DAWN OF THE PHOENIX (Gods Of The Forever Sea Book 1)

by A. J. STRICKLER

  The afternoon sun was warm. More of the winter’s snow would melt into the rich Bandaran soil today. Lord Justice Milara and Commander Deverall did not feel the warmth of the sun as they stared at the bodies strewn about the north side of this small hill. Commander Deverall had not let his knights pursue the devil half-breed until the sun rose. Too many things could go wrong in the dark. He thought his mounted warriors could catch the two renegades, if the Hand did not get them first. They were on foot after all, but he had never expected this. “How did he do it, Your Eminence? No man can take on thirty men and live,” Deverall said, dumbfounded.

  Dracen Milara had no explanation. He too had never seen anything like this.

  Commander Deverall could only shake his head. “Why would God allow such a man to exist, my lord?”

  “That thing is no man, Commander, and it uses the magic of the Beast. It must be hunted down and killed, but God does not want us to pursue the creature at this time. We will make camp and bury our dead. Their sacrifice must be honored. God will welcome them into Heaven for their service to him. They gave their lives fighting against this minion of evil and we must send them to him with all reverence.”

  “As you command, Lord Justice. We will set up your pavilion and begin digging the graves.” Commander Deverall didn’t know if God wanted the dead buried or not, he was just glad they would not be going after the half-breed anytime soon. The thing was not natural. Oliver Deverall was no coward, he had proven that many times over. He would make a stand against any man the Church asked him to, but Milara was right, what had come among them was no man.

  While the dead were being buried, Milara relaxed in his tent and drank a cool glass of wine. There was a shimmer in the air and a man stood before him. The man was cloaked and wore a deep hood pulled up to cover his face. “The Holy Father would like to know why you have not captured the renegade half-breed.”

  Milara shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated the sorcerers the pope employed. The Holy Father would not even tell him of their origins. Though he didn’t like them, Milara could not deny their usefulness. “Tell the pope we are right behind the creature, and I will have him soon, and you may mention to the Holy Father that he possesses the blood of the Beast.”

  “I will take the message, Dracen, even though it’s not quite the truth. You had the elven dog and let him get away. I told you he was heading north from the city and going in to the Adorn. You knew he would be returning from the forest in a matter of days, all you had to do was wait. I practically gave him to you, and you let him slip through your fingers.”

  “Don’t worry, wizard. I will catch the monster and deliver him to the Holy Father soon enough.”

  “I don’t care what you and the Holy Father do or if you ever get the elf. I was paid by your Church to assist you in locating the thing and I have done my part. I will take your message to the pope and then I am finished with you.” The wizard vanished from the pavilion.

  Dracen took a sip of his wine. He could understand completely why God did not like magic.

  The walls had become chaos. There were no more orders to give. K’xarr could not see any men in Bandaran red, only the brown and green of the Abberdonians.

  He and Cromwell had held them at bay for a time, but the Abberdonians had gained the walls, and he felt sure he had heard the north gate shatter. He was far too pressed to get a good look, but he knew the gatehouse had been taken. There were just too many Abberdonians on the ground inside the city for it to still be held by the Bandarans. He wished Kian was with them, the half-breed might be able to cut them a path off the wall and down into the city, but Kian was dead and he and Cromwell were alone.

  “K’xarr, here.” He turned and saw Cromwell coming towards him, shearing an Abberdonian in half from shoulder to hip, then kicking another from the battlements. “It’s done, there is nothing more to do,” Cromwell shouted over the sounds of the battle.

  K’xarr knew what Cromwell was saying, nothing to do but die. Well, they had made a good run at it. He would die like a man and take as many Abberdonians with him as he could. His dreams of glory would end on Turill’s north wall.

  Back to back, they fought on, black blood seeping from a dozen minor wounds on both. Abberdonian after Abberdonian went down before them. They were warriors of the Harsh Coast, their deaths would come at a high price to Havalon and his men.

  The battlements were slick with blood, making it hard for the Abberdonians to keep their feet. Archers tried to fire arrows at them, hoping to help their infantry with the two daunting warriors. Where the two men stood was the only place of resistance left on the wall that was still held by the Bandarans.

  K’xarr’s sword had dulled from so much use, it only shattered the jaw of the man he struck in the side of the face. He was getting tired too, his defense was slowing. Two crossbow bolts slammed into his thigh then a third hit him in the shoulder. It wasn’t deep, and his armor had taken most of it; the leg wounds were deeper.

  “See you in Hell, K’xarr,” he heard Cromwell say as the Toran grabbed three Abberdonians and jumped off the battlements down into the city. Another bolt hit the young general’s left arm, going right through the bicep. As K’xarr looked down at the bolt, he felt something strike his head and he knew no more.

  It took the knights three days to bury the dead. Lord Justice Milara presided over each burial personally.

  As the Knights of Deliverance began shoveling dirt on to the last corpse, Milara called Commander Deverall to him. “We will leave in the morning, Commander, have the men ready.”

  “Where do we head, Eminence?”

  “Turill, Commander, the beast will head for the city. We will have all the soldiers of the Abberdonians and Bandarans help us find it and kill it,” Milara said.

  “What about the war? I don’t think they will want to stop and join forces to hunt down one half-breed.”

  Milara gave the knight commander a look that made Oliver think the lord justice might be mad. “They will, if they are men of God. They have dared to fight in the snows of winter. That is against Church law. I’m sure they can be persuaded to help, if I offer to forgive their transgressions. They can finish their war after we have captured the monster. King Havalon is a man of the Church and the young queen would be wise to follow my orders, else she may find herself without a throne. I will bet they can find some soldiers to spare for our cause.”

  “I am sure you’re right, Eminence.” The commander walked away from the graves and made ready to ride south. He wondered if the King of Abberdon and the Queen of Bandara would obey the lord justice. It would be much better for them if they did. It would be much better for him as well. Oliver would like to have as many men as he could get when they faced the creature again.

  Syann watched unseen from a grove of trees as Kian and Rhys passed. She used magic to hide her presence from the half-elven swordsman. She wished she could have helped him more. He was not what she had expected and he had not asked for any of this. Why couldn’t this entire idiotic game just stop and everyone live in peace? A foolish thought, it was never going to happen. It was not the way of the gods, and it never had been. Now that they had nothing to fear from the Reaper, they had returned to their old ways.

  She was curious about what the Forever Sea had done to Kian. She remembered what it had done for the Phoenix Queen, and she had just possessed it in a tiny vile she wore around her neck. The enchanted half-elf had been poisoned with it by his vile brother. Why Shiavaka troubled herself with Tavantis, Syann could not fathom.

  She spun on her heel, sensing the arrival of another. Her silver longsword whispered from its sheath, its magic making the blade faintly glow.

  “Well, Daughter, are you going to strike down your own mother?”

  Syann slid her blade back into its scabbard. “What do you want, Mother?”

  “I came to tell you I don’t care for you interfering with my cat’s-paw.” The veiled woman laughed. “Now, isn’t that an approp
riate name for him.”

  The blonde woman’s eyes narrowed. Syann didn’t find her mother’s joke funny. “You will see him dead, you will use him and trick him until he is killed, then you will just find another.”

  The Mistress held up her gloved hand. “There is no other like him. I assure you, he won’t be treated like the others. His insane brother could not produce another if he had to, and I don’t think even Shiavaka could craft a creature like that. Now the Forever Sea flows in his veins and he yet lives. He is a true prize. I will see he is well taken care of.”

  Syann turned her back and folded her arms. “You’re no better than Father.”

  “This whole thing is entirely your father’s fault, girl.”

  Syann turned around, pointing her finger at the Queen of the Dead. “At least he’s not a schemer and a liar. It was wrong what we all did to him, it should not have happened.”

  “You always were a daddy’s girl, Syann, his little blonde goddess. It was he who slew King Cem for no reason, then made war on all of us. We had no choice but to imprison him, he had gone mad.”

  The young woman shook her head with conviction. “That’s not true, no one knows why he killed Cem and made war on the rest of us, and he is no madder than you or I. Sometimes I think…”

  The Mistress cut her off. “Don’t even think it, Daughter. He must never be released. Your father would kill us all, perhaps even you, my noble little girl.”

  “I betrayed him. I deserve no better.”

  “You think too much of him.”

  Syann wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “He is my father. I love him.”

  “I’m your mother, what about me?”

  “You are evil, Mother, it’s very hard to have those feelings for you.”

  The Queen of the Dead’s arms fell to her sides. “He is evil too, you know that.”

  Syann walked over and embraced her mother. “He is not evil, Mother, he is just death.”

  Smoke filled the air on the north side of the city, even though only a few buildings were burning. He ordered the fires to be put out. King Havalon wanted his prize intact. Turill would bring a great deal of coin to the coffers of Abberdon. Now he would have a city on the Gold Road. With the important trade route, he would be able to afford to replace the troops he had lost in Bandara. Abberdon would become one of the richest and most powerful kingdoms in the world. After all these years, the city was finally his.

  He sat on his warhorse in the heart of the Grand Market as he watched his two sons riding down the famed Gold Road to meet him. He smiled at them in spite of himself. Donovan and Griffyn had both done well, they were the future of Abberdon. The old king felt that the future was secure now. He was proud of both his boys, no one could ask for better sons. Now one could rule Abberdon and the other Bandara when his time was done. The war was all but over and his legacy was assured. The Bandaran army in the north did not concern him, what was left of them could easily be destroyed. The only fight left would be between his sons over who got King Aaron’s little whore. He was sure it would prove amusing to hear his boys fighting over which one would take the little princess.

  “Father, we have news,” Donovan said.

  “Well, spit it out, we need to finish things here.”

  Donovan nodded. “The queen and her court fled to Braxton Bluff, reports say she has a thousand men with her.”

  The king thought for a moment. “The Bluff is strong, but if that’s all the men she has left, we should be able to take it with in a week. What else?”

  “We captured some of their leaders, what do you want done with them?”

  The old king grinned. “Take me to them.”

  Havalon and his sons rode over to the queen’s garden where the prisoners were being held. There were perhaps two hundred regulars and maybe fifteen officers.

  “Who is the highest rank among you?” the king shouted.

  A man stepped out, stripped to the waist. Havalon could see bolts from a crossbow in his leg and arm. Blood ran down the side of his head and had caked in his short cropped beard. The king thought the darkness of the man’s blood was very odd.

  “I’m K’xarr Strom, I command here.”

  King Havalon leaned back in his saddle. “So, you’re the infamous General Strom. May I remind you that you command nothing now, sir, but I’m pleased you lived. Care to make any more of your threats now, cur?” K’xarr said nothing. “I thought not.” The older king appraised the young man. “You are nothing but a barbarian from the north and will not be granted any leniencies accorded to those of noble birth.”

  Donovan interrupted the king’s berating of the enemy general. “Father, his blood is black, look.”

  Havalon looked closer, his eyes were not as sharp as they once had been. He had thought the man’s blood looked strange, now he saw why. “What devilry is this? Are you human?”

  K’xarr spit on the ground. “I’m as human as you are, you fat old bastard.”

  Havalon laughed. “You are brave, but a fool. Bind his wounds and place him in the dungeon. Give him a taste of the whip first, so this devil can learn some respect. I will hold him for the Church, they may have a few questions about the magic he used against us. They may also have an interest in that strange blood as well.”

  “We have another one, Majesty,” a soldier shouted. Havalon watched as five men shoved a huge Toran in chains ahead of them. The king could see the big man favored his left side, was bleeding from a score of wounds, and the Toran’s blood was as black as his commander’s. The guards stood him next to K’xarr.

  “How many of the devils are there?” Havalon said, throwing up his arms. “Who are you, Toran?”

  “I am Cromwell Blood of the Blood Clan, king of dog shit.”

  Havalon sighed. He detested these uncouth marauders, but they might serve a purpose yet. “They both seem to still be very defiant, my sons, give that one the whip as well and lock him up with his pagan general. Hang the others. Find someone with the Church and see if they might be interested in these two with their magic and black blood. If the Church doesn’t want them, we will hang them later.”

  King Havalon turned, his horse flanked on both sides by his sons. “They are little more than savages, Father, why not just kill them now?”

  “Well, Son, if I did that, when the Church asks why I attacked Turill during the winter, I would only have my word when I explained what happened. Now I have these two to prove my case. I can claim I was provoked by their evil and had no choice but to seize them and the city in the name of God.”

  Both princes nodded, acknowledging their father’s wisdom. “Now let’s see what treasures the palace holds.”

  K’xarr could tell something had changed in the city of Turill. He kept track of time by the meals that had been brought to them. Now the food had stopped coming and they hadn’t seen any guards for the last couple of days. “They’ve gone after the queen,” he said quietly, not wanting to wake the sleeping Toran.

  “What do you plan on doing about it?” Cromwell mumbled without opening his eyes.

  K’xarr looked at his cellmate lying on the lice-infested mattress. He had thought the big man had fallen asleep. “I didn’t say I was going to do anything about it. I think that’s why the food stopped and the passing of the guard is less frequent.”

  Cromwell yawned and sat up. “You think too much, K’xarr. We are prisoners, most likely we will die soon. When they come for me, I will kill as many of the Abberdonian pigs as I can and make them kill me. They won’t stretch my neck. I will not die like that.”

  “We both are feverish and will die of the rot before we hang,” K’xarr said, looking at his arm. “Your wounds smell almost as fetid as mine. That healer they sent was little more than a butcher. All he did was stop the bleeding and bandage our wounds.”

  Cromwell chuckled. “I don’t think Havalon is too concerned about our health, General.”

  “I wish I knew if Rufio got them to the Bluff,” K’
xarr said, slamming his hands into the bars of their cell.

  “I’m sure the Dragitan got them there. Rufio would die before he failed you.”

  K’xarr nodded in agreement. “At least he won’t die in here with us.”

  “I cannot die in here from some wound rot, K’xarr. My death should have been in combat, sword in hand, killing mine enemies. Stupid Abberdonians broke my fall when I jumped from the wall or I would be with Fane in Vinteytium now. When they come for us, I will fight.”

  K’xarr gave his friend an ironic smile. “What if they never come?”

  “The gods will not look favorably on me if I die a captive. A Toran should die with the song of battle filling his ears. I will most likely go to Hell instead of Vinteytium if I die a prisoner.”

  K’xarr looked at Cromwell and shook his head. The people of Camir believed in Vinteytium just like the Torans. The mythical silver city of heroes was said to be made by the gods for warriors who died in battle. K’xarr had grown up hearing the same tales Cromwell had, he just didn’t believe them. He thought it was all nonsense. “There is no such place, you fool, and no gods to judge you when you die. You will rot in the earth while the worms eat your flesh, my friend, unless they burn you.”

  Cromwell stood up. K’xarr could tell he had upset the Toran. “No, you are wrong, the great city is there. Fane bid it built for those who worshipped at the altar of war. The great Goddess of Justice, Syann, sits at its gates with her silver sword in hand. She weighs each warrior’s deeds. It is her judgment that can open the gate. If the warrior is worthy, she will let him pass through. The warrior’s paradise is real and that’s all there is.”

  K’xarr didn’t want to hear any more of Cromwell gibberish, but he had to ask. “What if she judges the warrior unworthy?”