“Very good, sir.”
“Oh, and Captain Gladwin?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you stick your head in my tent again without announcing yourself, I will cut it off.”
***
Father Benington had finished the tale of how he and Father Milara had captured their black-blooded prisoner. Kago had found the account quite boring, even though it had most likely been exaggerated. “It sounds as if you have done well, Father,” the general said, trying to sound enthused by the priest’s meager success. Often he found the church’s strategies unsound and foolish. If the Church wanted this half-breed killed, the pope should have sent fighting men and not a bunch of clerics.
“If you don’t mind, General Kattan, our small party will camp with the army tonight,” the Fist said.
“You and the lord justice may sleep where you wish. I will have Captain Gladwin show your men where they can bed down, and my thanks, Fist Bennington, for such an interesting tale,” Kago said indifferently.
“It was our pleasure, and you have our gratitude for accommodating our unannounced arrival,” the priest said, twisting the ends of his mustache.
Truthfully, Kago had barely heard the story the Fist had told. He had been struggling to keep his eyes off the two priests’ scantily clad prisoner.
Even dirty and beaten, the woman was beautiful beyond words. The heavy chains she wore told the general that the holy men still feared her. He didn’t care what color blood flowed in the woman’s veins, to him the priests were little better than the slavers he had known as a child. Kago was well-versed in the degradation of captivity and he hated it. “What about your prisoner?” he called out to the priests.
Benington gave Lord Justice Milara a sly smile. Kago could not ascertain its meaning, but it angered him. “She is very dangerous, General. Do not let her docile state fool you. We will keep her in chains and under constant guard. I promise she will not trouble you.”
Kago nodded his agreement and stomped back to his tent, grinding his teeth. He hated priests, and was glad he would only have to put up with their unwarranted arrogance for one night.
***
Sleep would not come to him. He could not get the woman out of his head, and it angered him that his thoughts continued to stray to the priest’s pagan captive. It was unlike him to be so unfocused. He had a war to fight and this was only the second time that the pope had allowed him to take command of an entire army. Most of the campaigns he had been on, he had served as a junior officer. Not due to his lack of skill, but because of his lack of breeding.
He knew many of the senior officers in the papal army felt he was too crass and vicious to represent the Church as one of its generals. The pope, however, had not shared their view and had continued to groom him towards a top position.
His reputation in combat was unmatched, so he only needed to show his leadership skills in this war with Malric and his Masarians to finally achieve the position he deserved. What he didn’t need was these priests bringing this woman into camp to addle his brain. She was nothing anyway, just another enemy of the Church. He should not care about her fate one way or the other. Still, there was something about the woman that drew him to her like a shark to blood.
Kago threw his blanket off and rose from his small cot. Putting on a shirt and wrapping a cloak around his shoulders, he walked out into the night.
The woman had been placed at the center of the encampment. She still wore shackles around her wrists and ankles, and her chains had been anchored to a long iron spike driven into the ground.
Grabbing a water skin from one of his soldiers standing the watch, he made his way to the prisoner. The hour was late and there were few men awake beside the sentries. Smoke from hundreds of small campfires hung in the cool night air, their soft crackling the only sound in of the sleepy encampment. Moving silently through the rows of his soldiers' tents, Kago passed like a shadow in the night.
Benington had assigned two of his Hands to watch the woman; Kago dismissed them with a wave. The men were reluctant to leave their post until they saw the imposing look in his eyes. The two moved just far enough away to satisfy the general but close enough to still keep watch over their prisoner.
Kago knelt down and offered the woman the water skin. Her eyes were dead; it was as if she looked right through him. He had seen the expression before. Reaching out gently, he raised her chin. “Drink, woman,” he said quietly.
She slowly took the skin from his hand and drank sparingly. He coaxed her to take a couple more sips before taking the water away. The general seldom concerned himself with women, but this one’s beauty tore at his heart like an eagle’s talon.
She was fit for a king with her thick black hair and dark eyes; he could see the line of her hard lean body in the fading firelight. Large breasts, round hips, and powerful legs. She aroused him and he would have tried to take her then if it weren’t for the haunting look in her eyes. The woman’s gaze was blank and flat, the eyes of one whose mind had been broken, such a waste.
He would have liked to kill the priests for whatever they had done to this magnificent woman, but that was out of the question. Still, the thought pleased him. He brushed the dirty hair out of her eyes and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. “I would free you if I could,” he whispered.
She did not respond. The woman only stared into the darkness of the night. He took off his cloak and slung it over her shoulders. Pushing himself to his feet, Kago stalked back to his tent and only glanced back once at the beautiful captive.
Sometimes he wished he had never agreed to serve the Church. It might have been better if the priest that bought his freedom from the Dragitan arena masters all those years ago would have left him to his fate. Then he would never have taken the oath to serve the pope and he could have continued to indulge his hatred for mankind on his opponents in the arena, but he knew he would have never survived long in captivity.
He knew it as surely as he knew one day the pope would order his death and he and Holy Mother Church would part ways in a bloody and violent fashion. He threw himself back down on his cot and put his hands behind his head. He almost wished today was that day.
***
It was a warm spring, and the bugs and the heat were taking their toll on the fleshy cook. He had found some berries for the children’s breakfast and used his magic to make them large enough to fill all their bellies. The children were amazed by his ability. He didn’t think there was any reason to hide it now. He had kept it secret for years. Even as a child back in the free city of Deep Drift, he knew he had the gift of magic. He was twelve years old when he was first found out. His mother had caught him in the act down by Bent Anchor Bay, when he had caused the water to boil a few feet along the shoreline to watch the dead fish float to the surface.
She had switched him all the way home and told him to never do anything like that again or the pope would come and chop his hands off. He listened to his mother’s warning and left the power inside him alone, for a time.
A few years later, after an incident with a loaf of bread, his parents had sent him away. He roamed the land between the free cities of Deep Drift and Breakwater, doing odd jobs here and there, working enough to keep himself fed.
Set on the edge of the Wild Lands, the free cities didn’t offer much of a future for him. The area was dangerous and he was no fighting man, nor did he want to become one. So he saved a small sum and bought passage on a ship bound for Nyronor when he was seventeen. Nick worked his way across the middle continent and soon found his calling as a cook outside Turill at the Silver Fist inn. He had always had a love for food and had enjoyed the job while it lasted. Now he often wondered what he would be doing if Vandarus had never come in that day.
He had kept his magic from his companions at first because it was dangerous for anyone to know. One word to a priest and the Church would be at your door. Later he continued to keep quiet because he knew how Cromwell and some of the others felt about
sorcery, and there was no sense asking for trouble from those he traveled with.
Besides, he couldn’t do much really. He was a cook not a wizard, but the few things he had taught himself came in handy when food was scarce, and no one had ever complained about the taste of his cuisine.
Nick had never really aspired to do much with his life. The only ambition he had ever had was to open his own inn, but fate had had other ideas. Fortune had played a dirty trick on him and made him the cook for an extremely violent band of men and the nursemaid to the strangest group of children in the known world. He had grown very fond of the little ones, but it was a task to see to their needs and know their lives were in his hands.
He wished he could be sure of where he was leading his young charges. He thought he was headed to the northeast but he wasn’t positive. He had never been very good with directions. Nick did know that if they crossed the Gold Road, he would be in Illair and then he would just have to head north into Bandara.
He didn’t think it was a good idea to try to reach K’xarr. That would only be leading the children back into danger. Nick didn’t know if the war had started in Masaria yet, but if it had, he would be walking right into it if they went south. He figured things had not gone well in the village. Endra and Kian would have found them by now if they had won free of the trap the Church had set.
Bandara was his only hope. He had lived there for some time and knew a few people that may be able to help him. Vandarus had an uncle somewhere in western Bandara, but he couldn’t think of the man’s name. Even so, the Phoenix Queen’s kingdom was the only place he thought they might find sanctuary. The pope had agents there but it was also the only place he might find help.
He looked down at the children sitting in a circle, finishing their berries. The little group had become very close since they had been separated from their parents. The usual bickering and fighting had stopped. Payton had become their leader of course, and the little group followed his direction without complaint; even Tressa had stopped quarreling with her brother. Those two were as opposite as the sun and the moon. Tressa was emotional and sensitive, and Payton was always serious and intense. They argued night and day, but both understood the situation they were all in and had put their feuding aside.
Payton himself listened to Nick without dispute; whatever he asked the boy to do, Payton obeyed without question and he passed the sentiment along to his siblings. The children knew as well as he did that traveling the roads could be a dangerous endeavor.
Looking at the children, Nick’s shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply. The children were a burden, but they were his burden. He vowed he would see them to safety even if it meant his life. He just hoped it wouldn't come to anything like that.
***
The master had been locked in his study for three days and Siro had begun to grow worried. It wasn’t like the sorcerer to go this long without feeding. Siro had kept himself busy with his own research and experimentation. The dead fascinated him to the point of distraction, but he just couldn’t throw himself into his work like he usually did.
His sense of curiosity about his master’s activities kept diverting his focus from his specimens. He knew he shouldn’t disturb the vampiric wizard, but he just couldn’t help himself. His master had become obsessed with ridding himself of his vampiric hindrances, and when Tavantis became obsessed, things could get dangerous.
The amulet he had created now kept him from being destroyed by sunlight and his reliance on blood didn’t seem to bother Tavantis. In fact, Siro thought his master was secretly fond of drinking blood. That left only one obstacle: Malaiss. The Lord of the Vampires could control Tavantis, and the master could never live with that.
He quietly walked up the stone stairway to the master’s study. Things had been so good before he had gotten involved with Shiavaka. The Goddess of Magic had twisted his master’s thinking and manipulated him by constantly intensifying his power and there was no talking to him about it. Siro had once broached the subject and been turned into a small pig for his effort. He would just have to hope Tavantis would figure out that the goddess was using him on his own.
Softly knocking on the door, Siro prepared for the verbal assault he would no doubt receive.
“Come in, Siro,” Tavantis said in a welcoming voice. The friendly greeting frightened him more than if he had gotten the brutal tongue lashing he had expected. The ugly little necromancer slowly pushed open the door, afraid of what he might find.
“Siro, come in, come in.” Tavantis waved to him.
The master’s great desk was covered with small curls and ribbons of wood, as was the floor around it. Had the wizard been whittling?
Siro gazed around the room. Books and small magical trinkets were scattered on the other tables and many of the books from the shelves were open and laying haphazardly around the study. The place was a complete mess.
He could see that the vampire himself was paler than usual, from his lack of feeding no doubt, but Tavantis seemed in good spirits. He was sitting behind his huge desk smiling like a cat that had just eaten a rat. Siro felt his master’s odd behavior couldn’t bode well for him.
If Tavantis had been at work and was in a good mood, that meant he had been successful at whatever he had been attempting to do. Siro hoped he wouldn’t have to be experimented on again, he really hated that.
“I just wanted to check on you, Master. I was getting concerned that you hadn’t fed.”
The vampire stood with a large smile stretched across his handsome face, allowing his fangs to show. He picked up a dark red piece of wood from his desk; it was as longer than Siro’s forearm and one end had been sharpened into a point. The wizard had carved intricate runes and magical symbols up and down its length. He held it up for Siro to see. “Behold the path to liberation.”
“What is it, Master?”
“It is a stake, my friend, made from bloodwood and enchanted with power beyond anything you could imagine.”
Siro knew what his master meant to do with it, but it would be madness to attempt. “But, Master, you can’t harm Malaiss. He is your master now, not to mention the lord of all vampires. I think it would be a bad…” Siro stopped talking. The look on Tavantis’s face silenced him. The smile was gone, replaced by a look of malevolence. Siro had said too much.
“You malignant little gnome, I have no master, and I will not abide anyone believing that they can control or dominate me. Those days are over. Malaiss must be destroyed. I will not tolerate that arrogant corpse thinking he is my better.” Tavantis’s voice rose and he pointed his finger at the necromancer. Siro cringed and covered his face. “You think Malaiss is my master, worm?”
“By all that is sacred, Master, I think no such thing.” Tavantis lowered his hand and regained some of his composure, though he still looked angry.
“Get your things ready, we are going to Trimenia when this is finished. I have a bit more work to do, but when it is complete, I will want to leave immediately. You’re going to help me rid myself of that bloodsucking bastard.”
“At once, Master.” Siro whirled out of the room, closing the door behind him. He would need his warm clothing for this trip. The Blue Dagger Mountains would still be cold, even this late in the spring.
***
The stone room was empty, the cell he had been placed in had thick iron bars that even his great strength could not bend, and he could smell the magic the room was shielded with. It was of such intensity that he could feel it circulating in the very air of his prison.
The room looked newly constructed. Most likely for him, Kian thought. The Circle had planned to take him all along. They had tricked Milara and the Hand, feigning an alliance, but it seemed the Circle’s wizards had betrayed the priest in the end. He had no idea why the Church would have sought the aid of the Circle, but it really didn’t manner now anyway. He was a captive of the most powerful group of sorcerers in the world and there was no escape.
Only a bucket and
an old straw mattress shared the cage with him. Once a day, a cloaked figure came and set food and water just outside his cell. He had to eat it through the bars, for they never chanced to open his cage. The wooden bucket he used to relieve himself simply disappeared daily, only to appear again a short time later empty and clean.
Other than the person that brought his food and drink, he had seen no one else since he had been brought here. He believed his jailer to be a woman by their stature and smell, but with the heavy cloak and cowl, he couldn’t be sure, and his keeper had not yet spoken.
He too had remained silent since becoming a prisoner of the Circle, but he would have to try and communicate with someone soon. He would need information if he was going to have any hope of coming up with a plan to escape.
The heavy, iron-bound door creaked as the cloaked figure came into the room. His keeper placed food and water outside the bars as usual and quickly stepped back. Only this time, his warden didn’t leave. The cloaked figure stood and peered at him from the darkness of their cowl.
Ignoring the food and drink, he wrapped his hands around the iron bars that separated him from his freedom. “I want to know if Endra and the children are safe. I must know if Milara kept his word.”
The cloaked figure remained silent.
“Am I just to be kept as a prisoner here? What do you people want of me?”
“You will find that out in good time. For now, we only wish to study you. As to the safety of your woman and the children, that I do not know.” The figure spoke with a soft female voice that almost sounded regretful.
“Take off the cowl so I can see who I’m talking to,” Kian demanded
Song Of Fury (Gods Of Blood And Fire Book 2) Page 14
