The Star Of Saree

by A. J. STRICKLER

  K’xarr understood Kian, Endra and Cromwell’s obsession with the Church. If what had happened to them befell him, he would want retribution as well, but it hadn’t.

  He was building his company, and would do what was best for his men and his continued success. A war with the pope’s armies was unwinnable in the long run, and he had no intention of risking what he had built for empty justice for the dead.

  The pope had sent no forces against him since Masaria, and he wouldn’t provoke the Holy Father now with idiotic and futile attacks against the clergy of Trimenia. For now, it was a fool’s game. It was just unfortunate his friends were set on playing it.

  Cromwell was a force and he hated to admit it, but the circus girl was slowly becoming one of the finest warriors in the company. He had seen it in her back in Masaria, and Ash hadn’t disappointed him. Endra said the girl yearned for death, and from her foolhardy actions, he thought Endra might be right, but the Falcon would take a lot of their enemies with her before she fell, and if the woman wanted to die, as far as K’xarr was concerned, that was her business.

  K’xarr wasn’t surprised Endra wanted to leave with Kian. She had been longing for the swordsman’s return since they had left Masaria. He wondered what Kian thought about Endra giving birth to Milara’s son, though he was not interested enough to bring the subject up to the inhuman killer.

  The swordsman had saved the day on many occasions, but when they weren’t in the thick of battle, the Slayer could be a huge pain in the ass. He thought the night before Kian was going to kill Kago; hell, he knew he was. K’xarr had seen that look in his golden eyes many times. It would do no good to tell Kago how close to death he came. The half-Sidian was as fine a swordsman as he had seen and a brilliant tactician, but he was no match for Kian. No one was.

  His lieutenant hadn’t said a word since Kian and the others departed. Kago was unsociable and hostile by nature; however, of late, the man’s anger stemmed from the fact that he was smitten with Endra. He didn’t care about Cromwell leaving or Ashlyn, in fact he was probably pleased the Toran was gone. It was the shieldmaiden’s departure that had infuriated him.

  Kago wouldn’t admit it, but he had fallen for the northern beauty. Who could blame him? Endra was bold and beautiful, her looks the stuff of legends. Hell, everyone loved her, K’xarr included. Kago would have to learn like the rest of the world had: Endra’s heart belonged to Kian, and that was the end of it.

  If he needed them, Endra and Cromwell would return; they always had. He doubted Kian would ever consider fighting for the baron, no matter what the pay. The swordsman’s stiff-necked sense of justice would conflict with what was going to happen in the spring. The baron’s mercenaries and the Trimenian army were going to finish off the remaining rebel forces, and the Sons would be in the middle of it. He just hoped the Slayer didn’t get too friendly with the rebels during the long winter. No matter what the situation, Cromwell and Endra would always stand with him. As the years passed, he had grown less sure about the half-breed. He and Kian’s idea of how the world should be was very different, and it always would be.

  He and Kattan had ridden ahead of the main body of his company with twenty men to meet with the baron. Rufio was slowly bringing the rest of the men along several leagues behind them. He wanted to be the one to tell Serban he had freed his prisoners. It would be better come from him, and then he could explain why he had let them go.

  He would have given the princess and the shapechangers to Kian without the promise of gold, but he had to save some face with his men. K’xarr knew he had offended Kian, but he’d had no choice. The men would not have looked kindly on their captain giving away the prisoners for nothing. You could never show weakness with that band of killers or soon you would find them at your throat.

  Serban would be furious, but the man had guaranteed Morgana and the children’s safety. Now the woman was dead. He hoped he wouldn’t be the one to break the news to Rhys. The healer had predicted things would go bad when she took off with Cromwell. Rhys was an intelligent man; Morgana would have been wise to listen to him.

  He was out five thousand gold and the man that truly ruled the country would be livid with him. Damn, but sometimes Kian Cardan was an anchor around his neck.

  It took just over two days for K’xarr and his small group of men to arrive in Brova. They passed through the palace gates around noon. Baron Serban’s Alarusian lackey Bernard told them that the nobleman was busy with other matters, and they would have to wait until evening to speak with him.

  Riding back down into Brova, he and Kattan found a tavern and ate a good supper. When he finished, he bought his men a round of drinks and paid the inn keeper five extra silvers since his bunch had scared off the man’s other patrons.

  Sitting in the toasty inn with a full belly and a mug of warm ale in from of him, K’xarr relaxed. The auburn-haired rebel Katrina floated into his mind. The thought of the woman’s heavy chest and round backside made him smile. It would have been good to bed the fiery wench. If he would have had more time, perhaps he could have won her over for the night. It was a shame she would die come spring. The rebels had no chance against the Trimenian army and Serban’s hired swords.

  Katrina’s warning troubled him. Just like the shapechangers, stories of blood drinkers were nothing new to him. It was said these undead things wandered the mountains of Camir waiting to feed on those careless enough to venture out into the night alone.

  K’xarr thought on it. He had only met with the baron at night, and that haughty bastard was as pale as milk. Katrina’s story had the ring of truth, though he couldn’t imagine how the man had hidden his nature from the king or the other nobles for such a long time. He supposed it was possible if he wasn’t too social, but he would have to have had accomplices. If the story was true, he might have to end the Sons’ employment with the nobleman, or at least ask for more pay. To K’xarr, a blood drinker’s gold was as good as anyone else’s.

  Darkness fell over Brova and they finished their ale. He and his men mounted up and rode the short distance to the palace. Soon he would find out just who he was working for.

  Bidding his men to wait in the courtyard, K’xarr and Kago followed Serban’s Alarusian into the opulent throne room. The blonde warrior was as tall as Cromwell and looked strong enough to brain an ox. Bernard was also not much for conversation. One word responses were all K’xarr could get out of the man.

  K’xarr was well aware that it was Serban who ran the kingdom. The baron had said as much when he hired them. The king was nothing more than a figurehead, a scapegoat for the shrewd noble’s nefarious endeavors.

  When massive taxes were levied, the people blamed the king and the baron reaped the reward. Destroy a village or town, the people were told it was on the king’s order. Hang some rebels, the king’s decree. K’xarr had to admire the baron’s guile. He just wasn’t sure he liked the underhandedness of it all.

  Some, like the shapechangers and Katrina, knew it was the baron who pulled the crown’s strings, though most believed it was Petru who was the tyrant. The baron was cunning, but K’xarr had been out among the people. Word of who ruled Trimenia was spreading quickly.

  Serban entered from behind the throne. K’xarr gave him a hard look and showed no sign of respect. The baron was in light armor, but carried no weapon. His dark hair was oiled and combed back, and his aristocratic features were pasty and devoid of color.

  “Well, where are my captives, Strom? Bernard tells me you didn’t bring them with you. I must assume they are with the rest of you company?”

  “No, my lord, they are gone,” K’xarr said flippantly.

  The baron’s carefree expression turned to a snarl. “Gone where?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “You incompetent fool, you let them escape?”

  K’xarr’s jaw tightened at the insult. “They didn’t escape, my lord. I let them go.”

  “You treacherous bastard, you will pay for breaking my trust.
”

  “I left a woman and some children under your care. The woman is dead, and only blind fate saved the children. I would say we are even.”

  Serban’s movements were too fast for him to follow. Before he could react, the noble had grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the floor. Kago drew his sword only to have the massive Alarusian step in front of him. Slobber dripped from the huge warrior’s mouth as he displayed a mouth full of inhuman fangs.

  Serban tossed K’xarr toward the doors as if he were a child. Rubbing his throat, K’xarr rolled to his knees. He called to Kago and held up his hand. The scar-faced warrior backed away from Bernard, but kept his sword ready.

  “I was told you and your men were a force to be reckoned with, but you are nothing more than a worthless cur leading a band of shit-eating hounds. I should kill you for your disobedience.”

  K’xarr’s hand went to the hilt of Crimson Wave.

  “Pull your sword, Captain, and you will die before it clears the scabbard,” Serban cautioned.

  K’xarr looked at Kago and slowly let his hand fall away from his weapon.

  The nobleman smirked. “You are more intelligent than you look, Strom. Now go retrieve Vladimir and that little bitch Pepca before they get too far. I will give you seven days. If you don’t have them by then, I will visit you camp nightly till you are leading nothing but a pile of corpses. Do you understand me, Strom?”

  “I understand,” K’xarr said with an unnatural calm.

  Bernard opened the throne room doors. Several of the royal guard stood outside waiting to see them out.

  The baron and the Alarusian followed them to the courtyard. The twenty men he and Kago had left there were dead. They had been slaughtered, and the king’s garden was filled with over a hundred Trimenian regulars. It was clear his men had been taken unaware, for many of their weapons had never been drawn. Their bodies were scattered throughout the royal enclosure like a flock of butchered sheep. The bastard had planned this even before he knew about the prisoners. It was meant to be an act of intimidation.

  K’xarr turned on Serban. The rage in the mercenary captain’s eyes made the baron’s smug grin fade.

  “Consider this a demonstration of what’s to come if you fail to obey me.”

  K’xarr shook with fury, biting down on his tongue until it bled to hold back his temper. Now wasn’t the time.

  He and Kago’s mounts were brought to them. Pulling themselves into the saddle, the two mercenaries rode away without another word. Passing through the palace gates, K’xarr spit out the blood that filled his mouth.

  “They are monsters, Strom. The girl was right. Serban and that Alarusian cock are not human,” Kago barked. “This whole kingdom is full of those vile things. Wolfmen and undead, monsters all, I tell you.”

  “I have my own monster and when I find a way to set him loose, I’m going to return and put that undead piece of shit in the ground where he belongs.”

  His lieutenant looked at him, confused by what he had said. K’xarr knew his lieutenant didn’t know what he meant. Kago had never seen Kian in battle, and neither had the baron. Soon enough, both would learn what a monster really looked like.

  * * *

  Baron Serban and the blonde giant at his side surveyed the bloody courtyard. “We will see how well that scum obeys me now. The Circle will learn I don’t take orders from them, Bernard. Strom and his men are no better than any other common sellswords. Tragedy and the Circle might think them formidable, but I think we have more than proved them wrong.”

  Bernard gave a quick nod. Swinging his ax over his shoulder, the warrior headed for the palace.

  The baron lingered, nearly drooling at the sight of the gruesome courtyard. It was so difficult to control his hunger, but it would be foolish to feed here in the open.

  Turning on his heel, he followed Bernard into the palace. He was sure there was a servant or two that wouldn’t be missed. Glancing back once more at the dead mercenaries, he smiled with satisfaction. The Circle would learn, just as Strom had, that he alone ruled Trimenia.

  Returning to the mountain was becoming more difficult each time she was summoned. Syann was a poor liar, and Hesperina’s increasing pressure was taking a toll on her resolve. Hesperina was shrewd. The queen knew she was hiding something, and what was worse, so did her mother.

  Both had questioned the young goddess in depth, each in their own fashion. Twisting and digging at her abrupt decision to begin living a cloistered existence. It was not uncommon for many of the gods to only be seen when the entire pantheon was summoned to the mountain for important engagements, or formal court.

  Syann had never been one to enjoy isolation. The queen and her mother both knew she was not a loner. Since their return, there had been many functions on the mountain—formal, ceremonial, and social. Syann had attended them all, until she found out that her father had never truly been imprisoned and was ordered to keep the revelation quiet.

  The queen had summoned her to the mountain again. There had been few in attendance, and the discussion had involved Galames taking Azaba, the capital of Armir, as his patron city. Her presence was not needed for the declaration. Hesperina just wanted to have a go at her again, and she had. Syann held her tongue during the benevolent interrogation, revealing nothing to the queen, except the fact she was holding something back.

  Passing through the throne room’s golden doors, she turned into the corridor leading to her quarters. There were a few items she wanted to pick up before she left.

  Syann felt everyone had grown suspicious of her behavior. It was absurd to think such a thing. The others had not spoken enough to her of late to know that anything was amiss. It was just the queen and her mother, but both had become preoccupied with wringing the truth from her.

  Where the queen was direct in her approach, her mother was subtle. The Mistress acted as if she was unaware of any intrigue. Their most casual conversations of late were full of snares, tricks, and clever duplicities. The Queen of Hell tied a noose of cunning and guile, hoping Syann would put her head in it.

  It was all so maddening, the tension and paranoia of her burden were eating at the edges of her mind. If the other gods found out she had been keeping her father’s escape from his prison a secret, she would be severely punished, but betraying the Reaper would have far more permanent consequences. He had told her to keep his return secret, and that was what she planned to do. Besides, for all his terrible faults, Syann loved her father. She would never stand against him again.

  Traversing the stone hallway through the shadowy light of Shiavaka’s enchanted torches that illuminated all the mountain’s hallways, she heard the click of boot heels behind her. Her hand instinctively dropped to the hilt of her sword.

  Valdrey rounded the corner; his blonde hair lay on the shoulders of his stone-colored armor. Flipping back a matching charcoal cape, Syann caught sight of the famed sword Fate’s Hand hanging at his side. The legendary blade had changed the outcome of countless battles, many times to suit the Lord of Victory’s fickle whims. Fane and her father both despised Valdrey and his power to alter the fortunes of the warriors of Saree. Her former lover would not be happy when he found out the Reaper was free. The death god had threatened his life on more than one occasion.

  “I saw you dawdling in the throne room after the council meeting. I thought I would linger to say hello after you finished with the queen,” he said.

  Valdrey was fishing as to why the queen had spoken with her privately. “Are you looking for some gossip to spread Valdrey or did you want something?” she asked rudely.

  “Want something? Yes, but it is nothing you would give,” the god said with a lewd grin.

  “I don’t have time for your lecherous yearnings. Now if you will excuse me.” She should have never dallied with the God of Victory. Now Valdrey took every chance to irritate her with his perverse wit.

  “Why have you not named the Slayer your champion?” he blurted out. “Many are talkin
g behind your back. There are rumors he spurned you.”

  The accusation annoyed her more than it should have. She still didn’t have a grasp on her feelings for Kian, and she would have to wait and see what her father thought about the swordsman before she stepped forward and declared Kian her chosen. “I have not spoken with him for some time. I will seek him out soon enough. You and the others can continue to wag your tongues as you like.”

  “I have no interest in the Slayer personally, but there are those that do, and they are not just planning to wag their tongues, Syann. Some have designs on the half-breed. They will steal him from you if they can.”

  “The others would be wise not to interfere with Kian. They should set about the task of reclaiming our power and finding their own champions. I will not tolerate any petty meddling where the Slayer is concerned.”

  Valdrey put his thumbs into his wide sword belt and tried to look serious. “Yes, it would be prudent to be cultivating the demise of the pope and his Church. The humans seem to be clinging to their invisible god with both hands; it is making some of the council rethink your mother’s plan of action. Hesperina’s idea of a subtle transition will not last forever if we don’t see some progress soon.”

  Voices from down the corridor pulled Syann’s attention away from Valdrey. Airius and Valintina turned into the hall leading to the throne room. Syann had carefully avoided the two during the court proceedings, though now it looked like her efforts had been wasted.

  Tobiah walked proudly between his parents, dressed in fine red robes and golden sandals. A band of gold had been set carefully on his head to keep from mussing his pretty blonde hair. The sight of the young, narcissistic god set her on edge. Her former lover and her pompous aunt smiled at her pretentiously.

  “Well, if it isn’t my bully of a niece. Have you slapped your daughter lately, Syann?” Valintina said mockingly.

  Syann’s lips tightened. Helana must have told the Goddess of Love about their confrontation on the Synsarian plane.