Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (39 page)

“Ah! Right! The man that slaughtered seven hundred people in the name of Gefan.”

Katryna winked. “You got it.”

“I never understood that,” Asper murmured, and Clare paused in her massaging.

“What?”

“Gefan. One god who supposedly created everything on his own with no help, and yet whose actual existence is in question.” She shook her head. “Very strange. And all the killing that follows that name around, just to get to the Beyond...”

Katryna shrugged. “Everybody still thinks the Titans are a myth,” she said. “There's a reason they're called the Old Ones now. The Titans left us, so we forgot about them. And people need something to latch onto, especially when times are as bad as they are. The Clergy simply gave the idiots what they wanted. It's not hard to convince someone that your way is the right way.” She grinned then, and the way she did it gave her a predatory look. “In my case, all it takes is a set of teats, the promise of this thing between my legs, and a few choice words. Of course, most of
my
followers end up dead very quickly, but even so.”

Clare snorted and coughed, the sudden bout of mirth catching her off guard. Katryna smiled coquettishly and blew Clare a kiss.

“Anyway,” Katryna continued, “Barellio accepted. Castor won, of course. That was a sight to see. If you think he's something when he's fighting yaru, then do this: next time we're in battle, tell him that Will or I are in trouble. The man will go mad.”

“That's horrible!” Clare gasped, but Katryna only laughed.

“Only a little bit,” she said sweetly. “But after he killed Barellio, he pointed his sword at the guard that was holding me. He told the man that he could either release me then, or he would shortly be missing a hand. The rest of the soldiers surrendered pretty quickly after that. There's something to be said for killing a man so fast that he doesn't even realize he's dead.” A smile ghosted across her lips, and her eyes became distant with the fog of memory. “That night, I went into his tent and asked him why he'd risked so much to save me. He said for two reasons: the first was that I was under his command, and I was therefore his responsibility. My predicament had been his mess to clean up, so he had done what was necessary.

“He didn't say the second reason, so I had to prod him for it. That was when he told me...” She giggled, a girlish sound that was completely out of place with Katryna. “He told me that I was the most incredible woman he had ever met, and that he would never have forgiven himself had I died.”

She trailed off, staring at nothing. “That's beautiful,” Clare said after some time had passed, and her voice was a whisper laced with emotion. Katryna settled her gaze back on her then.

“We made love for the first time that night,” she said softly. “It was...incredible.” She paused for a moment, and then shuddered in silent pleasure. “You wouldn't think it to look at him, but he has a
huge—
”

“Clare,” Asper interrupted quickly, “would you do me a favor and move a little farther down my back? Ah, thank you.”

~

“Where are we?”

They had, for a long while now, been walking through a part of the forest that had steadily become more and more overgrown. It had gotten to a point where Will thought they would need to break some of the plants walling them in.

He was wrong, of course; Feothon had simply walked in among the undergrowth, and it had moved obediently to let him pass through unhindered. After Will went by, the plants slowly closed up and reformed into a nearly impenetrable wall once more.

“We are close,” Feothon answered cryptically. “There is something that needs to be done, and soon. We are almost there.”

Will opened his mouth to ask another question, but thought better of it. They walked on in silence broken only by the infrequent bird calls from overhead, until finally they came upon a particularly dense clump of ferns. The leafy fronds parted like silk curtains as Feothon stepped through them, and when Will crossed the threshold he found himself standing at the edge of a sunlit clearing. A tall, angular boulder stood at the clearing's very center, and creeper vines adorned its base. There were words carved into the face of the stone, but they were ancient and time had long ago worn away any meaning they held.

But what really caught Will's attention was the man sitting with his back propped against the boulder. He was old—perhaps the oldest person Will had ever seen. He was completely bald, and liver spots dotted his crown and the skin of his hands. And when the man turned to face the new arrivals, Will saw that he was blind—his sightless eyes were a dull, opaque blue that saw nothing. But...

The man was staring at Will. His gaze had locked itself onto Will's own eyes the moment he had entered the clearing, and Will was left with the somewhat uncomfortable sensation that the man could, in fact, see him.

“Will,” said Feothon in a tone that suddenly carried great weight, “this is Borost, the last of the Dragon Guard.”

For a long while no one spoke. Will and the old man held each other's gazes—something which Will found slightly unnerving. Somehow, though, the act seemed necessary.

“So bright,” the old man finally said, his voice a weak, phlegmy rasp. “Bright like the sun.”

Will had no idea how to respond, so he said nothing, and a moment later Borost continued. “So you are the Dragon King,” he growled, and now Will heard a strange mix of emotions in the man's voice: awe, respect...longing...and something else that sounded vaguely like distaste. “I have waited five long, long centuries for your return.” He heaved a sigh, and his eyes fell away from Will's. He slumped forward, looking even older, if that were possible. “Why did you wait so long? I have been your servant for so many years...so very many...”

Will did not know what to say. His mouth opened and closed stupidly, but no words came out.
How am I supposed to respond to that?
he wondered.
How do you apologize for something you didn't even know you did? Should I even feel sorry? It isn't like I had a choice in the matter...

But Feothon spoke for him. “Borost,” said the Titan, “Willyem is not to blame. He is but the vessel. 'Tis the spirit you should be angry with.”

Borost chuckled, a strange wheezing sound that emanated from deep in his chest. “I am not angry, Feothon,” he said, “only tired. Forgive me, my king.” The last was directed at Will, who nodded. “Feothon,” the old man said, and his voice was strangely hopeful, “I felt all of your presences. Serah is here as well?”

The Forest Lord nodded despite Borost's blindness. “She is.”

“Ah. Good. I wish to speak with her one last time before I depart.”

Will wondered at the meaning in his words, but before he could ask the old man moved to stand. His ancient muscles were not what they used to be, though, and he fell twice to his knees. Will moved to help him, but Feothon put a hand on his arm and shook his head.

Finally, after a monumental effort, Borost made it to his feet. Sweat beaded along his brow, and his
breath came in wet, heavy gasps, but he seemed to take no notice of his own well-being as he turned and reached behind the great boulder. When he faced Will and Feothon once more, he held what could only have been a longsword. It was wrapped and tied in a deerskin cover, though, and Will was unable to make out any defining details.

“Where is the other man?” Borost asked suddenly, his blind gaze sweeping the clearing. “He is needed for this.”

“What other man?” Will quietly asked Feothon.

“Castor,” answered the Titan, and then he indicated a spot off to Will's left. “He is here.”

A moment later, true to Feothon's word, another forest man emerged from the depths of the foliage with a bewildered Castor in tow. As soon as Castor crossed into the interior of the clearing, his guide turned on his heel and left.

“Come over here, boy,” Borost wheezed, but he was not looking at Will—his gaze was centered on Castor. The latter, passing a quick look at Will, obeyed, walking slowly and quietly up to the old man as though he might bite.

“I...heard I was needed,” Castor said quietly. “Has there been trouble?”

Borost chuckled. “No, no trouble. Not at the moment, at least. You are here for a much greater reason.” He cleared his throat then, and with trembling hands began to slowly unwrap the longsword.

“I am Borost, the last of the Dragon Guard,” he said, his voice recovering for the moment some its youthful authority, “and the last in a long line of Lord Commanders. I fought for Davin before he was brought to his untimely end, and it was because of his wish that I still survive now, five hundred years later.” His face fell for a moment, and his fingers ceased their motion. “One final mission,” he whispered. “One that will save more lives in the long run than can be counted.” For a time he was silent, and then he shook himself.

“Every Dragon King needs an army,” he continued as though nothing had happened, and he unfurled the deerskin cover, exposing the sheathed longsword beneath. “And the Dragon Guard always needs a Lord Commander.” The scabbard was covered in black leather, its tip encased in a strange metal that shone both crimson and gold in the ethereal sunlight. Then Borost withdrew the blade with a metallic ring and held it up so that the light flashed along its gleaming edge. Will was astounded at its beauty. Long and sleek, its blade glittered and shone in the morning sun, as did its red-gold crossguard and the delicate ruby that rested in its pommel.

“This is Fang,” Borost intoned, “the sword of the Lord Commander of the Dragon Guard since the beginning, and until the end. Forged from the stuff of the Void by the mightiest denizens of the Great Black, it will never dull, and it will never break.” He held it out to Castor. “You are the new Dragon King's truest friend, yes?”

Castor licked his lips and darted a glance at Will before saying, “I am.”

“Then this duty, should you accept it, will fall to you.”

For a long moment Castor said nothing; he simply stared at Fang, his mind undoubtedly filled with thoughts of what taking the sword entailed. Finally, he reached for the blade.

“Castor,” Feothon said quietly, halting the progress of the man's questing hand. “Know this means that forevermore you will be Will's man. He will be your king; his word will be your law. But you do not have to do this—'tis your choice and yours alone.”

Castor's eyes met Will's then, and the fierceness there took Will aback. “This is a battle you can't win on your own,” Castor said quietly. “You'll need armies and allies, and the support of every person who wants to keep on living the way they are. If it is my choice, I make it gladly.” And then he seized the sword from Borost.

Will was half-expecting something magnificent to happen, and he was slightly disappointed when nothing did. But he walked up to Castor, and with a swelling heart grasped his friend's hand. “I don't know how to be a king,” he said quietly, “nor a leader. But I'll do my best.”

Castor smiled and seized Will in a rough, one-armed embrace. “I'll be there to help you every step
of the way, my friend.”

Borost sighed then, and the sound was a contented one. “Finally,” he whispered. “After five hundred years, finally I can sleep.”

Two humans—two vessels to house Koutoum's unfathomable power. Two humans, so that if one became corrupted by greed or lust, the other could kill it. Two humans to act as balancing scales for one another, because Koutoum had seen what happened to Keth.

That was the decision he made: until his return to the Void, he would split his soul in half. No longer would he be one being. The idea frightened him, made him sick with worry at its implications, but he knew that it had to be done.

He would not let himself meet the same end as Keth.

And so were born the Dragon King and the Phoenix Empress. They had no names in the beginning—only their titles to let the world know who they were. And when the other Titans found them, they recoiled in horror.

“What has our brother done?” Forod asked. “To split a soul in such a way...he may have caused himself irreparable damage.”

“We knew of this risk,” the Dragon King said.

“And we took it gladly,” the Phoenix Empress finished. “The human mind is weak to the urgings of the cosmos; had we taken one body, it would have been all too easy to lose ourself just as Keth did.”

“A clash of gods is already underway,” the Dragon King continued. “Two sides to the war is enough. Had we been corrupted, there would be no stopping us. The world would burn.”

The other Titans were speechless. Finally, it was Sorr who broke the silence. “You have done what was necessary,” she said. “But the cost is so great...was it worth it? Will you still be able to beat Keth?”

“Alone?” said the Phoenix Empress. “Perhaps.”

“Together,” said the Dragon King, “undoubtedly.”

“And combined with you,” the Phoenix Empress finished, “his end is inevitable.”

~

“So...does this mean I have to do what Will says?”

The question, naturally, came from Katryna, and she followed its asking with a wink.

Clare laughed. She felt looser now, more carefree since her time spent in the hot spring with Asper and Katryna four days prior. She had never had another woman to open up to before. The sensation was...decidedly nice. Female camaraderie was an aspect of her life that, until recently, had been distinctly lacking in substance, but Katryna and Asper had changed that in a matter of belltolls.

The forest had calmed her, too. Nearly gone was the world-weariness that had crept up on her unnoticed and settled like a coat of heavy mail across her shoulders. She felt lighter than she had in a long time; the forest and its inhabitants gave her a sense of peace that she had not experienced before.

“Yes,” said Castor, and the weight in his voice banished the mirth from the air like a wisp of fog. His tone was strange—like a man resigning himself to death.

“Castor, again, you
don't
have to do this,” said Will, obviously noticing his friend's dark mood.

Castor barked a laugh. “It isn't that,” he said. “It isn't that at all. It's just...” he stared off into space, searching for the right words. “I feel like...like a child who's lost his innocence, I guess. Taking up this mantle, and realizing that my best friend,” he laughed humorlessly, “is a god...it woke me up. I always knew the world was in bad shape, but now, for some reason, just how bad it is has really hit me. I can't just go back to, what, fighting for fame and fortune? No,” he shook his head, “I've lost my innocence.”

“It's hard,” Clare said softly. “I felt exactly the same way when I lost an entire city out from underneath my feet.” She looked at Will then, and her mouth tugged into a soft smile. “But I met Will. He's made me realize that we can still do something about all this.”

“I have?” Will asked, dumbfounded, and she nodded. “Oh.”

“I believe in Will!” Katryna said breathlessly, and she put her wrist to her forehead and swooned.
“Gefan's Light, he's amazing! The savior of us all!”

“Did you really have to do that?” Castor asked, and Katryna cackled evilly. “We were having a tender moment!”

Clare ignored them, though; she had eyes only for Will. Though he hid it well, she could see that the events of the past few weeks had taken their toll on him. He looked tired, overburdened. World-weary, she decided, was the proper word.

“Will,” she said softly, and he looked at her. “I
do
believe in you. I just want you to know that.” He seemed about to speak, but she held up a hand. “I lost everything to the Fallen.
Everything
. But you gave me something back. And even though you're a god and I'm only a human, I'll always fight at your side.”

He opened his mouth to say something but was unable. He shut it again, and finally, in a hushed voice, he whispered, “Thank you.”

This time, Castor held up a warning finger to Katryna, and though she grinned wickedly the scowl on his face kept her silent.

“Castor,” Will said after a moment, and they met each other's gaze. “Do you ever lose sleep over the people you've killed?”

The question seemed to take Castor aback, for his eyebrows arched in surprise and he appeared to struggle with speech. “Well...no,” he said finally with a chuckle that was more confused than humorous. “Why do you ask?”

“Because I didn't either,” Will said quietly, and his eyes were distant and troubled. “Not in the beginning. But then there was...” he darted a look at Katryna, who held his gaze evenly but said nothing. “Then I started to dream about them. Not every night, but enough. Only recently it's like...I can't seem to get them out of my head. Do you remember that little girl in Prado?”

“The blonde one? Sure.”

Will shook his head. “She...I don't know, changed something in me. It was like...” For a moment he searched for the right words. “Like I had all these feelings balled up inside of me and she came along and unlocked them. She made me remember what it feels like to have a heart.”

“Oh, Will,” Katryna said with a dismissive laugh, “don't be so melodramatic.” Clare saw something flicker across her face, though, so quickly that it might have been a trick of the light. Was it worry? She could not be certain.

“I'm not being melodramatic,” Will said, his eyes narrowing angrily, and he glared at Katryna. “Of all the people here, you should know that the best.”

Katryna paled. “Will, don't—”

“We killed for money,” he said. “That's it—not for a higher calling, not for freedom or rights or justice. Just...money. ”

“Yes,” Castor said quietly, and he heaved a heavy sigh. “Yes we did. But we aren't anymore. And if it makes you feel any better, I never took a job if I thought it would leave the people worse off than before.”

“Will,” Katryna said suddenly, and all of her usual mockery and sarcasm were gone. “Listen...I know what's going through your head right now—”

“Do you?” he interrupted, and sent her a hard look. “Do you really?”

Katryna put her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow. “As a matter of fact, yes. 'I'm a killer. I'm not fit to lead these people. How can I lead by example if my example is a bad one?'”

Will chuckled. “I guess you do.”

“Yeah, I do, and it's shit.” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Gefan's ass, Will, people
change
. So you've killed some people—”

“A lot of people.”

“Alright, a lot of people, but you're not a bad person. Any idiot can see that, and I've known you for a long time. Long enough to...” Her eyes darted momentarily to Clare's. “To see you change,” she finished, and laughed humorlessly. “Will, I've known you longer than anybody save your own parents. I
think ten years more than qualifies me to make a judgment of character. And you know what? I can't think of any person better suited to this task.”

A chuckle bubbled up inside Will's chest, and then turned into a full-blown belly laugh. He doubled over and gasped for air, and tears of mirth leaked from the corners of his eyes. Katryna narrowed her gaze and crossed her arms over her chest. “What's so funny?” she demanded.

“You,” Will gasped. “I...I don't think I've ever seen you get that worked up over anything before!” He slapped his thigh and laughed even harder when he saw Katryna's withering glare.

“Hilarious,” Katryna growled, and then she turned to Castor. “Do you see why I am the way I am now? I have to deal with this madness whenever I try to be serious.”

Will rose back up to his full height and took a deep breath. “Alright Katryna,” he said with only a trace of a chuckle. “I heard you. Don't worry—your brief sojourn into the realm of sincerity wasn't entirely lost on me.” He heaved a deep breath and looked around at his friends, his gaze settling finally on Clare. “If you three believe in me that much...well, I suppose that's all I need.”

Clare smiled softly at him, and he at her. Silence settled over the four of them.
He can't do this alone,
Clare thought as she held Will's gaze, and in that moment she felt a strangely deep connection with him. For an instant something stirred inside of her, like a cat stretching in the sun.
But he won't have to.

~

“You all have a choice,” Castor said. “No one will force you into this, and no one will think less of you should you choose not to cross over.” He stood at the head of a massive crowd of soldiers—what remained of the Raven Knights after the attack on Prado. A quick head count had put the band of warriors at just over three hundred—unacceptable losses even on a bad day.

The idea of two hundred men dead because of him had left a sour taste in Will's mouth, one that he did not think would fade for a long while. Yaru or not, it was a painful blow. He was reminded again of the slain as he stood next to Castor and gazed out over the surviving Ravens, and his heart sank.
How can I keep asking them to die for me?
he wondered.
Should anybody follow one man that blindly?
But Clare's words, as well as Castor's and Katryna's, danced circles around the inside of his head.
As long as I have them behind me, I can do this.

He would never be able to forget those who had died because of him; but that didn't mean he had to weigh himself down with their memories. Though a small consolation, he could take a lesson away from this experience and grow from it.
A lesson learned through blood, but a lesson all the same.

“If you choose not to join us,” Castor continued, “you will be paid for your service and sent on your way. As of this moment, the Raven Knights are no more; those who continue to follow my command will become soldiers of the Dragon Guard, the army of the Dragon King.” He indicated Will with his hand, and a wave of hushed whispers feathered out from the crowd. “It's not fame and fortune that we will be fighting for any longer—there will be no money in this, only glory and the knowledge that you have done good in the world. Dark times are upon us—all of you know this. Ainos has grown more daring over the last few years, and the Emperor of Karkash has been talking of war with the Inner Kingdoms.” He paused to let the warriors' hushed conversations die down.

“We have a higher calling now,” he said after the din had abated, and though he did not raise his voice it carried clearly across the still air of the forest. “The Titans are real—we know that. We've seen it with our own eyes. They are going to put a halt to the terrible things this world will soon go through, and Will is going to be right there with them.” He glanced up at Will then, and there was a look in his eyes that warmed Will's soul.

“I've known Will for only five years,” Castor said, “but I know that if anybody can make things right, it's him. And I am not going to sit idly by and let him have all the fun.”

“Nor will I,” said Katryna, and she and Clare stepped out of the crowd to join Will and Castor. “I
smell a good deal of fighting on the wind; I want a part of it.” She smiled at them, and kissed Will on the cheek. “I am yours to command, my king.” She gave him a mocking bow that drew a burble of laughter from the crowd.

For a moment Clare did not say anything; no words were needed. Will met her shining emerald eyes, and in the look that passed between them he caught something that touched the core of his heart. When Clare smiled, he could not hold back a smile of his own. “Where you lead, I will follow,” she said in a voice so soft that the crowd of mercenaries had to strain to hear. She shared one last private look with Will, and turned to gaze out over the rest of the soldiers.

Silence settled over those assembled, and Will realized that it was his turn to speak. What should he say? He licked his lips nervously, and found that his mouth was suddenly very dry.
This is important,
he thought.
If I say the wrong thing here...

“I don't know how to be a king,” he began slowly, and he directed his words at the mass of men. “And I'm no Castor. But there is trouble brewing to the south, trouble that hasn't raised its head for a long, long time. I can't fight it alone.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I need your help.”

Silence fell once more, and for an agonizing moment that felt like an eternity, no one moved. No one spoke. Each mercenary waited for his fellows to make the first move, glancing at each other from the corners of their eyes.