“You cannot claim the title of War Chieftain, Dracoth,” Garzum continues. “For another already claims it.”
“Who?” Dracoth sneers, as if the idea itself is beneath him.
“Drexios,” Garzum mutters.
Chapter 29
Dracoth
Leadership
Drexios.Anameknownto me, yet I have never met the Second to my noble father. Said to be fiercely loyal but chaotic and brutal in his actions. It shouldn’t surprise me. He has a strong claim—almost as strong as mine. But still, the thought makes my blood seethe with molten rage, surging like the pools of bubbling magma before me. The Rush is only now ebbing after my brief clash with Jazreal—a decent enough opponent.
Garzum turns to the immense statue of Arawnoth, which dominates the room. “These are dark days for us, Magaxus,” he declares, his voice filled with solemnity. “Arawnoth curses us for our weakness and foolishness. We grew too arrogant, too certain under your father’s rule as War Chieftain. Once guided by threeMagaxus Elders, now only I remain. And here we stand, with a traitor and an outlaw both claiming the title of Chieftain.” He swivels back, fixing his red, glowing eyes on me. “There is no War Chieftain, young Dracoth. This is a new era—the era of High Chieftain Krogoth, who brings new ways that may yet allow our people to survive.”
His words disgust me, each one fouler than the last, twisting my lips into a sneer.Krogoth. That accursed name! The name that haunts my dreams and steals my every thought. Even now, he plagues me, poisoning the hearts of the Magaxus—hearts that should be stronger.
“You are the betrayer, Elder,” I snarl, aware of the crowd surrounding me, watching with interest.
“No, young Dracoth,” Garzum murmurs, his expression open despite the fury I direct at him. “Do you deny your father died during the Krak-Tok?”
“No,” I snap, biting back at his foolish question. “But the usurper broke the rite by summoning strange powers.” I do not say it—cannot say it—that he wielded gifts from the Gods. That they would blesshimsickens me to my molten core.
Garzum’s gaze doesn’t waver. He paces slowly, then stops to face me, his eyes cold and hard. “And what of your father? Have you no thought of his corruption?”
“What corruption?” I demand, my fists clenching, rage simmering beneath the surface at this traitor’s vile accusations.
“Corruption most profane, young Dracoth,” Garzum replies, his voice level and unflinching. “His body was more machine than Klendathian...” His calm delivery belies the savage sting of his words. I feel my gaze drop, my heart twisting painfully in my chest. “He turned his back on Arawnoth, on the sacred words, defiling that which—”
“Lies!” I roar, my vision clouded by the fury spilling from my eyes. I lunge towards Garzum, my hands itching to rip hisdeceitful tongue from his mouth. The crowd of Magaxus closes in, many of whom I recognize, hands reaching to hold me back, to restrain my wrath.
“Begone!” I snarl, shoving them aside.
But more come—more hands gripping my arms, my shoulders—the weight of their numbers halting my frantic struggles to reach the loathsome Garzum. Some mutter that he speaks the truth, naming me brother, but their earnest, sincere words only twist the claws deeper into my chest.
No! What madness drove him to defile his own flesh—he who was mightiest among us?
My struggles weaken as my mind reels, trying to comprehend my father’s actions. I silently plead with Arawnoth, praying that they are lying, but I see the truth in their solemn faces—Garzum speaks no falsehoods. I stop my futile efforts to break free, and the crowd moves back, their expressions as troubled as I imagine my own must be.
“Bathe in the truth, young Dracoth. Let it wash away your weakness,” Garzum intones, quoting from the sacred words. “High Chieftain Krogoth fought with divine powers, against the vulgar corruption your father embraced. Don’t you see? It was Arawnoth’s will that he fell that day, so we might return to the old ways—reject the profane machines, reject the Scythians!”
Machines, Scythians, the Sacred Words—I care not for these lofty principles. They are tools of control, nothing more.
Arawnoth’s wrath courses through my veins, a molten fury that cannot be quenched. He came to me in that dream, driving my rage, fueling my bloodlust. That is his will—not this pathetic submission.
Of course! It all makes sense now. My father sought strength at any cost. I am his noble son, the true War Chieftain, and we are of one mind. The universe will burn in our power.
“No!” I stand tall, my resolve returning like hardened arcweave. “Arawnoth guides me. He rejects your so-called old ways.” I pound my chest, my eyes flaring crimson. “I am the War Chieftain! Me! Do you understand? I will challenge this pretender, Drexios. I will break him and reclaim the birthright that was stolen from me!”
The throng of my clan brothers mutter among themselves, some with eyes blazing with fervor, others casting downcast looks. Garzum’s face remains impassive as he speaks.
“Dracoth, duty demands I report you to the Council as an outlaw,” he says, his eyes drifting into the distance. “Bringing human females here as slaves is a blatant violation of our new laws.” He gestures to Princesa, who watches silently with surprising grace and intensity. “But for the respect I once bore your father, I will not.”
“Then we are done here,” I retort, turning to leave.
“Not yet,boy!” Jazreal’s voice cuts through the air, stopping me in my tracks. “I abandoned the Ravager Berserkers because I saw that we had lost our way—that we were wrong to side with the Scythians!” His voice rises like an orator’s, carrying over the crowd.
“This shorthair pup!” He jabs an accusing finger at me, his eyes narrowing with disdain. “He disgraced our clan by attacking Chieftain Krogoth on his own territory using unlawful technology—a damning violation and a pitiful failure given his overwhelming advantage. He gained nothing but Elder Zyraxis’s death,” he sneers.
