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

by A. J. STRICKLER

  Serban smiled, exposing his fangs. “It was really nothing at all. Tomorrow, we will finish this.”

  Serban’s undead creatures had done more than kill a few hundred men. The unnatural assault had tipped the scales. Between the magic they had faced the day before and the attacks during the night, the peasants’ courage had flown away like a songbird released from its cage. Not even a long-winded speech from Constantine could keep the superstitious farmers from fleeing back to the Trimenian countryside. Thousands marched out of the city heading for their homes as soon as the sun broke the horizon.

  Only five hundred of Constantine’s renegades remained. With the young soldiers that had followed Dimitri and K’xarr’s mercenaries, it left less than three thousand men. The army had been cut in half overnight.

  Pepca sat outside one of the city’s bakeries. The sweet smell of fresh bread and honey cakes was absent from the still air of the bright morning. All the shops in the city had closed. With the exception of a few taverns, the city had shut down. The shop keepers would wait for the day’s battle to end and see who was going to rule the kingdom before they would open their doors again. Who could blame them? If the rebel army was defeated, none would want to be accused of aiding the baron’s enemies.

  Tempest lounged in an old wooden chair beside her. Her friend’s eyes were red-rimmed from taking care of the frightened children the night before. The screams of the dying had roused the little ones from their sleep, and they had not rested again until the sun had risen. A few old women sympathetic to the rebellion watched over them now, giving their self-appointed keeper time to rest. Pepca had urged Tempest to get some sleep, but the white-haired woman had stubbornly refused.

  The two sat in silence as the smoky stench of the funeral pyres drifted through the city. It angered Pepca that those who died so bravely would not receive a proper burial. K’xarr had ordered the bodies cleared from the road and the city streets burned. She understood the reasoning for it, but the callousness of the act annoyed her.

  She and Tempest sat up as Father Sobena walked over to join them. The former priest looked haggard. He was unshaven and his dark hair was a mess. The man had been working with the wounded all night and looked ready to fall over. “Highness, Tempest, it is good to see you both were unharmed by last night’s evils.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Pepca said.

  “It’s just Miro now, Highness.” He leaned up against one of the wooded posts holding up the bakery’s awning. “Today, Trimenia’s fate will be decided.”

  “Why do you say that?” Pepca asked.

  “Captain Strom and Constantine are preparing to attack again today. Neither side has many soldiers left. It just stands to reason it will end before the sun rises tomorrow.”

  “Do you think Strom and the rebels can win?” Tempest asked.

  “It is all in God’s hands now. My hope is that the lord will be merciful.”

  Katrina and Vladimir moved down the street together. The pair was coming towards them, and neither of the rebels looked happy. “K’xarr has ordered anyone one young enough to fight to arm themselves and come to the northern gate,” Katrina said without emotion.

  Tempest nodded solemnly. “I thought this might happen after so many left this morning. I will be there.”

  “As will I,” the ex-priest said, looking at Tempest. Pepca stood up and brushed back her wooly locks. “I will stand with you also.”

  Katrina gave a mocking laugh. “No, little princess, you are the only one K’xarr said to keep out of it. I don’t think he wants to risk your delicate backside.”

  Pepca felt her face flush. The redheaded rebel’s condescending tone angered and embarrassed her. “This is my country just as much as yours, Katrina. My brother died trying to free Trimenia from Baron Serban. How can I offer any less than my life?”

  “It doesn’t matter what you’re prepared to do. You’re no fighter, Princess. You would just get yourself killed,” Katrina said.

  “Captain Strom said he planned to make me queen. It isn’t something I wanted, but if I am to rule, isn’t it my duty to stand with my people?”

  “You are an absurd girl. Today will be bloody no matter who is victorious. I don’t know that Trimenia will be yours or not when this is over, but I do know this: you have no place on a battlefield, future queen or not.”

  Pepca stared to answer, but Vladimir held a hand up to silence them both. “Trina is right, Princess, you are no fighter. You do, however, possess other assets.”

  It was clear Vladimir was taking about the wolf inside her. Katrina and Tempest both knew her secret, but her mentor was cagy enough not to speak of it directly of it in front of the ex-priest.

  Katrina flipped her hair and pursed her full lips, staring at Pepca as if she were apprising the princess. “If you want to get yourself killed, Highness, who am I to stand in your way?”

  “She might not be the only one dying, if you don’t shut your nasty mouth.”

  Pepca tried to hide a grin as Ashlyn stepped up behind Katrina. The mercenary was much shorter and thinner than the redhead, but it was obvious that the violence in Ashlyn’s eyes intimidated both Vladimir and Katrina. The small mercenary glared at them from beneath her stringy brown hair, slowly swinging a jug of wine back and forth in her hand. “Why are you two over here bothering the princess anyway?”

  “Your captain’s ordered it,” Katrina said, looking at Ashlyn with disgust.

  “I know what his orders are, Red, and you have delivered them. Now if you don’t want me to knock you on your pretty ass, I suggest you leave.” Ashlyn gestured to the street.

  Katrina wrinkled her nose and sauntered away. Vladimir touched Pepca’s face. “I have faith in you.” He nodded to Tempest and the ex-priest then followed Katrina down the street.

  “Just because she shares the captain’s bed, she thinks she is of some importance,” Ashlyn said with a slur.

  “Does Captain Strom really want everyone to fight?” Pepca asked.

  “He did say you should keep out of it, but yes, we need every sword we can get.”

  Pepca swallowed hard. “I’m going to fight. I know nothing of war, but Serban is responsible for the death of my entire family and the ruination of my country. If I can help even in a small way, I must act.

  Ashlyn smiled. When she did that, Pepca could see how beautiful she could be if she at least took time to bathe.

  “Just stay by me, Princess, and I will see you make it through. We have a wizard with us now, the Slayer’s brother. Nasty looking fellow too, claw branded on one side of his face and his eyes…” Ashlyn shuddered. “He makes my skin crawl, but they say he is powerful.”

  “He will have to be to stand against the wizards helping the baron,” Tempest added.

  “K’xarr seems to think he is, and the Slayer is going to take the field as well. As far as I am concerned, the odds are in our favor with those two on our side,” Ashlyn said confidently.

  Pepca looked at her hands as she listened to the two women. “I don’t know if I can kill anyone.”

  Ashlyn took a big drink from her bottle and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Sure you can, it’s not as hard as you think. The hard part is not letting anyone kill you.”

  She felt Tempest’s hand on her shoulder. “I am going to see to the children and collect my weapons. Then I will meet you and Father…I mean Miro at the north gate.” They all watched as Tempest trotted off down the street.

  “She is too good for this lot,” Ashlyn said almost to herself. The short mercenary tossed her wine bottle into the street and put her arm around Pepca’s shoulders. “Now, let’s see about getting you ready for battle.”

  * * *

  K’xarr watched as the diminished army began to form up at the city’s northern gate. The battle would not be a long one. Many of the fighting men he watched falling in line now would be dead before nightfall. The cost mattered little to him. As long as Serban was destroyed, he was willing to pay the
Reaper his due.

  Not for the princess or to avenge Dimitri. Not even because it was the right thing to do. What K’xarr wanted was simple revenge. The mercenary hadn’t forgotten what the undead fiend had done to his men, or the humiliation he had suffered personally. It troubled the captain very little that he was willing to let every man under his command die to avenge himself on the baron, it was just his way.

  The bald wizard beside him was as untrust worthy as a snake, but he didn’t doubt Tavantis would get them inside. K’xarr believed the sorcerer had his own reasons for wanting the battle finished. The wizard claimed he was aiding them because Kian asked it. K’xarr doubted that was the truth. To his knowledge, the only thing Tavantis had ever wanted from his twin was Kian’s life.

  “I would like to know what you’re going to do, mage,” K’xarr said. “It would be easier for me to direct the men.”

  Tavantis smiled. “I am sure you would like to know, my good captain, and I would tell you if I had any idea. Just form your men into a shieldwall before the palace. We’ll go right through the front gate.”

  “Whatever you do, it will have to be quick. I can’t afford to have the men under fire from the battlements while you mutter your spells.”

  “You, Captain, are not a pleasant man to work with. First you ask me to deal with two powerful members of the Circle, and now you also insist that I do it swiftly. It seems to me if you were the famed commander that everyone says you are, you wouldn’t need my help at all.”

  “Go to hell,” K’xarr said, stomping away. He hated Kian’s brother. The mage was an arrogant ass. If there had been another way, he would have been more than happy to leave Tavantis out of things.

  Kago was at the head of the column, preparing the Sons. They would have to spearhead the attack. After last night, he couldn’t trust the Trimenians’ backbone. The company’s losses would be severe. He didn’t like it but there was no other way. Kattan himself had said little after his confrontation with Kian. K’xarr knew his lieutenant well enough to know the man was seething with rage. His lieutenant was a disciplined man, though, and Kago would hold on to his temper until the battle was over. Then K’xarr would have no choice but to let Kian kill the man. There was just no chance Kago would back down, the half-Sidian bastard was too proud.

  Endra limped toward him like a wounded lioness. Cromwell had fashioned a crutch for her after the ex-priest set her leg. It had been an ordeal, and in the end, they had to restrain the shieldmaiden while the former holy man treated her broken limb. Sobena was no Rhys, but K’xarr thought he might keep the excommunicated priest around if he lived. He had proven himself, as far a K’xarr was concerned.

  “K’xarr, I would like a word.” The woman looked cross and that was never good. Endra had a nasty temper when angered, though not as nasty as his.

  “Of course I have time for you. I just have this fucking battle to fight, but let me see what I can do for you first.”

  Endra ignored his sarcasm. “Vincent and Payton said you told them they were to join the assault on the palace?”

  “I need everyone who can swing a sword.”

  “They are young and inexperienced.”

  “Maybe, but they and those like them are all I have since the peasants turned tail. We have one chance at this. We can’t suffer another night like the last. There won’t be enough of our allies left to field a full company if we let them think about what they’re up against. We must win now, or there won’t be a tomorrow.”

  “He is right, Endra,” Cromwell said, joining them. “Even now I hear the Trimenians talking about leaving. It is a wonder we have any men left at all. They are convinced there is an army of bloodsuckers behind the walls. If K’xarr gives them another day to think on it, they will desert just like the peasants did.”

  “I don’t think two boys will make any difference in this fight,” Endra said, adjusting her crutch.

  “Sometimes one sword can change the world,” K’xarr said, glancing to where Kian stood quietly speaking to his twin.

  Endra pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and thought for a moment. “So be it. If they fall, their blood will be on your hands.”

  “Death walks in every warrior’s shadow. One day, the Reaper will reach out for you. It is a fate no fighting man can escape. If you wanted them to live long lives, you should have taught them to be farmers.” K’xarr put his hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You chose this life. What did you expect of your sons?”

  Endra limped back through the city gate without another word. He would miss the shieldmaiden’s sword arm today. Endra was fierce and smart. Her only weakness was she had poor taste in men.

  “You were a bit harsh with her,” Cromwell said.

  “She didn’t seem bothered by it. Besides, did she think her children would grow up to be merchants? They have been led from battlefield to battlefield since they were cubs. Vinsant and Payton have been taught by all of us, even Kian. They know how to handle a blade.”

  “What if they are killed?” Cromwell asked.

  K’xarr took deep breath and blew it out. “Then we didn’t teach them well enough.”

  Cromwell grinned. “You should have been a Toran.”

  “No my friend, your people are too softhearted for my taste.”

  “You are a coldhearted bastard, Captain,” Cromwell said, chuckling.

  “That I am, Bull.”

  There was no strategy to worry over or sly plans to carry out. This battle would be one of will. K’xarr knew he could count on his men. They were killers, men of blood and death. The Sons would fight to the end.

  The young Trimenian soldiers, however, he wasn’t so sure of. Their prince was dead, and they were now being commanded by a foreigner they had no allegiance to. Rufio was as good as any officer he had ever known, but he wasn’t Trimenian. K’xarr wished he had time to find a good man among the rebellious soldiers to lead them, but there just hadn’t been. He would have to count on Rufio to keep them from breaking.

  It was the peasants who started this thing that had been the disappointment. For all his talk of justice and change, Constantine had let his people run out on his glorious revolution. If not for Katrina, K’xarr would have the man crucified just out of spite. He had made up his mind that if the rebel general failed to fight today, he would gut the bastard himself, whether it upset his lover or not. Katrina might admire the high-minded worm, but he would think nothing of killing Constantine just for the sheer pleasure of it.

  With so few men, it took little time to form ranks. Kian and his brother joined K’xarr as he moved to the head of the column. They were followed by Cromwell, Ashlyn, and Endra’s two brats. Rufio and Kago had spaced themselves out along the line just to make sure none of the Trimenians got the idea of deserting at the last moment.

  “Well, wizard, what say you?” K’xarr asked Tavantis.

  “After the shieldwall is formed, just hold your position. I will do the rest,” the mage said casually.

  “You will give a signal when to attack?” Cromwell asked.

  Tavantis snickered. “You will know without a signal, buffoon.”

  Cromwell snarled and looked at Kian.

  “There is no reason for insults, brother,” the swordsman said quietly.

  “I see many reasons, but for you, Kian, I will not attack the Toran’s most glaring weakness.”

  “What weakness?” Cromwell spat.

  Tavantis stuck out his bottom lip and tapped the side of his head.

  “What’s that mean?” Cromwell said, looking between Kian and the mercenary captain.

  K’xarr grinned and shook his head. “You’re just making it worse, Bull.” Turning, the captain looked up at the palace. “Enough of the jests, it’s time we get up the hill.”

  Arrows from the battlements knifed through their ranks as the column of soldiers reached the top of the hill. The effect wasn’t as devastating as before—the young Trimenians had learned to use their shields, and their ranks were n
ot as close. Still, shafts sliced through and struck feet and shins, rendering those hit unable to move forward. Ignoring the warnings shouted by the Sons, a few of the Trimenians broke ranks to try and aid their wounded comrades, only to be cut down by Serban’s archers. The grim mercenaries shook their heads at fallen young men’s futile gallantry. They well knew the price of valor was often a warrior’s life.

  K’xarr and his officers led their men into a long line several ranks deep, the soldiers in the front two ranks forming a tight shieldwall to protect those behind them. A large ball of fire shot from the wall and blasted into the right side of the line, then another followed it. Men cried out as the magical flames turned them to ash and bone. Those not killed fell and screamed, their bodies blistered and scorched from the sorcerer’s bombardment.

  “Do something, wizard. We won’t be able to take many of those before our line breaks,” K’xarr shouted.

  Tavantis pulled up the hood of his cloak and held up two fingers on his left hand. A globe of faint white light surrounded the mage as he stepped out from the protection of the shieldwall. Arrows streaked from the ramparts at Tavantis as he made his way out from the rebel lines. The army looked on in disbelief as the shafts bounced harmless away from the enchanted glow that encircled the mage.

  Planting himself in front of the gate, the wizard pointed with his right hand. The gateway’s thick wooden planks began to warp and buckle as the massive door’s iron binding bent to the wizard’s will. The heavy gate cracked and splintered apart with in seconds. K’xarr started to order a charge, but a large wall of fire went up in front of the sundered gate and caused Tavantis to take a step back.

  A man dressed in the finery of a noble with a silver mask appeared on the battlements.

  “You should find others to serve, mage. The men you are with will die this day. We have no quarrel with you. Be gone and the Circle will take mercy on you.”

  Tavantis threw back his hood, the black brand on his face standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. “Don’t be silly, Silver Scar. You know I have never been one for mercy.”