Capable Men
"If I were a man seeking death, I could end your life, Prince."
Prince Miika and Sir Garrick are to handpick 20 men at arms to train under Captain Tullius’ guard in the art of Divine Fire.
The yard was teeming with activity after the impromptu display of Lord Andion’s discovery. Miika watched in awe as everyone in the yard moved with purpose and haste. When Sir Garrick, his father’s most loyal bondsman, spoke, Miika came to a halt. “This is unlike anything I’ve witnessed on the battlefield, my Prince. Our best judgment will be necessary.”
“Do you think we’ll struggle to find men worthy of the task?” Miika said.
“Your father has many capable men…” the bondsman trailed off.
Miika felt the urge to inspect the yard. Afterwards, he asked, “you don’t think it is that dangerous? Do you?”
Miika had to crane his neck as he turned to face Garrick; the man was a giant. The bondman’s head blotted out the now setting sun.
“Does the name Jahan Al-Qalb mean anything to you?”
Miika paused. Aware of his position, Sir Garrick chose not to rush the Prince. After a moment Miika said, “He led the defense of Giot against father’s siege.”
“Yes, he was a formidable opponent.” Sir Garrick met Miika’s eyes before continuing. “And the man was a butcher.”
With his eyes fixed on something unseen along the horizon, Sir Garrick had returned to that theater of war.
“This weapon would have delighted someone like Al-Qalb. No amount of flaming arrows or burning pitch could inflict as much devastation. May the Divine bless those we choose. Their burden will be a heavy one.”
“What sets this weapon apart from others in trained soldiers' possession? Is the result not the same? Be it blade, pitch, or Divine Flame?”
With as much speed as a man half his size, Sir Garrick closed the gap between himself and the Prince. With both hands wrapped around his neck, he lifted the young man high. Miika kicked and beat at Garrick’s arms with his own, but to no avail. Miika's attempted command turned into a feeble gurgle.
“If I were a man seeking death, I could end your life, Prince. Suppose I were that man, overtaken by rage and madness. Would you prefer I strangle you or snap your neck? What if I unsheathed my blade and ran it through you?”
Sir Garrick returned Miika to his feet. The burly man adjusted the Prince’s clothes and dropped to one knee. With his head bowed before his liege, a boy half his age, Garrick spoke in a subdued tone.
“Prince Miika, only a man who has never had to fear his own demise, believes that the cause of it matters not. Most soldiers are willing to die, blade in hand, in service of their cause. Many wish that they’ll meet their end as old men, preferably in the comfort of their bed.”
His eyes met Miika’s as he said, “To die screaming and burning, surrounded by hundreds of your brothers in arms doing the same, is a fate my Divine would not wish on any man. Nor do I.”
This one's a very emotionally powerful one, on a few levels for a number of reasons.