The Spirit of Fire : Book 1 of the Defender Chronicles

Prologue

It was time.

"Call him."

The figure in the shadows spoke so suddenly, in such a low, gravelly voice, that the others in the room nearly knocked themselves out on the ceiling. The one person who wasn't unnerved sniggered not-so-quietly.

"What is so funny, Mistgrad?" the figure in the shadows asked.

The man who sniggered, Mistgrad, gulped nervously, seeming to realize that laughing was a mistake. "Nothing, Lord Welltron."

The man in the shadows, Lord Welltron as Mistgrad called him, stepped out of the shadows, and a collective shudder ran around the room.

He wasn't really hideous - it was just his aura of immense power. He stood nearly seven feet tall, and was really bulky. He wasn't exactly built like a wrestler - more like someone who loved to swing a really heavy weapon, like a claymore. But that didn't fool anyone into thinking he was weaker than a wrestler - after all, he did have a reputation of never being defeated even once in his entire life. That didn't apply only to one-on-one duels - even during wars, he had led countless charges, and won time and time again. He had an uncanny knack for being able to predict most people's actions, and he didn't stop from using that to his advantage.

As for his face, it looked like someone had used his face for a dummy to practice sword maneuvers. He had many scars, but they did not show that he was really reckless and careless. On the contrary, these scars looked mostly like they were made by rather shallow cuts. they all ran nearly in the same place and direction, showing that he was deliberately getting cut there to exploit a weakness in his opponents fighting style. And he had a burn on one side of his face, covering his whole cheek.

Lord Welltron now turned his gaze on one of the four others in the room - a woman, who looked as if she was the apparition of beauty. With dark brown hair and hazel eyes, she looked as though she would have had every man in the whole kingdom would be at her heels, begging to have her. But few knew that behind that hard expression on her face, she was actually only a young girl of fourteen. Indeed, she looked as if she were at least eighteen years old. There was a hard light in her eyes that belied her caring nature.

"It is time. Call him to the arena. I shall face him myself."

"But sire - " The girl was interrupted rather sternly.

"No buts, Cayla." His voice turned a little softer. "I have a feeling this battle can change the fate of the entire Nodruasia."

Cayla widened her eyes in terror. The King of Nodruasia had nearly perfect instincts, and everyone trusted his instincts, seeing as they had gotten them out of trouble countless times.

"Y-Yes, sire. I shall leave you to deal with him."

The man sighed. "I hope I can defeat him."

The rest of the room went so tense at this, it wouldn't be surprising to find someone could cut it with a butter knife. The man who had never lost confidence, saying he hoped to win a battle? This was ridiculous, but that also meant that there was a lot riding on this battle, and the opponent might have actually been strong enough to beat Welltron. What kind of a demon was he?

The King went out the room, after saying he was going to don his armor. The girl also left, to alert the challenger to be ready to leave for the Arena. The rest of them began praying to Fedros for victory in the upcoming battle.

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