K’xarr chuckled. “I guess it doesn’t pay to piss off Malric Denn. So where do we stand?”
“We have just shy of fifteen hundred men after those who were not willing to join us were weeded out. Malric has sent Achillus north, some of the papal army’s vanguard has arrived at the border. He said as soon as you're able, we are to ride north and join Achillus.”
K’xarr looked at Rhys. “Do whatever you have to but get me out of this bed.”
The Mistress closely examined the armor she had requested. As always, Ranjan’s work was exquisite. The armor was smoky black, a mixture of plate and chainmail. The smith’s skill with a hammer had created a set of armor lighter than any a mortal artisan could ever produce. The only hint of color on the dark armor were the pieces that covered the sword arm: the gauntlet, vambraces, rerebrace, and pauldrons were red as mortal blood. The dark helmet looked sinister, only revealing the lower half of the wearer’s face, and its crest was a simple fin of steel.
The Queen of Hell remembered the armor well. “You have outdone yourself, Ranjan. I thought you might have forgotten what it looked like.”
“How could anyone ever forget? To be honest with you, I had misgivings about forging it. I had promised myself long ago to never to create another set of it for anyone.”
“Well, I’m not just anyone. Now where is the sword?” She ignored his trepidation.
Ranjan pointed to the small forge that had been built near the Stone of Subjugation. The goddess looked into the glowing coals where the sword's blade lay, still glowing red hot. “Is everything as I asked?”
“I did as you instructed, my power will keep it properly heated till a time of your choosing. It is ready to be quenched in anything you wish. Once that is done, it cannot be undone. Whatever your plan is for the sword, it’s up to you now. My work is finished.”
The Mistress grabbed the hilt of the sword and drew it from the fiery coals. “You have done well, Ranjan.”
“What about my freedom?” the smith asked, holding out the chain that held him prisoner. “You said you would release me.”
“You are a step closer, just have patience.” She quickly vanished from sight.
She walked out onto the Bridge of Fallen Enemies, her black gown standing out in stark contrast to the span’s white bones. Stopping near its center, the Queen of Hell stood at the rail of the bridge and gazed out at the bloody waters below.
Holding the glowing sword high, she let her power slither forth as she began to speak. “I cast you into the blood of our enemies. You will be born craving its taste, yet your hunger will be a curse. Let your appetite never be satiated until the entire world has fallen before your keen edge.” The goddess hurled the sword far out into the gruesome lake; she heard a sharp hiss as it sank below the bloody waters.
The Queen of Hell stretched out her hand and the blood began to boil and churn where she had cast the fiery blade. Reaching out with her power, she called to it. The sword’s black hilt broke the surface, slowly spinning as it lifted from the unholy gore. The Mistress could see that the steel of the wide blade had taken on a deep red sheen. A cunning smile spread across her face as the blade drifted towards her. When it came within reach, she grasped the hilt and with her gloved finger, she traced the sword's name on the blade in the ancient language of her race. The goddess extended her power once again, burning the primordial runes into the god-forged steel. “Now you are ready,” she whispered.
***
The little girl gazed out of her window, pressing her tiny nose against the enchanted glass. Raven folded her arms and smiled with satisfaction. Delilah was growing more beautiful every day. She could feel her daughter’s magic as it spread throughout the room, fluttering free and uncontrolled. In time, her daughter would become very powerful. In another year or two, she would begin her studies. She would have to learn to restrain her magic and discipline herself to its use.
She hated keeping Delilah cooped up in the Tower of Sin, but if the gods knew of her existence, it could doom them all. Her beautiful little girl would have to remain a secret until their time came, it was the only way they could all stay safe.
Lost in thought, Raven jumped when the alarms went off in her head. The wards that protected the tower had failed. Only the most powerful of creatures could breach the defenses she and her sisters had put in place to safeguard their home. “Selena, get in here.”
Her sister stormed into the room, dark hair and black dress flowing behind her. “I know, I felt it too.”
“Get Delilah out of here, I will see to our intruder.”
Selena took the child by the hand and vanished with a curt nod.
Raven quickly descended the spiraling stairs that led to the bottom of the tower. Entering the ground floor, she saw the Queen of Hell standing across the large receiving room, tapping a red-bladed sword in her palm. “I wish to see Destiny right now, is she here?”
“Yes, she is, my queen,” Raven said, giving the Mistress a slight bow and aggravated smile. Raven tried to remember the last time the goddess had visited their tower. She could not.
“I don’t care for your mocking tone, Raven, nor do I have the time for it. I am in a hurry so be a good girl now and fetch Destiny for me.”
“I would never mock you, my queen,” Raven said with a curtsy.
The goddess waved her hand, dismissing the sorceress’s sarcastic assurance.
Raven closed her eyes and whispered her sister’s name into the air. The youngest of the witches appeared moments later. Destiny was short and wrapped from head to toe in a black robe with the cowl pulled tight around her face. All that could be seen of the witch’s diminutive form was her pretty face and big dark eyes. The girl was hundreds of years old, but she looked not yet twenty.
Of all her stepdaughters, Raven knew the Mistress hated Destiny the most. She was shy and demure and had a compassionate nature, everything the Queen of Hell despised. There was just one trait the girl did possess that the Queen of Hell envied: her power of prophecy.
“Destiny, come here,” the dark goddess ordered.
“I am yours to command, mighty one,” the small witch said, stepping forward with a bow.
“Take hold of this sword and tell me what you see.”
Destiny took the heavy sword with both her petite hands and stared into the steel as if it were a mirror. Her eyes rolled back in her head, turning black like two onyx marbles, and her voice became deep and thunderous. “I see a road paved with the dead leading to a mountain of remorse that rises from a sea of regret. A dark glory awaits this blade that will one day help to vanquish a false god.”
The tiny witch’s eyes cleared and an earsplitting scream ripped from her throat. Destiny dropped the sword and began to shake. Weeping uncontrollably, she threw herself into Raven’s arms.
“What have you done to her?” Raven asked accusingly.
The Mistress retrieved the sword from the floor and faced the witch. “I did nothing. She has seen the future of the blade and I don’t think she had the stomach for it.”
Raven gave the goddess a malevolent look. “Leave us, stepmother; you are no longer welcome here.”
“I never knew I was welcome here,” the Mistress said with a flip of her hand. “And thank you, my little darling, for your wonderful premonition.”
Destiny’s only answer was a mournful wail.
“My goodness, Raven, you should really do something about her. I never knew she was so unhinged.”
“Please just leave us.”
The Mistress snickered nastily and vanished.
***
Rhys had been using his healing power on K’xarr’s wounds over last few days, trying to get the mercenary captain ready to ride north. The wound to his back was much better. It was his head that was still a problem. The gash was nearly healed, but it was K’xarr’s brain that Rhys had been concerned about. The company’s physician had been hesitant to use his ability inside K’xarr’s head, citing the risk was just to
o great. Rhys had ordered his captain to continue to rest a few days longer and see if that would improve the headaches. K’xarr balked at first, but after a few hours of relentless nagging, he had consented to follow the healer’s orders.
Cromwell and the others had been gathering extra mounts for the men and preparing the company to leave Gallio while their captain lay in bed. K’xarr had told them he planned to wait one more day, then with or without Rhys’s consent, he would lead his warriors north.
Rhys had given his captain a sleeping draught early in the evening when his patient had complained about his head. K’xarr had drifted off quickly and was now resting comfortably. The hour was late the and aside from a few snores from of some of his men, the barracks was quiet.
The moon was at its zenith and its silver light shimmered through the barracks’ windows. The goddess and her son stepped out from one of the moonbeams that lit the floor near the captain’s bunk. Using magic to mask their presence, they crept closer to the sleeping mercenary. “Go on, Tasel,” the moon goddess whispered.
The young god closed his eyes and put his hand on K’xarr’s bandaged head, stretching forth his power. Moments later, Tasel’s eyes fluttered open. “It is done, Mother. His dreams are open to you to you now.”
“He will see and hear me?”
“Yes, and feel you if you wish it. His dreams are yours to control, you may do with him as you will.”
Drusilla patted her son on the back. “I won’t be long.”
A shapely woman walked towards him in a dress made of silver lace that left nothing to the imagination. Her hips swayed with a rhythmic motion that could bend the strongest of men to her will. Thick dark hair descended perfectly to her smooth white shoulders. She regarded him with bright steel gray eyes that reminded him of a full moon on a clear night. K’xarr could feel his heart quicken as his eyes perused the woman’s stunning features.
She sat down on the side of his bunk; her soft hand stroked his face then slowly moved down. She smiled at him as her fingers playfully entwined themselves in the hair of his broad chest. The goddess’s supple touch made his body tingle and his manhood stiffen. “We have watched you, K’xarr Strom. You have caught the eye of the heavens.” She leaned down close, her scented hair brushing his face and chest. He could feel her warm breath in his ear as her hand made a slow descent across his stomach. “When the morning comes, ride alone to the west. You will find the ruins of a temple. Pay homage to the gods of old and you will have what you seek.” She leaned back, gazing into his eyes as her hand gently wrapped around his hardness. Her beauty was intoxicating and her skilled touch took his breath away. “We will see if you can bring this world to heel, and make the mortals once again cry out for our mercies.” She kissed him, fervently sliding her tongue between his lips. K’xarr felt his loins spasm and surge with release. “Remember what I have said,” she whispered.
He sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard and still feeling the shadow of the goddess’s touch. K’xarr wasn’t waiting for morning. He quietly rose from his bunk and dressed. His head had started to pound again, but he knew what he must do. He quietly stole outside without waking anyone and in a short time, he was riding to the west.
***
K’xarr rode his blue roan across the rocky ground outside Gallio. The iron-shod horse had been a gift from Rufio; the Dragitan had bought it from a horse trader they had run across along the Gold Road right before they had arrived in Gallio. Rufio had told him he and the horse were well-suited for one other. K’xarr had quickly learned that the big stallion was stubborn as a pack mule and ill-tempered, but the animal was strong and intelligent. Rufio had worked with the animal when he could and given a bit more time with the Dragitan, the stallion would become a magnificent warhorse.
The country’s uneven terrain was making his head throb as the stallion galloped to the west. It would be some time before he was ready for battle, but thanks to Rhys’s ministrations, he was at least sound enough to ride. The sight of the distant grey mountains did help to put him at ease, the bleak and desolate Scar Mountains reminding him of his homeland. He had despised the Camiran people, but he had loved their lonely mountains.
Pulling back on the reins, he slowed the roan to an easy walk. It had been some time since he thought of his home. There were so many unpleasant memories, most caused by his own willfulness and temper. In all his life, K’xarr had never known peace. His ambition drove him like a zealous taskmaster, always pushing him ahead, never allowing the enjoyment of the here and now. As far back as he could remember, he had been continuously driven. There always seemed to be an unfulfilled purpose to his life that he could never fully ascertain or understand. It made him restless, impatient, and angry. He could never be like Cromwell, roaming the world without a care and living for the day, or even the moment. K’xarr had always believed he was meant for greater things than battlefields and brothels. His destiny was out there somewhere and he would be damned if he let anyone or anything stop him from finding it.
Reaching down, he patted the horse on the neck as he scanned the area for any unseen dangers. He had not seen so much as a small farm or cottage for several miles, this stretch of land was as empty as an orphan’s stomach. He was starting to feel a little foolish. He had rushed off on a whim.
The dream had just been too vivid, too…real. It was like a calling he couldn’t resist. He could still picture the seductive woman and remember every word she had said. Had it been a goddess? He had never been a believer in the old gods, or the new ones for that matter. Religion only got in a man’s way, while a good mind and a sharp sword would get him what he needed out of life. He had no desire to beg any deity for a sign or omen to tell him what he should do.
The dream he had was something else, though. It was not a falling star or bird in the sky that’s meaning had been interrupted by some sanctimonious priest. It had been something tangible, and he was the one that had experienced it. Foolish or not, he needed to find out if something was out there waiting for him or if he had terribly misjudged the validity of his dream.
It was near midday and the mountains were growing ever closer. Doubt had rooted itself in K’xarr’s mind and he was nearly on the verge of turning back when his eye caught something on a small rise up ahead: the temple. Like the broken and forgotten bones of a lost traveler, the ruins laid ominously shattered on the small hillock. Only a few broken columns spotted with age and a cracked marble floor covered with a yellowish moss were all that was left of what was once a grand temple.
Being cautious, K’xarr slowly circled the remains of the crumbling sanctuary. He saw no signs of life around the hillock. No small animals moved among the rubble of the old shrine, and he didn’t even see so much as a bird flying overhead. He dismounted and began to lead the horse up the slight incline. The stallion balked halfway up the rise and would go no further. Whatever kept other creatures away from the ruins had taken hold of his roan.
K’xarr tied him to a short, crooked tree that sprouted from the ground near the base of the tiny hill. He felt idiotic as he trudged on alone through the shards of broken marble. What had he expected to find here, the beauty from his dream and a pantheon of ancient gods waiting to do his bidding? He nearly turned and left, but he was here now and thought he might as well have a look around.
Weeds had grown up through the fissures that snaked across the ancient marble floor and the yellow moss felt strangely soft under his booted feet. Slowly walking across the shattered floor, K’xarr saw what remained of the temple's altar. It was tipped over and broken in half. It looked to have been be made from obsidian or something similar. The base of a large statue, shaped from the same dark stone, sat on the floor a few feet from the broken altar. Only the feet of the figure remained now, no doubt it was once the likeness of the temple’s patron god. K’xarr thought the effigy must have once stood at least fifteen feet high, judging by the proportions of its base. Gazing down at the stone feet, he shrugged. There was nothing h
ere, just old ruins from some forgotten time. He shook his head and grinned at his own idiocy; it had been just a dream after all.
With every intention of leaving, he turned back towards the altar. The broken obsidian slabs of the grand pedestal had transformed. The altar had become whole again. On it laid a helmet and a dark suit of armor, its sword arm the color of blood. A sword leaned against the altar as well. The sword's hilt was black and its pommel had been carved into a small, shrouded skull, but it was the blade that caught K’xarr’s eye. The steel was red with strange runes etched down the weapon's shallow fuller. He could not tear his eyes away from the heavenly sword, for only the hand of a god could have forged such a blade.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?”
Spinning around, K’xarr drew his sword, caught off guard by the sound of the female voice. Before him stood a veiled woman dressed from head to toe in a black funeral gown. “The sword is called Crimson Wave,” she said, gesturing to the altar.
K’xarr stood stock still, taking in the creature that stood before him. The goddess was tall and commanding, her very presence resonating with authority. A feeling rare to the Camiran slowly crept into his mind…fear.
“Do you know who I am, Captain Strom?”
K’xarr swallowed and tried to find his voice. “Yes, Kian told me, but I never really believed him. You are the Mistress of the Dead, the Queen of Hell.”
The goddess inclined her head slightly. “My dealings with the half-elven creature were less than productive, but when one deals with that vile race, what can be expected. Let us hope you are wiser than he.”
K’xarr took a step back. “He said you were evil and wanted to bend him to your will. If that’s your plan for me, goddess or not, you’re wasting your time.”
“Kian Cardan sees evil everywhere,” she said, twisting her hand into the air. “It is true I tried to compel him into my service. Who could blame me? Surely not you, Captain Strom, when you have used the very same tactic on the half-breed. You think I didn’t notice your subtle manipulations back in Bandara?”
Song Of Fury (Gods Of Blood And Fire Book 2) Page 20
