Elder Lot sneered and began to speak, “Ah, the traitor yet li-” I gritted my teeth and concentrated, and the Elder’s words were swallowed in a titanic cascade of thunder that shook icicles free from the roof of the little cavern. Amidst the crash of shattering ice and the all-encompassing bellow of my gathering storm, any accusations the Elder might have been trying to make were lost in the clamor.
"Your deception lasted long enough!" Volistad roared back at the Master Stormcaller, who, to his credit, didn't flinch even as everything seemed to come apart around him. I watched Volistad carefully. He was furious, giving vent to all of his rage at the Elder's betrayal, all his fury at what that betrayal had cost him. I needed him angry, and he knew it. But if he went for the old man's throat, all of this would be for nothing. The ranger's fangs gleamed yellow-white as he bared every one of his carnivore teeth at Elder Lot- and there was not a happy narrowing of his eyes to soften the implicit threat. Volistad's eyes were wide and staring, locked on the Elder's own eyes in open, blatant challenge. Come on…. I thought. You just need to say… “Kneel! All of you! Kneel before the Chosen of Ravanur! Kneel before the Akkandaka!”
My cue. I stood and strode purposefully around the icy hillock I had been crouching behind. As I moved, I heard my call finally being answered by its intended recipient. Somewhere far away, another nanite spirit answered- this one much different from those I had tasked with gathering a storm for me. I marched straight towards the gathered Erin-Vulur, measuring each step. I had to look determined but not hurried. We had practiced this body language several times; Vol, Nissi, and Thukkar all coaching me on how to move my body like a predator. It had not been hard to learn. After all, I was the Tigress. Even as I approached the crowd, thunder surged above me, matched by a subtle chuckle in my mind. The voice of the Great North Wind reached my ears, amused. I see that you survived. Welcome home, my Queen. What would you have of me?
Give them a show. I thought back. Show them a tempest like they have never seen before. The North Wind’s only answer was an earsplitting peal of thunder, laughter writ large across the frozen sky. The spinning vortex over my head began to expand, growing like a flower in a time lapse video, its dark petals reaching down to surround the whole scene. Draw the curtain, I thought. Now the real drama begins. The Erin-Vulur watched me approach in silence, struck dumb with awe. They had room in their pantheon for new gods, both good and evil, and the appearance of a new one was not, in itself, very surprising to them. But to be confronted so directly, that was something they did not expect. Their nervousness struck them dumb.
Into the silence, Volistad's voice thundered. "I said, KNEEL!" Sheets of lightning reached from sky to ice and back again behind me, and most of the Erinye before me dropped instantly to their knees. There was only so much religious terror they could withstand. I drew even with Volistad, and as one, he and Nissikul stepped back so that they flanked me at my shoulders, Volistad on the right, Nissikul on my left. But not all of the Erinye would be cowed so easily. Elder Lot, and the lead priest, Vassa, had not budged an inch. Tight knots of their respective followers clustered around them, their faces tight and defiant. Each one of them grinned widely, showing their teeth in a pitiful echo of Volistad's naked fury. Elder Lot began to speak, and I held up a hand to stay Volistad's impulse to silence him. It was important that we let him speak.
“So,” shouted the Elder over the tumult of my colossal storm. “You survived your rightful execution, Dark One! And you have also somehow corrupted my youngest Stormcaller, Nissikul along with her brother!” He gestured to the other Elder with his chin. “Perhaps Vassa, here, was right! Perhaps they were just a weak bloodline!” Scattered laughter swept the assembly, mostly confined to the cohort of standing priests and Stormcallers that surrounded the two defiant Elders. “But my question for you is this! What have you done with the Deepseeker?”
I ignored the question and the mockery. “Lot Ekenad! Vassa Atralad! You stand accused of intentionally and willfully leading the noble Erin-Vulur astray! You have failed in your duties as given to your predecessors by the Great Mother! She has sent me to pass judgment upon you, to root out the corruption that infects your Elder Council and put any servants of the Dark Ones I should find to the sword!”
“Lies!” Vassa screamed, his pale face purpling slightly in rage.
I raised one hand and pointed at the Elder priest’s throat. He gagged as he tried to scream more denial at me, and then fell to his hands and knees, retching. In a conversational tone, I said, “I wasn’t done. Wait for your turn.” I turned my attention back to Elder Lot. “I see that you will not heed the words of the Great Mother. I see that you and those like you are too far gone, corrupted and lost. And so I challenge you to trial by combat. Let the matter be settled beneath the gaze of Palamun, and may the Great Mother feed her burug with the blood of the defeated!”
Now, sink the dagger. Volistad stepped forward; his eyes alight with a savage inner fire. “Or are you too much of a coward? Perhaps instead you prefer to stab your enemy in the back as you did with me?” Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and even some of the Stormcallers looked uncertain over at the Elder. It was considered highly shameful for an Erinye to slay another member of his tribe outside of a direct, face to face confrontation. There. That was what we needed. We needed doubt. We needed Lot to realize that failing to accept the challenge would forever weaken his authority. And no tribal leader, much less the tribal leader of a bunch of carnivores, could ever risk weakening his own authority. We had him and he knew it. “Fine,” Elder Lot growled. “But none of my Stormcallers, not even I, could fight one such as you in single combat. We of the Erin-Vulur have slain many false gods as a tribe. It would be foolish to fight a god myself, or to order one of my own to do the same.”
“I agree,” I said smoothly, with a magnanimous wave of my hand. “And so you may select a champion. I have already selected mine.” On the ground at Lot’s feet, Vassa’s struggles were weakening, slowing to fitful twitches. I sighed. If I left him alive, he would be a problem. But my goal here was to turn as many of the Erin-Vulur to my side as I could. And that meant swaying or bloodlessly replacing as many of their leaders as I could. I flicked a finger in his direction and willed a short command into the nanite spirit that was filling his throat with witch-ice. A moment later, Vassa slumped with relief, not even trying to get up, panting like a dog. His mouth worked soundlessly, but he didn’t dare to speak again. Good. He had learned his lesson. Perhaps the others would as well. This would get a lot bloodier very quickly if they didn’t.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Volistad
Homecoming for a Queen
I stepped out onto the dueling field. It wasn't really anything special- just a flat section of ice around which had been gouged a wide circle. I had stripped to the waist, and the only weapons I carried were an iron short spear and a hunting knife. My opponent was already waiting. I ignored the throngs of Erinye huddled around the dueling grounds in their furs. I needed to focus on my target. He was one of Vassa's priests, a big man named Kotikedd, and he was the spitting image of the broad-shouldered statues in the village shrine. His eyes were narrower than mine, and his jaw jutted dramatically, thanks in part to the oversized lower fangs that protruded from behind his lips. He looked like a feral throwback of an Erinye, one of the big, vicious curs that Palamun had saved from starvation and extinction so many cycles before. Doubtlessly, he was strong. Obviously, he was tough. But so was I. A magick heart beat within my chest, and the strength of an Erinye champion was mine. I met his narrow, burug-black eyes and grinned with all of my teeth.
From somewhere amidst the crowd of gathered Erin-Vulur onlookers, I could hear Vassa speaking. He seemed to have recovered from whatever Joanna had done to him, though he was keeping well away from her as he spoke. His strident practiced orator's tones carried easily over the restless audience, and I could hear him as clearly as if I had been attending a ritual at the amphitheater. "Today," he procl
aimed, "you will all bear witness to the wrath of Ravanur! You will all see the righteous indignation of Palamun! A false god walks among us, my children, blaspheming and daring to claim the blessing of our Great Mother!" He turned as if to point his finger at Joanna, thought better of it, and resumed his long-winded castigation. "Today, by the will of our gods, you will see this usurper struck down!" The crowd's response was lukewarm. Though they didn't know what to make of Joanna, her presence- compounded by the return of Nissikul and me- was causing them to doubt. No one liked Vassa, except for his priests, and I thought that even they were just playing along for their personal gain.
I looked over at Joanna and was surprised to see her dark eyes fixed on me. Even at this distance, I could sense a sort of… hunger coming off of her. She had taken to the role of a god as though she had been born for it. Even if she didn't believe it, I was certain that she had. She stood tall, her stance imperious. Even in her salvaged, tattered ranger's furs, she somehow managed to look even more striking. She was like a perfectly shaped sculpture, covered by an old, crumbling shroud. Even so covered, her beauty and authority shone through like a beacon fire. We held each other's stare for a moment, and the briefest of smiles flickered across her lips as she mouthed the words, "Knock him dead." I looked back at my opponent and watched him pass his narrow, straight-bladed ceremonial dagger from hand to hand. His spear stood ignored, thrust point-first into the ice. I felt my feral grin return. This was a duel to the death. Knocking him dead was exactly what I intended to do.
Finally, Vassa finished his spirited tirade, exhorting the disinterested Erinye to cheer for "their holy champion." The response was less than impressive. Elder Perwik chose that moment to emerge from a dense knot of rangers, his furs flapping about him in the slight wind. With brisk, sure strides, he marched out between us, an old horn great bow resting with familiar ease in his weathered grip. He wore no quiver of arrows, rather, just one shaft that was fitted to the braided hair string. He looked over at the giant brute of a priest. "Kotikedd! Do you stand ready?" Kotikedd just shrugged and grunted in agreement. Not a very eloquent response. Just what kind of priest was he? Perwik turned to me; the expression on his face carefully neutral. His eyes burned fiercely into mine, and he didn't speak for a moment. I swallowed hard. Being assessed by the Master of the Rangers was never a comfortable experience. I hadn't been able to ask him what he thought of all this, but I doubted he liked it. There were just too many unknowns for him, and rangers hated being lost more than anything else. Finally, having reached some secret conclusion behind those deep green eyes, he asked, "Volistad, do you stand ready?"
"I do, Elder," I responded simply. If Perwik thought anything about my use of an honorific with him, he didn't show it.
"Now listen, you two." Perwik glared at each of us in turn. "First, this is a battle to the death. The duel is not over, and the conflict it decides is not resolved until one of you lies dead. Second, you must stay within the circle marked out onto the ice. Should you attempt to flee, I will kill you immediately, and you will thus forfeit the duel." He gestured with the great bow. "Be assured that I do not miss. And should the impossible occur, I have plenty of arrows to correct the mistake." He showed his teeth at both of us. Neither of us moved. But neither of us would attempt to flee, either. "Last," he declared. "I will fire this arrow straight up. When Palamun returns it to the ice, your duel will begin." Seeing no reaction on either of our faces, the Elder wasted no more time. With the smooth grace of a lifetime of practice, he drew to the ear, tilted his aim straight up towards the dark hidden face of Palamun above, and loosed his shot. Then, task complete, the ranger returned his bow to a casual grip and jogged easily out of the circle.
I fought the urge to crane my neck upward and watch for the arrow's imminent return. Instead, I dropped into a crouch and took my spear into both hands. Kotikedd shifted into a combat stance; his eyes locked on mine. He did not reach for his spear. Instead, he flipped his knife into a reverse grip and waited. It was as I suspected. He had fought and probably killed before. This was Vassa's personal killer, the Erinye who hunted and murdered any heretics that threatened the priest's authority. It wasn't much of a secret that such an inquisitor existed, but the monster before me had to be a master of stealth and execution since I had never heard of a single death being attributed to his work. An assassin was a duelist, even though most of his foes would have been caught by surprise. This was going to be a difficult fight. The murmuring of the crowd turned to a roar. I leaned forward, ready to charge. I could hear the arrow cleaving the air as it fell. Everything seemed to slow to a crawl, and I heard Joanna speaking in my mind. When had she learned to do that? Four words. Just four. "Give them a show." The arrow crashed into the ice, and I burst into a sprint. Oh, I would give them a show.
The first clash almost killed both of us. I came in at a sprint, ducking low and coming up behind my spear in a twisting thrust towards the sky, meant to get under Kotikedd’s guard and skewer him before he could properly react. Apparently, he hadn’t expected me to go low, because the moment I had charged, he had shifted into a stance meant to receive a leaping attack. When he realized he was wrong, he gripped his knife in both hands and dropped his weight into a stab for the back of my neck. Both of us, sensing that death was near, dodged each other’s strikes by the width of a hair. I took a shallow cut along my cheek; Kotikedd bled from a long scratch across his bare chest. We both backed away quickly, resetting and taking new stances. We eyed each other with new respect, both of us acknowledging that the other wasn’t an amateur. That accord wouldn’t last, though. Only one of us was getting out of this alive.
I began my next attack with a short, controlled jab at the inquisitor's face. He swept the point aside with his forearm, but I had expected that. Turning the momentum of the parry into a spin, I brought the spearhead around in a vicious slash at his skull. He dodged this strike, but, failing to take into account the versatility of the polearm, was not fast enough to avoid the butt of the spear as it smashed hard into his chest. The crowd roared in approval. Kotikedd, however, was not impressed. He rocked with the blow, but even as he reeled, he snapped his free hand up and seized the haft of the spear. Used to being stronger than his prey, the monstrous assassin tried to rip the spear out of my hands. Unfortunately for him, I was ready for this. I lunged forward with the spear and used his own momentum to drive the spear butt into his chest again. He grunted and let go, and I quickly backed out of range. I circled him warily, keeping him turning, looking for my opening. I just needed a single opportunity. One slip, one mistake, and perhaps my spear would find his heart.
Kotikedd, however, had other ideas. He had had enough of being on the defensive. In between my steps, as I tried once more to circle behind him, the inquisitor snatched his shortspear out of the ground and flung it at me side-arm. He wasn't trying to skewer me with such a throw, however. The moment the iron left his hand, he was charging forward, his knife aiming for my throat. The whirling spear was still dangerous to me, and I was forced to bring my own spear up to deflect it away from me. Kotikedd lunged forward into that opening, stabbing as fast as he could for my chest. I hunched up my shoulders and took two painful stabs to the broad muscles of my upper arms, but the point didn't find my neck. Caught off balance as I was, the spear was useless to me. I let it fall from my hands and hit the assassin hard in the abdomen with my palm. The blow wasn't placed very well and did little more than back him off a step, but it was all I needed.
I drew my knife, but Kotikedd didn’t wait for me to get the little blade all the way out. He came for me in a flurry of varied swipes and stabs, forcing me to dodge and weave rather than attack. The man had the right idea. If he kept me on the defensive, he could wear me down. I couldn’t let that happen. Kotikedd’s knife thrust towards my throat, and I slashed my blade across his thick fingers, starting a line of blood up from the colorless skin. He howled but did not drop the knife. But the pain slowed him enough for me to get a hold of tha
t arm. I twisted and backed away; forcing him to straighten the limb and controlling the knife he gripped there. I could end it right here. Pull him close, knife under the arm, stab in the side of the neck for good measure, back off and watch him bleed. But no, Joanna had spoken. She had some plan, and she needed me to do my part. Give them a show. Alright. Theatrics were fine.
Instead of stabbing for an artery, I gripped my knife tightly in my fist and swung backhand. I didn’t touch him with the blade. Instead, my knuckles crashed into his face, crushing his nose in a shower of blood. Then to add insult to injury, I let go of his knife arm and leaped forward, planting both feet in the center of his chest and kicking them out with all of my strength. I turned the motion into a neat somersault and flipped back out of danger, ending in a crouch. Kotikedd reeled, his face a mask of blood and rage, and the crowd screamed with amusement. Insults and epithets began to fly thick and fast from the gathered Erinye, and they were all aimed at the gigantic inquisitor.
His jaw tight with pain and humiliation, Kotikedd roared, a full-throated, booming, bestial roar that put any such sounds I might have made to shame. He threw his knife aside and pounded his fists on his chest in primal challenge, locked wild eyes on me, and bounded forward. To my surprise, when he came for me, he actually went to all fours, taking the momentum on his over-muscled arms and hurtling forward.
It was such an unexpected tactic that I didn’t set myself properly for it. Instead of using his own momentum to flatten him, as I should have, I was hit squarely in the gut by his colossal shoulder. The air whooshed out of my lungs, and I struggled to catch my breath only to have it smashed out of me again when we hit the ground. I still had my knife, though pinned as I was, I couldn’t do much with it. I stabbed feebly at Kotikedd’s back, and he utterly ignored it. The inquisitor had gone berserk. The only way to stop him now would be to kill him. He might not even feel pain.
Volistad: Paranormal Sci-Fi Alien Romance (Alien Mates Book 3) Page 32
