"Well, see," Arcturia said with a shrug that made the jewelry on her wrists jingle, "now you have no choice but to put up with me."
Kar sighed. He turned to Garrick. "Will you do us a favor and bed the wench so she'll get what she wants and give us what I need?"
"Bed the wench?" Garrick and Arcturia both repeated.
Arcturia laughed. "Kar, you've become so focused and impatient. I miss the younger man willing to stop and enjoy life's more passionate moments."
Mordrim and Garrick shared another glance. The barbarian turned to the wizard. "You want me to bed her? The witch?"
"The witch who's standing right in front of you. Yes, he does," Arcturia said with a smile. "He's rude and arrogant, not to mention presumptuous. Who says I would bed you? How do I know you could live up to the promise that such a big, strong, and virile body teases?"
Garrick stiffened and stared at her. "I've never had any complaints," he said. "I've killed a giant and more ogres than a man can count. I've never left a woman's bed without leaving a smile on her face."
"Bold claims, but can anyone speak to them?" Arcturia asked.
Garrick's brow furrowed. He turned to Mordrim and saw a calculating look on the dwarf's face. Mordrim nodded at length. "Aye, it's true that he killed a giant. Used my hammer to do it. I seen it happen. He's felled many an ogre, too, but I suspect the reason he can't count them is because he can't count."
Arcturia laughed while Garrick glared at the smiling dwarf. "And the part about the women?"
Mordrim shrugged. "Give him a try. I suspect you'll smile when he leaves, too."
The witch burst out laughing and even Kar let a chuckle slip. Garrick clenched his fists and took a step towards his short companion.
Arcturia stopped the pending violence by turning back to the wizard. "Kar, the truth is I don't know enough about the poison to stop it. I have a mixture that will negate a lesser poison, but the one you speak of is powerful. My potion will force it into hiding, but it will come back after three or four days."
"How do we stop it? My son is a priest and even the blessings of Leander aren't lifting it."
"Karthor?" Arcturia asked with a sudden smile. "How is the boy? Last time I saw him, he was no taller than your hip. And a priest now, is he? Good for him! Glad he didn't follow his father's footsteps."
Kar scowled at her. "Karthor's doing fine in spite of being a priest."
Arcturia winked at the wizard and said, "Good. He survived being your son—I'm sure he can survive anything."
Kar bristled at her but before he could speak, she went on to turn to Garrick. "You do look so terribly tasty, Garrick, but I'm afraid I will spare your goodwill. I have some rather unusual tastes and you might find them…unsettling. I will give you what I have for this temporary cure and tell you how to make more. Hopefully Kar can manage it without burning the house down around him."
"What about a permanent cure?" Kar ignored her jibe and asked.
"Death cures all," she suggested. She laughed at the scowl Kar gave her but it was short-lived. Her expression turned serious. "If Therion is dead, you might be in trouble. He has some books that might help. Texts on herbs and recipes for all manner of things. He might have jotted something down in any journals he kept as well."
The wizard frowned. "I came by some of his books," he said. "I'll check them again, but I saw nothing of herb-lore. I believe some of his tomes were taken by others, though."
Arcturia winced. "Find them, if you can. Your princess's survival depends on it."
Kar nodded. "We'll find them. I appreciate the help—and your discretion in this matter."
Arcturia smiled at him. "For old time's sake, my friend, and for your own discretion so long ago you can consider this matter only between us." She turned and walked through a doorway deeper into the house.
Garrick started to follow but Kar's hand pressed against his chest, stopping him. "No sense in leaving a woman wanting more," Garrick offered. "Even if she is a witch."
"There is this time," Kar said. "That little discretion many years ago that she mentioned? Yes, well, let's just say she had to change her name."
"Trouble?" Garrick frowned.
"She was just learning the art of alchemy," Kar explained. "And still making many mistakes herself."
"She burn something down?" Mordrim asked, caught up in the story.
Kar chuckled. "No. No flame, just an unexpected side effect from an improper mixture."
Both warriors glanced at each other and then back at the wizard. "What happened?" Garrick finally asked.
"Her old name, never to be spoken again, was Arcturion," Kar whispered.
"Arc—isn't that a man's name?" Garrick asked.
Kar pursed his lips and nodded.
"But she's—" Garrick's eyes widened.
"Yes, precisely. She spent many years trying to re-create the mistake to undo it. She was only partially successful. She'd grown so accustomed to her new body that she decided to leave well enough alone."
Garrick shuddered and Mordrim asked, "Partially successful?"
Kar glanced down his own body and thrust his hips forward. "She was able to restore something," he said.
Garrick's jaw dropped open. He shook his head just as Arcturia walked back into view and stepped through the archway. She handed a metal flask and a folded letter to Kar. "A single swallow every three days. More would be a waste. The recipe is in the letter, in case it takes longer than the single potion can provide."
"Thank you, my dear. Her betrothed will be most appreciative. He's to be a baron of a kelgryn city himself as soon as they finish building it."
"Yes, I've heard of him. They visited a few weeks ago, didn't they? Something about Lord Sulim Badawi being wed?" Arcturia said. She glanced at Garrick and then followed his eyes to look down at herself. She frowned. "Is something wrong, my tall, dark, and handsome warrior?"
Garrick's eyes jerked up to hers. He coughed and shook his head before stammering, "What? No. Not wrong. No, nothing. Just bulging—busting—to help Patrina."
She smiled and ignored his slip of the tongue. "A noble friend. You find good people, Kar. You always have."
"Yes, well, about Alto. He's been poisoned with the same stuff that's on this ring," he said.
She smiled. "I expected as much. A single swallow from that flask for him, too, then. That should be enough."
"He'll be cured?"
"Yes. Dare I ask how they incurred the wrath of the Stalkers?"
Kar sighed. "That's a long story."
"You do owe me," Arcturia pointed out.
Kar nodded. "The short version then. The Order of the Dragon, a cult of dragon worshippers. Alto has run afoul of them; we all have, I suppose. Alto, though—he's killed several of their knights and even a dragon."
Arcturia made a sour face. "The nobility down here is full of those flying snake worshippers," she said. "This is a bad place to be if you're trying to avoid them."
"So we've learned," Kar said. "I will ask no more and speak no more, lest you learn too much and be held accountable for it."
Arcturia smiled and stepped forward to give him another hug. Her lips pressed against his cheek and then she backed away. "It was a pleasure to meet you both," she said. "I rarely get visitors, or at least visitors I enjoy talking with. You're invited anytime, but for your sake, I suggest you leave Mira behind and don't return so long as the Order has its talons on everything."
Kar smiled and thanked her, and then led the way out of her house and back into the midday sun. He led them away until they rounded a corner on the road, and then he stopped and shook his finger in Garrick's face. "Bulging?" Kar asked.
Garrick's face paled in spite of the heat baking them from the sun and the ground. "It was!" he said. "There was a bump in her skirt!"
Mordrim burst out laughing and slapped Garrick on the back. "Seems you're the one leaving with a smile on your face this time!"
Garrick nodded in agreement as the wizard
turned and stormed away, returning to the Kraken as fast as possible.
Chapter 12
The doors were shut and had the dead bodies of the guards and knights piled in front of them. Alto had used the red sashes to tie Jakar's feet together and left him sitting in the fountain, shivering as the water slowly drained the heat from his broken body.
"If I hurt him too bad, will you heal him?" Alto asked his friend.
Karthor frowned. "This isn't like you."
Alto shook his head once. "He has information that I need. I'll do whatever I have to do to get it."
"Even risk a war between nations?"
"Yes," Alto said.
Karthor frowned. "Do you seek the truth, or won't you stop until you hear what you want to?"
Alto's eyes narrowed for a moment and then he nodded. "I want the truth. Even if I don't like it."
Karthor nodded. "Then I will try. It is up to Leander to decide if he will give me the blessing I ask for."
"That's all I ask," Alto said. He turned back to the captive and walked towards him. Carson rose from where he sat on the rock ledge around the pond and stepped back.
Jakar stared at Alto as he approached. The fear was gone from his eyes; in them was defiance and hatred. "You think you can survive long here, farmer?" Jakar taunted him. "The bodies of my guards have been found by now. They're searching the palace. How fast can you run?"
Alto took a dagger that Carson had relieved from one of the dead Stalkers and jammed it into Jakar's thigh just above his knee. Jakar's body jerked and he hissed through clenched teeth. Alto yanked the blade out and watched the fresh blood swirl in the waters of the pool. "How fast can you run?" Alto taunted him.
Nearly a full minute passed before Jakar's breathing slowed enough for him to speak again. "You can't protect yourself from us," he snarled. "The Order is everywhere! We've been watching you and waiting. Sulim was sent to strike at your heart. To bring your sister to us and make her one of us. She has our mark on her already, back when she was taken by Sir Beck's men."
Alto's fist crashed into the side of Jakar's head and sent him into the fountain in the middle of the pool. He slumped down and would have fallen under the water if it weren't for Alto reaching in and hauling him up. Blood ran from Jakar's cheek and lips where he'd hit the fountain. Alto shook him, chasing the shadows away and helping Jakar focus.
Jakar blinked and smiled a bloody smile. "Your sister is with her master now."
"Karthor," Alto demanded. The priest strode over to him and looked down at the bloody captive. "Heal him."
"Heal him? He's not dying yet," the priest asked.
Alto pulled Jakar halfway out of the pond and flopped him face first on the floor. His hips were bent over the stone edge of the pond and his bound feet remained in the water. "Let me use your mace."
Karthor frowned and handed Alto his mace. The warrior held Jakar in place with a knee in his lower back, and then swung the mace down and drove the knobbed head of it directly between Jakar's legs. The dull thud was accompanied with the crack of bone. Jakara's breath burst from his lungs.
Alto flipped the man over on the stone floor and found him unconscious. He looked up at his two companions and saw a mix of shock and horror on their faces. "Heal him," Alto demanded.
"Alto, he—"
"Heal him," Alto repeated.
"You're not even asking him questions!"
"He's not ready to answer them," Alto answered.
The priest scowled but moved to invoke his powers. His holy symbol glowed for a moment while he channeled in enough energy to dull the pain and keep Jakar from escaping into sleep. The southern man groaned and blinked as consciousness returned.
Jakar lifted his head and looked at himself. He grimaced and fell back before turning his head and spitting out some blood. "You don't have the stomach to hurt me enough," he said to Alto.
Alto kicked Jakar's left hand out and stepped on his wrist. He sank down and used his dagger to cut into both sides of his middle finger. Without hesitation, he put the knife down and lifted the man's hand with one of his, and then grabbed the finger and bent it back until it snapped at the knuckle.
Jakar howled, spraying blood spittle into the air above him. He tried to roll over but his tied feet and injured limbs left him thrashing on the ground. Alto grabbed the finger in his palm so he had a firm grip on the slippery digit. He pulled hard, ripping it and the tendons that still connected it out and away from Jakar's body.
Alto picked Jakar up and dunked his head under the water of the pool. After a moment, he felt Jakar's spasm and he pulled him out, and then tossed him back onto the bloody floor. Jakar coughed and reached as he curled up in a fetal position. Alto rolled him onto his back with his foot and straightened him out, cracking his head against the stone floor painfully. The warrior had reclaimed the dagger and used it this time to slowly drag across Jakar's abdomen, cutting through the skin and slicing part of the way through the muscles.
Jakar twitched and shivered on the floor, and then he lay still and stared off to the side. His chest rose and water fell down the side of his face. His eyes remained unfocused. Alto slapped him and grabbed his hair in his bloody fist. "Where is she?" Alto growled.
"Leander's grace," Karthor whispered.
Jakar's eyes rolled into his head and he started wheezing. He coughed and laughed, retching occasionally while Alto held the out of control body still on the floor.
"You've driven him mad!" Carson said.
"Damn it!" Alto shook the tortured man and slammed him against the ground again. "Where is she? I'll follow you to Hell if I have to!"
"What will your cult do to help you?" Karthor stepped forward and asked. "Where is the Order now? They've left you to rot! Is that the loyalty they deserve? To let you suffer while they run away and hide?"
Jakar cackled and coughed while he squeezed his eyes shut. Alto shook his head and slashed with his dagger, this time opening a vertical cut across Jakar's belly. A deep cut that parted the muscles. Jakar howled and laughed, and then abruptly stopped when he felt the pressure of Alto's hand tugging on his organs.
"We could leave you like this," Alto growled at him. "You'd linger for days. Is that what you want?"
Jakar opened his eyes and stared towards the light reflecting on the gold filigree on the ceiling. "Death will take me," Jakar whispered.
"Not if I take you with me," Alto said. "Karthor can keep you alive, just like this, and you will suffer for an eternity."
Jakar's eyes went in and out of focus. He shifted his gaze around until it fell on Alto's face. "You. Are. Death?"
"Yes, I am." Alto went with the battered man's delusion. "Nothing matters anymore. What happened to the kingdom woman?"
"Havara, for Myskrakoth," he whispered.
"Who is Mysrakoth?" Alto asked.
"Myskrakoth," Jakar corrected. He blinked and brought his eyes into focus on Alto. He grinned, blood staining his teeth. "War."
Alto drew his sword and held it up so Jakar could see the green glow radiating from the steel. "Saint Jarook helped forge my sword," Alto told him. "The saint of fear. Tell me what I want or you'll answer to her. Even death will hold no release for you!"
Jakar wheezed out a laugh. "Your sister's doomed," he panted. "Your woman is dying. Your friend belongs to the Stalkers. You are the one who should be afraid!"
Jakar's eyes closed and the breath rattled in his throat. Alto shook him and shouted at him, and then shook him again when he fell slack in his arms. "Karthor!" Alto shouted as he jumped to his feet and backed away to give the priest room.
Karthor bent over the tortured body and shook his head. "I cannot heal this," he said. "His spirit has fled."
Alto turned away, his hands clenched so tightly they were white. Not merely the knuckles, his entire fists. His shoulders relaxed a moment later and then he slammed his sword back in its scabbard.
"What did he mean?" Carson asked.
Karthor frowned and glanced at Al
to. "Which part?"
"All of it?"
"He named two things I know of," Alto said. "Havara and Stalkers. The Havara Mountains are where the Khalalid River flows from. Mordrim told me of them; his kin mine the hills around them."
"And the Stalkers?"
"The Stalkers have your friend," Karthor reported. "Which friend? We know where everyone is. Do you think Tristam, perhaps?"
"Namitus," Alto guessed. "He hasn't returned yet. They must have taken him."
Carson and Karthor both gasped. "What do we do?" Karthor asked.
"We get him back and kill the sons of whores who took him," Alto vowed.
Karthor frowned. "Is this what you were like when you wandered the mountains?"
Alto took a moment before he responded. "No, I sought death then. Not mine, the death of anything I found. Everything I found. It didn't matter."
"Kind of like Jakar?" Carson asked.
"Nothing like Jakar," Alto said.
Karthor glanced at Carson and shook his head. Before either man could ask anything else, the door into the room at the base of the stairs bumped against the pile of corpses. All three men looked at it, and then at one another.
"We need to get out of here. Through the other door," Alto said.
"We don't know where it goes!" Karthor warned.
"One of the guards escaped down it, so it must go somewhere," Carson said.
"We'll find our way free," Alto promised as he ran over to the three bodies piled against it. He pulled them back enough to open the door so they could slip around it and into the corridor beyond. They ran down it, weapons in hand and expecting the worst.
They reached an intersection and stopped. To their left, they saw a door and to their right, the hallway turned and passed out of sight. Ahead of them, the passage continued. Alto chose to go straight, forcing the others to follow him or become separated.
They ran down it and passed by three doors before reaching a door at the end of the hallway. Alto tried the latch and found it open. He stepped in and sniffed the air.
"By the saints, what is that stench?" Carson gasped when his nose picked it up.
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