The Broken Pieces(13)

Chants filled the clearing as the burning wolf-man climbed the bones and let his full strength flare.

Redclaw! Redclaw!

Cyric frowned, even though he knew he’d blessed Redclaw for such a reason. Beside him, Warfang stood with his mouth open, chest shaking, a gesture he recognized as laughter.

“Careful,” Cyric whispered to him.

“Glory to Karak’s champion,” Warfang growled before resuming laughing. “All the glory…”



Later that night, Cyric sat before an enormous bonfire. It was the pile of bones, used by the wolf-men in their heathen ceremonies. With a wave of his hand, Cyric had set it to burning, commanding the dead and dying to be thrown into its flames. Not all of them, of course. His wolf-men were hungry. A few had grumbled seeing their sacred bones destroyed, but not many, not after the display they’d just witnessed. Not when they could count the dead being tossed into the fire.

Redclaw hunched down beside Cyric, a large slab of meat in his left hand.

“Am I to be like this even when asleep?” the wolf-man asked, the grass where he sat shriveling black from the heat. “Can I not touch a mate without burning her fur?”

“The power is yours to control,” Cyric told him. “So control it.”

Redclaw growled but did as commanded. He closed his eyes, brow furrowing from concentration. Slowly the red glow faded from his fur, the tips of his claws becoming the deep brown they once were. When Redclaw opened his eyes, his lips pulled back in a macabre smile.

“Better,” he said. “But I am still not pleased. You blessed Warfang. Why?”

Cyric stood so he could step closer to the fire, feel its heat against his skin.

“You dare to question a god?” he asked.

“When a god does stupid things, I question, yes.”

Cyric shook his head.

“You are not the only wolf I may use for my ends, Redclaw. Remember that the next time you would insult me. Warfang was faithful, and with his aid the disjointed tribes will be far more loyal. Nearly four hundred wolf-men, all blessed in some way for when we cross the river. With your speed, your strength, we can swarm the North and crush armies ten times your number. But your faith must be strong. Karak’s name must be on their lips…not Redclaw’s.”

“I am fire,” Redclaw said. “I am their champion. Why not let them cry my name?”

In answer, Cyric stepped into the bonfire. Bones crushed beneath his feet, and the flames licked at his robes. The fire swirled across his skin, like sand blowing across a desert, and not a hair on his body was burned. Cyric turned about, let Redclaw see.

“Because I cannot be burned with fire,” Cyric said, pleased to see the wolf-man intelligent enough to fall to his knees. “I am of the Abyss, Redclaw, and your strength is my strength, and mine alone. Send out runners, and gather every wolf-man scattered about the Wedge. I want them here, all part of a single, unified army. And when we march into the first village, one of very many, I assure you, I want to know that it will be my name my army cries out in worship.”

“They will worship Karak,” Redclaw said. “I promise.”

“No,” Cyric said, shaking his head. “Not Karak. Karak made flesh. Cyric.”

“As you wish,” Redclaw said, the tips of his fur glowing. “Forgive me, I must go see that my pups are well fed.”

“You are a father?” Cyric asked, honestly surprised. He thought the brute would be a solitary creature for some reason.

“Two pups,” Redclaw said. “They are not old enough for names. But they will have them soon.”

“Do you know what you’ll call them?”

Redclaw hesitated, then nodded.

“I do,” he said. “But only if you are who you say. Only if we conquer. Manslayer and Manfeaster, they will be called.”

“Names to be feared throughout the North,” Cyric said, and he smiled. “Though if we conquer, perhaps you should name them after the god that has led them to such glory.”

“Perhaps,” Redclaw said, and left without saying more.





5



“It is a stupid thing to shut me in here,” Valessa said as Darius prepared his bed.

“I’m sorry if my snoring keeps you awake,” he said. “But surely it isn’t that bad.”

“I do not sleep.”

Darius shrugged.

“Well, then never mind about the snoring.”

“Just because I do not sleep doesn’t mean the sound is pleasant.”

Darius laughed. He pulled off his armor piece by piece, setting it beside his bed. His sword he put by his feet, and was careful not to touch it for long. He didn’t want its light to burn Valessa, for though she would not admit it, he knew it caused her tremendous pain.