Belly of the Beast

by Warren Thomas

  Chapter 15

  The temple was deserted, save for Dakar and High Priest Mogens waiting on the dais before the altar. Nizar glanced about nervously, feeling trapped. Why had he been summoned? Hadn’t he captured more territory and people than anyone else?

  Seeing the icy look the High Priest sent him made Nizar even more nervous. Both understood each other, all too well. They shared the same ambition, to be the High Priest of Dakar. When the God returned to His Holy Realm in victory, the reigning High Priest would be left behind to rule the entire world in His name. Who wouldn’t want that power for himself?

  What poison have you filled Dakar’s ears with, bastard, Nizar thought, careful to keep the burning hatred off his face.

  Still, Nizar wondered if Dakar could read his mind. An Arisen could read the minds of a devotee at anytime, anyplace. But Dakar remained too weak to surrender the avatar and return His full consciousness to His Heavenly Realm and maintain His magical link with His priesthood. In effect, He wasn’t any more powerful than an Arch Wizard or High Priest, though back in His Realm His strength and vitality grew with each sacrifice, new priest, and new altar. But, if Nizar remembered correctly, Dakar was as powerful as any God could be within the Mortal Realm. Their true power rested within Their personal Realms.

  “Divine Master, I came as soon as I received Your summons,” Nizar said, prostrating himself before Dakar. “How may I serve You, Divine Master?”

  “You have served Me well, Brother Nizar,” Dakar said. “Rise and be welcome.”

  Nizar’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t in trouble. Just the opposite, in fact. Was he to be rewarded? Promoted? High Priest Nizar, maybe with his own city to rule? His own region? Someone had to stay behind and watch over Dakar’s conquests.

  “I live to serve, Divine Master,” he said after regaining his feet. “My only desire is to find new and better ways to serve You, to please You even more.”

  “That attitude will serve you well,” Dakar said, nodding His approval. “Serve Me well, and all possibilities are within your grasp, even your fondest dreams.”

  Nizar’s mouth went dry, his heart hammering, at the vision of his bastard of a father and insufferable half-brothers humbled and groveling before him. Vengeance would be so sweet! He would rule the Desert Kingdoms from his father’s throne. Maybe, he would rule the world!

  “It swells my heart with joy to know my humble efforts have pleased You, Divine Master,” Nizar said, noting Mogens scowl.

  The Thanir was a threat, of that Nizar had no doubt. How great a threat remained to be seen, but he silently vowed to keep his guard up around the blonde giant. Mogens alone had around the clock access to their God, and his words were the first Dakar considered.

  “I have called you here for two reasons. First, you are My most resourceful commander. Second, it was you who discover the threat to Myself,” Dakar said. “It is that threat I wish to discuss here tonight.”

  “If there is a threat to Yourself, Divine Master, then send me to squash it!” Nizar cried. “I will not rest until You are safe.”

  Dakar’s fiery red eyes flashed even brighter at Nizar’s words, and the ardor in which he spoke them. Nizar knew he was on the right track. Tracking down and killing the threat was something his God would be eternally grateful for, and equally generous to the man who served Him so well.

  High Priest Nizar, Sultan of the World, he thought. All my dreams, and more, waiting only for me to reach out and seize them.

  Dakar spoke, breaking into Nizar’s reverie, “You are to leave immediately. Go north, to Kestsax. There you will find a young swordsmith by the name of Tane Kyleson.”

  “You want him dead,” Nizar said, believing it a statement of fact, not a question.

  “No. He is more valuable alive than dead,” High Priest Mogens said. “Our Divine Master has determined that the lad has been given the talent to forge Rune Swords, Swords of Power, that are capable of killing Gods!”

  The statement sent Nizar’s mind to reeling. Kill Gods! But They were immortal! Surely that meant They couldn’t be killed. But if the High Priest was correct, the swordsmith posed a very real threat to Dakar, and Nizar’s own plans for the future. This Tane Kyleson had to be stopped.

  “But why not just kill him, and end the threat forever?” Nizar said.

  “Because any blade that will kill Me, will kill Arisen Gods as well,” Dakar said, eyes flashing. “Captured, he can be forced to forge Swords of Power for Me. With an army armed with those holy swords, we can storm the Arisen in their very Realms and vanquish Them!”

  Yes! Nizar thought, face exultant. I can even punish the Gods for what They did to me! They will rue the day They turned Their backs on me!

  “My God,” Nizar said, eyes blazing, “Tane Kyleson is as good as yours.”

  Chapter 16

  Loss. Terrible, terrible loss struck Tane like a hammer blow. Hot tears flowed across hotter cheeks. And he turned back to the anvil, fist tightening on the hammer, and returned to hammering. Hammering on the sword. The heat off the forge fire scorched his face; sparks blistered his hands and arms. He kept hammering, feeling the soul-rending loss and that oppressive threat that never went away.

  It would never end. The sun would never shine. All was lost, if he didn’t finish, and quickly. Tane cried in fear, pain and loss, and kept hammering at the glowing steel. The sound rang in his ears, demanding and painful.

  Then a different crashing sound from the near distance came to him, with a different urgency. He had arrived. Huge and hideous, though Tane couldn’t see Him. Not yet. And he didn’t want to, but knew he couldn’t stop it. That terrible God of evil was coming for Tane. Coming to stop him, for once and all time.

  He was coming to damn Tane’s soul forever.

  Tane sat up, and smacked his head.

  “Damn me for a fool,” he whispered, seeing that it was still dark and quiet. Rubbing his sore head, he vowed to take an upper bunk at the first opportunity.

  Stumbling out of bed, his face hit something soft and warm. Squinting in the dark, he realized it was Raven’s arm hanging over the side. She was sleeping on her stomach with her face at the edge of the bunk. Everard lay atop her, face snuggled deep within her thick black mane, one leg and arm thrown across her possessively. To see him with her sickened Tane, for no good reason he could fathom.

  Tane studied her face a moment, marveling at how innocent and beautiful it was. Never had he ever even dreamed of a woman so beautiful, so desirable. Until she had arrived, he hadn’t realized a woman could be so beautiful, or so deadly. Of course, Quinn swore Raven wasn’t any deadlier than anyone else, that it was just the combination of incredible beauty coupled with her viciously intense fighting style that made her seem so lethal.

  Tane wasn’t sure. He wasn’t a warrior, and never really wanted to be one. He just knew he was glad Raven was on his side, in his squad. Though a lot of good that did him, for he was common-born smith and Raven was warrior-born.

  He grinned suddenly in the dark, thinking, It would probably kill Ma if I took her hand in marriage anyway, what with Ma’s fear of wild Tyrians.

  His eyes dropped to her hanging hand when it suddenly clenched, as if holding a sword, then relaxed. Her hands, which he hadn’t noticed before, looked just as beautiful as her face, despite the blisters of hard training. Beautiful hands, with long delicate fingers. Not hard warrior's hands, or even harder peasant hands, but the soft white hands of a lady. Yet, she had killed before. Of that he was certain, and she made no attempt to hide the fact. Indeed, she seemed quite proud of it. But there was a compelling softness in her, too.

  Or is it just the fantasy in my head, he wondered. Is it just what I want her to be?

  Suddenly scared, Tane glanced quickly at her face, then at Everard. They were sound asleep. His heart started hammering at what he desired to do, planned to do. But why? He wasn’t going to molest her? Just touch her hand, to see if it truly was a soft as it looked. No harm. Nothing sin
ister.

  Holding his breath, Tane reached out and tenderly stroked the back of her hand with the back of his index finger. It was silky soft and warm. He stroked it again, just as tenderly as before. Then after a last look to ensure she was still asleep, he bent and gently kissed it.

  Pulling back, he glanced up to find her one visible eye open and staring at him. No emotion owned her face, but Tane found himself dumbstruck and frozen in place. Then her eye snapped closed. He waited another dozen hammering heartbeats, but she remained asleep.

  Face burning and heart thundering in his ears, Tane stumbled to the chamber pots and squatted over one, wallowing in his humiliation. What a story she would tell come morning! Everyone would be laughing at him for the next week. The next month!

  Chapter 17

  Morning came too soon for Tane. He was instantly alert, but frozen in bed. What would Raven say? Would she start into him right away? Or would she wait? And what would she throw at him? Scorn? Contempt? Outrage?

  Or would she just laugh?

  Her Tyrian lover dropped to the floor and staggered away, followed down by Raven. She made straight for the chamber pots without even glancing Tane’s way. Tane began to think that she hadn’t seen anything. Maybe her eye had just opened. Stranger things have happened. When he was a young boy he had walked and talked in his sleep, or so his parents said. They claimed he could even hold a simple conversation while sleepwalking.

  Encouraged by those thoughts, Tane mustered the courage to roll out of bed and get dressed. By the time he started making his bunk, Raven returned and stood by watching him. He could barely breathe with her so close, and so brazenly naked. Gods, he wished with all his heart she would get dressed and spare him such torment.

  She cocked her head as she studied him, and then glanced down at her hands. A smile tugged at her lips. Tane fought to keep his hands from shaking. Then, with a mischievous smile, she reached out and softly stroked Tane’s face.

  Tane thought he would die.

  “I’ll help you make your bunk every morning, if you’ll help me make mine.”

  The offer startled Tane, so all he could do was stammer agreement. She nodded and moved in to help him. They quickly finished his bunk, and did hers. Then fearing further conversation, and where that might lead, Tane hurried over to start cleaning up. The other men were all shaving. They professed envy of him, though Tane felt his lack of a beard just another reminder that he was the youngest and most unworthy.

  Raven was a woman, with no use for a mere boy. Even though she appeared about the same age as himself, Tane knew a vast gulf separated them in terms of experience.

  “Why so glum?” Quinn asked, pausing with two reeking chamber pots cradled in his arms.

  “Is it the nightmares you’re having?” Joelle said, coming up behind him.

  “You know about the nightmares?”

  “Everyone does,” Quinn said. “You thrash about at times. Very annoying to light sleepers like me and Raven.”

  “You and Raven?”

  “What about me?” Raven said, joining them.

  “We’re talking about Tane’s nightmares,” Joelle said.

  “Oh yeah,” Raven said. “I thought he had a woman down there once last night. My bunk was really shaking, and I heard strange sounds. Then I saw Quinn walk over and check on him.”

  “I thought about waking him,” Quinn said. “But Raven told me that dreams sometimes are sent by the Gods to help guide Their devotees through hard times. I did not wish to interfere with any divine communication, so let him be.”

  “Well?” Joelle said, turning frank eyes on Tane. “Was it?”

  Tane felt all their eyes on him. He felt flushed, and feared he was shaming himself before these proven warriors. Surely he would never earn their respect now.

  “It was just a nightmare, that’s all,” Tane said. “I have it all the time.”

  “The same dream?” Raven asked, stepping closer and looking at him with concern.

  “Yes. Why?”

  She and Joelle shared a long look that did nothing for Tane’s already frayed nerves. The village priest back in his home village of Bracklin hadn’t been concerned with the dreams. The priest said it was possible that it was Kamain’s way of telling him to go to Kestsax and make swords for the king. Now he was in Kestsax, and serving the king, but had no prospect of even seeing a forge, much less of working as a swordsmith. Was Kamain trying to tell him something? Was Kamain punishing him for failing?

  “Tell me the dream,” Raven said.

  Tane found it difficult to put into words. Mostly it was just feelings he had, of fear, dread and now soul-numbing loss. Raven seemed to think the forge of supernatural heat significant, though couldn’t explain it.

  “I’ll pray for you tonight,” she said. “Maybe Ashtar will come to me, and I can ask what is happening to you.”

  “You can speak with your Goddess?” Quinn said, doubt written all over his face. “Face to face? You’ve done it before?”

  “A couple of times,” Raven said, shrugging. “Not as often as I’d like. But the Gods don’t wait on us, we wait on Them. If Ashtar has anything to say to me personally, She will manifest Herself during my prayers.”

  Tane just stared at her open-mouthed. Kamain had never manifested before him. The village priest didn’t even claim to have spoken to his Goddess one-on-one, or any other God for that matter. Of course, he wasn’t a Kamainite like Tane, but a priest of Laures, Queen of the Arisen Gods and Goddess of Hearth and Harvest. Most of Bracklin’s residents were peasant farmers, with a small fishing population. But Father Niall was the only priest available, so served all the Gods to the best of his ability.

  “You’re a priestess of Ashtar. I’d forgotten,” Tane said.

  Raven dismissed that statement with an annoyed wave.

  “I never took my final vows to become a priestess,” she said. “I’m only a bloody acolyte of Ashtar. I wish people would stop calling me a priestess. I haven’t earned the right to that honor.”

  Even so, Tane was suitably impressed. Acolytes were permitted to perform certain fundamental rites and services, and frequently were the only servants of the Gods available in small villages. The only thing to separate Raven from a full priest was a single vow.

  “Tell me, if it’s not personal, but why haven’t you asked the Temple of Ashtar for protection?” Quinn said. “I’m sure they would take you in, and even the king wouldn’t object.”

  Raven’s response was loud and angry.

  “I tried. The High Priest accused me of being afraid to fight! The fat bastard! He told me to stop whining, and fight like an Ashtarite,” she growled, her eyes growing so dangerous that Tane and Armin backed away a step. “In fact, he said he’d volunteered all the local priests, monks, and nuns of Ashtar for manning the walls.” Her eyes flashed in anger, then cooled suddenly, reminding Tane just how volatile and dangerous Tyrians were. “Oh well, I guess it’ll be more fun marching to my death than waiting for it to claw its way up to me atop high walls. I hate waiting more than anything.”

  Tane smiled at her bit of bravado, but he could see the priest’s words had stung her deeply. She was a proud woman, and couldn’t stand to know someone as important to her as a High Priest of her beloved Goddess thought so little of her. Knowing Raven, she’d probably kill twice as many as everyone else just to prove her mettle to him.

  “What does Ashtar say about the zombies?” Quinn said. When Raven turned curious eyes his way, he said, “I saw you get up at midnight and go outside. I was curious, so followed. I saw you kneel and pray.”

  Raven nodded. “Ashtar said nothing. I wasn’t really expecting Her to come to me. It rarely happens outside of a temple.”

  “Why bother then?” Quinn said. “My Goddess, the Sweet Mother, and creator of all there is and ever will be, does not demand such subservience by Her devotees.”

  “The Sweet Mother isn’t a real – ”

  “Raven!” Tane interrupted, fe
aring a nasty religious fight was brewing. “Could you give me some religious instruction after the duty day is over? I haven’t prayed since before leaving home, and I feel I need priestly intervention since it’s been so long.”

  Raven and Quinn glared at each other a long moment. Tane noticed all the others in the bay, including Corporal Disa watching from her doorway, had looks of anticipation gleaming in their eyes. He prayed they didn’t get the fight they so wanted, and vowed to do whatever necessary to avoid it.

  “I’ll be glad to,” Raven said at length, slanting a speculative look at Tane.

  After she wandered off, Tane turned to Quinn and said, “Don’t take offense, my friend. You know how priestesses and such are about their Gods. Very prickly.”

  “It was unwise of me to bring it up,” Quinn said, though his eyes still bore into Raven’s back. “I should’ve known better. Humans do not understand the true nature of their Gods, or of the universe.”

  Tane and the two Vikon silently watched Quinn march out with the chamber pots in hand. Joelle and Armin shook their heads and shared a knowing look.

  “Elves think they know everything,” Armin said.

  “He isn’t an elf,” Raven said, startling Tane at her sudden return. He idly wondered how she moved so quietly in the heavy, unwieldy boots the army forced them to wear. Only Quinn moved quieter. “He’s only half-elf. Big difference.”

  “You’re crazy,” Armin said.

  “What makes you think him only half-elf?” Joelle asked.

  Raven gave them all a stern look, as if they were all recalcitrant children. “He shaves.”

  “Are you saying elves don’t shave?” Tane said, confused. “I’ve never seen a bearded elf, so they must shave.” Of course, he thought, I can count the number of elves I’ve seen on one hand, and two of them were women.

  “Elves don’t grow beards. That’s a human trait,” Joelle said. “I’d forgotten. Raven’s right, he has to be at least part human to shave.”