Artus took hold of Preeya by the face and pulled her in for a clumsy kiss. He felt sudden tears running down her cheeks, soaking his own skin, and he shook his head.
“No. Not for all the money in the world.” he whispered. “Not for all the money in the world.”
Preeya kissed him back. Leaning him against the bed, she took hold of the frame and allowed him to find his way inside her again. She rode him like that, brisk thrusts fuelled by a passion she never knew she possessed. Preeya did not object to Artus tasting whatever part of her he wanted, each kiss a solid promise that he was not going to give her up. She was afraid and Artus knew it.
“Promise me again, Artus.” Preeya begged between breaths.
“I promise – I swear on my life – I won’t let Kanra take you.” he replied.
He held her firmly in his arms as though afraid Kanra would find them any minute now and steal Preeya away. He and Troian had failed the other priestesses, he knew that, but did not want to admit it to the young woman. But Kanra had not yet found Preeya and when he did, Artus was not going to go down without a fight. If there was one thing he appreciated most about Preeya, it was her ability to not press harsh judgements against him, the things he had done and likely would do.
Not for all the money in the world, Artus thought to himself as he moved against her still. Not for all the money in the world.
41 –
Kanra
The grand hall of Kanra’s castle was deathly still and so silent, everyone present could hear the rustling of the dictator’s black gown as he shuffled impatiently on his throne at the far end. He had been waiting far too long for the Khaishee Mercenaries to return.
Guards and slaves alike stood lining the hall. No one moved. No one spoke. The sound of the soldiers’ breathing was only heightened by their metal snouts of their dragon head helmets. They looked terrifying even when they stood and did nothing. That was the point. And their black full plated armour, covered in scales and with talons protruding from the knuckles, did nothing to help make them look more approachable.
Kanra had built his realm off of the fear of those he ruled with an iron fist. He wanted those trapped within his castle to be afraid whichever way they went. Still, the dictator sat in silence, waiting. He continued to shuffle around like an impatient child.
Then there came the sound of chains clanging in the distance, near enough a dozen muffled cries ringing out afterwards. They were here! The Khaishee Mercenaries had returned and with them, the priestesses Kanra needed desperately.
Silence. Then a clank again, followed by another cry.
The doors to the castle were hauled open and that proud fool, Kholo, entered first; leading his men and an entire host of young women to where the dictator of Vhorgo sat. Kanra leaned forward in his seat. He watched with wide eyes and in delight.
The young women being escorted into the hall all wept. Their cries were muffled by the gags shoved into their mouths and their hands trembled as they were bound together at the wrists.
“Ah, welcome. Welcome!” he called out. As the women were brought to face him, Kanra leapt from his seat and clasped his hands together. “Oh, thank my gods! I thank them for this blessing.”
Kholo pulled the khaki scarf he had been wearing around the bottom half of his face down, so his words were not muffled when he spoke.
“You can thank me and my men, not your gods. We’d made the effort to travel all the way; the journey took longer than we’d hoped. These damn women,”
Kanra approached the Captain of the Mercenaries and took hold of him, a hand on either side of his face. He made sure the tips of his nails dug into Kholo’s skin a little. “You mean to tell me a group of women made it difficult for you to do your job?” he asked. His words were slow and mocking.
Kholo stared at the dictator with hate in his eyes. As though he had dared to suggest he and his men were inadequate for the job? Had they not just delivered the women to him? He eventually shook his head as best as he could in Kanra’s steel grip.
The demon dictator shoved him away as he let go of his face. He approached the women with his arms open. It was not meant to be a warm, welcoming gesture; he held them there in thought and looked to the eldest of the women. He ventured close enough to run his sharp nails down the old woman’s face, making her shudder and cry out behind her gag. “You must be in charge of the convent. I always like to sacrifice the eldest priestesses first.”
At the mention of a sacrifice, all the priestesses began to scream in unison and look around the hall for a way out – the doors were not an option, with all the soldiers who had appeared to guard it.
Kanra roared at them to be quiet. He needed silence as he counted the women up. His finger stopped at the final priestess and he felt his mouth twitch at the horrible realisation. Kanra turned slowly to look at Kholo.
“Eleven?” he asked him.
Kholo hardly heard the dictator speak. Resting his hand upon the hilt of his sword, he shook his head and took a step closer.
“What?” he asked in turn.
Kanra began to panic. He retreated a few steps and began raising and dropping his arms to his side again. Tugging at his thick black beard, he began to mutter indecipherable words to himself.
“What? What’s the problem?” Kholo asked again. He was feeling irritated now.
Kanra turned on him and struck Kholo hard across the face with the back of his hand. The hit was strong enough to send the Khaishee Captain sprawling to the floor. The sound of Kholo hitting the stone had his men drawing their weapons defensively.
“What the fuck?” he asked. Kholo sat himself up and pinched his bleeding nose; his fingers sticky from the blood. When he looked up at Kanra, he found the dictator seething.
“Eleven priestesses?” Kanra roared. His fists trembled by his side, he was that furious. “I’d specifically asked for twelve!”
Kholo found his feet and raised his arms to his side. “There were only eleven when we arrived – the head of the convent included.” he snapped.
Kanra turned to look back at the women again. He approached the oldest, whom he knew was the head of the convent, and removed the gag from her mouth.
The old woman yelped in pain as Kanra took hold of her by the face. His nails dug into her skin and she only cried out some more.
“Where is the final priestess?” he asked her. For now, his temper was in check. One wrong answer from the old woman and she would witness the true extent of his rage.
The old priestess said nothing, prompting Kanra to squeeze her face tighter. “I don’t know! Have mercy on the girls, please. Have mercy on them.”
Kanra ignored her pleas. “Check their wrists. Do they have markings on their wrists – a moon and sun?” he ordered his men. The sound of metal body plates clinking was sign enough that his order was being carried out with great urgency, all whilst Kanra stood with his face in his hands. He wanted to weep and beg his gods for mercy – he had failed them! He needed twelve priestesses.
“Moon and sun? Yes.” one guard confirmed. His voice was deep and hoarse, just about decipherable through his black dragon head helmet.
Kanra looked at the women again and tried to compose himself. He was furious, he wanted to kill these damned mercenaries here and now for having failed him.
“Take the women below. I need them in individual cells, should any of them get any ideas of escaping together. Be quick, my pets. This is a matter of urgency.” he ordered.
The priestesses shrieked again, as a dozen guards emerged from behind the pillars lining the hall, and they could do nothing as they were dragged away, to be locked up like animals before slaughter.
Kanra shifted his gaze slowly to where Kholo stood. He approached him with his hands clasped together against his chest.
“I believe our business is done here.” Kholo said to the dictator. He wiped the remaining blood from his nose and sniffed at any which may have caught in his nose hairs.
Kanra fla
shed him his teeth. It was not a friendly smile. “Oh, yes. We are done here. You may have brought me eleven priestesses but, I’d asked for twelve. I cannot fully complete the sacrifice with one girl missing.” he tucked a hand behind his back and placed the other over Kholo’s shoulder. He led the Captain towards the castle doors.
All the while, another dozen men or more in black uniforms watched the interaction from behind the pillars. They stood polishing the tips of their spears with a cloth soaked in something; whatever it was, none of the mercenaries knew.
Kholo was growing reckless from his nerves. He hid them well, for he did not care what Kanra’s men were doing. The contract was completed. He and his men wanted to go home with pockets heavy with money. That was what he had agreed on with the Dictator of Vhorgo.
“We’ve brought you all the priestesses that were there. Pay us our dues and we’ll leave this place in peace.” Oh, so it was only now that Kholo was beginning to notice something disturbing about the Dictator of Vhorgo? The foolish man.
Kanra continued to lead the Captain to the door, despite the many guards still blocking it. “You understand now that, with all due respect, you have failed your contract. My goddess requires twelve priestesses for sacrifice, not ten or eleven. Do you understand?” he spoke slowly, enunciating every other word.
Kholo shoved the dictator’s hand off his shoulder. A very bold move. “Is this some kind of trick?” he asked. Kholo was unsure whether it was fear or rage boiling his blood. His hand was gripping the hilt of his sword so tight, his knuckles were starting to turn white. It felt damp in his hands.
Then there came the sound of a bolt clicking shut. It screeched as it was secured, like the cry of the very prisoners beneath Kanra’s castle. And as though on cue, two dozen guards in their dragon armour swarmed into the hall, with the tips of their spears glistening. They lowered their weapons before them and in one quick motion, they rammed a spear into the backs or necks of their mercenary-guests.
Kanra’s hand moved from his back, lighting swift, and he plunged a dagger into Kholo’s gut, whilst the Captain was too busy gaping at the doors and at the sudden outbreak of commotion. He shushed the mercenary, helping him down to his knees mockingly, as Kholo felt all strength flee from his legs. “There, there.” he whispered and shushed him still. Kanra stretched the mercenary out onto the floor, blood pumping from his wound as the Dictator pulled the knife out before he touched the ground. “If you can’t trust professionals to do their job properly, you have to trust in yourself instead.” Kanra brought the dirty blade up to his mouth and dragged his tongue over the metal. His nostrils flared and he let out a groan as the taste of Kholo’s blood filled his mouth and stained his teeth. He sucked some air in and threw the knife to the floor.
“Oh,” he cried out suddenly. Placing a hand on either side of his face, he shook his head gently and cried out again to himself, “Oh, my poor pet! Tell me Kadira has not fallen at the hands of those mercenary boys.” he ignored the puddle of blood now pooling at his feet. It soaked his boots and seeped through the ends of his thick, dark robe. He spoke to himself like that the entire journey to his chambers, wringing his hands together and ignoring the squelching of his blood-soaked shoes against the stone.
“Master?” a deep voice called out to him from behind.
Kanra gasped and flung himself around. There, before his very eyes, stood Kadira; partially intact. The Dictator rushed towards his brute of an assassin with arms outstretched. “My pet, you’re a sight. Did you bring me back the boy’s head? Or any other part of him, to prove he is dead? You should rest – ignore my questioning for now.”
Kadira pressed a hand firmly against his shoulder where he had been struck by Ariadna’s dagger. He had travelled in record time back to Vhorgo, half unconscious on his horse whilst his attackers sat in their inn getting drunk. He dropped to one knee, despite the pain he was in.
“I have failed you, Master. The boy is still alive but, not alone. He travels with his brother-in-arms and two women – they’re in Forta.” he replied.
Kanra gaped at the unexpected announcement. “Two women?” he asked. The Dictator was doing well at keeping his excitement at bay, for the last thing he wanted to do was get his hopes up too high.
Kadira managed a weak nod. “A silver haired assassin and a young priestess. She had the marking of a moon and sun on her wrist.”
Kanra helped him stand, and he patted him on the shoulder.
“Rest now, Kadira. You’ve done well, my pet. Tomorrow, we leave in pursuit of them, with a thousand men under our banner. We can’t let the priestess escape. And we can’t leave those boys or their assassin alive to protect her either.”
42 –
Ariadna
No one spoke that following day. Despite the early morning noise from guests already awake; cutlery clattering against plates and mugs clinking against each other, the table in the far corner of the inn where Ariadna and her companions sat was silent.
Ariadna sat back in her chair, arms crossed over and avoiding meeting Troian’s gaze entirely. Whilst Troian himself sat fiddling with his fork in silence. Preeya looked around the inn for nothing in particular, it was just to allow herself an opportunity to smile without being caught. She and Artus had managed to guess where the others had gone, when they arrived at the table this morning together, Troian still struggling to do up the belt of his breeches.
“So, I assume when you’d both said absolutely not to the idea of-” Artus began.
“Don’t finish that sentence.” Ariadna cut in, the corner of her mouth threatening to tip up. Neither she nor Troian were embarrassed about having slept with each other, it was just the expected teasing they had been loathing the entire time afterwards.
A serving wench approached them in a rush of silk. She carried a silver tray tucked beneath her arm and she gave her customers a well-practised smile as she asked,
“How may I be of service? Rum or cider for anyone, perhaps some wine instead?”
At the mention of alcohol, both Ariadna and Troian let out a series of moans and covered their ears, shaking their heads as they did.
“Water! Or milk, anything but alcohol.” Troian begged. His head still throbbed from the one too many rounds of wine, rum, cider and whatever else it was he and Ariadna had mixed together the night before. If it weren’t for the fact that they were both able to hold their drinks so well it was frightening, they would have been retching up their insides at this very moment, not sitting at the same table with only a throbbing headache and blanked memory of the night before.
The same wench returned with glasses of both milk and rose and honey infused water. “You’d stayed a night longer than you were booked in for. The cost of your stay will be higher,” she began.
Ariadna took up a glass of water and took a grateful gulp. Had they all really slept through an entire day? That was not good, no matter how much they had clearly needed it.
“Put it on my tab, I’ll handle it before we leave.” she replied and placed a silver coin in front of the woman; who then swiped it up and excused herself with her silver tray tucked beneath her arm again. She’d left some bread for them all too, to help soak up any excess alcohol within their bodies. The four of them tore a chunk off each and devoured the bread eagerly.
As she ate, Ariadna could not help but notice how Preeya’s skin was brighter, her eyes clearer and her cheeks rosier. When the young woman caught her gaze, they both shared a small smile and Ariadna was certain that Preeya had mouthed the words thank you to her. She simply sent a wink in her direction and leaned back in her seat again.
“I don’t even remember what had happened last night, let alone two nights ago. Were we that out from travelling that we’d slept through an entire day?” Troian asked behind a yawn.
“You’d had sex with me, so you must have enjoyed it.” Ariadna teased.
The table shared a laugh.
Ariadna finished chewing her bread. She waited a moment, conte
mplating whether Preeya would be too embarrassed to answer her question but, she eventually dared to ask her, anyway. “And you, Preeya?”
The young woman leaned forward and propped her elbows up onto the table. “What about me?” she purred.
Ariadna rolled her eyes at her but, she did it with a smile. She knew Preeya had been around her for too long now, seeing as the girl was starting to pick up her sarcastic behaviour.
“Was it all that you’d hoped for? How many times did you go for it? Twice?” Ariadna asked.
Neither Preeya nor Artus said anything
“Three times?” Ariadna tried again. She let out a laugh and looked at Troian, who in turn added in, “Gods, Artus. Were you trying to teach her all the tricks of the trade in one night?”
When Troian looked at Preeya, he laughed aloud as she pretended to wipe the corner of her mouth. Oh, she certainly had been around Ariadna for too long! Not that that was necessarily a bad thing.
A sudden commotion stirring up at the entrance of the inn had Ariadna looking up from her glass of water. Her eyes widened at the sight and she ducked her head a little, knowing it would not have made much of a difference in hiding her away from the new customers.
“Shit.” she whispered. “Oh, shit. Gods damn it.”
Preeya looked over her shoulder subtly. When she turned to face Ariadna again, she found the assassin had abandoned her drink and was now on her feet, straightening out her leather suit.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Ariadna held a hand up at her companions.
“Just wait here. I need to go and handle something.” tightening her silver hair in its band, she bore her usual stony expression and sauntered away from the table, grabbing the attention of a group of men; all in similar outfits to her but, with cloaks thrown over their shoulders. The men following after her did not seem to faze Ariadna in the slightest.
All the others could do was watch from a distance as the men continued to follow after Ariadna until her silver hair became lost in the crowd and she had slipped outside using the back door.
The Anari Page 19
