The Broken Pieces(12)

Cyric climbed the pile of bones, standing beside his champion.

“You are beautiful,” he told Redclaw, who glanced his way.

“I am strength,” Redclaw said. “I am fire. Give me something to kill.”

Cyric gestured to the hundreds gathered about.

“Those who do not bow,” he said. “Those you may slaughter.”

“Wolf must not kill wolf. It is law.”

“Who’s law, Redclaw?” Cyric asked. “Yours? The pack’s? You follow Karak’s law now, and the unfaithful must be punished.” He turned to the crowd and lifted his arms. “Kneel!” he shouted to them, using magic to enhance his voice. “Kneel, and accept your true god. Either Karak is your master, or Death. By your choice, one or the other will claim you this night.”

All at once Redclaw’s tribe dropped to the ground, their nuzzles pressed to the dirt. Within the rest of the crowd bowed various wolf-men. Some were mocked, others even assaulted, but not for long. With a smile on his face, Cyric watched his champion leap into the crowd, a wave of fire in his wake. His molten claws tore through their ranks, and his howl was louder than all others. Within moments the meeting was in chaos, and Cyric reveled at its center.

Redclaw spun and fought in the largest group, his long arms leaving afterimages of red with each slash. Each kill, each step, some leapt to attack Redclaw, while many more fell to their knees and shoved their noses to the dirt. But not all focused on him. Many-Bruises’ pack rushed Redclaw’s, and with them bowed face to the dirt, Redclaw’s faithful would die in seconds. Cyric shook his head, knowing he should not be surprised by the pitiful creatures’ stupidity and stubbornness. It was like trying to teach a child a complicated truth. There’d always be a few who’d never believe, no matter how intelligently explained.

“You defy a god!” Cyric yelled to Many-Bruises’ pack, lifting his arms to the sky. Cracks split the earth, and they belched fire as the wolf-men leapt over. Dozens burned, and others yelped and fled. About a third continued on, clawing and biting at the bowed members of Redclaw’s tribe. Others rushed through their ranks, their target solely Cyric, who smirked at their approach. A handful of wolf-men sought to take down Karak’s physical manifestation? They’d have better hope of ripping the moon out of the sky with their claws.

Cyric crossed his arms over his chest, summoning his magic, but was given no chance to use it. Another pack of wolf-men struck from behind, overcoming them with impressive speed. In moments the entirety of the Gathering either knelt in submission or lay bleeding. From the ranks of Redclaw’s tribe emerged Warfang, who dipped his head low before Cyric.

“I see the strength given to Redclaw,” he said. “I would have that blessing.”

“What of Karak?” Cyric asked him. “What of your faith to the moon?”

“The moon would let us die this night,” Warfang said, glancing upward. “The moon has never blessed my claws with fire. I trust what I see. I will bow to Karak.”

“You?” asked one of the dying wolf-men that lay near Warfang’s feet, his intestines piled in his paws. “You would bow to a human?”

“I bow to no human,” Warfang said, his eyes meeting Cyric’s. “I bow to a god.”

Careful with this one, thought Cyric. He knew Redclaw intelligent for his kind, but this one might be even wiser. Still, he’d slain his attackers, and professed faith. Such things should not go unrewarded.

“Kneel,” he told Warfang. The wolf-man did so as Redclaw returned to his side, the gore on his fur sizzling. Cyric put a hand on Warfang’s head, and he bestowed a fraction of the strength given to Redclaw. Warfang breathed in deep, and when he flexed his claws, they flared red, like embers being blown upon.

“To all of you who kneel,” Cyric cried, taking a step back. “To all of you shoving your snouts into the dirt, professing faith to a name you have never known before, know this! Your faith is weak, your knowledge pitiful. But you will still be blessed! You will learn of the god you serve. You will gain wisdom and power beyond anything your kind has possessed since the day the gods waved their hands and bade you to stand. You were made for war, and I will bring you that war again. The humans beyond the river, they are weak, and tremble at the thought of you crossing into their lands. But you will cross the rivers, you will tear down towers, and you will surround their villages and farms. Those who do not bow, as you have bowed, must know death. Bring it to them!”

“We are one tribe now,” Redclaw said as Cyric fell silent, and the hundreds of wolf-men rose to their feet. “Not Warfang, not Many-Bruises, not Gutdancer. One tribe, Karak’s tribe, and Redclaw is his champion!”