Chapter 19
A Sea of Madness
Lake Olympus, Konge Province, Titan
"Simple barbarism is more than enough to inspire fear, but, oh, the horrors that can be wrought when a wicked heart and a cunning mind are joined together."
-Excerpt from the assorted writings of Mark the Guardian
Ever since he learned how to fly with his magic, Brenok's legs got little exercise. Even when there was no need for it, he would float an inch or two off the ground. It allowed him to move so much quicker and easier, such as when he escaped that desperate lunge from Mark. Perhaps if he had taken his sword training more seriously, he would have been more nimble without the aid of magic.
It was because he was almost always floating that it was unusual for him to be sitting on a hilltop as he was, leisurely taking in the sights and sounds of the battle. There were plusher varieties of grass in the warmer climes that made for a more comfortable seating experience, but the view more than made up for it.
So far, everything was proceeding according to plan. The fighting men of the enemy were lured out by the decoy and now their camp was burning. Those same fighting men were probably too far away to hear the screams of the defenseless camp followers as they were slaughtered. A pity.
Brenok licked his lips at the thought of Mark's righteous fury when he would see what the rebels were doing. It was so easy to turn that would-be saint into a demon. Whether his blood was running hot or cold, when he was killing, it was a thing of beauty, not just the act itself but more so how it would gnaw at his conscience afterward. His face was so thoroughly lined with care since the last time they saw each other. How he must have agonized over every little drop of blood these past years...
Brenok's face fell a little as he looked at the battlefield. This was all a little too plain for his tastes. He had taken the time to prepare this banquet, but there was a need for more spice.
He reached in under his robes and pulled out a pendant of black crystal. Veins of red glowed as he held it in his hand. Surely when you want to give someone a taste of Hell, what better instrument than the Hell Pendant?
He remembered the last time he used the Hell Pendant to such good effect, when he worked his arts on the pet Gypsy of that Antonovich mindwalker. No one on this battlefield had such well-nurtured hate, but there was more than enough darkness in the hearts of men to craft something a little more workmanlike than the masterpiece he let loose at Darkwall.
He took the stone knife hanging off his belt and cut the tips of each finger on his left hand, then pressed the bloody fingertips to the crystal of the pendant.
"I do it all for you, Marko," Brenok said as he extended his rod and began to trace shapes in the air.
As he crafted the spell, Brenok wished from the bottom of his heart that Mark appreciated his work.