Oh, God. Death has found me. Death has finally found me.
The old man’s white, pupiless eyes flicked over her with overt disinterest, the air about him shimmering—as if space itself somehow opened around him—before he turned his attention to Torin. “No, Sol,” he smirked, his right hand stealing to the rotting rabbit carcass hanging from his belt. “But I have been told the family resemblance is striking.”
Stunned fury flooded Torin’s face and he snarled, the sound more savage than any Kala had heard him make. “Uloch.”
The old man’s smirk twisted. “So, my brother mentioned me.”
“Only to curse your name.”
“And yet, of us both he was the one to so misinterpret the prophecy.” His white eyes flashed iridescent silver and he swung his stare to Kala, his feigned indifference gone. “Take her.”
Two arms of steel clamped around Kala’s torso, fingers just as hard snaring her chin and right breast, jerking her back against a body even harder. “I finally have you,” a hot breath whispered in her ear. “False Fire.”
“No!” Torin’s roar ripped the air. “Let her go!”
From the corner of her eye, Kala saw him move. Lunging forward.
A burst of blinding white light filled the room, followed by a dull thud and the ancient man chuckled. “The Old Seer should have done more than curse my name, Sol.” He stepped forward, black coat billowing behind him, the stench of decaying meat wafting on the air. His stare focused on the floor behind Kala and he smiled. “Then you would have been more prepared. Now tell me where the Sun Sword can be found.”
Kala struggled against man holding her, fighting his crushing grip with wild desperation. Her heart hammered. She couldn’t see Torin. What was going on? What was that light? The thud? “Let me go, you fucking bastard.”
“Not a chance, cunt. I have too much fun planned with you.”
“Let me go!”
Uloch turned his head in her direction, his smile curling into an appraising grin. “I see the female’s appeal, Sol, but is she worth it?”
“Yes.”
Her throat slammed shut at Torin’s choked voice. Why couldn’t she see him? Was he hurt?
The fingers gripping Kala’s chin dug harder into her flesh. “You feel worth it,” her unseen assailant murmured. She thrashed in his hold, shards of cold pain spearing up into her jaw and skull. God, where was Torin?
What was going on? “Torin?” she yelled, bucking against the man. “Torin?”
Uloch’s white eyes flickered silver again and his smile vanished, replaced with a vicious scowl. “Zroya will snap her neck and fuck her corpse, Sol, if you do not reveal the location of the Sun Sword to me now.”
“Don’t, Torin!” Kala fought against the man’s—Zroya’s—cruel arms. “Don’t.”
“Don’t, Torin,” Zroya echoed against her cheek in a perverted whisper, grinding his stiff cock against her arse.
“Speak, Sol.” The old man’s eyes flashed silver again. “Or watch her die.”
Zroya pulled her tighter to his body, rammed his cock harder to her arse. “After I’ve had my fill of you.”
“Speak, last command warrior of the Sol Order,” Uloch stepped closer, stare locked on the floor behind Kala’s feet. “Keeper of the Sun Sword’s truth. Or she is—”
“The second inner moon of P’helios.”
Torin’s strangled growl sank Kala’s stomach and she threw herself against Zroya’s arms. “No, Torin!” she screamed, fighting in the man’s inescapable hold. “No!”
“The Sol Temple,” Torin continued, his growl more choked. “In the Oracle’s altar. Now, let her go.”
The ancient man’s scowl vanished, replaced by a wide grin of triumph. “No.”
And with that, his eyes ignited with silver fire, the space around him unfolded and Kala felt her body erupt in agony as a million pinpricks of blistering white light tore her apart.
The Sun Sword
Chapter Six
Kala screamed. The painful light stabbed at her, swirled over her limbs, through her limbs, and suddenly she stood in a dark, cramped space that smelt of rotting meat.
Torin!
The frantic thought slashed into her horrified mind, chilling her blood…the second before she felt Zroya’s body reforming behind her.
She slammed her elbow into his side, the impact like striking a wall of dense liquid steel. The man let out a surprised shout, the hard bands of muscles materializing around her torso flailing wide. Kala struck out again, smashing her fist into his still-translucent face, her knee into his gut, his nose.
He reeled backward, solid once more, frenetic pinpricks of light flaring over his flesh as he tumbled.
Kala fixed her stare on him, fists clenched, a distant part of her mind stunned at his breathtaking beauty, and drove her foot into his chest.
The force sent a shudder up her leg, into her belly. She watched him fall backward, hate and disgust heating her blood…
And was suddenly frozen.
“The prophecy is not wrong,” Uloch’s raspy voice oozed into Kala’s ear and the ancient man stepped in front of her, white gaze ablaze. “The False Fire is as strong as the One Who Burns.” He smiled, yellow teeth glistening in the room’s dim light. “Perhaps even stronger.” He paused. “But not as strong as me.”
Kala glared at him, fighting against the invisible force holding her motionless. Was he doing this? How? Who was he? What had he done to Torin?
Oh, God, Torin.
The thought of the Sol warrior ripped into Kala’s fraying nerves. She fought to free herself, cold sweat breaking out on her forehead, her chest. A chill rippled her flesh and she realized she was still naked. Her heart thumped into her throat and she shoved the humiliating realization aside. “Let me go and I’ll show you how strong I am.”
Uloch’s sightless stare razed over her like hot sand and her stomach twisted in revulsion. “Tell me, girl. Which of the prophecy’s players do you think you are—the seed or the perversion?” He cocked a thin, wiry eyebrow. “The savior or the destroyer?”
“I don’t give a rat’s arse which one I am,” Kala snarled, straining to move. “Just let me go.”
Uloch chuckled, stroking his fingers over one of the rotting rabbits at his waist. “Oh, such a revealing answer. I wonder what my deluded brother would make of it if he were alive. The old imbecile was always a fool for the deceptive nature of words.” He turned his gaze from her face and in the corner of Kala’s eye she saw movement. Zroya had regained his feet and now stood by her side. “She needs to be alive when we reach P’helios.” The innuendo in Uloch’s command knotted her stomach and she struggled with a wave of sickening panic.
“Control yourself until then.”
“Yes, my Master.”
“I will kill you,” she ground out, glaring at the old man, refusing to let the panic take her. “Give me half a chance and I will end your life.”
Uloch turned back to her, expression pitying and conceited at once. “That is not the future I see.”
“Then the future you see is wrong.”
Zroya smashed his fist against her cheek and splintering pain flooded the side of her head. “You will not speak such to the prophet.”
Blood pooled in Kala’s mouth, coating her tongue with its coppery tang. She spat, ignoring Zroya as if he didn’t exist, her stare still fixed on Uloch. “Such brave, brave men to attack a defenseless woman incapable of moving. Your balls must be made of brass.”
Triumphant mirth fell over the old man’s leathery face and he chortled. “The False Fire will speak with scathing contempt, the words marking the deceiver with death.” His eyes shimmered silver and the force on Kala’s body grew stronger. Crushing. “And the death of the Sol will mark the deceiver with pain and the Seer’s power will be absolute.”
Agony ripped through Kala’s body and she grit her teeth.
No! I will not scream. I will not scream.
Pain consumed her. Held he
r captive. Hot tears squeezed from her eyes. Her breath squeezed from her compressed lungs.
God, Torin, is this what he did to you? Oh, God, Torin, no, no!
“Master!”
Zroya’s sharp shout cut across the agony and suddenly the pressure vanished. Kala gasped, her body burning with pain, her soul burning with grief.
Oh, God, Torin. No.
Uloch stepped closer, eyes white once more, the stench of dead meat thick and cloying. He studied her for a long moment, his tongue flicking at the air, his clouded gaze roaming her face, and then, so quickly she almost missed it, a slight frown pulled at his forehead.
She bared her teeth at him in an icy grin. “See your future, old man?”
He spun away from her, black cloak billowing a wall of stinking decay, and left the dark space. Without another word. Without a backward glance.
Like an oiled snake, Zroya moved to stand before her. He skimmed one hand over her belly, up to her breasts, her throat. “You broke four of my ribs, False Fire,” he murmured, fingertips stroking the sides of her neck in a gentle chokehold. His gaze roamed over her, his tongue playing with his teeth as he slid his hand back down over her breasts to her belly once more. “Now it’s time for me to return the pleasure.”
He smiled. And sank his fingers between her legs.
Just as Kala realized she could move again.
***
Torin forced the sluggish blood in his veins to flow through his numb limbs. He counted to one hundred, a slow count more torturous than the pain still trying to claim him.
Get up.
He ground his teeth, willing his fingers to move. Just one small twitch, that’s all he needed. One small twitch and Uloch’s dark magic would be defeated.
Nothing.
He pulled in a steady breath and the musky scent of Kala’s pleasure, the salty tang of her sweat, filled his nostrils. The frozen pain in his body turned to a sickening tension. By the gods, Uloch had her. He had to get her back.
For the love of Syunna, Kerridon, get up!
The agony of the prophet’s force rolled through him, its incapacitating power rending him heavy. The oxygen in his lungs felt thin, his head light. An invisible vise clamped around him, as if the very air tried to crush him. He stared at the training room’s far wall, at Kala’s training sword mounted there, the soft mat beneath him pressing into the side of his face. The scent of their lovemaking lingered on its surface, tormenting him. Haunting in its surreal reality. Only a moment ago he’d been lost in her body, lost in her pleasure. Only a moment ago she’d told him what he’d never dreamed he’d hear, her eyes shining with joy, her smile soft with contentment—I love you.
He bit back a screamed curse. He had to move. He had to get up.
Then do it, Torin Kerridon, the Old Seer’s voice whispered in his mind. Do not let my brother’s trickery fool you. Remember your training.
Closing his eyes, he formed a picture in his head—his hands, still on the mat, fingers splayed, motionless. He concentrated on them, forced them to move. Crushing weight pressed down on him as he did so, but he ignored it. His hands. The only thing that existed were his hands. He saw them in his head. Saw his fingers move, slightly at first, then with growing strength. Saw them wrap around the thick hilt of his own sword, the weapon he’d wielded since he was a boy, the same sword he’d used to prepare Kala for her destiny. Saw his knuckles bleached white as he tightened his grip and withdrew the heavy blade from its sheath. Saw his arms flex, his muscles bulge as he lifted the sword past his shoulder and plunged it into Uloch’s chest.
He focused on the point of impact. Concentrated on the punctured flesh and bone and sinew. Let the mental image of the maniacal prophet’s blood flowing from his body heat his own chilled blood.
Again, he willed his fingers to move.
Nothing.
This is not your training, command warrior. The ghost of the Old Seer’s voice grew reproachful. This is not your strength. Your strength is not your hate, Torin…
Frustrated anger rolled though him and he wanted to scream again. How was he to save Kala if he could not move? How was he to save the woman he loved…
An image of Kala filled Torin’s head—her warm body moving under him, her eyes alive with love, her lips parting with pleasure.
“I love you, Torin…”
Her murmured proclamation caressed his anger, a wave of sheer joy and living heat soothing his fear. She loved him.
A muscle in his left shoulder moved. Twitched. Bunched. He pictured Kala’s smile. Heard her throaty chuckle in his head. Heard her murmur those words again—“I love you, Torin.” His biceps coiled. Then his triceps, his deltoids. He pressed his palms flat to the training mat, life flowing through his limbs. She loved him. Kala Rei loved him. That gave him purpose beyond measure. Beyond magic.
He pushed himself to his feet.
Slicing energy surged through him and, like a million blades cutting into his very sinews, Uloch’s magic fought to possess him again, to render him immobile. Like a river of acid flooding his veins, it tried to destroy him, but Torin denied its power.
Kala loved him. There was no magic more powerful than that.
He shoved himself to his feet and ran from the training room, the prophet’s imprisonment holding him no longer. He had to get to P’helios.
The Old Seer had rarely spoken of his brother, but when he had his words had not been kind. Uloch was as brutal as he was obsessed with the Sun Sword. His methods of foretelling involved blood and bloody sacrifices. He read the entrails of not just animals but humans, specifically young woman, and took great delight in torturing those he deemed worthy of his “commune with the old gods”. He had been severed not just from the Order of Seers but his family as well, over a century ago. The Old Seer grieved the loss of his brother and cursed him at the same time.
Torin bore no doubt Uloch would torture and kill Kala if it delivered to him that which he hungered so much. The Old Seer had warned him of such.
The shunned sightless one will paint the walls with the grief of the One Who Burns.
His gut churning, Torin pushed himself faster. He had to get to Kala. He had to—
Stop it.
Torin cut the frantic thought dead. Thinking of Kala in Uloch’s possession would not help him. If he let his mind obsess on what the prophet was doing to her, what the man with the insane eyes who’d held her was doing to her, he would be undone. He needed to keep his head clear. Focused.
He stormed into the cockpit, dropped into the pilot’s chair and punched in the co-ordinates. That he had traveled to the other side of the known universes to find the One Who Burns, only to return to his home planet, the home of the long-butchered Sol, for the final battle would have intrigued the Old Seer greatly.
A dark grin pulled at Torin’s lips. There was a perverse rightness in the fact.
Leaning forward, he activated his ship’s com-link and connected with the spaceport’s command centre.
A low-pitched tone came over the link, followed by a thin metallic voice. “Ai’taina flight command. What is your request?”
“Helios Blade preparing to depart,” he stated. “Request release of docking hold.”
There was a dull clunk as the spaceport’s docking hold deactivated. “Docking hold released, Helios Blade.”
“Thank you, Ati’aina. Request permission to jump to immediate hyper-flight.”
“Permission denied, Helios Blade. You will follow correct flight protocol and maintain minimum propulsion levels until two hundred kilometers from spaceport perimeter.”
“No,” Torin growled, cranking up his propulsion engines to maximum and preparing his body for the pressure about to hit him. “I won’t.”
He slammed the engine drive to full and Helios Blade punched a hole through time and space. Taking him to P’helios. To the Sun Sword.
To Kala.
***
Kala curled herself into a loose ball, hugging the thin cotton
shift she’d found in the dark room closer to her body. The metal floor ground against her hip, the garment offering little protection against its icy surface. She squeezed her eyes closed, biting on her bottom lip. Zroya was stronger than her. Stronger and faster. Maybe even faster than Torin. She’d never seen someone move with such frightening speed. Each punch and kick he’d delivered was like being hit with lightning.
Speed is not the weapon, Kala Rei. Strength is not the weapon. Focus. Belief. Picture the impact, believe in the strike. Know the end result in your soul.
Torin’s instructions from their very first training session whispered through her head. She closed her eyes tighter, swallowing the choking lump in her throat.
What end result did she know now?
You are going to be killed.
She’d thrown everything she had at Zroya, every technique Torin had taught her, every move her own brutal upbringing had given her. She’d fought him to within a heartbeat from death and he’d defeated her. Had violated every part of her body for his depraved, sadistic pleasure. Used every part of his body to illustrate his power, his dominance over her, and when she’d remained silent, when she’d refused to call him the One Who Burns and beg his mercy, he’d done it all over again. And still, she didn’t make a sound.
Not even a whimper.
A lifetime of being abused had prepared her. What Zroya did, he did only to her flesh. Her mind, her psyche, was shut to him.
Just.
“I will make you scream, False Fire,” he’d stated with calm certainty, tucking his spent, flaccid organ back into his breeches. “I will make you beg for mercy.” He’d studied her bleeding body, his handsome face pensive. “The mercy of the One Who Burns is swift and just.”
Kala glared at him through the sweat-tangled strands of her hair. “Remember those words, Zroya.”
He’d laughed, a low, smug chortle that made her stomach knot and left her in the dark room, the seed of his debauched pleasure trickling down her thigh.
A moment later, a sickening jolt slammed into her body as the ship jumped into hyper-flight and she’d bitten back a choked sob.
The Sun Sword Page 12
