God Wars Box Set Edition: A Dark Fantasy Trilogy

by Mark Eller

  “So, I have to go uptown to 356 Workers Lane and apply for a nanny? Correct?” Phrandex asked ten minutes later.

  She nodded quickly. “Please, may I go now?”

  “No, I can’t possibly go out there and do this. I’ve never actually walked in the human world before. I would end up lost.” Or worse, he thought darkly, he might run into one of those knights he had heard about. The king’s stricture about them leaving hellkind alone didn’t apply outside the tavern. “You go. Give them these diamonds and tell them I want their best milkmaid. When you have her, bring her to me here. If you don’t—” Flexing his talons, Phrandex snapped his jaws shut. “I have your scent. I’ll know where to find you.”

  The woman shuddered and shrank toward the door. “I’ll be back soon.” She turned and ran.

  After she left, Phrandex sighed and sat down next to the unmoving bartender. He hoped the woman returned with his–what was that again? Boob mother? No! Oh, damn it all, he just wanted to get back to his babies. Hopefully his threat was enough to bring the woman back because he honestly didn’t know if he could find her again. These humans all stunk the same, probably the result of too much bathing.

  * * * *

  Nearly two hours and six frightened customers later the barmaid returned with a tall blond woman owning light green eyes. The new woman looked and smelled very different than either the bartender or the barmaid. Her dress was of a soft material and very yellow. She appeared disgustingly clean and neat. Her hands were small and soft, and she carried a large bag that was probably stuffed with all sorts of useless human junk. All in all, she looked nauseating, but Phrandex didn’t care as long as she tasted— no— no— was good with children.

  Phrandex carefully bundled himself up and went to greet the boob mother. At first, the woman didn’t notice him because she was too busy squishing her face up at the filth and dirt on the tavern’s floor and tables.

  “Is there a reason why My Lord Phrandex wants us to meet in this…” The woman seemed to be at a loss for words. Grimacing, she briefly closed her eyes, apparently unable to finish her sentence.

  The barmaid fidgeted and wrung her hands. “I don’t know, missus. He just told me to bring ya here.”

  Stepping closer, Phrandex bowed to the woman. “Good morning Miss—?”

  “Miss Imalda will do, Lord Phrandex.” She curtsied and extended her hand.

  Phrandex looked at it a moment and wasn’t sure if she was offering him a bite. He hoped not. The other milkmaid had tasted bad enough. He didn’t want to think about what the boob mother breed might taste.

  The barmaid stepped back a bit, raised her hand to her mouth, and then kissed it. She motioned for Phrandex to do the same. Phrandex quickly kissed the woman’s hand, and just for good measure, gave it a quick lick. Not bad. Much better than the milkmaid. If she didn’t work out he could always feed her to the children a little sooner.

  The woman quickly pulled her hand back and wiped the slobber off. “Are you from a foreign country, Lord Phrandex?”

  She eyed him suspiciously. Maybe licking her wasn’t such a good first impression. “Sort of,” he replied. “Are you good at cooing?”

  Imalda tilted her head and a curious look crossed her face. “Cooing?”

  “Yes, you know, the sound you human’s— I mean mother’s— make when their children are crying. Are you good at soothing babies? And how about teething issues?” Sidling closer, Phrandex counted her boobs. There were only two. Shouldn’t a boob mother have more? Did she keep extras in the large bag she carried?

  Scowling, the woman pulled herself rigid. “Lord Phrandex, I will have you know I am one of the best nursemaids in all of Yernden. I have no less than five letters of recommendation from the top three families in this city alone. Why, I could tame the children of Athos’s himself, sir.”

  The woman looked down her nose at him and haughtily patted a stray hair back into her bun. She then proceeded to ‘hmmpf’ in a well-practiced way.

  The blood in the barmaid’s face drained completely upon hearing this brag. It turned an odd shade of white.

  Humans, Phrandex thought, really are amazing. Red, blue, now white!

  Throwing back his hood, the devil smiled. “Excellent. Just what I wanted to hear, Miss Imalda. You’re hired.” Phrandex reached over, grabbed the woman around her waist and threw her over his shoulder.

  The woman screamed, kicked, and then fainted. As Phrandex got to the kitchen door, the barman, Carrid, stumbled out. When he saw the devil, he immediately got out of the way.

  Phrandex stopped and gazed at him. “You know, the next time one of my kind come up, try and be more helpful. And uh…” Phrandex drew closer, “…just so you know, boob mothers don’t have extra boobs.”

  Carrid looked at the demon with a mixture of disbelief and fear, then scuttled back behind his bar.

  Phrandex smiled. He grabbed his whiskey and headed for home. He couldn’t wait to show his little demons their new milkmaid.

  Chapter 8—Knight’s Pawn

  Troubled, on edge, and tired, Calto arrived back in Yylse far later than he had originally planned. He had stayed an extra week in Grace searching the castle for the king’s advisor and mistress, Belsac and Helace. Both were strangely absent. Pressing duties, rumor said, but when asked nobody knew what those duties were. No matter how much he tried, Calto found himself hard pressed to believe a whore’s duties were all that pressing. Still, his time in the palace was not wasted. He did find more hellkind. Within days Calto dispatched three additional hellhounds and almost lost his arm to a demon before managing to shove his blessed staff down its throat while the hellborn tore off the shreds of Calto’s armor. Afterward, a number of the servitors mysteriously disappeared. Calto was about to send a missive to his brethren about the need for a purge when the king, roused from his stupor, ordered him to leave the castle immediately. Even so, if he had not had such troubling dreams about Simta, mainly that she was being devoured by cats, Calto would have defied the king’s order and stayed longer, making sure to take care of Elise’s two problems in a permanent fashion once he found them. Unfortunately, the king was still the king, and exalted as he was, Calto was not. Besides, three additional sweeps through the castle turned up no further hellborn, so the infection had apparently been cured.

  Three weeks travel by fast coach got him back home. The trip was hard on the horses and on him, but it was a much less grueling journey than the two week he had taken before to reach Elise. On the first journey he had gone unescorted, at breakneck speed, leaving Gertunda far behind with his coach and guards. He nearly killed his remounts before he began trading horses along the way, adding a few gold rugdles each time to sweeten the deal. Expensive and taxing, but he would have done anything for his queen.

  The trip back was slower, should have been more relaxed, but something still nagged at him, worried his unconscious brain. Calto could not quite shake the feeling all was not well despite the numerous precautions he had taken and letters he had sent. Unfortunately, his influence and efforts were limited by the fact that Vere more and more often leaned toward accepting hellkind as citizens of his kingdom.

  The coach went quietly through Yylse’s streets. Nothing but his horse’s hoof beats broke the silence. Once, Yylse had been a bustling city at all hours of the night, teeming with laughter, music, and merriment. Merchants, whores, magicians, singers, all would walk the streets calling out their wares to sailors and visitors alike, turning a profit, and in turn, making the temples gleam with their offerings. That was but a scant two years ago. Now the streets were almost empty and so were the temple coffers. With limited resources, the priests helped fewer and fewer people. Despite receiving several not so subtle hints, Calto refused to support the temples with his own wealth. The idea was absurd. He tithed his proper share to Anothosia and that was enough. Despite his calling, he would not make himself a pauper for any man, woman, or god. He liked sleeping in a soft bed and drinking fine wine. Eating every
day was a favorite pastime of his as well.

  The coach turned into the circular drive of Anothosia’s temple. Twilight colored the sky a soft blue in the distance and a darker, more comforting blue above. A few faint stars were dim pinpoints, winking at him from the heavens. Sighing, Calto’s shoulders drooped as the coach drew closer. The thought of climbing into his own feather bed relaxed him, put his mind at ease. For this time, this night, he was off duty. He would get a good night sleep then tackle any problems in the morning.

  When the coach pulled to a stop, his manservant exploded from the temple doors.

  Goron Axgrinder, second eldest son of the house of Axgrinder, Calto’s apprentice and manservant, flew from the broad temple doors as if he had been shot from a bow. Calto barely had time to set foot on the ground before the young man stood before him, babbling incoherently, waving his hands wildly in front of Calto’s face. Calto fought down a desire to slap the boy and shake him till he made sense. Instead, he placed a steadying hand on Goron’s shoulder, willing the peace and calm of Anothosia into the boy’s body.

  Goron’s face, once tight and filled with panic, relaxed, as did his body, though he still clenched and unclenched his hands at his side.

  “All right,” Calto said sternly, “No more babbling. Start from the beginning and tell me,slowly, what is wrong.”

  Spinning around, Goron pointed at the temple doors. Calto looked. The white and gold doors stood open, spilling warm, yellow light onto the marble steps. He squinted when a shape caught his eye. Something small and dark sat in the middle of the doorway.

  The ‘something’ got up and nimbly made its way down the many steps. The dark shape, small and delicate, slipped between the two men and sat on Calto’s booted foot, looking up at him with large green eyes. Meowing, the thing rubbed against his leg.

  Scowling, Calto shook the cat from his boot. He hated cats. Smelly, dirty, flea infested pests— they made his skin crawl when they looked at him with their slitted eyes. Cat eyes reminded him too much of some of the hellborn he had encountered.

  Face twisted with disgust, he rounded on Goron. “What is that thing doing in my temple?”

  The fur ball kept getting close to him, trying to rub up against his legs. He wanted to kick it, send it sprawling into the darkening street, but restrained himself. He fought demons, for god’s sake. It was irrational to fear such a small thing as a house cat no matter what dark memories its eyes brought to him.

  “She was brought here by a priest of Trelsar. He said to give her shelter as she was a war victim.” Goron’s face again turned panicky. “He claimed you made a promise to take care of her.”

  Calto pulled his lips back in a grimace. “I what? Who in the two hells said this? What is his name?”

  Goron paled and looked down at his feet. “He never gave it.”

  “Well, what did he look like? Maybe I know him?”

  Goron again fidgeted, avoiding Calto’s gaze.

  Tired, sore, and angry, Calto lost his patience. He grabbed Goron by the chin and yanked his head upward, pulling the boy closer at the same time. Trembling, Goron stood on tip toe trying to match Calto’s tall frame.

  “You are my apprentice. Look me in the eye when I speak to you. If you cannot look me in the face and answer my questions then I have to wonder why and ask myself if you are worthy of the position I granted you.” Jaw thrust forward, Calto spit his words through gritted teeth.

  Whiskey. By the gods, he needed a large glass of it before he went to bed.

  Releasing the boy, Calto shoved him backwards. Goron stumbled, almost fell, but much to his credit, he righted himself, squared his shoulders, and met Calto’s eyes. The boy swallowed hard before he spoke.

  “Yes, your Lordship,” Goron whispered. “I apologize for my un-knightly behavior. Forgive me.”

  Calto nodded. The boy might make a knight yet, if he ever learned to not only grow, but to keep a backbone. “I will ask you again. What did the man look like?”

  “I don’t know, sir. His face has faded from my memory.”

  Calto blinked in astonishment. “What? When did he bring the thing to you?”

  “This morning, Lord Sir.”

  Calto frowned. How in the two hells did the lad forget the features of someone he had just met? Calto was about to lay into Goron for being incompetent when the cat leapt onto his shoulder. Calto jerked and twisted to get away from the animal.

  “Malto!” the cat screeched, legs flailing as it flew through the air. It landed on the stone driveway, twitching its tail furiously.

  Shocked, Calto stared at the thing. Had it just attempted to say his name?

  Goron cleared his throat. “I, uh, was going to tell you about that, sir.”

  Calto jerked his head around, staring at Goron like he had suddenly grown an extra head. “Did the— I thought I heard—?”

  Goron nodded. “Yes, sir. Simta said your name.”

  Calto’s eyes widened. “Did you just call her Simta?”

  Goron nodded once, never dropping his gaze. “I did, sir. The priest told me her name was Simta.”

  Turning his head slowly, Calto studied the cat with new determination. It sat at his feet, forlorn, lost green eyes, staring at him. She meowed and pawed the air.

  ”Simta is no ordinary cat, sir. She can say a few simple words, refuses to eat on the floor, can use a chamber pot, and has a right snit if you watch her do her business, and I swear to Anothosia she can read.” The boy’s soft brown eyes were huge with amazement.

  Eyes narrowing, Calto leaned in closer to the animal. When the cat meowed his name again Calto’s heart thudded heavily. Was this really Simta? In truth, the cat bore little resemblance to her. Where Simta’s skin was pale, the cat’s coat was a long, glossy cinnamon. Her feet, face, and belly were all white, but about her neck she wore a choker— a black velvet choker with a heart shaped emerald swinging from it, the same one he had sent to Simta before he left for Grace.

  Calto looked into the cat’s sad, luminous eyes and reached to stroke her head. Was this creature truly Simta or had someone put the choker about her neck as some sort of joke?

  The dream of Simta being eaten by cats suddenly came back to him. He carefully lifted the cat and pulled it close his chest. Goron showed concern.

  “Lord Sir, are you all right? You look as if you’ve just seen a demon.”

  Calto shook his head. “We’re going to the Morthanhi household— now.” Turning, he climbed into his coach, Goron following closely behind, stopped at the open coach door.

  “But, sir, the household will be bedding down for the night.”

  Calto glared at the boy. “Do not question my actions. Not only am I above the Morthanhi’s in social standing, I am, also, Anothosia’s head priest. Theywillsee menow or at any other time I demand. Get in the gods damned coach and shut up.”

  Goron blanched but leapt into the coach on the opposite side, slamming and latching the door behind him.

  Nodding satisfaction, Calto closed his coach door, but his stomach twitched and turned in every direction as if his bowels were trying to escape his body. The cat sat quietly in his lap, huddling in upon itself, looking like a piteous creature indeed.

  Was this truly Simta? If so, how had it happened, and how could he change her back?

  Looking down, he saw the cat staring back. Its eyes were lost and confused, and somehow, accusing. Almost, it seemed the animal thought this was Calto’s fault.

  * * * *

  With only a little fast talking Calto succeeded in having Anithia and Missa released from the Morthanhi’s dungeons. Apparently, Ani had been immediately suspected of Simta’s murder when she was discovered in Simta’s bed after Simta did not come home. Calto then called in magicians to check the cat for enchantment. When the results showed positive, Simta’s father relented and allowed the pair to go so long as they left unseen by the side entrance and never returned, which shot down Calto’s plans for keeping them safe and under the radar somep
lace other than in his home. He should have known Simta would screw this up somehow.

  Feeling drained and ill at ease, Calto sat in his soft leather cold and unwelcoming office chair. During the last three days he had searched for answers. For three long, horrible days he had routed out every scumbag he could find, demanding any hint of a clue they could offer. Finally, his sources came up with two suspects. One was a thief. The other was someone he would never have suspected. Because he was unwilling to face a truly unpleasant duty so soon, he decided he would speak with the thief first.

  A sharp knocking on the door startled Calto out of his thoughts. The cinnamon cat sitting in his lap hissed and dove for cover beneath his desk. Standing up, Calto straightened his robes and ran fingers through his hair to make sure everything was where it belonged, wishing he could use his staff to pull this truth. Unfortunately, the staff could only be used in such a manner when his goddess directly observed.

  “Enter.”

  Two warrior priests, both knights of the Order of the Staff and the Sword, stepped through his door half-carrying, half-dragging, a chained, ragged older man between them. They halted directly before Calto, dumping the man in a heap at his feet.

  “As you requested, Lord Sir, the thief Selnac.”

  When the stench of an unwashed body rose up to meet him, Calto wrinkled his nose. He pulled a kerchief from a front pocket and covered his nostrils, involuntarily taking a step back0.

  “Good gods and two, where did you find him? In a garbage pile?” The stench was so overpowering Calto’s eyes began to water.

  Eyes red-rimmed and cloudy, the thief looked up from his prone position. He held up a hand, piteously reaching for Calto’s robes. “Please, Your Lord Sir, a cup of water. It’s been almost two days since I’ve eaten or drunk anything.”

  Calto stiffened and growled at the peasant, daring him to complete the touch.