Scorpion

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Heavy fog was rolling inland from the sea, and Kendras heard some people mutter about the sea gods of death. From what little he knew of this faith, the color of the ocean hinted at which gods were most likely to hear prayers. And fog and dark gray were the signs of the gods of death. That alone didn’t have to be an omen, otherwise Kendras didn’t believe that the king would proceed so calmly.

  They walked toward the ship, the Glorious, which lay moored in the channel. Blue flowers and silk pieces were laid out to guide the way. A priest stood waiting, and the king paused in front of him and lowered his head so the priest could place a garland of blue flowers around his neck.

  Kendras had often seen people sacrifice blue flowers to the ocean. Or criminals condemned to die. If not for the officer, he’d have been among them. It made him queasy, and he usually wasn’t the superstitious sort. He simply didn’t like this. It had nothing to do with the gods or superstition. Maybe just an ill-timed memory.

  He glared at the priest, then followed the king up the gangplank. On deck, the high priest was already waiting, wearing gray robes that, Kendras assumed, had to do with the fog and the particular gods.

  “Welcome, anointed, chosen of the gods,” the high priest said and raised his hands in blessing, then addressed the pilgrims. A hush settled immediately. “The gods have sent us this king, and the gods demand that their beloved returns to them so they can assure him of their favor, and he can pay homage to those who have invested him with sacred powers.”

  Kendras pushed the words away, merely stood there, guarding the king’s back as if a dozen assassins were lurking. He spotted Steel standing to the side, a faint smile on his lips. The kind of expression that said that everything was going according to plan. Kendras didn’t particularly like that one, either.

  The ship was prepared while the high priest spoke, and then they were gliding down the canal toward the harbor and the river.

  The banks were lined with pilgrims; a few pushed through the throng of people to follow the ship. Kendras had never seen so many people in one place, not even in the battle for Fetin. And all of them stared at the ship with wide open eyes and mouths, struck dumb by the Glorious, the king, and the high priest.

  In the hazy light filtering through the fog, Kendras spotted a number of contraptions on the banks, like barrels and bundles of sticks. Servants stood next to each of those.

  The ship then anchored, and for a few moments, Kendras watched the fingers of fog drift over the calm sea. Then he heard the high priest again, chanting rather than speaking.

  Steel signaled the king, who, reluctantly, it seemed, walked toward the back of the ship. There, a platform hung suspended over the water. Steel nodded toward it, and the king stepped on it with an air of indulgent annoyance.

  Kendras hesitated, knowing that if he fell off that platform, the heavy armor would drown him. That would be a very easy way to kill the killer. He wondered if Steel would allow that to happen. If Steel had indeed shed his attraction and need, he might just be a dead man. If not….

  Kendras stepped on the platform and stood behind the king as the high priest came closer. The king opened his belt and the robe gaped open. The high priest smiled, oddly fondly, and poured oil into his hand, still chanting. He wrote something across the king’s chest in oil, then touched the king’s lips, cheeks, and forehead.

  “Fuck you,” the king said, barely more than a whisper.

  The high priest signaled, and the platform was lowered. Kendras caught the high priest gazing at him, and he nodded. Kendras nodded back and stepped into position. It would have to happen now, or very soon.

  The rope creaked as it was lowered, and the chanting and dancing on the riverbanks was reaching fever pitch. The gods would very soon take their groom.

  Kendras pulled the thin daggers from his gloves and inched a little closer, moving very carefully on the swaying platform. The king stood right on the edge now, ready, waiting for the ritual to be completed.

  Then, fireworks went off.

  Kendras stepped closer and quickly plunged the daggers into the king’s lungs. No scream. Not now, not ever. He pulled the daggers free immediately and jabbed them both into the king’s kidneys, deep enough to bury both weapons to the hilts, making them vanish. The king lurched forward and fell over the edge.

  There was a huge cheer from the crowd. The king had met the gods.

  Kendras stepped carefully back, and peered up to the ship. He saw Steel watch him intently.

  The crackle and flash of the fireworks filled the air now, blue lights streamed up into the sky and exploded, muted by the fog. Kendras imagined somewhere under water, a heavily bleeding man was drowning. He’d never make it back to land with those wounds.

  He watched the river, then felt that the platform was lowered some more, until it was very close to the surface. Kendras waited, tense, imagined that this was how the real captain would have reacted. Smoke would have grown worried, and then frantic, and then demanded answers. Or remained silent if he was smart.

  “Don’t do anything,” Steel told him.

  Kendras peered at the mercenary, then turned, just in time to see somebody swim toward the platform and pull himself up. Naked. Not injured. Water running from a youthful, much more slender body. Vistar An Grekaran.

  The young man pulled himself up and raised his hands like a victorious runner. Fireworks continued, but the cheering became ever louder. The gods had returned the king. Since most pilgrims had never seen the king close-up, they didn’t know the difference between the two men, and the high priest would keep it that way.

  Kendras gathered up the blue robes of the dead king and draped them around Vistar, who gave him a wide, nervous smile of thanks.

  The platform was pulled up again, and up on deck, the high priest spoke blessings and ancient prayers. Kendras felt Steel move at his back and his shoulder blades itched. The new king was ushered under deck by some of the priests, and the high priest went last.

  Steel stayed close. “Do you want to fuck him?”

  “Who?”

  “The king.” Steel laughed. “That’s what they’ll do. There will be lots of wine and herbs, so all anybody is going to remember is that they were fucked by and fucked gods. Some kings end up believing they did indeed marry the gods, when it was just priests dressed in blues.”

  Kendras swallowed dryly. He didn’t think Steel was lying. “That the reason why the king was so angry at the high priest?”

  “What do you think? There you are, at the height of your ambition, but your power’s worthless if the high priest says so. But yes, I’ve noticed that the kings tend to be young and good-looking. Never mind we haven’t had a queen for a long time in Dalman, at least not while the current high priest’s been in power.” Steel chuckled.

  “I’ll pass.” Kendras reached under the helmet and loosened it, then pulled it off with no small measure of relief. “What about you?”

  “Not my type. I told you that.”

  “The blue and silver suits you.”

  Steel laughed. “I think you should get rid of yours. I much prefer you naked.”

  “When can we go back?”

  “The priests will do their—”

  An explosion from the riverbank stopped Steel’s words. The celebratory cheering and singing suddenly turned into shrieks of panic. His eyes could make out more when the fog tore apart, and he saw that one of the barrels had exploded. Its contents must have been liquid—it was spilling everywhere and burning with a bright, yellow flame.

  Steel stared at the scene, then recoiled as the next barrel exploded. And then the next. The pilgrims turned like a herd in a storm, racing, shouting, surging first this way, then that. Those who weren’t fast enough in changing direction were trampled. Screams of pain and anger echoed along the river.

  “Fuck. Sabotage.” Steel’s gaze whipped around, and then he punched Kendras’s shoulder plate. “Keep an eye on the river. It might be a diversion. I’ll pull the high priest
off our new king.”

  If they begin to scream and panic, get out of the chains and run. If you have to kill a man or two on the way, enjoy yourself, but not too much.

  The screams and explosions would easily carry to the officer’s cell. Kendras realized that he didn’t want to get swept up in the chaos, let alone be around when Steel returned. He’d done the job Steel had recruited him for. But Steel wouldn’t let him go. He’d made that much clear. We could be good together.

  No, we can’t.

  He hurriedly stripped the unfamiliar armor, thankful that at least the undergarments weren’t the heavy leathers that would pull him down. But the thought of actually swimming filled him with dread. He’d never been a strong swimmer, and the river had powerful currents.

  He dropped the armor to the ground, but before he could get everything off, Steel reappeared, temple guards in tow.

  Kendras jumped into the river.

  The shock of the cool water rushing over him and immediately pulling at the armor pieces he hadn’t managed to shed sharpened his senses.

  He kicked back against the water, pulled the straps of the shoulder plates free, amazed himself how cold-bloodedly efficient his moments were while he was sinking low. He still felt the weight on his legs and arms, but he now began to swim, heading toward the boom of more explosions. That way was the riverbank, and safety.

  With every movement, the two swords got in the way, but he was more concerned about keeping his head above water. From behind him, he heard shouted commands, the clang of armor, and the hammering of armored boots. He stretched further against the current, which carried him toward the sea rather than toward the temple.

  Finally, his feet touched ground, stones, and plants as he made his way through the reeds and up the river bank, water running from him and chilling him in the cool evening.

  He pulled a knife and cut the remaining armor pieces off. Trying to open the leather straps now wouldn’t be any easier, and he had to get away.

  A high-pitched sound made him duck, and a long arrow passed above him where his throat had been. No doubt Steel had given the order.

  Kendras gritted his teeth, stayed down, hoped the reeds gave him a little protection, then moved sideways, looking for the best way to vanish into the fog.

  Crouched down, he rushed along the riverbank toward the shouts and screams, and then bounded up toward the trees.

  Priests and temple guards were out in force trying to calm down the pilgrims. The words Kendras heard again and again were “sign from the gods,” and he didn’t envy the priests having to explain this mess.

  The fact he wore no armor anymore gave him anonymity. He could have been just one of the many pilgrims if he hadn’t been carrying two swords, but he wasn’t willing to leave them behind.

  On the way, he found a discarded cloak, and even though it was much too short, it served well to disguise the fact he was dripping wet—at least to anybody giving him no more than a cursory glance while he moved between the pilgrims who were now streaming back to the city.

  There was an eerie silence now. People looked pale and didn’t resist being herded. Most just seemed glad to be taking orders as the temple sought to get everything back under control.

  Kendras left the stream of pilgrims behind and moved further inland, toward the gate of the temple city. High above on its rock perch was Dalman, guard fires indicating where the walls were in the fog. He didn’t want to get too close to the gates, so he kept to the fog and darkness, but finding somebody was not as easy as vanishing.

  He might have wandered east for an hour or more when he heard the snort of horses. He paused and then moved toward the sound, crouched, then moved again. When the horses appeared from the fog, he breathed a sigh of relief. In the ghostly silence, he made out two men and three horses.

  One of the men was Widow, leaning forward on the saddle, impatient but silent; the other was the officer, who turned his head to look at him. He reached out and touched Widow’s shoulder, and Widow straightened.

  “Finally.”

  Kendras shrugged. “I had to make my escape too.”

  “Let’s go.” The officer held the reins of the third horse, a resigned-looking chestnut, and soon they were on the road to Fetin.

  Chapter 17

  THEY sneaked away with a brisk step, then broke into a canter once they were out in the open and away from prying eyes. Widow rode first; then followed the officer. Kendras guarded from the back. Not the best situation to talk, but Kendras found himself staring at the officer’s shoulders, his head, as if he could reach out and touch him, make sure he was all right, check him for wounds. He knew that the officer wouldn’t welcome the fussing. Just the fact that the man had been captive brought out all kinds of protective feelings, but Kendras knew well that the officer could look after himself. In the end, he’d freed himself too.

  He was relieved when Widow led them off the road and toward a hut which was protected by trees. It was one of the places shepherds used when they lived with their herds.

  Sparse, but enough for soldiers, and they even found a dusty cloak for the officer. Normally, these shelters would be occupied, but Widow didn’t seem overly disturbed by the idea. He’d either killed the inhabitant somewhere quiet and out of the way or paid him off.

  In silence, they looked after their horses, then returned to the hut. Widow handed out cold cheese and bread, but nobody started a fire. The less visible they were, the better.

  The silence continued. Widow didn’t seem too bothered by it; the man exuded a sense of unpleasant satisfaction. The officer seemed thoughtful, withdrawn as he sat there, cross-legged, and ate with the slow deliberation of a man who knew the next meal could be a while off. And the longer the silence went on, the less Kendras felt able to break it. Maybe it was the fog outside, or that they were on the run, or maybe there simply wasn’t anything to say.

  “I got your book,” Widow said when it seemed that speaking had almost become impossible. “Reckoned it was important.”

  Kendras looked up, suddenly shocked he’d left the memory behind, but there it was, wrapped in a leather bag. “How…?”

  Widow grinned. “It’s the only book you boys have. And we weren’t coming back.”

  Kendras took it, ran his hands briefly across it, then offered it to the officer. The man gave a small nod and opened it, dark fingers brushing the pages as he sought the end of the entries. His eyes quickly traced the last few lines, and then he closed the book and put it back into the bag. “Have you read it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I… don’t know.”

  Widow rolled his eyes and got up. “If you are going to fuck, be silent, will you? Some of us have to sleep,” Widow muttered and climbed up to the sleeping quarters.

  Kendras and the officer stayed below, the book between them. He found no good response to that. It seemed a reasonable request, but after the things he’d learned that day, Widow generally seemed quite reasonable.

  He didn’t know what to say, so he stood, too, and got rid of the still-damp clothes, hung them up and wrapped himself in the cloak. He’d at least be able to sleep like that.

  “What do you think of the book?” the officer asked again.

  “It makes me want to fight harder. All those Scorpions….”

  “Yes?”

  Kendras shrugged, unable to find the words for that sense of obligation that ran deeper than his own desire to live. He’d have died to free the officer. But he hadn’t freed the man for himself, but the others. He remained silent, grateful that the officer didn’t keep asking.

  “Who whipped you?” The tone was calm and low, but Kendras’s hackles rose.

  The officer must have seen his back while he’d gotten undressed. He grimaced, unwilling to talk about Steel. “Nobody important.” I stopped fighting. Yet again. But it was the only way to win in the end. Only that this wasn’t the end. The end would be when they were back to full stre
ngth, healed, armed, and ready to take on all comers. And that, too, wasn’t the end.

  “I killed the king.”

  “They’ve done it again? Seems the high priest isn’t ready to share power anytime soon.” The officer gave a short, low laugh. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that. Who whipped you?”

  “A man called Steel.” Kendras was bone-weary, and any place to stretch out was as good as any other. He spread a few woolen blankets that smelled of sheep and lay down on the ground. He was about to turn onto his side when the officer moved on top of him on hands and knees. Kendras reached down to take the man’s cock which grew larger and harder, and took his neck with his free hand. The kiss numbed him, then fired up all his senses.

  Kendras pulled him closer, but when the officer seemed reluctant, tried to topple him. It didn’t work, the man was rock-solid, not a weakness on him. It was like trying to topple a tree.

  They both laughed when the wrestling and pushing didn’t yield any results, and Kendras gave up and just kissed him, stroked him, enjoyed the strong, aroused body so close to his.

  “Who’s he?”

  “The mercenary that Widow was with. A gray-eyed man. They say he has no soul.” And while I’m not quite sure that’s true, I prefer to think of it that way.

  “Ah, old Gray Eyes playing kingmaker again.” The officer chuckled, but there was no humor in his voice. “He whipped you?”

  “He felt I betrayed him.”

  “Fool.” The officer bent down to kiss him again, and Kendras took both their cocks into one hand, relishing the feel of the officer’s cock against his and in his hand. Alive and desiring him. He’d always longed for that, longed to break the officer’s self-imposed restraint. Dismissing Steel with a “fool” was dangerous, but right now it gave him confidence.

  “I’ll fuck you,” the officer said, which made Kendras’s blood surge. He added with a smile, “Give me a day or two until you take me again.”

  “Sorry….”

  “No. It tore me from the drug haze.” The officer went back on his knees and opened Kendras’s legs. He paused, then rifled through the saddle bags that were resting at his side.