Song Of Fury (Gods Of Blood And Fire Book 2)

by A. J. STRICKLER

  “Agreed, I will send three men to escort her to your home. That way only five of us need know where she has been taken. After we get back to the city, I can quickly reduce that number to two, if you understand my meaning. Then if the subject ever comes to light, we can make up whatever story we like and no one can prove anything.”

  Dracen grinned at the Fist. “You are a wiser man than I gave you credit for, Alfred.”

  ***

  “How far is it to the lord justice’s estate?” Cort asked.

  “Fifty miles or so, lad. Are you in a hurry?”

  “No, I am just ready to get back home. All this riding has made me sore.”

  “Well, it’s going to take a while dragging this devil whore along behind us,” Hannus said, giving a sharp jerk on Endra’s chain. “The lord Fist wants her taken to Milara’s estate; I don’t know how we got so lucky to be chosen for the detail,” the man said sarcastically.

  “Yes, it’s going to take us a little longer to get back to Asqutania, but I plan to make it worth the trip,” Nadel said as he dropped back alongside their prisoner’s horse. “At least we have something to keep us occupied when we stop for the night.” The Hand reached over and grabbed Endra by the hair, yanking her head up so he could see her face. “I plan to have a taste of this fine pagan whore.”

  Hannus laughed, nodding his agreement, but Cort shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What if the lord justice or the lord Fist finds out?”

  “Who’s going to tell them? She doesn’t even know where she is and most likely won’t even know what’s happening to her. Look at her, boy, even in this state she is finer than any woman you or I will ever have,” Nadel said, squeezing the prisoner’s breast and winking at Cort.

  “I don’t know why are we waiting. Let’s have her now,” Hannus suggested, looking at Nadel with wanton excitement. “There is a small stand of trees over there and we are far enough from the Gold Road that no one will see.”

  Nadel rubbed his chin and smiled, showing his filthy teeth. “Aye, sounds like a good time to me. What about it, Cort?”

  The younger Hand looked at both men with revulsion. “Do what you will, but I want no part of it.”

  “Fine, that leaves more for us,” Hannus said, slapping his leg. “You just remember to keep your mouth shut when we get back, Cort, or there will be hell to pay.”

  The young warrior sadly nodded his understanding.

  The three Hands led their prisoner into the secluded grove of trees. The two older men took the chains off Endra and pushed her to the ground. “Take her manacles off too, Hannus. I want her on her hands and knees. I don’t think she can balance too good with those on.”

  Hannus pulled the manacle’s keys from his belt. “Good thinking, I want to feel those strong legs wrapped around me when you’re finished.”

  Cort stood with his back to a tree and his head down. “Is that a good idea? They say she is dangerous.”

  “That’s all over now, watch.” Hannus drew back and slapped the woman across the face as hard as he could. Black blood trickled from her mouth, but the woman made no sound and her eyes remained empty. “See? As harmless as a mouse.”

  With the manacles removed from her wrists and ankles, Endra was thrown to the ground on her hands and knees. Nadel removed his sword belt, tossing it hastily to the ground. Ripping off what remained of the woman’s tattered undergarments, Nadal pulled down his pants and dropped to his knees behind her. “Let’s see if we can make this mare moan,” he said, squeezing her hips and greedily pulling her towards him.

  Endra’s leg shot backwards, kicking Nadel under his chin. The nude woman dove for his sword, laying only few feet away. Grabbing the weapon, she came to her feet, flinging the scabbard away and exposing the naked blade.

  Stunned by the woman’s unexpected violence, Hannus charged her, trying to pull his sword free as he ran. Their prisoner opened up his belly with a nasty slash before his blade cleared its scabbard. Turning before Hannus even hit the ground, Endra spun the blade in her hand and brought it down into Nadel’s back as he struggled to get to his feet with his pants still around his ankles.

  Wild-eyed, she turned to face the third member of the Hand. Cort stood, sword in hand and trembling like a frightened child. “I had nothing to do with this, it was their idea.”

  She stalked toward the young Hand with his companions' blood spattered all over her naked body. Cort awkwardly thrust his sword at the woman, but she easily batted it aside and returned a backhanded blow that laid his throat wide open. The young Hand clutched at his neck, gurgling.

  “When you get to Heaven, tell your God I am coming,” their prisoner said as she rammed the sword through his chest.

  “You killed me, you evil bitch.” Hannus lay clutching his stomach, trying to keep his intestines from spilling out the wide gap in his abdomen. The bloody woman came to stand over him, her gaze emotionless. Without warning, she thrust her hand into his bleeding belly. Hannus screamed in agony as she tugged mercilessly at his exposed bowels. Finally she gave a great jerk and his screaming stopped.

  Tossing aside the Hand’s viscera, Endra knelt down, leaning on the bloody sword and trying to catch her breath. The gods had decided to give her the chance she had been waiting for. She closed her eyes to give thanks but changed her mind, offering a different kind of prayer instead. “Oh, fearsome gods of death, hear my prayer. Let those who murdered my children and shamed me come to know the fury in my heart. Help me to fill your vast realm with their wretched souls. I have nothing to offer you but my soul and my sword, and I give them freely in exchange for bloody vengeance against my enemies.”

  A sharp cold wind cut through the warmth of the day, making her naked body shiver. Somewhere, a dark god smiled.

  She was pushing the horse hard. If she traveled much farther without resting the animal, she would kill it. Rufio had taught her to see the signs of a spent steed and the horse needed a rest. She would have to slow down or lose time trying to find another.

  Endra had taken one of the Hand’s horses along with a sword and some boots, breeches, and a bloodstained shirt. The clothing didn’t fit well but it covered her, and there wasn’t time to try and find anything else. She had to get to Masaria and find out if what Benington had told her was true.

  The children and Nick Nock had escaped the village, she had seen that with her own eyes, but the Fist had sent men after them and he told her that the children and their overseer had been captured and put to death. Her heart died every time she thought about it. Endra had contemplated simply falling on her sword several times, death meant nothing anymore, but before she closed her eyes for the last time, she was going to make the Church pay for what they had done.

  Pulling back on the reins, she let it walk awhile before it dropped from beneath her. The gelding was sweating and breathing hard. She patted his neck and hopped off the exhausted beast. As she walked along, letting the horse catch his breath, her mind wandered to the man she had promised to love forever.

  He was gone now, taken by the world’s most notorious group of sorcerers, the Circle. She would never see him again. Her lip began to quiver; the thought was almost more than she could bear. Endra leaned her head against the horse’s side. She could smell the worn leather of the saddle as the tears began to fall. At least she would not have to face him again.

  Endra could not deny her love for Kian, but she didn’t know if she could ever forgive him for surrendering to the Milara and Benington. She would have been better off dead than the fate Kian’s submission had placed upon her shoulders. She would never forget the sight of poor little Vadin being cast into those flames. It was a cruel end for her sweet boy. Her other children were lost to her as well, murdered for no other reason than they were born different and they traveled with the Slayer. It was all gone, and despair threatened to overwhelm her every time she thought of their loss.

  It was wrong, but she blamed Kian. Her heart was torn in half, one si
de hating him and the other mourning him. She was alone again, just like all those years ago after her village was destroyed, but the triplets had been born soon after and they had given her a reason to live. Caring for them had kept her going when it seemed easier to die than struggle on.

  She had something different to live for now: revenge. No longer was she the scared young girl walking the shores of the Harsh Coast with no way to avenge her fallen family. She was a warrior now, and she would see to it that those who had wronged her would pay for their cruelties. She needed to get to K’xarr; he could help her with that. Endra climbed back into the saddle and put her heels to the horse’s flanks, galloping into the night and leaving what was left of her heart behind.

  The big bay had finally gone down on her just as she crossed into Quintar. Relieving a fellow traveler of his horse and cloak the following day, she was once again on her way to Masaria. Endra was making good time, sleeping in the saddle and only resting the horse when it was necessary. She believed she had come a fair way across the Kingdom of Quintar. The Scar Mountains were on the horizon, she could just make out their distant outline. There was still a long way to go before she reached her destination, but the mountains were a good sign she was getting closer.

  The sky was low and heavy as she rode along the well-traveled track to the northeast. There was a bigger chance of trouble moving along the more frequently used roads, but they would get her back to her companions much faster. The war must have surely started by now, she thought. Finding a way past the Church’s forces once she got into Masaria could be a problem, but that was a worry for another day. Now the dense clouds had opened up and it began to rain. It was a fine mist at first, but within minutes, it changed to a steady shower.

  Endra pulled the hood of her stolen cloak over her head. The rain was warm, but it would make the dirt road into a muddy mess. That annoyed her more than the wetness that had started to soak through her cloak. The weather would slow her down. She wanted to be among her friends again. She needed to share her pain with them. They were grim and hard men, but they were all she had. Endra hoped reuniting with them would help purge some of the darkness that had gripped her soul.

  The sound of the creaking wagon made her hand instinctively reach to the hilt of the sword at her side. However, her concern was for nothing. The wagon coming over the small hill ahead carried only a man and his family.

  The husband and wife sat side by side on the driver’s seat of the large farm cart and three children lounged in the back. They were all drenched from the rain but every one of them wore a warm and cheery smile.

  The man was likely taking his family to a market somewhere to the south or returning home from a neighbor’s, who could know. Her throat tightened remembering times past that would never come again.

  The old mule pulling the family along plodded through the mud at a snail’s pace. The father nodded to her as they passed and his wife offered a pleasant smile. The three children had begun to giggle and laugh, paying her or the rain little heed. Two boys and a girl. Endra gave the children a long tearful look from beneath her wet hood as she passed alongside the happy family.

  She hadn’t gone thirty feet when her head snapped around. How could she have been so blind? Drawing her sword, she spun her horse around and rode up in front of the wagon. With two great blows from her blade, she killed the mule. “All of you out of that wagon now,” she shrieked.

  The farmer reached under the wagon's seat and pulled out a loaded crossbow. Fumbling with the wet weapon, he fired it before he meant to and sent the bolt harmlessly into the ground. Endra rode up beside him, striking him in the head. The dead man slumped against his wife, coving her in brains and blood.

  The woman began to scream frantically. Endra grabbed her by the hair and jerked her off the wagon. The plump woman fell to the muddy road, sobbing like a child. Leaping from her horse, Endra pulled the children out of the wagon one by one. The girl was the youngest, maybe Tressa’s age, and a boy not much older, but they weren’t who she was interested in. She grabbed the oldest boy by his wet shirt and roughly dragged him from the wagon.

  “Please, just take what you want and go,” he pleaded.

  “There is only one thing I want from you, Caleb.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  Endra pulled back her hood and the color drained from the boy’s wet face.

  “I see you remember me,” Endra said through gritted teeth.

  “Leave him alone. Don’t you dare hurt my boy, he has done nothing,” his mother squawked, running towards her covered with mud. Endra stepped to meet her, ramming her fist into the woman’s soft belly. Caleb’s mother sank to the ground, gasping for breath.

  The rain began to come down harder and the boy raised his hands to the sky. “Oh God, please help me.”

  “Pray to your god all you want, he cannot save you now,” Endra hissed.

  “Please don’t, he’s just a boy,” the woman cried out as she struggled to rise.

  “This boy destroyed my family. Because of him, my children are dead.”

  “I know you,” the woman said, the light of recognition in her eyes. “You are the demoness the Church sought. My son only did what God and the Holy Father asked of him. He had no choice in the matter.”

  “I am no demon and neither was my son. Caleb came seeking our help and we offered it freely. He returned our kindness with lies and treachery. Everyone has a choice, and he is going to pay for the one he made.”

  The woman folded her hands as if the pray and fell to her knees before the female warrior. “I beg you, please show mercy. Don’t kill my son. I ask you this from one mother to another.”

  Endra looked down at the mud-spattered woman who beseeched her to spare her son. She had been a mother; she understood the naked terror that had seized this woman’s heart. She looked to the frightened boy. He was soaked to the bone and shivering, too scared to speak. Endra brought her sword down on the boy’s head so hard it clove him to the chin, the force of the blow snapping his neck as well. The two remaining children screamed in horror. Their mother collapsed to her hands and knees, wailing for her dead son.

  Endra gazed down on the broken woman. “Because of your son, I am no longer a mother and I have no mercy left to give.” Endra’s blade flashed again, striking the woman’s head from her neck.

  She pulled her hood up and slowly climbed onto her horse. The two children she had just orphaned stood in the rain, whimpering and staring at the bodies of their slaughtered family. From beneath her hood, she regarded them with hard and uncaring eyes as their little chins quivered with terror. “Death has visited you today. You should thank the gods that he passed you by.” Kicking her horse into a gallop, she began to scream as the horse raced through the driving rain.

  Kian lay on his back with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing else he could do. He had no idea how long he been in the cell the Circle had crafted for him, and only Tragedy’s visits broke the spell of his bleak captivity. Other members of the Circle had come to gaze on him from beneath their dark cowls, but none had offered any conversation.

  The small sorceress's visits had become more frequent in the last few days. She would bring his breakfast in the morning, and after he had eaten, she would question him the rest of the day. Sometimes it was about his past, his mother and brother or the path his life had taken, but the majority of the sorceress’s questions had to do with what had happened at the tower. She wanted every detail he could remember about his transformation.

  Kian had been reluctant to cooperate at first, but as time passed, he found himself answering more and more of the sorceress’s inquiries. Tragedy made it easy for him to talk, she never pressed him or demanded an answer, and at times she could be almost charming.

  Kian had yet to see her face, but her voice was hypnotic and seductive. As much as he wished he could deny it, Kian had begun to look forward to her company. The discussions helped to take his mind o
ff his agonizing concerns about Endra and the children. Where were they? Were they safe? He had told Tragedy he would tell her anything she wanted to know if she could find out any information.

  The sorceress had agreed to look into their circumstances. He asked her daily if there was any news, but the answer was always the same. She had heard nothing. Kian suspected that the sorceress was lying to him, but did not press the matter. It would do him no good to offend his jailer by calling her a liar.

  It infuriated him to be so helpless. He was trapped, confined like an animal and powerless to protect the ones he loved. He was defenseless and vulnerable, two feelings he had grown to despise.

  Not knowing their fate was the worst. He had left them among their enemies. Milara had sworn he would let them go, but how could he know it the priest had kept his word? The thought of Endra and the children out there all alone ate at his soul. If anything had happened to them, he would never be able to forgive himself.

  The need go to them was overwhelming and the constant worrying was maddening, but it hadn’t taken long to come to the realization that there was just no way he could free himself. The enchanted cage was inescapable. He would just have to wait until a chance to breakout presented itself. But how long would he have to wait?

  His supper had come hours ago and he believed it to be very late. Kian needed very little sleep, but he closed his eyes anyway, hoping to drift off and let his jumbled mind find a few hours of peace.

  He heard soft footsteps and then the iron-bound door quietly swung open. He instantly came to his feet. Tragedy. Even in the concealing robe and cowl she wore, he could tell it was her.

  He had become acquainted with how the magic that surrounded her felt. After his brother had mutilated him, Kian had found he had the ability to sense and smell magic. Each spell caster’s magic had a distinct scent or feeling. Tragedy’s sorcery always gave him an impression of sadness and loss. The sorceress had never visited him at night and Kian was very curious to find out why she had come. “It is late,” he said as she closed the door.