Dream of Fire

Kerebos eased a spiked gauntlet on his sword.

"What?" he snapped.

Triskeles nodded at the water. "The destruction." Just then a titanic berg cracked booming report. "See!" he chortled, pointing.

"Why don't you swim out there?" Kerebos suggested.

Triskeles shrugged and pulled his private kraal cache. He placed three leaves into his mouth, a potent amount.

"That's quite a lot," Kerebos noted.

Triskeles shuddered as the drug worked on him, his breaths came in gasps. His eyes fluttered and he dropped the purse of kraal.

Idiot, Kerebos thought.

Triskeles soon mastered himself. He bent to retrieve the drug and asked: "Do you know I've taken the personal responsibility of guarding your tent?"

Kerebos felt a cold finger play his spine. His eyes narrowed.

"Oh?"

"Yes, lord."

Kerebos felt ill; he knew how pathetic he sounded in his sleep. "Why?" he demanded.

Triskeles appeared troubled. At any rate, it took a moment for him to answer. "I fret about the legion, sometimes." he managed at last. "Is that so wrong?" He appeared so inconsolable Kerebos feared the elhar might embrace him!

Kerebos played it all off with a laugh. "No," he said. "If you didn't worry about the brotherhood you'd be of no use. Let's get to work."

Triskeles posed like a stroked dog; he leaned close enough to share his fetid breath. "I want to be of use, Lord," he said. "The legion is the only home I've ever really wanted."

"Good," Kerebos grunted and stepped away.

"Fate placed me in its hands, and..." Triskeles trailed off.

How I hate this game, Kerebos thought. "And?"

"I fear I'm losing it," Triskeles replied.

Kerebos was unsure how to respond. "Explain yourself."

"Well," Triskeles began, "you must agree we've witnessed many wondrous strange things this tribute year. Even the very earth breaks and sinks."

"So?" Kerebos said. "We see odd things every tribute year."

"Yes, but every tribe we've crossed seems more afraid of the future than of us. I can't help but think that wrong." Triskeles mulled the implications. "They all speak of The End."

"The end of the world!" Kerebos scoffed. "Stories to frighten children!" His mood festered. He was bored of the conversation and very much sick of Triskeles. "Fate make nothing of everything, eh, Triskeles? I am the end of the world!" he insisted with vehemence. "They must fear me!"

Triskeles grinned, reassured. "Yes, lord."

"And as for this dross," Kerebos waved toward the water, "it's not real." He pulled his sword and held it between them. "This is real. Blooded swords are all the end Pangaea needs or deserves!" Triskeles beamed, exposing sharp canine teeth. "I understand, my lord. I can weather anything while among my brothers."

Kerebos sneered. "That's manly of you."

"Thank you. But one thing troubles me still."

"What?" Kerebos demanded.

"Every night I've stood outside your quarters, I've heard you cry out in fear."

Kerebos' ears burned with embarrassment; he quite forgot the cold. "What did I say?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Triskeles showed a palm in bewilderment. "Mostly babble, but I heard the word 'lama' clear enough," he replied. "I'm no Chaconni scholar, but doesn't that mean 'daddy' or some such thing?"

Kerebos stiffened then snarled into action. He struck the elhar's face with a fistful of spiked knuckles. Triskeles cried out, staggered and crashed onto the hard ground.