“I’ll be too busy at the Royal Smithy to worry about women,” Tane said. “Besides, what would a wild and wicked city woman want with a simple backwoods smith like me?”
“I shutter to think,” she said, squeezing her eyes closed. “I’m sorry, Tane. I know I’m acting crazy. You are a good man, and will do the right thing.”
“She’s just afraid for you, son,” Kyle said, stepping out to join them. “And so am I. If the army doesn’t stop the invaders, then that’ll mean a siege. Sieges are terrible ordeals.”
“I’ll be careful,” Tane said.
He shouldered his pack and took up his walking stick. It would be a two day walk to Kestsax. He had more than enough coin for lodgings and food, and two sets of spare clothes. Some of the daggers, knives, and even some ornate brass sword hilts he had crafted over the years were being taken in case Bearclaw wasn’t enough to prove his skill to the Royal Smithy’s Master Smith.
“I’ll write soon as I get settled in,” he promised, hugging his mother good-bye.
“You just remember what I told you about city girls,” Mattie scolded playfully. “Stay safe, and earn your forge price, and we’ll see about finding you a nice Leltic girl in a nearby village.”
Tane kissed his mother’s teary cheek, and clasped his father’s callused hand, then turned north toward Kestsax. Despite heading toward an uncertain future, he found a bounce in his step and a growing anticipation in his breast.
Chapter 3
The walls of Treversax crumbled to dust as the sun set behind thick cloud-cover. Dakar smiled, lowering His hands from the display of divine power as a wail of despair rose up from the doomed Leltic city of wattle and thatch.
The God stood atop a barren hilltop. His foes on the city walls had a good view of his otherworldly glory. Dakar stood ten feet tall, a bestial vision of horror, halfway between a black-furred satyr and a big hairy bug. His black horns grew back and curved, with sharp talons at the end of thick fingers. He well understood he was a vision out of nightmare for humans.
“You have shattered their will to fight, Divine Master,” High Priest Mogens said, grinning wolfishly as their magically enslaved host poured over the remnants of Treversax’s defenses. The huge blonde Thanir brigand was one of the first humans Dakar had encountered, and the fiercest fighter, too. And his domineering presence had a cowing effect upon other men that Dakar had used to good measure. “Your divine dominion spreads unchecked. Soon, You will be the only God!”
Dakar’s hands curled tightly into fists at the thought. Finally, He, and He alone, would rule this pathetic world! He would not have to share power with His fellows. And those haughty Arisen would grovel at His feet, His immortal slaves for all eternity. But for now He had to be cautious. He knew only too well that certain factions of the Arisens were trying to use His appearance to secure greater power for Themselves, and that was the only thing keeping the Arisen Gods from attacking with all Their considerable fury.
Play your petty games of power, He thought, His smile growing wider and crueler. Give me the time I need, and I’ll see that all of you get what you deserve!
Aloud, He commanded, “Attend me, High Priest!”
At ten feet tall, Dakar’s stride ate up ground at a remarkable rate. Few could pace the God with the ease that Mogens did, for the High Priest stood a good seven feet himself. His stature, along with his fierce, deep-seated hatred for everyone and the world they lived upon, made him the perfect High Priest for the conquest of a world.
“The greatest temple in the city is dedicated to Kamain, Divine Master,” High Priest Mogens said as they marched over the dead and dying littering the ground. “The temple is in the center of the city, across from the king’s castle. Am I correct in assuming that You will take that temple as your home here in Treversax?”
“You are,” He said. “Have it prepared for My arrival. I will survey the city while the temple is consecrated to Me. Send what priests you need.”
Chapter 4
Nizar al-Sayyid snarled at the wild press about him. The fools! There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He was a thief, and understood that only too well. Never in his thirty-two years had he found himself in such a hopeless situation. And it looked as if he’d never have a chance to find himself in any situation after tonight was over.
I was a fool to leave the desert! he cried in silent rage.
Nizar hated the southern forest lands, and their Leltic masters. True, they were far easier to steal from than his native Tamerans. Compared to Tamerans and other desert folk, Lelts were childlike in their trust of everyone. He was growing rich in his late night, stealthy plunder of the city’s nobles and merchants.
I should’ve left yesterday, he thought. But no, I knew I had one more day to steal and loot these fools. Taliope, why have you deserted me!
The Goddess of Chance had nothing to say.
Ducking into a dark alley, he leaned against a wall and rested as he watched the terrified citizenry hurry past on the street. His dark clothes, mostly dark blues and greens, complete with turban and veil, were heavily laden with his looted gold and silver, all sewn into the garments for safekeeping from other greedy hands.
“Gods, the indignity of dying in such a foul place,” he snarled. He shivered, as much from the chill of the air as the situation. Never had he felt such cold. And the southern sun was colder than in his equatorial homeland, so even in the heat of summer it was too cold. “I should have known such a cold, dim land was cursed.”
The worst part, by dying he would never achieve his ultimate goal, his destiny. He would never be able to put his arrogant half-brothers in their place, preferably deep in his dungeons and under the pitiless care of the royal torturers. He would never be able to repay his father, Sultan Asafu, for refusing to acknowledge Nizar as a cherished son and heir, naming him bastard instead.
The shame and betrayal still tormented Nizar. It had eventually killed his mother, for the Sultan’s refusal had branded her a harlot. Her family had disowned her for “her” indiscretion, casting her out for the human wolves to prey upon. She was forced into prostitution to support herself and her son, adding another shame for him to bear. Nizar had grown up to join the pack, more out of self-preservation than any love of it or its membership.
The Tameran royal family had so much to pay for, and the Gods were determined to see to it he never had the chance to exact that payment. It was the bitterest betrayal of all, for all he had left was his faith in the Gods and his destiny. That faith now lay in ashes.
“What is that?” he cried, staring up and around with big eyes.
The night-shrouded alley grew suddenly darker. The screams of the street intensified. What people he could see seemed more frantic. Other men and women chased and caught them, dragging them to small clumps of prisoners. Their cries to the Gods went unanswered as grey-robed priests cast about with foul magicks, bringing all they touched to an eerie silence, making Nizar’s hackles rise. None were spared, not even the smallest of children.
A man turned into the alley. Nizar turned to run, only to find three more shadowy shapes coming his way from the other direction.
Trapped!
The building he had leaned against was dressed stone. Impossible for him to climb. But the opposite structure was a crumbling wattle and daub inn. With a little luck...
“Taliope, save me!” Nizar cried, launching himself at the inn.
Leaping high, he caught hold of one of the thick oaken cross-members. Fingers clawed and scraped for purchase, barely hanging on. He ignored the pain of torn nails and tortured skin, intent only on escape. The men chasing him watched dumbly, silently, as if they didn’t care one way or another if he escaped.
“My greed is going to kill me yet,” he grumbled as he clawed his way to the thatch roof. The weight of his loot was almost too much for him to carry, but he despised the thought of escaping without it. And it would be so simple to shed the robes of a desert nomad, now so heavily-laden with lo
ot. Then he turned a wry grin to the silent heavens as he reached the steep roof, “At least I’ll die rich, if not powerful. More than my dear half-brothers thought possible.”
A glance downward showed a score or more of the invaders had joined the men looking up at him. Strangely, he felt a bit embarrassed to be the center of attention, and such unwanted attention, too. A thief’s life depended more on his ability to stay unnoticed than any innate skill at larceny. Deep down, his ego saw it as a last insult, another failure he had no power over.
Then the God arrived.
That ended all thoughts of personal shame and failure. Never had Nizar seen such a creature. Never had he dreamed such a monster could exist.
Dakar looked more beast than man. Towering a good head and half above the crowd, the God was covered with thick, black fur. He had the lower body of a goat, and long ram horns framing his fierce black face.
“Glorious,” Nizar hissed, unable to tear his eyes away. Dakar’s aura of unholy menace swept over him, staggered him and threatening to dislodge him from his perch. “Such power! A God indeed!”
His shout caught the attention of Dakar. Bright, burning red eyes turned up to him. Nizar felt giddy. A part of him cried out to run, but awe left him rooted in place. A God. A real God. Never had he dreamed of ever seeing a true God.
A tall man attended Dakar, wearing plain gray robes and carrying an ornate walking stick with runes carved all over it. Though hooded, he saw a long blonde beard and a thick blonde mustache. The eyes that turned to regard him were as cold and blue as the winter sky.
A snarl suddenly claimed the God’s face. Nizar panicked. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t allow himself to die.
“My God!” Nizar called. “You are truly glorious to look upon! I beg You, allow me to serve You!”
“Serve me?” Dakar said, bemusement in his voice. “What do you have that I can’t just take?”
“My free will,” Nizar said, waving a hand at the lifeless figures of Dakar’s army and prisoners. “And all my skills to do Your divine will.”
“A desperate man, Divine Master,” the priest said contemptuously. His suddenly fierce eyes bore into Nizar with undisguised scorn. “Forget him. I will have his tongue ripped out for daring to address You unbidden.”
Nizar felt all hope crushed. The big man was obviously someone of import to the God, and almost as frightening to look upon.
“And what skills do you offer?” Dakar asked.
Nizar felt a thrill rush through his body. The God was considering his offer! He might survive after all. And if he did live, could he find some way to visit ruin upon his own father and half-brothers? Might he gain the throne of Tamera for himself?
“I am prince-born, Great One! I would serve you well in the conquest You seek,” he said. “I know people, above all else. My knowledge of the lands north of here alone is worth ten thousand slaves.”
Dakar was silent a long moment, studying him in ways Nizar could only guess at. Could the God read his thoughts? Did He know what Nizar wanted above all else? Did Dakar care what some mortal wanted, or needed? But more importantly, what did Dakar need that Nizar could supply?
The man with Dakar kept silent, though obviously displeased. Nizar understood that, for Dakar didn’t appear to be a master one angered. One never questioned the will of the Gods.
“Show Me your face, mortal,” Dakar said, striking Nizar’s soul to the core.
To be so publicly shamed! Everyone would see! His face, and mouth, would be exposed to the world. It was...was...obscene! But, it was a lord’s right to see his subjects’ faces. Just as it was a man’s right to see the naked faces of his wives and children. Nizar just wished the God hadn’t asked in such a public place.
“As you wish, Great One,” Nizar said, reaching for the pin that attached the thick linen veil to his turban. Removing the veil and revealing his fierce, hawklike face, Nizar said, “Great One, I am yours.”
Dakar’s eyes flashed fiery red.
“I see much evil in you, mortal,” He said. “I accept your offer of service. Attend me.”
Chapter 5
A cool southerly breeze washed over the teeming mass of people as they approached Kestsax’s south gate, called the Three Temples Gate, with the promise of an early winter. The first leaves were turning red and gold in the surrounding hardwoods. And the air was heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and sausage.
Tane felt his heart quicken at the sight of the great whitewashed walls and gatehouse. It was only his fifth trip to Kestsax. Previous trips with his family had been thrilling, with new sights and peoples to discover and experience each time. It had been in Kestsax that he first saw dwarves and elves. The only dragon he’d ever seen, a yearling, was the pride of the city zoo three years back. And now he was coming to Kestsax to live, maybe for several years, giving him lots of time to explore the city and its various districts in depth.
Traffic entering the city moved exceedingly slow. He could see the problem. A large contingent of guards stopped everyone at length.
What are they so worried about? he wondered, looking to the western horizon. They better not close the gates for the night before I get inside.
The sun already touched the western horizon, so traffic should by all rights be mostly people leaving the city. Tane had yet to see anyone coming out of Three Temples Gate. Most of the people on the road with him appeared to be either soldiers or refugees. Not a good omen. So Tane turned his attention to various other groups before and behind him.
Did I make a mistake? he thought. Tane looked south, at the moment looking dark, cloudy, and foreboding. He glanced up to the heavens. Should I go home?
The Gods didn’t answer.
He could see three distinct mercenary companies on the road. The one nearest the gate was a light cavalry troop of mercenaries in dark red and blue leathers. All wore sabers, open-faced helmets, and light chain vests. Powerful Steppe bows waited in cases under the mercenaries’ knees, with at least two quivers of red-shafted, blue-fetched arrows hanging off each saddle. Round shields were hung off their saddles, readily at hand.
Skirmishers and scouts, he thought, recalling the stories of wars and battles his uncle and aunt told.
Behind them was a caravan of Leltic merchants with twenty covered wagons, followed by a company of Tyrian foot soldiers. The Tyrians were something of a disappointment, for they were quiet and subdued for that lot. Most looked to be armed and armored better than average for mercenaries, with quilted mail gambesons and great swords or battle-axes being the most common. Otherwise, the men were typical of Tyrians, with the shortest looking to be a good hand taller than Tane. All wore long unkempt beards.
Behind Tane by a hundred paces was a small company of Leltic tribesmen. Compared to the other men and women on the road, mostly wearing somber browns, greens, and blues, they were quite distinctive in their red and yellow striped trousers and tattooed upper bodies and faces. All wore their long hair pulled up in a topknot, while the men all had bushy mustaches. None that he could see had body armor, with only a handful carrying shields. Most carried long-handled battle-axes, and all had small throwing axes hanging off their wide, red-dyed belts.
But the mercenaries held little appeal for Tane. Not ten paces ahead of him rode a pair of Vikon, male and female. And they were putting on quite a show by arguing, rather loudly, over whose stupid idea it was to enter Kestsax instead of bypassing it.
The Vikon were the most renowned practitioners of Witchcraft, providing most of the common folks with birth control spells, simple healing, and fortune-telling. Anything magical not requiring powerful Sorcery, the Vikon excelled at. Well, the women anyway. Male Vikon were only trained to be warriors.
“Don’t look at me like that,” the redheaded witch snapped, ice-blue eyes narrowing at the male. “I wanted to find a ferry over the river. You’re the one that wanted to come to Kestsax.”
“There are no other ferry sites!” he cried. “Get it thr
ough your thick skull, woman.”
Tane grinned. They had to be a married couple. No one else argued like that.
The line surged forward. Tane looked just in time to see the troop of light cavalry vanishing into the gate. City Guardsmen stopped the merchant caravan from entering. Strangely, they were forced to wait an unusually long time before the caravan, and then the company of Tyrians was allowed to enter. It quickly became apparent that the guards only allowed small groups in at a time, up to company size. It was a good hour before Tane stood within the lengthening shadows of the towering gatehouse.
“What’s the hold up, sergeant?” Tane asked the burly woman in charge of the guards, hoping to gain some insight before he was allowed inside. “Is there any danger we should know of?”
She gave him an unreadable look for several heartbeats, her hard brown eyes boring deeper and deeper. Her blue warrior tattoos, deep within the shadows of her iron helmet, made her the fiercest looking person he had ever encountered. Tane felt himself blush under her scrutiny. He was sorry he asked, and wished she’d just forget him and go bother someone else.
“We’re at war, boy,” the sergeant said. “Breathing in these parts is dangerous now.”
“Next group, Sergeant Kaleigh!” a voice called from inside.
“Aye, sir!” Sergeant Kaleigh shouted back as she turned amused eyes on Tane. “Well, boy, guess you get to find out what all the fuss is about.” She grabbed his shoulder, and shoved him toward the gate. Other guards closed on him, all forcing him to hurry through the yawning portal. “Move it, people! No more than one hundred at a time, mind you! Corporal Rees, stop them at that Leltic company, ya hear?”
Tane was pushed forward by the press of the peasants and travelers eager to enter. The gate guards urged them on, then followed after a ways, until more guards took them up. Tane, near the head of the group, was rushed on by waving guards through the twisting, tunnel-like gate until he emerged into an open square.
Belly of the Beast Page 2
