The Star Of Saree

by A. J. STRICKLER

  Copyright © 2017 by Panda Books Press LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For permission requests, email the author at: contact@pandabookspress.com

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Epilogue One

  Epilogue Two

  Character List

  In the windswept mountains far to the north of Tara, the goddess trudged through the heavy snow blanketing the base of one of the dreary gray spires. It looked no different than any of the others in the bleak range, but she could sense the sphere of magic that had been cast around its snow-covered slopes to prevent anyone from teleporting to its summit. A thick fur cloak was wrapped around her strong shoulders, and only a wisp of blonde hair and a pair of stunning blue eyes peeked out from inside the cloak’s fuzzy hood. Her bearskin boots crunched through the frozen snow, leaving a lonely pair of tracks behind her a she marched up the wintry mountainside. Ignoring the biting cold, the goddess’s powerful legs carried her up the treacherous incline. Though Syann did not feel the cold like a mortal, the severe conditions at the top of the world were annoying and uncomfortable, even for a god.

  The Goddess of Justice had kept her distance from Shadow Dragon Mountain for the last year. Only when summoned to court had she returned to its sacred halls, afraid the other gods would look in her eyes and see the terrible secret she kept: her father was free. The powerful enchantments that had been used to confine him had held the mighty god for less than a day. His imprisonment over the last few decades had been a ruse perpetrated by the death god and her guileful half-sisters. All that time, he had been waiting and watching with no one the wiser.

  All of them had believed the murderous god was trapped inside the magical sarcophagus deep in the bowels of the mountain, all save the witches. They had known all along that their father had once again been unleashed on the world. They helped him conceal the fact by placing a powerful glamor on the stone tomb intended for his prison, hiding the truth from the rest of the pantheon and making them believe it was safe to return from the veil. On her father’s orders, they had kept silent. Now she too had been sworn to secrecy and unwillingly pulled into the dreaded lord of death’s intrigues.

  Her father had explained nearly nothing to Syann before he left the mountain with his deceitful Sins. Her half-sisters might call themselves by a different name now, but their dubious nature hadn’t changed at all. They were still as untrustworthy and unpredictable as ever.

  A year had passed since Syann had discovered her father was free and she had heard nothing from him since. Now at last he had summoned her here, to the top of the world. Was it revenge he sought? It was true she had helped the rest of the gods betray him. Maybe he planned to slay her here in the cold of the north without anyone ever knowing the truth of what he had done.

  Syann didn’t really believe the lord of death wanted her life. If her father had wanted her dead, she would not be here now. Unlike many of the other deities, the Reaper did not hesitate. He had never been one to draw things out to slake some perverse craving or feed on the fear his anger instilled. If the Reaper wanted you dead, there would be no discussion, no explanation, no begging or pleading. The terrible god would come like a hurricane, heartless, inescapable and relentless, a living storm of annihilation. Her father had no remorse or mercy. He was death shaped into the form of a living god, and all feared his wrath.

  She wished she had the nerve to defy him and tell her mother he had broken free of the gods’ enchantments. The Mistress had been gloating more than usual over the last year. Since K’xarr Strom had destroyed Gallio in a horrific inferno of fire and blood, the Mistress had been quite pleased with herself and her power had grown along with the mercenary captain’s. The Camiran didn’t know she had taken him as her mortal champion, though it didn’t really manner. She owned him; his exploits were so advantageous to the Queen of Hell that one would think she was guiding the mercenary’s actions herself, but who was she to criticize? Syann herself had planned to obtain Kian Cardan, the famed Slayer, as her own, but she was hesitant to make him hers. Now that she had discovered her father lived, she thought it best to wait and see what the death god’s thoughts on the manner were. Kian was as much half-elven now as she was, but Syann didn’t think that fact would matter to the Reaper. Elven blood had once flowed through Kian’s veins. That reason alone might be enough for her father to destroy him.

  The trek up the mountain’s slope was treacherous and slow, but the goddess traversed it with little effort. Higher and higher she went until the air became so thin, a mortal could not have survived the frigid altitude.

  Nearing the summit, a structure came into view. Syann could not tell if it was a keep or a temple, for the building seemed to have features of both. Its columned entrance and battlements looked to have been hewed from the peak itself. It was difficult to ascertain how large it was from the outside. The pillars of the front façade were forty-foot-tall and the battlements atop them rose another ten feet, but the rest of the keep was hidden inside the mountain.

  Climbing the roughly-carved stone stairs, she caught sight of the single large, ironbound door that accessed the frozen castle. Taking a deep breath, Syann slowly pushed the door open and slipped inside.

  The heat from the keep’s interior washed over her, making the goddess realize how cold the harsh mountain wind truly was. Passing through a foyer decorated with a wide variety of shields and weapons, she entered into a great hall and then stood motionless, taken aback by her surroundings.

  Two huge staircases to the left and right wound up into the keep’s second story, most likely to private rooms and the entry to the battlements. A huge fire pit sat in the great hall’s floor, its fire roaring with logs easily six feet in length. Around the large room’s walls were the heads of several legendary beasts, mounted as if they were coming through the stone walls: two dragons one, blue the other green; a seven-headed hydra; a sea monster with a head resembling a great Sidian crocodile; a winged griffin; a chimera with its three fierce heads frozen in mid-roar; and many others she could
not even identify. The mere sight of these creatures would strike terror into any mortal’s heart, but the Reaper’s trophies were far from the most frightening thing in the room.

  Death sat in the back of the hall on a chair whose back had been carved from the round of a great oak tree. The god’s seat rested on a small three-step dais. Even seated, his size was intimidating—a full seven feet when he stood. He was clad in a smoky black breastplate that covered his thick chest and the black iron vambraces Syann had given him as a gift were displayed on his huge forearms. He wore boots made from elven skin, dyed black to match the breeches that covered his massive legs. His bare arms rested on the chair, heavily laden with thick corded muscle. Syann knew there was strength in them beyond any she could imagine. The Reaper’s hair was as black as a devil’s heart and hung loosely on his shoulders. Her father was terrifyingly handsome and yet his visage could become monstrous when angered.

  Resting near his foot was the helm he wore in battle; it was crested with elven hair and hid his entire face when donned. Tribulation leaned menacingly against the arm of the wooden throne and his hand rested on its gruesome pommel—the skull of an elven child with a tuft of dark hair still hanging from it.

  Her father’s great dark sword was feared by all who gazed upon it; the terrible blade had taken more lives than could ever be counted. Stroking his unshaven face, his piercing black eyes regarded her without emotion.

  Syann spread out her cloak and knelt before the most powerful being, mortal or god, she had ever known. “I have come as you ordered, Father.”

  “You look afraid, daughter,” he said with a heavy voice.

  Syann swallowed. She could feel her heart beating faster. “It is because I stand before you a treacherous child, unworthy of your affections.”

  His dark eyes appraised her and Syann could feel his judgement upon her. “I am told that you all think me mad?”

  “What else could we think? You slew King Cem out of hand and slaughtered the others without provocation. You pursed us through the veil for centuries without any of us knowing the reason why.”

  She saw his grip tighten on Tribulation’s hilt. “Are you sure I hunted all of you? If I wanted the rest of the pantheon dead, do you not think I could have accomplished the deed?”

  Syann cocked her head and stared at the powerful god. Had they all been wrong? She wanted to know how that could be.

  “Yes, I believe you could destroy us all if you chose to, but what were we to think? You gave no explanation for your actions.”

  Octavian rose from his seat and stormed towards her. She felt his huge hand grasp her by the throat, nearly encircling her slender neck with his monstrous grip. He held her just tight enough for her to feel his power.

  The god tilted her head up to meet his fearsome gaze. “I need explain myself to no one, but for you, I offer this. Cem and his conspirators would have betrayed us and destroyed all we built. I put the treacherous curs to a better end than any of them deserved. That is all you need know.” He released his grip and gently pushed her back. The enormous god looked down on her and sighed. “I thought you of all, Syann, would have had more faith in my decisions.”

  His disappointment stung more than if he would have slapped her. He had always known how to hurt her. Syann looked at her feet, trying not to cry. Her father hated weakness.

  “Come here, foolish child.” He pulled her into his colossal arms and kissed the top of her head. “I will forgive your disloyalty, Syann. I am sure your mother’s wicked mouth helped guide your decision to deceive me.” The Reaper raised her chin and looked down with an uncompromising stare. “Never side against me again, daughter.”

  The warning in his words wasn’t lost on the blonde goddess. He would not forgive her a second time.

  The door slammed open, letting in a knifing blast of frozen air. The huge man that burst over the threshold was dressed in sleek black armor covered with snow and frost. Closing the door, he pulled off his helmet. Shaking back his dark hair, the god gave her a crooked grin. “It is good to see you, sister.”

  Syann smiled and crossing the room quickly, she jumped into her brother’s arms. “Niko.” He sat her on the ground, pulled off his gauntlets, and began rubbing his large hands together. He didn’t quite have the height of her father, but she still had to look up at the Lord of Vengeance. “What are you doing here?” Before Nikodemos could answer, they both turned to watch their father stomp up the stairs to the upper levels, neither commenting on his departure.

  Nikodemos removed his armor and fetched two mugs of mulled ale from his father’s stores. The siblings stood near the fire, both lifting their mugs in a toast to their unexpected reunion. As her brother drank, Syann noticed how much he resembled their father—his chin, jawline, and nose. Everything except his eyes, which belonged to their mother.

  “How long have you know about Father?” she asked

  “For some time now, I have been paving the way for his return,” Nikodemos said, looking away.

  Syann didn’t really know what her brother meant by ‘paving the way,’ but it sounded suspicious.

  “You were wise not to help us try and imprison him, Niko. I think we were wrong. Cem had done something that Father said would destroy us.”

  The God of Vengeance chuckled. “I would not be here now if I had aided Mother and the others as you did. There would have been no forgiveness for me if I had betrayed him. Not many hold a piece of his black heart like you do, Syann.”

  It was true, she had always been his favorite. If Nikodemos had shown even the slightest disloyalty, their father would have destroyed him.

  “What is he planning, and why didn’t he make himself known? I am surprised he hasn’t stormed the mountain and wrung Mother’s neck.”

  Nikodemos shook his head. “Frankly, I don’t know. He has said nothing to me of what his intentions are. The only ones that may know are the Sins, or the witches or whatever the hell they are calling themselves these days. Father has kept them close since he returned, but what he and our devious half-sisters are plotting is as much a mystery to me as it is to you.”

  Syann gazed into her mug. “Father was never very trusting, and now that we all betrayed him, I’m sure he is even less so.”

  “I stayed loyal to him and still he doesn’t confide in me, Syann. The Reaper’s thoughts are his alone.”

  “I wonder what he will do.”

  Nikodemos studied the fire as if searching for the answer in the flames. “Whatever he is planning, there will be blood. That, you can count on.”

  * * *

  Standing atop the battlements of the frigid keep, the Reaper surveyed the frozen waste and contemplated the future. The cold did not bother him; the cloak he had donned was more out of habit than need. His black eyes peered out from the heavy cowl as if he could see all the way to Shadow Dragon Mountain.

  He would take vengeance against the remaining gods, it was his way. The other immortals had tried to cage him like an animal, but could he truly blame them? He had slaughtered the traitors without giving reason or argument. Anger had driven his actions. Cem had persuaded nearly half of the pantheon to join his mad cause before the Reaper had discovered the truth. His crafty uncle had planned to turn enough of the gods against him before he openly made his move. The others could not have known about what Cem was planning; the scheme had almost gotten by him.

  How had he missed the signs? He had not been vigilant enough to spot the king’s cloak of deception. Cem had woven it around him till it had been almost too late. Dissention and disharmony was their way, but the king’s black treachery was something else.

  Cem’s head had been the first to fall, then one by one, the Reaper had sniffed out the other renegades. He had been alone in the eradication of those he found to be accountable. It had taken a great deal of time to find out which gods had turned, and there was no one on the mountain he could trust to aid in the task.

  Centuries had passed while he ferreted out the p
layers in Cem’s grand plot. No regrets or guilt troubled him. Those involved had paid for their foolish blunder. What gnawed at him was that his discovery of the treachery had come too late; the damage had already been done.

  Somehow his father’s herald had already crossed into this world. He could not imagine the power it must have taken to send the fiend to Saree. Now Silence was in the hands of a mortal—perhaps one of the most dangerous creatures this world had to offer—and Cem’s handiwork had caused all of it. He wished he hadn’t killed the bastard. The former king was more deserving of a thousand years on the Tree of Torment than the quick death he received.

  For now, it would be up to him to staunch the problem before it escalated it to something beyond his control. After all, it was his failing that had caused the misfortune in the first place. If he had learned of the betrayal sooner, none of this would have happened. He could have killed those responsible and that would have been the end of it.

  While the others played at stealing back Saree, he would handle the repercussions Cem’s sedition had wrought. His daughters could continue to see to his interests on this world while he tried to find out how badly the former king and his lackeys had hurt them.

  The Lord of Death gripped the cold battlements with both hands and leaned into the icy wind. Revenge was something he couldn’t afford right now. After he had broken free, his terrible temper yearned for retribution. Even now it tried to coax him into destroying what was left of the pantheon. The Reaper knew his famed rage would have to wait; now was not the time.

  Once, they had believed in him. They had seized this world by the throat, tamed its hostile inhabitants, and walked the land as gods, but that had not been enough for Cem and his followers. They wanted to return to their origins and barter a deal with the tyrant they had all fought so hard to escape. Saree had been their hidden refuge from that evil until now. Only the poison waters of the Forever Sea would keep their bloody past at bay now. One day, his enemies would find a way across those dreaded waters in force. Once, his name alone would have held many of them back, but that had been before the rebellion. The need for revenge would make them overcome their fear and he would have to fight again, here.