The Star Of Saree (GODS OF THE FOREVER SEA Book 3)

by A. J. STRICKLER

  The bolt sliced the side of his neck, cutting a shallow gash, and buried itself in the fire’s burning stake. Holding the child under his arm, the swordsman spun and hurled Silence with deadly accuracy. The dark blade struck the villager high in the chest, taking him off his feet.

  Setting the girl down, Kian touched his neck. Black blood dripped from the wound, but he didn’t think the gash would need to be stitched.

  “A demon is among us,” the priest yelled, pointing at him and holding up three fingers.

  Kian paid no heed to the priest’s gibberish as he retrieved Silence from the crossbowman’s dead body.

  “Be gone, foul demon. You have no power amid the righteous people of this village. With God’s holy word, I command you to return to Hell.” The priest shook his fist with fanatical conviction. “Take thy unclean form back to the netherworld from which you came, servant of the Beast.”

  Kian’s golden eyes narrowed. In one move, he grabbed the cleric by his robe and lifted him off the ground. “If there is a demon in this village, it is you, priest.”

  The swordsman flung the priest through the air and into one of the piles of burning brush. The man howled like a mad dog as his robe caught fire and shot up from the blaze, running towards the few villagers who still cowered at the edge of their crude town square. His frightened flock wrestled their scorched priest to the ground and doused the flames.

  Kian slightly lowered his head, his uncanny golden eyes glaring at the hamlet’s petrified inhabitants. The swordsman bared his fangs and gave a low growl.

  “Stay back or I will burn this village to the ground and kill the lot of you.”

  The villagers didn’t need a second warning. They headed for the cover of a small church on the north end of the village, dragging their whimpering priest along with them.

  The thick smoke and stench of burning flesh reminded Kian of Masaria. He had aided K’xarr in the battle that destroyed the city of Gallio, and the screams of those that died in the inferno still haunted his sleep. He tried not to think of his friends too much, because it made him miss them even more, especially Endra. He hoped they were all still safe following K’xarr on his bloody path to glory. After he had delivered Ivan’s body to Eldon Cross, the Grand Marshal of the Asconan Knights, he thought of returning to them, but it was too soon. He wasn’t ready to face them yet, at least not till he could come to terms with what the Church had done to Endra and his son, and gain control of the forces inside him. Vadin’s death still weighed too heavily on his conscience and the appalling acts committed against the woman he loved threatened to steal his reason. When the time came, the pope and his priests would pay dearly, but for now, it would have to suffice to thwart the Church’s cruel edicts wherever he could. Soon enough he would see to it that bloody justice was served.

  Casting a glance to the south, Kian saw the young woman burst from the trees. She scowled at him and shook her head. Rivulets of sweat ran down her cheeks as she grabbed her knees and tried to catch her breath. His companion’s hair was stark white and her eyes were the color of storm clouds. She was strongly built, dressed in a worn pair of leather pants and a sleeveless chainmail shirt that sported more than a few rust spots. An old sword hung from her belt in a deerskin scabbard and a longbow and quiver were slung across her back.

  “Tempest, see to the child,” Kian called out. He could see the look of irritation on the girl’s face. She would be cross because he left her behind when he started for the village, but there hadn’t been time. Kian knew Tempest wanted to help those who shared her plight; she was a passionate young woman with a caring heart, a trait few seemed to possess these days.

  Scanning the area, Kian saw that his ferocious display had cowed the villagers for the moment, but the intimidation wouldn’t last. When they found their courage again, the villagers would mount some kind of attack against him. Though the burning provoked the monster inside him, he didn’t want to kill any of them if he didn’t have to. They were simple people misled by those who served the Church.

  Tempest had fetched a bucket of water from the village well and was tending to the child, while Kian cut the burned bodies free. While he scattered the stacks of flaming logs that had been placed around them, the swordsman studied the priest’s victims. There was a man and woman along with two other children, around ten or twelve, he guessed. Laying them out alongside one another, Kian pulled a dagger from his belt. Quickly making a small cut on each of the bodies, he stepped back and watched red blood seep from each of the wounds. Free of the reviled black blood, Kian wondered why these people had been sentenced to such a cruel fate.

  Drifting over to where the young woman knelt, he watched Tempest wipe the little girl’s soot-covered face. She dipped a piece of cloth torn from the little girl’s dress and gently washed away the ash from the fire. “The others didn’t carry the blood,” he said.

  Tempest glanced up at him and cocked her head. “Did you think it would be any different here? The priests are not too particular who they burn. Being innocent of carrying the blood doesn’t always save you from the inquisition.”

  Kian folded his arms and said nothing, knowing it was best not to fuel the woman’s outrage. Even though she had a good heart, Tempest was wild and easy to anger. He had saved her from the same fate as these poor people a few months earlier in an Alarusian village just northwest of the Adorn forest. The people of the village had found out about Tempest’s blood and decided to burn her at the stake. It had been blind luck that led him to the little town just as they were about to execute their “demon girl.”

  The people of that town had not fared as well as this little hamlet had. There had been Alarusian soldiers present for the execution, and Tempest’s rescue had turned bloody. Most of his attempted liberations had gone the same way. The only difference in Tempest’s case was that he had managed to save her.

  Tempest was right about the corruption of the inquisition itself. In many instances, he had discovered those being persecuted didn’t even possess black blood, nor know of anyone who did. The pope’s accursed proclamation allowed those in power to rid themselves not only of the poor souls who carried the blood, but people they saw as a threat or the unlucky individuals that simply got in their way. Any enemy could be accused of collusion with those deemed “Children of the Beast” and if found guilty, they would be executed with little or no trouble.

  Sometimes he thought it would have been better if he had stayed in Tyro. After dropping Ivan’s body off in the Asconan capital of Kell, he had spent two months prowling the Tyroian countryside stalking Milara and Bennington, though the effort had proved fruitless.

  A great many priests and papal soldiers had fallen to Silence during those two months, but he had not avenged Vadin’s death on the two men responsible for it. He had even burned down Lord Justice Milara’s estate and slaughtered his men-at-arms to draw him out, but the wicked deed availed him nothing. Kian was unsure of what to do until he caught wind of the inquisition.

  He had taken a junior officer of the papal army alive, a man with a keen fear of Kian’s fangs who had spilled his guts with little coercion. Kian learned that Milara and Bennington had taken up residence in Asqutania and were staying in the Grand Church itself, and word had it that the pope had gone into a fit of rage after what had happened in Masaria. Though he had half the Church’s agents out searching for those of the blood already, he was now enlisting all those who worshiped his god to aid him in the destruction of the Beast’s children once and for all. Prince and peasant alike were compelled to comply with the holy decree or stand accused of heresy themselves.

  So he had left Tyro and headed north. He thought if he could interfere with the evil proclamation by stopping as many of the executions as he could, perhaps the Holy Father would send Milara and Bennington out after him again. Then he could take revenge for Vadin and put the child’s soul to rest, but so far his efforts had done little to deter the Church’s reign of terror or draw out his enemies.
>
  He had been foolish. He was only one man; his attacks were in vain and he had changed nothing. Given another year, the inquisition would be in full force throughout the world. Sometimes he thought it better to return to Tyro and take his revenge. If he died, so be it.

  His golden eyes took stock of Tempest and the sweet-faced little blonde girl; perhaps his reckless endeavors were not entirely futile. He had saved these two. Weren’t their lives worth more than his vengeance? It was the living that needed him now. The dead were very patient; they would wait for their day of reckoning.

  Tempest rubbed her finger beneath her nose, leaving a black smudge on her top lip. “She is as clean as I can get her with a bucket of water. I don’t think the smoke hurt her insides too much. She is coughing much less now that she’s had a drink.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Kian saw that several of the villagers had returned and were skulking between their small houses. It wouldn’t be long. “Check her,” he said without taking his eyes off the villagers.

  “The others were normal. I don’t see why we should—”

  “Do as I say,” Kian said, cutting her off.

  Tempest drew a small dagger from her belt and the child flinched. “It won’t hurt much; just let me see your hand.”

  The little girl shook her head, holding her hand tightly against her chest.

  Tempest held out her own hand. “Watch” The white-haired girl gave it a quick jab. Black blood slowly rolled out and pooled in her palm. “See? It doesn’t hurt,” she said, wiping her hand on her pants.

  The girl slowly put her hand out and let Tempest prick it with the dagger. A tiny bead of black blood leaked out into the child’s small hand. Both girls slowly looked up at the swordsman.

  Kian’s brows furrowed. “We can sort this out later. Let’s be gone from here before these people decide we need to burn.”

  Tempest pulled the girl off the ground. Kian guessed her age to be six or seven, judging by her height. “What is your name?” Tempest asked quietly.

  “Tiresias,” the child mumbled softly.

  “Well, Tiresias, I am Tempest and this man is Kian. Do you mind if he carries you away from here?”

  The girl shook her head. Kian effortlessly lifted the youngster into his arms. The child wrapped her small arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest, showing no fear of his fierce visage.

  “Thank you,” she said, her words muffled by his cloak.

  Kian looked at Tempest; the young woman was smiling, a habit of hers. “You have saved a second damsel.”

  The swordsman shook his head. “Let’s be gone from here.”

  The three headed north toward Brova. He planned to see if they could gather some provisions there, but for now, the warrior was content just to get away from the cruel-eyed villagers before he was forced to kill them.

  After putting several miles between them and the village, Kian halted the little group alongside a narrow stream. The trees were sparse along its edges but, the creek’s banks were steep and would give them a little cover. Though it was fall, the midday sun was warm. He sat the little girl down near the water and stretched his back.

  “You’re wounded.” Tempest pointed out, squinting at the cut on his neck.

  Kian reached up and felt the cut the crossbow bolt had sliced on his neck. The blood had clotted; it would need no further attention. “It is nothing.”

  Tempest reached up to examine the injury, but the swordsman caught her hand. “It is best you never touch my blood.”

  “That is foolish, hold still.” She tried to pull her hand free.

  Kian squeezed her hand a little tighter. “My blood could harm you. It is not the same as yours.”

  “Your blood is as black as mine, how could it harm me?” the girl asked with a smirk.

  “Only the color is the same. Mine has been tainted by the poison waters of the Forever Sea. You must trust me on this, Tempest.”

  “Your blood is poison to the touch?” Tempest said, taking a step back.

  “No, but if you were to get some in your eye or a cut on your hand, I don’t know what would happen.”

  “How could your blood be poison? I never heard of this Forever Sea.”

  He sighed. He didn’t like talking about what Tavantis had done to him. “The Forever Sea is a great, poisonous ocean that lies beyond this world. A wizard put some of it inside me.”

  “Why doesn’t it hurt you if it’s so poisonous?” Tempest put her hands on her hips.

  Kian shrugged. “I have the heart of a great dragon beating inside my chest. It protects me from the water’s corruption.”

  Tempest grinned. “You are teasing me.”

  Kian scowled at her, his golden eyes fierce and uncompromising.

  The young woman’s smile faded. “I will stay clear of it.”

  Kian nodded. “Finish washing Tiresias in the stream, though you will have to put those filthy clothes back her. They will have to do till we can find something else for the child.”

  “Okay, I could use a bath myself.” Tempest collected the girl and led her down the small stream. Kian turned his back as the two disrobed and waded out into the shallow water. Tempest started the process of washing the smoke and soot from the girl’s blonde hair as Kian walked farther downstream to give the pair some privacy.

  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do with Tiresias. Tempest had been old enough to follow him and see to her own needs, but Tiresias was another manner entirely. If he left her in the care of someone else, he would be taking the chance that the girl’s blood would be discovered again and she would be turned over to the church.

  As much as he hated the idea, he would just have to bring her along with them. Tempest could look after her. The child would be much better company for the young woman than he was.

  Kian knew he had been a poor traveling companion over the last few months, having been surly and curt with Tempest on several occasions. To her credit, she had never once complained. Even now when he explained about his blood, the young woman had accepted the strange tale better than he had when the goddess Syann had enlightened him about his unique anatomy.

  The blonde goddess had not visited him after he had ridden out of Masaria. He was just south of the city of Kell when she had appeared to him again, and they had talked at length about a great many things, though he could tell she had left many things unsaid. That had been the last time he’d seen her. He glanced down at the ring she had given him back in Bandara, and wondered if he would ever see the goddess again.

  Kneeling at the edge of the stream, he splashed some of the cool water over his head and rid himself of the dried blood on his face and neck. The water stung his small wound, but when he finished, the cut was clean.

  The water dripped from his wet hair as he studied his rippling refection in the stream. Though he healed more quickly than humans, the scars remained. He looked at the large one that ran from the corner of his eyebrow to his chin and traced the clean, pale line with his fingertip. Tavantis. The scars his brother had given him were not only on the outside. Something was changing inside him. He was afraid to even guess at what it was, but the anxiety he felt was causing him to be rather irritable. Even though he had Tempest, he felt terribly alone.

  He thought of all of his companions. Now with the Church’s vile works spreading to every corner of Saree, he worried for their safety. Not a day went by that he didn’t fret about Endra and the children.

  K’xarr and Cromwell would see to their protection, he had no doubt of that. The leader of the Sons of the Reaper was nothing if not a bane to the pope and his Church, and the Toran bull would die before he let anything happen to Endra or the little ones. The truth was, Endra was safer with the company than she was with him.

  “We are finished,” Tempest called from behind him. Shaking off his melancholy thoughts, Kian walked up from the stream. Both his charges had dressed, but their hair was wet and the stream’s chilly water caused them to shiver.


  “I will build you a fire so you two can warm up. We will rest here tonight, and in the morning, we will head north.”

  “Where are we going, Kian?” Tempest asked, her teeth chattering a little.

  “I have been thinking about that. I might know a place that you will be safe, at least for a while.”

  “Where?”

  “There is a valley I know of deep in the Blue Dagger Mountains. Few know its location, so you might do well there for a time.”

  Tempest put her arm around Tiresias’s shoulders and nodded. “I think I would like the mountains.”

  King Petru had kept watch from one of the long, narrow windows in his throne room. It had been over an hour since the sun had dipped below the horizon. Now that night had blanketed the land, he could make out the soft glow from hundreds of torches as they swarmed up the hill from the city of Brova. His hands began to sweat as he witnessed the first of nearly a thousand warriors as they rode up to the walls of the palace. The baron had returned.

  The powerful nobleman had stormed out the night before, furious after he had been informed about the escape of Pepca and the two rebels. Petru knew full well that Dimitri had a hand in it, and he believed Baron Serban suspected the prince’s collusion as well, but he wasn’t going to hand over his heir like he had poor Pepca. Dimitri was the future of Trimenia and his only male issue.

  He had been dreading the nobleman’s return all day, trying to come up with some explanation that would satisfy his enraged vassal. His youngest daughter had been one thing. The forfeiture of her life, though distressing, would have been insignificant, but Petru was determined to protect his son from Serban no manner what the cost.

  At least Warmark’s monarchs had departed. Breeda had pestered Mayson until he had agreed to return to the city of Thessa with Prince Henry in tow. The prince’s exodus had sparked a series of tantrums from Danika and his queen. His only saving grace was that he had managed to get King Mayson to agree to hold the couple’s spring wedding in Trimenia.