Cauldron of Shadows
an excerpt

One such was young Bernardo.
During the Battle of the Mists, fought in a light wood outside the town of Vindenbrag, he’d gotten separated from the men. This was not unusual for Bernardo. Where his brother Bennito could find his way home from anywhere, in the dark, with his legs bound, Bernardo had a hard time following anything where there was not someone to follow.
He fought where there was an enemy, but mostly it was a maze of fog and the sounds of battle. Somehow he stumbled into the eye of the metaphorical storm.
A manplopped down in front of him, spraying crimson into the mist. His entrails whipped about, entangled in the wildly curved flanges of a giant’s flail. That was to the right. To the left, were horses in glimmering barding. Suddenly, men in plate armor were all around. Then the giants were among them and screams tore at his ears as men were crushed, flung and beaten by the giants’ onslought.
Bernardo tried to get out of the way, but there was no escape. The moment came and he faced death with his brother miles away and no one else from town to help him. He was seventeen years old. He thought of Maxos, the best soldier Greenmarsh had. A man bound for glory. What would Maxos do? Why, he would pick up his weapon and kill the thrice cursed giants, that’s what! Bernardo allowed his fear and revulsion to explode in anger and he ran forward.
Only to be gutted bya cruelly spiked mace, as the giant who wielded it pulled it out of his last victim with inhuman force. The blow sent Bernardo reeling against the jagged remains of a felled willow tree. It was all a blur until the impact.
Then everything froze. But a moment before an explosion of fire in the air above him. Bernardo looked up with his eyes awash in blood. If there had been any time, it was the moment before life left his body, but only just.
But there was no time, only the blazing star, and slowly, the unfolding of fiery wings. The being that emerged was like an eagle of molten gold with the breasts and head of a beautiful woman, all so hot that it seemed to burn through all of reality, like a hot cinder through cloth.
The beautiful woman stared directly at Bernardo, into his eyes. He had heard tales of such things whispered around town, almost in jest. The Pyrothists may still rule in the capital, but the people of the three kingdoms worshipped the old gods of the woods still. Their fire god was the suppose bringer of knowledge and civilization. But some folks could not forget that he was also the god of the invader.
That was, in fact, the word that passed through Bernardo’s mind. Invader. But she was very beautiful. Then she spoke.
“You are chosen, Berdardo.”
“Chosen for what?” He stammered.
“You will be our herald in the swamps. Save the prince and tell him he has our blessings.”
Then the fire poured into Bernardo. As the liquid fire flowed into him, time seemed to flow backward slowly. A flash of light and he was springing from the place where he had landed, but intact and ready to strike. The energy filled him. He could barely see for the blazing impression the angel had made, but he saw the giant looming ahead. It was off balance, prepared to strike something ahead of him, where Bernardo could not see. Armored men rushed forward, but no one could reach the giant in time. No one, but Bernardo.
His longsword swept back and he leaped at the giant’s outstretched arm. Flexed to bring the awful flail around in an arc of death. The blade hit a joint in the armor and bit deep into the giant’s arm. Blood splashed up and the creature screamed. Bernardo pulled with all his might and the gaint toppled backward. Somehow he managed to keep his grip on the sword and it scraped free of the wound. He brought it around and up without a second thought and brought it down snapping through chain hauberk and leather coif. The young prince, staring in silent amazement, was splashed with blood as Bernardo’s sword sliced half way through the creature’s neck.
The body kicked and spasmed, then a burst of light burned away the fog. Bernardo rushed forward to help the young prince and the herald waved the flag of Rinaldi, crest of the kingdom. The knight’s and men knew that their prince was safe and a wave of morale swept up the men of the Three Kingdoms in a wave of bloodlust that brought them victory and won an end to the fighting, for the winter at least.
Bernardo was a hero, a swampland militia-man who was made a knight the very next day. When the king gave Bernardo a suit of chainmail and a warhorse befitting a knight, Bernardo thought he must still be in a dream of sorts. But the priests of Pyrothion abused him of such whims. Raised to believe that their religion was a pack of lies, Bernardo had now seen-been chosen even—by this strange god of fire.