, and wouldn’t hesitate to remove any obstacle that crossed his path. “I trust you slept well.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Rahne said, picking himself up. He felt his skin crawl as he found himself under the scrutiny of not only Elzor but Elzaria, General Langon, and at least twenty soldiers, who eyed him as if he were their next meal.

“Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” Elzor said. “It’s been many days since my men had the pleasure of sacking Talcris, so before we vacate this benighted country, I think it only fitting they have themselves a little sport.”

Rahne gulped. He should have left when given the chance.

“As you may or may not know,” Elzor announced to all within earshot, “every single one of my men is devoutly loyal to me. Through divine providence, my sister has been accorded power greater even than that of the High Mage of Darad himself. We are on a quest that will reshape all of Elystra. History will remember us as the ones who fulfilled this quest, and every one of my men has sworn an oath to obey my commands so we may reach this goal, even if that means their death. Am I right, men?”

“Yes, My Lord!” came the ringing endorsement.

Elzor turned his attention back to Rahne. “Will you agree to take this oath, boy?”

Rahne straightened his back and thrust his chest out. “I will, My Lord.”

Elzor nodded. “I am pleased to hear that. However, joining my service is not merely a simple matter of swearing loyalty to me. I need to know if you possess any skills that will aid me in my quest.”

“Skills, My Lord?”

General Langon lumbered forward. The man’s bald head contrasted with his long brown beard, and his body was as thick around as the tree Rahne had been chained to the night before. His face bore so many scars Rahne could barely detect any unblemished skin at all. “Can you fight, boy?” the big man rumbled. “Or are casting nets and hoisting sails the only things you can do?”

A chorus of laughter erupted from the crowd.

Rahne felt his bravado dissipating. “I can handle myself, My Lord. I’m strong, and I can fight.”

“Can you handle a weapon?” Langon asked.

“Yes, General. I once caught three hundred fish in a day with nothing but a single spear.” This was a vast exaggeration, but he hoped it sounded impressive.

The men laughed again, but Elzor silenced them with a raise of his hand. He seemed unimpressed, to say the least. “There won’t be much in the way of flurchins or barkfish where we’re going, so if that’s the extent of your expertise, you’re wasting my time.”

“I’m willing to learn, My Lord. Just give me the chance to prove myself.”

“As you wish.” He turned to Elzaria. “Sister, whom do you think we should use to test our young recruit’s mettle?”

Elzaria, clad in the same curve-hugging black dress she had worn yesterday, stepped forward and looked him up and down. Her eyes didn’t appear as dead as the previous day, when she was burning the life out of Sekker. Rahne wondered if he’d misjudged her.

Done with her inspection of him, she scanned the crowd for a suitable opponent. Identifying one, she pointed at him and yelled, “Kalik!”

Rahne followed her finger to see a man with short, light-brown hair and a close-cropped beard push his way to the forefront. He wasn’t tall; in fact, he was several inches shorter than Rahne, but if his arms were any indication, they were similar in weight. This man, Kalik, was all muscle. And from the look on his face, he was ecstatic to have been chosen.

The crowd of Elzorath had nearly tripled in size over the last few minutes, and they were chanting Kalik’s name. Their voices blended and slowly rose to a crescendo until it became deafening.

Once again, Elzor held up his hands, and the crowd fell silent.

Great Arantha, to hold such sway over an army, Rahne thought. That is the kind of power few men achieve.

A surge of strength flowed through Rahne’s limbs.

This is my destiny. My first step on a path that leads me away from Agrus, away from my father’s debts, and away from my middling existence. Assuming, of course, I survive the next few minutes.

“You expect me to fight him?” Rahne asked Elzor, not taking his eyes off Kalik, who had removed the belt holding his sword, dug his heels in like a stamping merych, and assumed a sideways fighting crouch, with his knees bent and his right side pointed at Rahne. Kalik flexed his hands into fists, letting out several deep breaths as he prepared to do battle.

Elzor laughed. “No, boy, I expect you to get your bones ground into a fine powder.” This elicited a peal of laughter from the assembled men.

Rahne adopted a crouch of his own that favored his dominant left arm and leg. He, too, clenched his hands into fists, bringing them up to shoulder level. He took a few wary steps to his left, keeping a respectful distance. “I can hardly join your ranks if I’m dead.”

“Very true,” Elzor said with a sardonic smile. “So here is where you show me what you’re made of. If I’m not impressed, I’ll have Kalik snap your neck and leave your rotting carcass here for the insects to feast upon. If, however, you show me even a modicum of fighting prowess, I will consider letting you join us.” He turned to Langon. “General, how long do you figure this will last?”

Langon ran his fingers through his scraggly beard in a rather amusing attempt to look thoughtful. “Against Kalik? I give him thirty seconds.”

“Elzaria?”

She, too, pondered Rahne’s as-yet-unseen skill level. “He’s young and fit. I’ll give him ninety seconds.”

Elzor smiled at Rahne. “My sister seems to like you, boy. She must see something I don’t.”

He turned his head to look at them. “I’ll do my best to prove you wrong, my Lo–”

Rahne didn’t get to finish his sentence as Kalik covered the distance between them in two bounds and caught him with an open-palmed slap to his face. Rahne winced as he rubbed his cheek, which stung like he’d been set upon by a swarm of harvester bees.

The blow had been little more than a love-tap. If Kalik had used a closed fist, he’d likely have had his jaw dislocated.

He’s toying with me, Rahne thought. He’s two hundred pounds of solid muscle with years of experience. I’m a fisherman’s son. What was I thinking when I agreed to this?

Kalik moved in again, swinging his left hand in an uppercut destined for Rahne’s chin. Rahne leaned back to avoid the hit and swung his own fist at the shorter man’s face. Kalik ducked and landed his next blow to Rahne’s gut, knocking the wind from Rahne’s body. Kalik’s other hand followed suit, driving a hard punch into Rahne’s chin.

Rahne collapsed to the ground, trying to suck air through what felt like several bruised ribs. A great whoop went up from the crowd, who were clearly not on Rahne’s side.

He expected another flurry of blows, or perhaps a kick to his ribcage, but nothing came. Kalik seemed to have backed away. He was practically dancing with joy, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was going to draw out his pleasure as long as possible.

Rubbing his jaw, Rahne clambered to his feet, spitting out a gob of blood that had formed inside his mouth. He’d just resumed an upright position when Kalik charged again, but Rahne saw it in time to dodge a furious right jab, then ducked under Kalik’s left fist as it swung around in a wide arc designed to take his head off.

Sensing an opening, Rahne balled up his right fist and caught Kalik with a straight jab flush to his nose. The man’s head snapped back, but he didn’t fall. Despite his nose looking slightly askew and the blood trickling from his nostrils, Kalik smiled as if Rahne had just tickled him.

Oh, blag.

The smaller man, taking advantage of Rahne’s moment of indecision, drove a combination of punches into Rahne’s gut. All the air left Rahne’s lungs, and he doubled over. The reaction was enough for Kalik to grab him by his hair and drive another hard fist into the spot below his right eye socket. The ground came up to meet him, and his vision went fuzzy. His ears, however, heard every syllable as the crowd began chanting Kalik’s name again.

On all fours, Rahne shook his head to regain his senses, but only succeeded in making it hurt more.

And then, above the rising tumult, he heard the words that filled him with more dread than Sekker’s boasts: “Finish him!” It was Elzor’s voice.

Images from Rahne’s life flashed through his mind: the day his father, on one of their fishing voyages, let him rig their boat’s sail for the first time; his father staggering home from the tavern, drunk, with a different woman on his arm every night; the sight of his father’s body, sprawled out at the bottom of the steps leading to the docks, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, his dead eyes staring up at the last cloudless sky he would ever see.

Those memories were all he had left of his father. An honest yet flawed man who had taught him how to survive the cruelties of life. A life he would never escape unless he got ... up ... now!

Out of his left eye, he noticed Kalik had circled around behind him. Seeing him move in for the kill, Rahne lashed out with his booted foot, catching Kalik in the shin. A satisfying yelp from Kalik’s mouth was music to Rahne’s ears as, for the first time, Elzor’s man showed a sign of pain. But he didn’t fall. Instead, his face twisted into a blood-infused mask of rage, his eyes wide and his teeth clenched together.

Kalik stepped forward, his right leg now noticeably impaired, circling back around to Rahne’s front, presumably to get another clean shot at his face. He raised his fist, preparing to bring it down on Rahne’s skull, but in doing so came within striking distance. In one motion, Rahne pulled himself to his knees and struck out with his left fist. It landed flush on Kalik’s crotch. A cry of agony escaped his opponent’s mouth, and the cheers of the crowd suddenly went silent.

Great Arantha ... I hurt him!

Pressing his advantage, Rahne hauled himself to his feet and rushed at Kalik, tackling him by the legs. He had just enough weight behind the charge to knock the shorter man off his feet. They both hit the ground, sending up a small cloud of dust. Landing on top, Rahne straightened up and laid another blow on Kalik’s face, widening the stream of blood flowing from his nose.

Kalik drew his right fist back and, because Rahne’s depth perception had left him, he failed to see it in time to block it. His last-second attempt to dodge it was feeble, and the teeth-rattling strike caught him on the chin. His head snapped back, and pain exploded in his brain again. He didn’t even see the blow that followed, a punch that impacted his sternum so hard he could swear he felt his heart stop. He fell backward, his legs splayed, all the fight gone out of him. Pain like he’d never felt in his life wracked his body, radiating to every one of his limbs and making it a struggle to breathe.

Well, I tried. At least it’ll all be over now.

Through a foggy haze, Rahne opened his eyes to see Kalik kneeling on top of him. The scowl on the man’s face as he grabbed a tuft of Rahne’s hair was murderous. Flecks of spittle flew from his mouth as he drew his other fist back.

May Arantha protect my soul.

“Kalik!” came Elzor’s voice.

Rahne couldn’t see Elzor from where he was, lying supine with Kalik on top of him. Several Elzorath had pressed forward to get a closer look at Rahne’s ultimate defeat, but they too were looking at whom he presumed was their leader.

“My Lord?” Kalik seethed, obviously disappointed to have his victory interrupted.

“That’s enough.”

Out of breath, yet itching to continue, Kalik’s face finally relaxed, as did his fist.

And then, the most unexpected thing happened.

A toothy, bloody smile appeared through Kalik’s facial hair. Rather than hit Rahne again, he gently slapped his uninjured cheek, like they were the best of friends. “Ya fight dirty, boy. I like that.” Then he took Rahne’s hand and hoisted him to his feet.

Threads of pain shot through Rahne’s head again, and he had to lean on Kalik’s beefy arm to keep from collapsing. Steadying himself, he looked at those who would decide his fate. Elzor’s eyebrows were raised in what Rahne hoped was a gesture of admiration. Elzaria, too, looked impressed—meaning she didn’t look like she wanted to fry him like a fish—and even Langon’s stony countenance had eased.

“So how long did I last?” Rahne said in as loud a voice as he could manage. Many Elzorath laughed, but for the first time, he felt like they were laughing in his favor, not at his expense.

“Langon?” Elzor asked his general.

“Eighty-three seconds, more or less,” the burly man said.

The final judgment, of course, was Elzor’s. He stared at Rahne for several moments, and then nodded. In a voice loud enough for all to hear, he announced, “Welcome to the Elzorath.”

A great whoop went up from the crowd, and several men who had been fanatically rooting against him mere moments ago came forward to give him a friendly jostle and a slap on the back. This, unfortunately, sent him into another wave of pain, but this torment he was happy to endure.

Elzor was still staring at him. “Have you the strength to saddle the lawgiver’s merych, Rahne?”

Rahne could barely speak, his jaw hurt so much, and his ribs felt like he’d been hit by a charging chava. But he’d passed Elzor’s test. He faced his new leader, smiling the most painful smile of his life. “Yes, My Lord.”

“Then do so immediately. We leave Agrus within the hour.” And with that, he strode away, Elzaria right behind him.

As he watched them depart, Rahne could only wonder where this new path would lead him.