Wielder of the Flame (54 page)

Drake was the last to speak with the
Oracle.

Everyone else had returned to the house above to eat and
think about what they had seen.

Close your eyes.

She told him.

The men’s dark red cloaks flapped lazily in the cold breeze,
matching the visual appearance of the nearby blood running down the
cobblestones of the courtyard.

It was such a stark contrast to the white snow on the
rooftops of the nearby wood and plaster buildings.

The day was a dreary gray, the sun forced into hiding by
several dark clouds.

“NEXT!” the largest of the soldiers present cried out.

There were at least a hundred fully armored soldiers in the
town square. All of the residents of the town were there as well, in two
groups. The first group stood in a line between soldiers, their hands tied, the
rest of the people surrounded the square, forced to watch the gory spectacle. A
tall thick wooden post was set in the middle of the town square with some ropes
hanging from it. A soldier, different from the other soldiers because he was
less armored, stood next to the post, a whip in his hands. The whip had pieces
of bone and metal fragments woven into the ends of it. A small pile of fresh,
still bleeding, corpses was positioned short distance from the pole.

Two soldiers gripped the arms of the woman who was next in
line. Her eyes were sad, defeated, her dress was simple and dirty at the hem.

“Please,” She begged, “Please, it was only bread, only a
little bread.”

One of the soldiers backhanded her, his metal gauntlet cut
her cheek and lip open as her head flew sideways from the blow.

“NOOO!” A young boy burst from the crowd. He dove at one of
the soldiers holding the woman, grabbing on to the flowing red cloak.

“Noooo!” He cried, “Leave her be!”

The soldier kicked violently at the boy, “Get off me you
filthy little wretch!”

The boy refused to let go, taking the hits, tears streaming
down his face.

“Not my son,” The woman cried, “Please, he is young, he
knows not what he does!”

Two soldiers broke from their formation and swarmed the
young boy to resolve the situation. They pounded furiously on the boy to subdue
him. He held on valiantly until a strong blow shook his teeth and he let go.
Beaten and tired, the boy slumped into the iron grips of the two soldiers. He
watched helplessly as they dragged his still crying mother to the wooden post.

They tied her hands and hoisted her up, her front facing the
pole. They ripped the back of her dress away, revealing her bare skin. She
cried and pleaded futilely.

The boy let out a sob.

“Sasha, Telnor of Lihat, you have been found guilty of
stealing from the Krynn’s wagon supply train. To steal from the Krynn is to
endanger the safety of all, the same goal as those who conspire against the
Noble Kingdom. Your sentence is death.”

The man with the whip raised his deadly instrument.

“STOP!” A voice echoed through the town square.

 A man had made his way through the crowd and stood at the
beginning of the courtyard.

He was dressed all in black with thick dark laced up boots
fit for combat and black leather armor, breastplate, shoulder pads, and
gauntlets etched with intricate interlocking designs. He had long brown hair,
matted and pulled partially away from his face in a ponytail. Strapped to his
back were two long slightly curved swords, katanas.

The soldier who appeared in charge of the whole operation
looked in the direction of the stranger.

“Who dares to prevent the Krynn’s justice?”

“I am death, the destroyer of worlds,” The man answered.

The lead soldier was confused and upset at the interruption.

“I have come seeking a young man!”

“Arrest him and silence his tongue!” The commander directed
two specific soldiers to go deal with the new problem.

The man drew his swords.

The two soldiers stopped.

“He aims to fight m’lord!” One of the soldiers said.

“Kill him then!” the lead soldier ordered.

The two soldiers drew their weapons and began to approach
the man warily.

“Even without your participation all the warriors standing
arrayed in the opposing armies shall cease to exist,” the man spoke.

He did not seem to be speaking to anyone in particular but
rather to himself aloud.

“Therefore, get up and attain glory. Conquer your enemies
and enjoy a prosperous kingdom. All these warriors have already been destroyed
by Me. You are only an instrument.”

The man stood defensively, both swords raised, but made no
move to attack.

The two soldiers finally arrived at a close enough range
that any closer would most likely mean death. One soldier was younger, nervous,
sweat on his brow. The other composed himself with a hardened posture of
experience.

“Throw down your weapons or die!” The older soldier said.

The man lowered his weapons but did not drop them.

“I have no eyes,” the man said.

He closed his eyes. He appeared completely relaxed.

“Hmm?” The older soldier was taken off guard.

“I make the flash of lightning my eyes.”

“Silence you fool!” The more experienced soldier said.

The younger soldier saw a moment of opportunity and dove
forward, his sword outstretched.

The man’s eyes whipped open in a flash and he spun his body
around, his two swords out, in a powerful arch. The young man’s sword was
knocked high and free from his grasp. The man in black continued his spin and
brought both blades around, cutting deep into the young man’s exposed throat
and leg just above the knee cap. The young man’s blood splattered outward,
drenching the older soldier in red.

The man followed through with his movement, swinging both
katanas towards the remaining opponent.

He continued to speak as he moved.

“I have no ears, I make sensibility my ears.”

The older soldier raised his broadsword to defend himself
but the man in black deflected the attack with one sword and brought the other
katana down and through the gap between the shoulder armor and chest plate of
his opponent with a loud squelching crunch. Blood gushed out and the older man
cried out, dropping his sword.

The man in black withdrew the blade and quickly cut the
throat of the second soldier.

The on looking crowd gasped and withdrew a number of paces.
Most of them secretly and silently applauded the defiance of the man in black
to the crushing grip of the Bloodcloaks, but some of the town leaders present
knew that only bad could come of a single individual stirring up trouble. The
local Krynn would blame the town for the dead soldiers, not just the man in
black.

“KILL THAT MAN!” The soldier in charge roared. He made
gestures for about half the unit to surround and take the new threat.

Almost forty soldiers drew their weapons and charged the man
in black.

“I have no limbs,” the man straightened, flicking his
weapons in a flourish to clean them of blood and prepare for the force coming
at him. “I make promptness my limbs.”

Ten soldiers converged on the man first.

The man in black remained still and composed until the
absolute last moment. He bent and leapt into the air with impossible swiftness
and agility. He landed on the shoulders of one of the men with a powerful
crushing strength, forcing the man to his knees. He brought his two blades down
at the same time, skewering the faces of the two soldiers on each side of the
one now on his knees.

“I have no body, I make steadfastness my body.”

The man in black withdrew his blades and jumped upward,
blood like two miniature volcanoes erupted from the dead soldiers messed up
faces as they crumpled forward. He vaulted through the air, performing a
backwards somersault and landed on another soldier behind him with his two legs
on the man’s shoulders. Immediately the man in black trapped the soldier’s head
between his legs and swiveled around, snapping the soldier’s neck. At the same
time he brought his two weapons arching powerfully and widely up with his
swivel, cutting the soldier who was on his knees from chin to forehead. The
soldier on his knees was forced violently backwards, his face now a torrent of
blood.

“I have no parents, the earth and the sky are my parents.”

He landed on the ground and rolled, avoiding the clank of
several swords as they struck the cobblestones with heavy thunks. He spun on
the ground, bringing his blades slicing through several soldier’s legs in the
gap of armor between their shin and feet.

“I have no principles, I make adaptability to all
circumstances my principle.”

Using the body of one of the falling soldiers the man in
black jumped forward, pushing the armored soldier into several of the others
nearby.

The attack of the first ten had been frustrated.

But there were still many more.

“I have no means, I make understanding my means.”

Instead of waiting for the others to reach him the man in
black turned and rushed towards the oncoming force.

His face began to change and distort, almost as if another
translucent but dark face was projecting outward from his own. His eyes almost
glowed with an unearthly light.

“I have no strategy, the opportunity of the moment is my
strategy.”

He leapt high into the air over the second swarm of
soldiers, diving blades first into the third group. Swords went up but he
dodged them with uncanny precision.

One katana dove deep into a neck, while the other, into an
exposed shoulder joint.

The man in black was a whirlwind of death, impossible to
kill, impossible to even hit.

Ten more soldiers were quickly dealt with, blood and limbs
flying through the air.

“I have neither life nor death - eternal life is my death.”

“KILL HIM!” The leader cried.

More charged into the fray. The two soldiers holding the
young boy threw him to the cobblestones and drew their swords to join the
carnage.

The boy hit his back and head and stars exploded across his
vision. He gasped for air as the wind was knocked out of him.

His vision blurred and he felt sick. It was as if a sudden
great weight had been placed atop his chest. He moved slowly, like he was half
submerged in a pool of thick mud.

He could hear the sounds of screams around him, not just
from the soldiers.

He finally got to his knees but his head pounded and swam.

People were running all around him, bumping him.

Someone stepped on his hand and he cried out.

He was pushed to the ground again.

“Stop!” he tried.

“Help!” he put his arms up over his head and curled up into
a ball.

He remained like that for a long time.

The sounds around him began to die down until all the boy
could hear was the whistling of the cold wind.

A light peered through the clouds, resting on the young boy
for a moment, only to be blotted out in the next moment by a dark figure.

It was the man in black.

The young man looked up at him, finally seeing him up close
since his sudden arrival. His appearance was one of awe inducing terror. Blood
covered the man from head to toe. He appeared as if he had not slept in a
hundred cycles.

“Please, do not kill me,” the boy whimpered.

He remained on the ground.

The man shook his head.

“My time is at an end,” the man said, “I will finally be
free.”

As the man spoke the boy was able to look around.

Even more shock gripped him as he surveyed the absolute
slaughter surrounding him.

The courtyard was completely red with the blood of the dead.
And not just of the soldiers, but men, women, and even children from the town
had been hewn down.

Bile rose up in the boy’s throat and he tore his eyes away
from the horrific scene.

“I have come here only because of you. You have been chosen.
These are yours now.” The man said.

The man dropped the two katanas in their sheaths at the
boy’s feet.

“What do you mean?” the boy asked.

The man did not answer but fell to his knees before the boy.

He took the boy’s face between his hands with a powerful
grip.

The dark translucent countenance flashed, projecting over
the man’s face for a brief moment.

“I am death, the destroyer of worlds.”

The boy struggled to free himself of the man’s iron grip.

The man tilted his head back and opened his mouth in a
scream of agony. A dark force erupted from the man, pausing in the air for a
moment, only to fall back down and enter the boy through his face. The boy let
out a scream as the darkness entered into him.

It was over in only a matter of moments but the pain seemed
to stretch that time into an eternity of agony.

The boy screamed and screamed. He tried to break free but
the man’s grip was unbreakable. The boy spied out of the corner of his eye the
hunched over form of his mother still hoisted up on the post. Her dress was red
with blood.

“NOOOO!!” The boy cried.

Finally the transfer was over and the boy and the man fell
back, away from each other.

The man had been transformed into a lifeless corpse that had
been sucked dry and aged hundreds of cycles in a matter of moments. The boy
pulled away from the skeleton, repulsed by it.

He felt tired, and sick, and in pain, all feelings
threatening to overtake him.

And his mother.

“No!” he sobbed, wanting to go to the body of his mother but
not wanting to at the same time, as if doing so would confirm what he already
knew.

And then he felt it. A presence within his mind.