Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy (72 page)

The combatants were all alone in the middle of the arena. For the first time, Zylor took note of the physical size of his uncle. Traygor was huge, even larger than Tornado, and his muscles bulged in his lithe body. This was the most intimidating minotaur Zylor had ever encountered in battle, or anywhere for that matter.

The horn sounded and Traygor grinned viciously, the prongs of his trident glinting wickedly in the sunlight. “Time to die, Zylor!” he taunted.

Zylor’s vision reddened and bloodlust engulfed him at the moment he heard those words and how they were said. The deaths of his father and countless others at the hands of this minotaur, among other atrocities too evil to mention, were enough to get his blood boiling. The culmination of all his training had come to this moment. This was what he had strived to attempt. The memory of his father and the honour of the entire minotaur realm hung in the balance. He either succeeded, or died in the attempt. The latter option was unacceptable.

Bellowing in insane rage, he lunged at Traygor.

The emperor had anticipated this and batted Zylor away with the trident. He stabbed at Zylor with the sharpened prongs of the weapon but Zylor was already spinning away.

Zylor lunged again and this time Traygor batted him across the head with the butt end of the outstretched trident. The crowd cheered in excitement.

Zylor recovered his balance and ducked in time to avoid a sweeping blow where his head had been.

Traygor laughed. “I watched you fight, so I know your weaknesses! You haven’t got a chance!”

Zylor didn’t answer. He lunged low—something he hadn’t done in the arena battles—and bowled into Traygor with his horns. Traygor didn’t expect this new move and staggered with the impact.

Farg gripped the railing of the platform tightly as he watched in concern. Traygor was getting careless. Any more mistakes and he would have to intervene. If the emperor would just use his weapon! A simple scratch was all he needed!

Zylor took advantage of Traygor’s loss of balance and connected with several blows on Traygor’s mid-section. Traygor twisted and batted Zylor away with the trident, grabbing the opportunity to catch his breath.

Zylor sprang at his adversary once more and Traygor tripped him up with the butt end of the trident. Zylor fell heavily and Traygor raised his trident to impale him. Zylor rolled out of the way of the glistening tines just in time. As Traygor’s trident spiked the ground, Zylor grappled Traygor’s legs with his own and pulled him down.

Traygor threw his arms in the air, lost his grip on the trident, and fell.

Zylor grabbed the trident and threw it away, then sprang to his feet. So did Traygor.

The emperor wiped some blood from his mouth and glanced at his hand. “You fight aggressively for a minotaur simply wanting to be emperor.”

“That’s because you’re not fit to rule,” said Zylor.

“And why is that?” asked Traygor.

“You killed my father,” said Zylor.

“Was he the one who challenged me for leadership about eight years ago?” asked Traygor. “He was a pitiful old fool!”

“No,” growled Zylor. “It was longer ago than that. Surely you remember poisoning your own brother?”

Traygor paused, the realization of who Zylor was just dawning on him.

Zylor took advantage of the pause and hammered into his uncle again.

Traygor grunted and used his backward momentum to roll and pick up the discarded trident nearby.

“I thought you looked familiar!” he exclaimed. “I was wondering when you would show up and challenge me! I never thought you’d come back to do it this dramatically! I searched for you for years. I finally thought you were dead, but I guess I was wrong.”

“You were wrong about lots of things,” growled Zylor. He lunged at Traygor and grappled for the trident. They struggled, face to face, and Zylor rolled back, tossing Traygor over himself. The emperor flew over his challenger but miraculously kept possession of the trident. Both combatants rose from the rising dust and faced each other. The crowd roared distantly but neither noticed.

“You were wrong to kill my father,” said Zylor angrily. “You were wrong to kill the infant minotaurs in the hopes of killing me, and you were wrong to sacrifice minotaur lives to give the lizardmages a hold over our race. Shall I continue?”

“Fool!” shrieked Traygor. “I merely have to kill you and none of those deeds shall be known or acknowledged!” He feinted toward Zylor and then circled around him, bringing the sharp ends of the trident across Zylor’s leg. The prongs sliced deeply into Zylor’s flesh, and blood spurted from the wound. The crowd roared excitedly.

Zylor gasped as he sprang back too late. The cuts made by the trident stung with a piercing pain.

Back on the platform the lizardmage relaxed. It was over.

Traygor grinned wickedly. “Hurts, doesn’t it? You’ll find that you’ll be losing strength rapidly, nephew!”

The numbing in Zylor’s leg was suddenly replaced by a refreshing cool feeling. Milena’s herbs were working. Zylor grinned weakly. “If I’m so weak, why not impress your fans and defeat me with your bare hands?”

Traygor laughed. “Why not? It will put me in a more favourable light!” He threw the trident aside with a flourish, as he had seen Tornado do earlier. The crowd cheered and hollered.

Zylor chose that moment to lunge. Surprisingly, the druid’s herbs not only removed the poison and pain, it also had the effect of giving him renewed energy. He bowled the emperor over and they grappled on the ground viciously. Dust rose all around them and the crowd was on their feet, hollering loudly.

The combatants separated and regained their feet. Traygor was breathing heavily now.

“You should be finished,” gasped the emperor. “Where do you get the strength?”

“I am not strong,” said Zylor. “You are simply a weakling.”

The stinging remark had the desired effect. Traygor growled madly and charged and Zylor stepped aside as Sherman had shown him many times before. He ducked Traygor’s outstretched arm and elbowed him as he flew by.

The emperor went down with a grunt. He staggered to his feet and turned to face Zylor.

Zylor was already in motion. Despite his weakened leg, he sprinted the short distance between them and threw himself into the air, raising his leg in the process.

Traygor braced himself for the impact, unable to move out of the way in time. Zylor’s foot landed squarely on Traygor’s chest and the sound of shattering bones filled the air. The emperor flew backward with his arms and legs flailing and landed several feet back in an awkward heap. He tried to rise but collapsed again.

The crowd grew silent in shock. Zylor approached his uncle and looked down at him dispassionately. Traygor turned his head slowly and looked into Zylor’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and blood trickled out. “I didn’t want to do it,” he gurgled. “The lizardmage said it was for the best. Trogor wouldn’t listen. He resisted. It was a chance to become a great nation. I didn’t know it would turn out this way—.” His voice trailed off and he took a ragged breath. “Please believe me, Zylor.” Traygor’s hand shook as he reached up for Zylor. Then it dropped and the former emperor’s eyes closed for the last time. He was dead.

Graftor came running up and examined Traygor. Then he rose and lifted Zylor’s arm in the air. “Long live Emperor Zylor, son of former Emperor Trogor!” he cried.

The surprised spectators murmured among themselves uncertainly at first. Then Zylor’s original six supporters began to chant his name. Soon others joined them. Finally the entire arena rang with the chanting of Zylor’s name. He was the new emperor.

Farg was stunned. The trident had the most lethal poison on its tips! How could this insolent minotaur still be standing? It was impossible! How could Traygor lose this fight? He had cautioned against it, but Traygor insisted it would be O.K. He had to do something!

Zylor removed the royal belt from Traygor’s limp form and put it on to the delight of the crowd. He headed for the platform where the lizardmage stood.

In panic, Farg raised his staff and shot a fireball at the new leader of the minotaurs. It deflected off a magical barrier. A magical barrier?! He tried contacting the other lizardmages scattered throughout the arena and found he could not. Why were they not answering? He backed up uncertainly.

The new emperor pointed at him and yelled something. The armed minotaurs nearby converged on the hapless lizardmage.

The lizardmage fled under the spectator stands and ran along the lower walkways. The minotaur guards ran in pursuit. Farg ran until he could see the exit. No one was there! He rejoiced. Once free of the arena, there was a myriad of ways for him to escape. He looked back over his shoulder at his pursuers. They were gaining. He turned back to the exit and suddenly saw something impossible.

A disembodied sword floated in the middle of the entryway, aimed at him. He tried to stop but couldn’t. At full speed, he ran headlong into the sword. It pierced his scaly chest and exited his back, right through his cloak. He staggered to a stop and looked down in bewilderment.

“You should watch where you’re going,” said a voice. The sword was yanked from his chest and then vanished. Farg sank to the floor.

The minotaur guards found the lizardmage and former advisor lying at the entrance to the arena with a hole in his chest. No one else was around. They scratched their heads in confusion.

Chapter 59

K
arlan stretched his weary muscles as he left the command tent. The tent was too small, as far as he was concerned, and such proximity to the lizardmages was stifling.

He had just been informed some of the lizardmen in the army were leaving on important business. When he asked what that was, they were evasive. He didn’t like the sound of that, but was glad they were going. They didn’t fight particularly well, anyway.

He observed the enormous army amassed at the banks of the Blood River as he strode toward his tent for the night. Tomorrow the Tower of Strength was sure to fall. The defenders were weak and disorganized. The tide coming from the west was going to be too much for the humans to hold off this time.

Karlan thought about the tremendous honour he would gain when he became the first minotaur general to defeat the humans. He grinned. As usual, he would show them he could do something they could not, despite his shorter horns. He breathed the cool night air deeply.

“Psst! Karlan!” whispered someone.

Karlan stopped and peered into the shadows between two vacant tents. “Who goes there?” he said loudly.

“Shhh!” said the voice. “Not so loud! It’s me—Garad.”

“Garad?” asked Karlan. “Last I heard, you were in the navy.”

“I am!” answered Garad, now barely visible in the shadows.

“What happened?” asked Karlan. “You screw that up? I knew you wouldn’t amount to much. Why don’t you come into the open?”

“I’m the admiral of the minotaur fleet,” said Garad proudly. “I can’t come out in the open, by the way. I’m not even supposed to be here.”

“Admiral?! What the heck are you doing here?” asked Karlan.

“I’ll tell you somewhere private,” said Garad. “It’s important we talk.”

Karlan looked around furtively and then stepped into the shadows. “If this is another one of your hair-brained ideas—.”

“Listen!” said Garad urgently. He explained his (and Zylor’s) plans to the general of the minotaur army and what was transpiring in Grawn.

“I don’t know,” said Karlan doubtfully when Garad was finished. “How do you know—?”

“Support is overwhelming,” insisted Garad. “Besides, most of the army will do it anyway, with or without your orders.”

“What?!” exclaimed Karlan. “Are you serious?!”

“Yes,” answered Garad. “Most of them have been told about it already and agree that it must be done. They don’t like the lizardmages any more than you or I do. Look at it this way, Karlan. Why isn’t the emperor here right now, leading his forces as he should be? He’d rather spend his time with his lizardmage advisor! And even if Zylor loses the election battle, the rest of us should rise against the emperor regardless. He can’t send all of his people away in dishonour. He’ll be overthrown.”

“You guys are insane!” exclaimed Karlan.

“What are you gonna do?” smirked Garad. “Stop us?”

Karlan swore.

“You might as well join us,” said Garad, “otherwise you’ll lose your rank and someone else will take over.”

Karlan growled. “If this turns out wrong, Garad, I’m going to hunt you down and kill you—if it takes the rest of my life!”

Garad grinned and slapped General Karlan on the shoulder. “I knew I could count on you!” He turned to leave but stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Zylor could be a good leader, Karlan. You know him as well as I do.”

Karlan sighed. “Get out of here before I clobber you, Garad!”

Garad laughed and disappeared into the darkness.

Karlan remerged in the torchlight. He looked at the massive army in a new light. Garad was right. The minotaurs were severely depleted in number. Minotaurs accounted for less than a third of the assembled army. Similarly, the sudden walkout of the lizardmages on the eve of a great battle was rather unusual. What were those creatures up to, to warrant such an action?

He walked slowly among the tents thinking of the lost opportunity for honour. One moment he was about to be a renowned general, the next he was a traitor—of a sort. He shook his head wearily. There would be no sleep tonight. His sub-commanders had to be re-deployed and given new instructions, and all had to be done in secret. Karlan scratched his head as he thought of how to pull this off.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Blood River, Milena looked wearily westward from high on the defender’s walls. It was dark, and the myriad lights of the enemy campfires twinkled deceptively welcomingly in the mild early morning mist. She sighed. There was no way they could hold off the enemy this time. Injuries and casualties had taken their toll on the defenders of the Tower of Strength. All of the clerics who worked with the druid kept a constant rotation of shifts to heal and care for the wounded. Many of those who were healed resumed fighting only to return the next day with new injuries and old wounds reopened. Others went back to fighting never to return. Instead they were carted off with the numerous dead into mass graves. Sometimes she wondered why they were defending the tower in the first place.