The Child of Cataclysm

Chapter 6

Martier jabbed forward and plunged his sword into the Child.  The man jerked, eyes wide, as Martier pulled the blade back out.  As he slumped to the ground, Martier gazed over the battlefield.

Bodies littered the ground, the landscape broken by craters and fires.  Some of the fallen were Furghon, but the vast majority were either Scorched or Children.

The battle was over.  They had won.

Skirin swooped down from the sky and landed next to Martier as he sheathed his weapon.  Scratches marred the dragon's scales, but none of them looked serious.  "We did it, Skirin," he said, patting his best friend's snout, "We beat them back."

Skirin rumbled in triumph, raising his head to scan their surroundings.  Martier, stepping slowly and carefully over the corpses, made his way across the bleak land to where he had left Sepher.

The knight was right where he had left him, slumped against the rock.  Martier knelt at the body, silently giving his last farewell.  Skirin watched from behind and whined mournfully.  Martier heard the sound of someone approaching and raised his head to see a group approaching, Mya in the lead.

He stood up as they came to a stop.  Mya was tearfully gazing down at Sepher's body, and Martier briefly wondered if they were ever more than just 'friends.'

After a moment, a soldier hesitantly stepped forward.  "Ma'am...the remnants of the enemy forces are retreating...should we pursue?" he tentatively asked.

Mya drew in a shuddering breath and looked over the battlefield.  "No," she eventually stated, "the wounded need tending to.  We will not needlessly lose brave men that can be saved."

She turned to the soldier that had spoken.  "Search for survivors.  If any are injured, take them straight to the healers if possible.  Otherwise, take the healers to them.  Do what you can to make sure as many of them as possible go home to their families and loved ones."

The soldier saluted, turned around, and started barking orders.  As the assembly scattered, Bezeel emerged from the throng.  Martier stared at him in surprise.  He didn't take the young boy for a soldier.

Bezeel looked down at one of the bodies near him.  The ice coating its skin indicated it was Scorched.  "Bezeel."

Bezeel jumped and looked up at Mya.  "Do you know why the Scorched would be fighting alongside the Children?" she asked.  Bezeel wrung his hands as he looked back down at the body.  "I...I believe the Scorched belong to Cataclam."

Martier's eyebrows hiked up in surprise.  "Cataclam the Devil?  He is the one controlling them?"

"Not for certain...but it is a strong possibility."

Martier stumbled back, shocked.  "But...isn't Cataclam-"

"Dead?  No," Mya said, shaking her head, "He's been imprisoned underneath one of the mountains in the Furghon Empire."

Martier felt like he would faint.  Cataclam the Devil...one of the deadliest creatures to ever walk the face of the earth...idolized by the cult that tried to brainwash or kill him...and it was still alive?!

Skirin noticed Martier's unsteadiness with a whine and curled around him.  He gratefully slumped against the dragon's side and sat down.  "In fact...now that I think about it...it would explain why the Scorched have amassed within our borders all of a sudden.  They were summoned by their master to free him," Bezeel pondered aloud.

"And working with the Children?" Mya inquired.  Bezeel shrugged.

"I'm not sure about that either...but it's possible the Children want the same thing."