by Mark Eller
Dargot’s face appeared shocked. “Is her majesty ill?”
Calto did not want to disclose any information unnecessarily, especially when he did not have all the particulars himself. Dargot was his second, yes, but it did not mean he trusted the man. Of late, some indefinable uneasiness made him shy from confiding in him. A feeling, a doubt, which wiggled its way around in Calto’s brain, made him keep the under-priest at arm’s length.
“I have been summoned to her side. I am unsure what she wishes of me, but I am not in good standing of late with the queen or her husband, so my haste would be prudent.”
Nodding, Dargot left. While watching the older priest’s exit, Calto felt a sudden unease creep into his gut. He stood a moment longer, searching for the cause of his qualm but gave up in frustration when he realized an answer was not coming.
Damn. So many things were wrong and not enough was right with the kingdom. The queen’s repeated miscarriages of her male children, his brother’s death, hellborn entering the kingdom, and now this? What was next?
* * * *
Sneering, Sulya watched as her former lover helped Lady Gertunda into her coach. She had been ordered to ride with her ladyship, but that would not happen. Sulya had sent another in her stead, infuriating his Noble Snobbiness. No matter. Calto was in too much of a hurry to come looking for her and insist she attend the arrogant wench.
Since Larson’s death, Sulya had possessed little time to pursue her true purpose, which was figuring out why the High Priest had an unusual preoccupation with Anithia and Missa Morlon. What was so special about those two? Why did Calto concern himself with them? Were they truly in need of protection? If so, why didn’t he just bring them into his home? Lowborn or not, Anithia had still been his brother’s secret wife, and Missa was Calto’s only legal heir. Perhaps something was wrong with the child, a mental or physical birth defect, something so shameful Calto refused to have his home brushed with its scandal. If that was the case, then why did he keep such a careful eye on them?
Sulya frowned. Yes, she was sure her questions had something to do with the child, but what? Did Calto feel honor bound to look after his brother’s family despite their low beginnings, or was it more?
Sulya waited until the carriages disappeared and Dargot stood alone. Sauntering up to him, she began to emit her musk, knowing exactly how much to release to get her desired effect from the womanizing priest. Two glands tucked up close to her womanly area secreted a scent which drew any male of a compatible species to hers. As a rule, the more they succumbed the harder it became for them to break free of her allure. Eventually, all humanoid males, except those of her own species, soon became her mindless sex slaves if she so desired. All except Calto. Somehow, he had escaped her. Sulya wondered if his wretched goddess had something to do with that.
Dargot stiffened when she approached. He turned slowly, brown eyes hungry, his pupils dilated. Unconsciously, the priest’s long, broad nose flared, drawing in her scent.
Sulya smiled, a slow curving of full, black lips, when she saw his instant reaction to her presence. For a man in his late forties, Dargot had proved to be incredible in bed. There was not an ounce of fat on him, and remembering the things he had done to her made Sulya wet with anticipation. The information he passed on afterwards was even better.
Her voice was low, sultry. “Dargot.”
“Mistress.”
To her satisfaction, his manhood stirred beneath his robes. His hands clenched into white fists at his sides. She shivered with anticipation. His big, rough hands not only knew their way around a woman’s body, they were also very deft with a whip. Sometimes, when the mood was right, she liked a little touch of the lash.
She stepped within reach of the crushing strength of his arms. “I’m lonely.” Her skin’s deep blue turned a mottled purple.
Dargot’s breathing quickened, and Sulya’s smile grew as she trailed her nails down his chest. After spending an hour or two with the weak-willed priest she would know all Calto’s scheming. The High Priest might have kicked her out of his bed, but he had not yet banished her from his head, not when he had so many underlings who would do anything to entice her to spread her thighs.
* * * *
Calto stood at the castle gate glaring at the guard. A week’s hard ride had him in a right foul temper for a good glare. After the long and grueling journey, he was in no mood to be challenged by someone so far beneath his station, even if his dress made his station not quite apparent. As yet, he had not stopped at his estate to clean-up and change into his formal robes, not when the queen had need. Even so, both he and his horse were parched, hungry, and tired. Now this–this thing, was blocking his way to the queen. It was all he could do to restrain himself from beating the man senseless. He found it unbelievable the infuriating lowborn actually had the nerve to pull his sword on Calto and deny him entry.
“L–Lord B–B–Belsac said you were not to be admitted.” The guard stuttered. Fear and sweat covered his face, and he seemed to be struggling to hold his sword. “K‒kings orders.” He pointed his blade toward Calto’s stomach and thrust it out until it almost touched Calto’s shirt.
Calto fumed, infuriated. How dare this buffoon have the effrontery to threaten him? Ineffectively, true, but still a threat.
Calto sneered. “How dare you raise your sword, let alone your voice tome? I will see you drawn and quartered for this insolence. No High Priest of Anothosia hasever been refused entrance to the castle. King’s orders or not, I am here at the queen’s request.”
Rigid with rage, Calto stared into the guard’s eyes, daring him to continue denying his will. The moonstone atop his polished white staff flared up, nearly blinding with the intensity of its light. At his hip, Larson’s sword hummed. Calto reached inside, drew his Goddess’s power to him, ready to turn the man to ash if he did not let him pass. This defiance of Belsac’s orders might cost the guard his head, but that was of little matter. Calto would not abandon his queen. If he had to do so, he would battle his way into the castle and lay waste to any who tried to stop him.
Hissing when the blazing light struck him, the guard seemed to writhe in pain before dropping his sword. “Forgive me.” Falling to his knees, he prostrated himself before the priest. “Please, I’m a faithful man. It’s known a priest of Anothosia may not strike an innocent down.”
Snarling, Calto withdrew his hand from his sword’s hilt even though he wanted to kick the guard hard enough to make his bones rattle inside his armor. “You are a disgrace. Stand up. Escort me to the queen, and then clean yourself up. For goddess sake— you are a palace guard— and yet you look filthy.”
Truthfully, the man smelled even worse than he looked— like sex, blood, and something else. Calto wasn’t sure what. He only knew the guard smelledwrong.
Whimpering, cringing, the guard stood up. “Yes, My Lord. Yes, I will attend to my appearance. The queen is somewhere inside.”
Calto brushed past him, his mind twisted in knots of rage. He would kill any man who dared threaten his queen.
Behind him a screech rang out, sending stabs of pain through his body. Acting on trained instinct, Calto dropped and rolled to the side, swinging his staff as he did so. The blow landed alongside what should have been the guard’s head.
The creature materializing above him bore row upon row of needle teeth in a lizard’s skull, and it possessed long taloned fingers. Appearing at least a foot taller than Calto, its red, filth-covered scales shimmered like liquid fire. Calto was unsure exactly what type of creature it was, but did know one thing; this monster came from Hell, and it thirsted for his blood.
The beast screeched in pain and spat blood when the staff struck. The place where Calto’s staff landed sizzled and popped, burning a ragged trench deep into the side of the thing’s face. It lunged at Calto again, its grotesquely long muzzle snapping and biting at Calto’s throat while trying to pin him to the ground with its weight.
Calto jerked his body sideways a
nd rolled as serrated teeth took a chunk out of the hard packed earth next to his head. Dropping his staff, he loosened and pulled free his sword, slashing at the Hell creature’s side, biting the blade into its flesh with blinding light. The evil stench of cursed blood filled the air, and black liquid sprayed across his white robe. The smell of the thick, tar-like substance filled Calto’s senses, making him light-headed and nauseous.
Ripping his sword free of the creature’s flesh, Calto struck again. Rearing back with a scream, the creature staggered away from the burning blade, swinging its sinewy arms wide. Calto surged to his feet and drove the blade into the damned being’s belly. A screech tore from its lips like a physical force, almost driving the priest to his knees.
“Anothosia!” Calto shouted. “I beg you! Cast this creature to the depths from which it crawled! Send it back to its despised master!”
Scales parted and innards flowed as Anothosia’s searing white light burned into the being’s body. A look of evil rage tore across its face. It opened its mouth to scream again, but the light engulfed it, cutting short its cries of defeat and pain. Scales, talons, teeth— all disintegrated.
Calto’s body shook from adrenaline, ready for the next attack. Whirling about, he looked for more hellkind, but none came. None at all. Panting, he cleaned his sword on his already befouled robe. With careful movements, he shoved the sword back into its scabbard and stared at the spot where the hellborn had been.
What in the two hells had attacked him? It was not wholly hellhound, snake, or demon. Were Athos and Zorce continuing Zorce’s original nano experiments, started back when Zorce and the other gods were still human? Were they crossbreeding a new species of hellkind?
Calto grabbed his staff and tried to brush black ash from his face and hands. He looked down at his stained robes and growled. Though not his best, the robe had once been valuable. Someone, or something, would pay dearly for this outrage.
Entering the castle without further challenge, Calto made his way silently through the deserted halls. Fear urged him to run, but common sense told him to be cautious. He saw no courtiers, attendants, or guards while traversing the halls. There were no merchants or dignitaries haggling and hobnobbing in the corridors leading to the great hall. And what of the clerks? The palace seemed curiously inactive for the center of the kingdom's administration.
Calto quickened his pace. Fear sat in his belly like a heavy boulder. Politically correct or not, he would seek the queen in her bedchambers. With the mood he was in, he dared anyone to try and stop him. Unfortunately, no one did.
By the time Calto ascended to the section of the castle reserved for the queen and her court, the knight’s heart hammered hard against his rib cage with anticipated action. Upon reaching the queen’s corridor, he paused and looked carefully around for any sign of opposition. Not a soul stirred. Not a guard attacked.
Where were her personal guards?
Still being careful, quiet, he crept to the door of Queen Elise’s chambers, half afraid of what he would find. If she were not in her rooms he would next search the dungeons and the cemetery. There would be hell to pay if he found her in either place. His fear worsened at the thought. How dared her personal guard leave Queen Elise unprotected, unless there was no longer an Elise to protect? Reaching the door to the queen’s chambers, he knocked softly and released a sigh when she hesitantly spoke from the other side.
“Who is it? What do you want?”
“My Queen, I beg you answer. It is I, Most High Priest Morlon.” Despite his best efforts, Calto could not keep the tremble from his voice.
The door opened a crack, then the queen threw it open wide, allowing him to see her pale face flood with relief. Her beautiful green eyes looked tired, tormented. Hair tumbled down her shoulders and back in a lose tangle of copper and chestnut curls. Calto’s eyes drifted to Elise’s pale pink lips. Her tongue darted out and licked them to a shiny moue. Dazed, he felt as if he had drank a bit too much wine the night before and still felt its effects. Even in this, her most dire straight, she was a vision that filled his eyes.
Eyes narrowing, the queen looked at his stained robes. “Lord Morlon, are you injured?” She reached out a weapon callused hand— a hand he wanted to kiss.
Calto knelt before her, took her strong, slender fingers in his own. Touching them to his forehead, he forced his mind to focus on the seriousness of state affairs instead of the soft scent of her skin.
“My Queen, it is not my condition I worry for. You called for me, and I see things are seriously amiss. Tell me, areyou all right?”
She squeezed his hand before slowly pulling hers from his grasp. Her touch left sweet warmth behind.
“Yes and no. Please, Lord Morlon, rise. We must speak.”
Calto stood but did not enter her chambers. To be found with the queen alone would be a death sentence for him and perhaps, also, for her.
“Is there another place we could speak, My Queen?”
She turned and looked at him. “Please, Lord Morlon, there is no other place. I am spied upon everywhere but my private chambers and am seldom allowed to leave except under escort.” Her hands clenched at her side. “I know the risk Calto. I would not ask, but…”
Calto drew his shoulders back and steeled his resolve. If his beautiful Elise wished this, then so it would be. Without hesitation and with breath quickening, he walked into his queen’s chambers. Although he had been close to the queen many times when giving her the goddess’s blessings or called upon to give his council on matters of religion or commerce, he had never before attended to her in her private chambers. The idea of it seemed intimate— perhaps too intimate.
Relief spread across Elise’s face when he crossed her threshold. “I need your help. The king’s pair have stepped up their efforts to get rid of me, and I’m afraid my husband is listening to their pleas. Calto, one month ago I miscarried another son.”
Calto’s stomach tightened. If he had been here a month before— but he had not known her pregnancy was endangered, and he had not been at liberty to return to the castle until summoned.
“Forgive me, My Queen. I should not have left you.” He began to drop down to one knee. Elise stopped him with a held out hand.
“It’s not your groveling I need. If I cannot produce a male heir the king will divorce me, and I’ll be sent back to my father in shame.”
Anger stirred in the pit of Calto’s stomach. “That will not happen. I will personally see to it.” He cringed inwardly at a sudden image of the king’s grotesque mountain of flesh smothering the queen’s firm, lithe body.
“You will personally see to what, Lord Morlon?” The king’s angry baritone boomed from hallway behind him. “And why are you here? I gave the gate guard specific orders you were not to be admitted.”
Stiffening, Calto turned slowly while anger and insult at the king’s words poured over him like scalding water. “So, you admit to trying to have me murdered?”
The king’s porcine eyes widened in shock. “Murder? No‒I‒How dare you question me in that tone, and who said anything about murder? Damn you, Lord Morlon, you’re putting words into my mouth, but you condemn yourself by your presence in my wife’s rooms.” After pushing the rest of his girth through the doorway, King Vere drew his sword.
Face stone hard, Calto stepped in front of his queen. Unbidden, the power of Anothosia filled Calto’s soul with more force than she had ever filled him before. Like jumping into a too hot bath, her power scalded him,boiled his innards. His senses momentarily reeled. The queen’s chamber filled with golden light, and the king dropped his sword, stumbling backward.
Calto scowled. How dare the rotund bowl of lard threaten him, Anothosia’s High Priest! Vere might be king, but Calto’s family had endured as a house of respect and strength for centuries longer than the king’s family dared claim. The Morlon’s were one of the founding fathers of Yernden.
“You have shamed yourself before the goddess. Kneel and beg her forgiveness.�
�� Calto’s voice filled the room and spilled out into the hallway like an angry beast. For a moment, it looked as if the shuddering king would obey. Instead, he opened his mouth and yelled.
“Guards! Guards! I’m being attacked.” Fat jiggled as he tripped over the hem of his long blue robes while stumbling back out into the hallway.
The goddess within Calto raged. Anothosia propelled him forward, but before he could strike the cowardly king with his staff, firm, strong hands pulled at his arm.
“Calto! No!” Gripping his arm, Elise yanked him back into her chambers. “He is the king. You can’t kill him or we will both be hanged.”
Slumped against the hallway wall, the king whimpered. The footsteps of approaching guards echoed off the cavernous hallway ceiling.
Calto’s frown grew deeper. This was another sign of how slack the castle had become. By rights, those guards should have been in constant attendance on the king. By the Seven and Two, what was going on here?
Shivering with the strength of Anothosia’s rage and acting without thought, Calto pointed the staff at the king. Power shot from the moonstone, encasing Vere’s body in a brilliant flash, sending him to the floor with a groan and a loud thud.
Swords drawn, the guards came upon their king. Looking from king to priest, they gazed in shock at the golden visage of Calto. Some swore while backing away. Others trembled in fear, circling their hearts with shaking fingers, then crossing them, giving the sign of one faithful to Anothosia.
Bending down, the guard captain warily touched the king. “Your Majesty?”
Mumbling something indistinct, King Vere blinked bleary, red-rimmed eyes. “What? Why are you all standing here?” He looked over to where Calto stood in the doorway of the queen’s chambers. “You? How did you get past my guards? Which one disobeyed my orders?”
