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“What is it, Michael?”
An unschooled mercenary had asked. Michael Cronin detested when these barbarian mercenaries had insisted on calling him by his first name, after all he was from a long line of sorcerers. He demanded respect and expected to be treated that way.
Hating being away from his many wives and numerous children he was still here because his emperor, whom he loved with the same passion as he loved his wives, commanded him to find out about the holy men of their mutual enemy. The difference between his sorcerous ways and the ways of the holy men was that they showed mercy when him and his comrades were ruthless.
Holy men, as Cronin had come to understand them, were self-righteous holier than thou pompous idiots. To him, they were too good and believed in befriending their enemies. Michael wanted to rid his emperor’s land of all that was holy and bring back the dark powers that he now worshipped.
Darkness was all that he lived for and these murderers and assassins with him would learn that they too worshipped the dark powers even if their murderous deeds were not in their hearts. Anyone with blood on his or her hands would soon serve the darkness or go mad. That madness, which he knew very well, always followed the carnage of a campaign of this size.
Madness, or insanity as some called it, was said to be already with him. Many of his colleagues believed him mad and he never denied it. He never would deny it because he agreed with them. Insanity was a part of his cause in serving the dark and ancient powers that he believed would re-awaken some day.
It was inevitable and he loved it. Him alone, worshipped the dark powers, but little did his emperor know that by supporting him that he also supported the dark powers. Michael looked up at the tall dopey looking mercenary whom was always with him as his personal guard. Even compared to the shortest men in the kingdom, he was not very tall.
Standing at four feet and eight inches tall and weighing the same as a young calf at roughly one hundred and fifty pounds, he was dwarfed by most and his emperor insisted that he have a guard to protect him while he did the mission. The guard sent with him was a mercenary that happened to be seven feet and five inches tall weighing three hundred and eighty-five pounds.
“Everything is quite alright except for that spy that I have just caught”,
Cronin pointed to the tree on the other side of the camp.
“We must act fast, before he recovers because I was barely able to contain him. You will help me get him out of the tree.”
Michael chanted a few words that were from a long forgotten ancient language and pointed to the tree where the man lay unconscious. The man floated out of the tree and landed hard on the ground.
“Bring him over to my tent,” commanded Michael to his guard. After he was brought to Michael’s tent, he was hoisted up onto a cross-like structure and chained to it. An inhibiting collar was placed around his neck.