Galen chuckled as he settled back into his chair. “And lose their dominance? If the Nephilim are freed, the Alliance goes down a step in the food chain. Believe me, they don’t want that. Already they have enough to deal with, with their rogue counterparts constantly challenging them.”
Gerald gave the old warrior a low bow and returned to his seat. “Forgive me, Warlord. I meant you no disrespect, but you must see the impossibility of what you demand of us.”
“It’s a death warrant, Warlord,” John said. “You must see that.”
Father Caleb gazed down at the assembled men. The twenty Ikari captains sitting beside their guardians, and the ten Ikari warriors on standby in the event of the unlikely death of a captain. He thought of the six hundred Ikari warriors on the training fields awaiting the outcome of this meeting. Never had Caleb thought he’d see the day any fighter would refuse an assignment, but things among Ikarius hadn’t been right for quite some time. Father Caleb pushed a stray braid from his forehead and cleared his throat, indicating to all he was about to speak. “Since the days of old, we existed. Before the first written language, we were fighting in the shadows to maintain the delicate balance of good and evil. And they have always been there; our enemies always fought us. They feed on mankind as they always have, they’re the very spawn of the fallen angels. Yet, they will fight at our sides to destroy this greater evil. There is no other choice for them. Nor for us.”
“So you too would have us enter their territory and offer them the olive branch?” Gerald said. “You’re in agreement with the Warlord? As is, I suspect, the entire council.”
Quinn, seated beside Father Caleb nodded his agreement.
“I’ve secured an apartment in the city, Baltimore, where the head of the Alliance makes his home,” Quinn said.
“Of course we’re in agreement,” Father Caleb interrupted, responding to Gerald. “But you have one thing wrong. We aren’t sending a band of warriors. Only one is going on this mission. Send a band, and they’ll see that band as a threat.”
The men looked at each other.
“He’s mad,” Oman, one of the captains, murmured.
“Impossible, I tell you,” said another. “Simply impossible.”
“Gerald is right, it would mean death.”
Galen frowned. “Will any of you go? Will anyone volunteer himself or must I…recruit you?”
Silence.
Galen shook his head. “Cowards, the whole lot of—”
He was interrupted when the heavy double doors were thrown wide and a small figure entered. Long, dark, corkscrew curls shielded the face, but Galen knew immediately who it was. He knew also how deceptively sweet the honey-brown face beneath all that hair was, how pretty. In the plain black fitted pants and black cloak she always wore, she was unmistakable. The sound of boots hitting wood echoed off the walls as she made her way down the center aisle, broadsword sheathed to her waist as if she were ready to do battle. She kept one hand on the hilt of her weapon; the other was fisted and held over her heart. All eyes were on her, but she neither acknowledged nor even looked at any of them. She was focused on Galen.
She dropped to one knee before the podium and bowed deep in the manner of an Ikari warrior, though she herself was but a female. Eyes downcast in a show of respect, she began speaking in a strong soprano voice.
“Greetings, my Most High and Supreme Warlord. It’s an honor to be in your presence, in the presence of The Council, and among the Ikari warrior captains.”
Galen gazed down at the prostrate figure. He couldn’t hide his pride in her and made no effort to try. Her beauty was unmatched among his kind, and her skill with a sword, though unfitting for a female, was just as matchless. He’d seen her take down many an Ikari warrior and had marveled at the sheer strength in her woman’s body every time. Still, the Great Hall wasn’t a place for women and she knew this. He would have to discipline her for such insubordination.
“Al-Kenna,” he began, “know you not the import of what we discuss here today? Why have you entered the Great Hall knowing such is an offense?”
“I request permission to speak freely, Most High,” she said, still bowed low.
“I grant you permission. But make it quick.”
She rose to her full height of five and a half feet and met Galen’s eyes. He knew at once by the stony determination in her eyes that he wasn’t going to like anything she had to say this day.
Giving himself over to yet another disastrous verbal exchange, he leaned back in his chair and waved a hand for her to begin. “Say your piece, then.”
“Send me,” was all she said.
The hall erupted. Men vaulted to their feet, some cursing in loud, angry voices, while others waved their fists in the air.
“Silence!” Galen shouted over the fray. “Silence.”
Beside Galen, Quinn slammed his gavel into the oak table. For a time, nobody heard it.
Finally, Galen rose to his feet, his arms held aloft. Seeing him, the men returned to their seats.
“I won’t have this meeting descend into chaos,” Galen said. “We will conduct ourselves as men, not beasts.”
“But Warlord, she comes not to fight,” Gerald said as he got to his feet again, “but to humiliate us. That she would intrude on this meeting and make such a…such a…such a malicious statement is proof of her malevolent intent.”
“Don’t allow this breach, Warlord,” someone else cried.
“Such insubordination cannot, should not go unpunished,” another man said.
Al-Kenna turned to face the assembly. “Our most honorable and wise Warlord is right,” she said in her most cutting voice. “He’s trained a brood of cowards. If none of you are man enough to do what is required, I shall be the man you are not.”
The men exploded into angry protestations and accusations. Al-Kenna, however, remained silent. Casually, she turned her back on them and faced Galen.
When Galen was able to regain control of the meeting and return the proceedings to some semblance of order, the sweat that had begun to gleam on his temples was trickling down the sides of his face.
“The men are correct, Al-Kenna. What mean you by entering this hall and making such a statement?” Galen demanded.
“I’m just as capable as any of them. These fourteen years I have trained as an Ikari warrior. When I was but five, you saw to it I began training in the martial arts beside my half-brother, Gerald, when he was fifteen. When I was twelve and could stand the weight of a sword, you saw I was trained in the art of fencing. There’s no form of combat that’s foreign to me, Warlord. There’s no one among my peers who can best me. And you know well my skill with these.” She brought her hands to rest on the two Berettas strapped into the holster belted to her waist. “Further, my particular aspect gives me an advantage none of my Ikari brothers can claim.”
“And what is that, dear sister?” Gerald sneered.
“I’m a woman.” She gazed at him over her shoulder, returned her eyes to Galen. “They’ll never suspect I’m an Ikari warrior.”
“Woman,” Gerald sneered. “You’re a nineteen-year-old girl. A child.”
“They’re vampyr and beastmen,” said Galen, “They will see the truth of who you are in your mind.”
“I’ll screen my thoughts from them. I’ve been trained to do far more than create a simple mind shield. The Seer taught me such before I could speak.”
Galen chucked. “They’re timeless, little girl. Some among them have seen moon risings before my father’s father was a thought. Their leader, Alaric, is among the oldest and most powerful vampires to walk the earth. He will read your thoughts as easily as though you were speaking them to him. You’re not equipped to face such a one as him.”
“But I am.”
“The answer is no, child. Now, leave us.”
“Father, please. I’ve spent countless hours in the SIMs honing my skills. I know well how—”
“This isn’t a SIM, Al-Kenna. Leave us.”
Her lips trembling with barely controlled rage, she struggled to hold her jaw stiff as she bowed low to the floor. She rose, spun around, and was about to depart when the double doors exploded in and three women sprang into the room.
“Bloody hell!” Galen shouted.
“Ghouls,” one of the women yelled. “Somehow they’ve breached the eastern wall of the property.”
“I counted over four dozen on the monitor,” said another.
“Impossible!” Quinn gasped, even as Galen made his way down the aisle. “What of the sentries? What of the protection spells? They shouldn’t—”
Father Caleb rose to his feet and herded the men out before him. “Never trust to spells,” the holy man said. “Only God can be trusted.”
“Four dozen, we can handle. No need to disturb the ranks from their training,” Gerald said.
Al-Kenna rushed from the Great Hall and outside behind Galen, hand secured to the hilt of her sword, the only effective weapon against a ghoul. Bullets only slowed them. Her daggers were like trying to fell an elephant with safety pins. Only her sword would do, because decapitation was the only sure-fire way to kill any immortal.
“Stay close, Al-Kenna,” the Warlord ordered as he moved quickly over the sprawling estate at the head of the Ikari captains.
“I could kill ghouls with one hand tied behind my back,” she said dismissively of the gargoyle-like creatures. “They’re too stupid to pose any real threat.”
“Stupid, eh? But somehow smart enough to get past our sentries.”
She drew her sword from its scabbard as the sound of running feet drew nearer.
“So they got lucky,” Gerald sneered. “They’ll regret it.”
Up ahead, she could make out bodies rushing forward through the woods on the north side of the compound. They held weapons aloft, polished steel swords she knew from experience none of them were skilled enough to use. She wondered briefly what had prompted them to do this. The ghouls had to know they couldn’t defeat Ikari warriors. Only imps were able to fight Ikari, and the imps had been trapped in The Void longer than even the Warlord had been alive.
Warily, she surveyed the land, senses on high alert for possible traps. She paused to listen, see if she could gleam any stray thoughts from the enemy. As she’d expected, though, all she got was a confusion of thoughts thrown at her. The mind of ghouls, primitive creatures that they were, weren’t very advanced.
She was pulled from her thoughts when Galen called a halt.
Running as though their very lives depended on it, the ghouls mounted the last rise and streamed from the trees, swords held high as they howled.
“Steady!” Galen shouted. “Steady, let them come closer.”
Al-Kenna itched to use her sword. Legs spread, she breathed deep and readied her body for battle.
“Steady.”
They were closer now. Al-Kenna could make out their horned heads, abnormally stretched faces, and putrid green skin. They ran full out with their wings tucked close to their bodies, digging their webbed feet into the soil as they came.
“Steady.”
She could see hatred in their blood-red eyes.
“Now!”
As one, the Ikari rushed forward, weapons at the ready. Al-Kenna raised her voice in a battle cry, just as the men around her howled. She followed close behind the Warlord, with Gerald flanking her just to the left and John to her right. Silently, she said a brief prayer.
Then there was the sound of metal against metal as the Warlord brought his sword down, blocking the jab of a ghoul. She had time enough to see the Warlord bring his knee up into the rancid thing’s gut before she too was in the fray. She ducked low to the ground in time to dodge a sloppy thrust in her direction. She swept a leg into the ghoul so its feet came out from under it. The thing fell hard to the earth, landing with a grunt even as she leapt to her feet and brought her sword down on its throat. Spinning out of reach of another, she kicked high and landed a foot on its jaw.
Momentarily stunned, the creature let out a shriek and lunged. Not wanting to have the thing impaled on her sword, slowing her down, she tightened her grip on the hilt with one hand and reached for a Beretta with the other. The bullet caught the ghoul between the eyes. It staggered backward but kept its feet. She advanced on it even as she replaced the gun in its holster.
In one quick move, she decapitated the fiend. Before its horned head hit the ground, she felt an arm, slimy with who knew what, grip her around the neck. Ghouls were stupid, true, but they were also strong. She bent forward, trying to break free of its grip, but it held firm. She went for her gun, but wasn’t fast enough. It grabbed her free arm and held it pressed to her side so she couldn’t move.
She struggled to lean forward, but it held her tight. She felt its clammy skin against her neck.
It began dragging her toward the trees.
She had to think. Had to act.
Its breath was hot and rancid, and she fought not to gag on it. From the corner of her eye, she saw its wings extend and begin to flap.
It tightened its forearm around her throat, applying more pressure. Even as it dragged her further away from the fighting, blackness played around the edges of her vision. She had to free herself.
In horror, she felt the press of something hard against her lower back. She nearly screamed when she realized the horrid creature had an erection. Had it against her, was touching her with it.
She had to think.
Then, her mind went completely blank when it opened its mouth and spoke.
“Smenkhare,” it said, its voice phlegmy and hateful. “Poor, dead, reincarnated Smenkhare. Azriel wants you.”
Fear crept up her spine even as she tried to fight it down. She tried to dig her heels into the ground, tried to stop it from moving, fought to remain conscious.
Smenkhare. She knew that name. Smenkhare was the woman from her dreams.
“Al-Kenna!”
She felt the beast stiffen and looked up to see from where the voice had come.
“Al-Kenna!”
Running full out, the Warlord came at them.
“No,” the creature balked, as if put out by this turn of events.
Taking advantage of its surprise, she lifted one foot and kicked back. When she heard the satisfying crack of bone, she gave a silent “Yes.” It jerked forward in pain, loosening its grip on her arm and she pulled free. She jabbed her elbow hard into the thing’s gut, spun around and landed a kick to its face so it stumbled back, then brought her sword down on its throat. Just as it fell to the ground, Galen reached her.
“Al-Kenna!” he said. “You’re safe. I thought I’d lost you.”
Chapter Two
Raven stepped from the main house and shivered at the sight that greeted him. Bodies. There were bodies everywhere. All of them headless.
For the life of him, Raven couldn’t figure out what Azriel was up to.
He’d tracked Azriel and Charity to France. That had been the first thing that confused Raven. Azriel had Charity now; Raven had assumed the first thing Azriel would do was take her to the Sudan, where the portal to Hir na Gog was hidden in the desert. Azriel hadn’t traveled east when he left Prague, though, but gone west.
The second thing that confused Raven was finding Azriel’s trail led to the Ikarius compound just off the Pyrenees mountain ridge. Raven had arrived at the main house on the Ikari compound nearly an hour ago—he wagered he’d only missed Azriel and Charity by a few hours—and found a sight that curdled his blood.
Every Ikari warrior was dead. But that wasn’t all. After going through every room in the main house and walking the grounds, he realized every Ikari was dead, period. Warrior and non-warrior alike. Immortal and mortal alike. Bodies littered the main house, were scattered across the field, and had been felled while performing normal daily functions. That much told him the attack had been a surprise. What he wanted to know, though, was why Azriel attacked the Ikari in the first place.
&
nbsp; “My God,” Myrddin gasped when he stepped out behind Raven. “They’re all dead! How? Why?”
Raven didn’t answer. He moved down the steps and continued to scan the darkening horizon. There had to be something he was missing, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Azriel was crazy, but he was also very smart; he wouldn’t go on a killing rampage just for the hell of it. Azriel had always been methodical, analyzing every step before taking it. If Azriel had come to the Ikari compound, there was a reason.
Raven turned to face Myrddin. “What do you know about Ikarius?”
“They’re descended from the Shilesian warriors. Five of the Shilesians were cursed after the Nephilim were exiled to Hir na Gog. This was a few centuries after you and the Watchers were exiled.
“Anyway, after the Nephilim were exiled, the only immortals left on the earth were the offspring of the Nephilim and the offspring of the Watchers. The offspring of the Nephilim were the ghouls and imps. The offspring of the Watchers were the vampires and beastmen. A war erupted between them, and the Shilesian were instructed to bring an end to that war. Five refused, saying they were tired of fighting and wanted to live in peace. Eventually, the vampires and beastmen successfully defeated the ghouls and imps. The imps were exiled into what is now called The Void, while the ghouls took to living underground. Though the war ended, the five Shilesian warriors who refused to aid in bringing about peace were cursed with immortality and charged with the task of overseeing the immortals for all eternity. The Ikari are of that line. Many Ikari make up Ikarius, but only the Ikari warriors are immortal. It’s the responsibility of Ikarius to guard the seven entrances to The Void, and to execute rogue vampires and beastmen.”
Raven raised a hand and Myrddin paused. “These seven entrances,” Raven said. “Are there seven Ikari compounds for each entrance?”
Myrddin nodded. “The seven entrances are called portals.”
“And where are these portals located?”
Myrddin ran his fingers through the long strands of his strawberry-blonde hair and began naming countries. He punctuated each country with a tap of his foot. “One in Tibet, a second in Italy, a third in Mexico, a fourth in Russia, a fifth in North America, there’s the original portal in the Sudan, and…” he looked up at Raven, “the seventh in France.”
Nephilim War: Book 2 Page 2
