A Painted Goddess

by Victor Gischler

  “You have my word, Baron Hammish.”

  He nodded as if satisfied and followed Darshia out of the room.

  Stasha Benadicta went to the table and looked down at the items Brasley had brought back from the library, the items the wizard Talbun had died for.

  If Brasley Hammish said they were important to Duchess Veraiin, then it was Stasha’s duty to figure out a way to get them to her as soon as possible.

  And Stasha Benadicta took her duties very seriously.

  Brasley thanked Darshia and entered his room. He was so tired, but it was more than that. He felt like he’d been turned inside out.

  “Brasley?”

  He turned, started at the voice. “Fregga!”

  “They told me you were here.”

  “I thought you were at the lake lodge.”

  “I was, but the steward invited me to stay while you were gone,” Fregga said. “She’s ever so nice. She knew I was all alone and—”

  Brasley swept her into his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her arms went around him. They broke the kiss, and he nuzzled her neck, rocking back and forth, holding her tight, never wanting to let go.

  “I’m never leaving you again,” Brasley said.

  “Good.”

  He looked at her, touched her face. “You okay?”

  “Yes. I just missed you is all.”

  He put a hand on her belly. It had grown since he’d seen her last. “I mean, not just you, but everything.”

  “We’re both just fine.”

  “Good.” He smiled, nodding, suddenly at a loss for words. “Good.”

  She squeezed his arm. “They said you had a bad time of it.”

  He shrugged. “Well, you know. Nick-of-time stuff. It was a close call. To be honest, I didn’t think I was going to make it.”

  “But you did.”

  “Yes, I was lucky. A couple of the people I was with, well, they . . . they weren’t quite as lucky, I guess. I mean, I guess . . .”

  He burst into tears, and she grabbed him and pulled him close. He sucked for breath, his shoulders heaving with sobs.

  “It’s okay.” She rocked him gently, patting his back. “It’s okay.”

  Ankar drank fine wine and ate a good meal.

  Whatever the ancient wizards had been, they lived well, he thought.

  When it seemed the coast was clear, the white-skinned servants had emerged from their hiding places in the walls and began to clean up. They carried away the bodies and removed the debris from the battle. They set up a table and brought refreshment. Tattoos around his mouth and inside his ear canals let him speak and understand any tongue. They seemed all too pleased to serve him even though he’d recently killed dozens of them.

  Whatever race of people they are, they certainly don’t hold a grudge.

  So he sat there, eating and drinking, watching Giffen fiddle with the settings on the portal. The battle with the she-wizard had depleted him, so he’d been satisfied to eat and drink and rest, but now he grew impatient.

  “I thought you said you knew the settings for the damn thing.”

  “Your pardon, master,” Giffen said. “I’m doing this from memory. A little trial and error and I’m sure I’ll have it soon.”

  “Don’t call me ‘master,’ you obsequious turd.”

  “My pardon, your . . . uh . . . lordship?”

  “My name is Ankar.”

  “Ankar, then. I remember the setting back to Klaar well enough, but they must have removed one of the guidance gems from its housing on the other side, because I can’t get it to open.”

  “I don’t want to go to Klaar.”

  “Well, I don’t blame you for that. A squalid little backwater.”

  “The other settings open the portal to other places?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Well, that’s where a bit of guesswork comes into play,” Giffen admitted. “But I have reason to believe my guesses are good. Klaar might be a shit hole, but it’s the seat of one of the old houses of Helva. It stands to reason that other portals might be similarly located. Ah, here. For example, if I were to readjust this final guidance stone to the next rune over, I believe it might open the portal located deep within the hidden dungeons of Sherrik. The portals were generally kept hidden. Wouldn’t want just anyone messing with them, now, would we?”

  Ankar pushed back from the table, stood, and approached the portal. “Do it, then. Show me.”

  Giffen reached up and slowly clicked the guidance stone into place. The wall shimmered into a portal again just as it had before, and Giffen grinned triumphantly.

  An enormous gout of water the size of the portal itself shot into the room and sent Giffen tumbling back against the far wall.

  Ankar tapped into the spirit and turned himself to stone and stomped slowly, one step at a time, against the raging torrent of salt water spewing against him. At one point, he almost lost his footing, but he leaned into the spray and finally reached the portal. He snatched the gem from its housing at the top of the arch, and the portal became a stone wall again.

  Ankar sloshed across the room to where Giffen had washed up against the far wall. He grabbed a fistful of his cloak and hauled him up. Giffen sputtered and coughed, looking like a drowned rat.

  “Are you sure that was Sherrik?” Ankar asked. “Or was it perhaps the bottom of the fucking ocean?”

  “Apologies,” Giffen said. “Perhaps we should try some other setting.”

  “Yes. Let’s.”

  “There is another setting, one I didn’t tell anyone else about,” Giffen said. “I think I can remember it. I just need a bit of time to remember.”

  “Get on with it, then,” Ankar said.

  Giffen went back toward the portal archway, wringing out his robe.

  Ankar looked around the chamber and sighed. Looks like those pale-faced bitches have another mess to clean up.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The makeshift camp twenty miles north of Sherrik was a ragtag collection of carts and wagons and hastily erected tents. It served as the rallying point for the slow trickle of soldiers slugging out of the city. Any civilians who happened by were urged to continue on, although many wanted to stay near the soldiers, feeling they offered some semblance of safety.

  The battle surgeons had set up the largest tent available to treat the wounded. The cots within had filled almost immediately, and many of the lesser wounded had simply found a place to lie down outside the tent and shut their eyes, exhausted. Many of the eyes never opened again.

  Alem spotted Tosh kneeling next to one of the cots and went to speak to him. Kalli was lying in the cot, sleeping peacefully, and when Alem saw the bloody bandage around the stump of her arm, he gasped.

  “Took it off at the elbow,” Tosh said. “Nothing they could do to save it. It’s not her sword arm. That’s something at least.”

  “Damn.” Alem shook his head.

  “She’s tough,” Tosh said.

  Her eye flickered open, a wan smile. “You talking about me, boss?”

  “You’re the toughest lady I know, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t say that in front of Darshia,” Kalli said weakly. “I don’t want to have to prove it.” She turned her head just enough to see her stump, and her smile drifted away. “Well. Look at that.”

  “Forget it,” Tosh said. “You just rest.”

  “Damn. I was really working on those two-handed lunges, you know?”

  “We’ll fix you up with a rapier,” Tosh said. “Or a short sword.”

  “Yeah . . . sure.” She closed her eyes again.

  “They gave her something for the pain,” Tosh told Alem. “Makes her sleep too.”

  “Do you know where they’ve put Rina?”

  “Down at the other end.” Tosh pointed.

  “I’ll come check on you both later,” Alem said.

  “Sure.”

  He found Rina lying in her cot, skin ashen, breathing shallowly.
There was no wound on her. Something that simple wouldn’t bother an ink mage who could heal herself. This was something deeper. She’d tried to explain once that there was always a danger, that she could push herself too far.

  “I think I know how she feels,” said a voice behind him.

  He turned. “Maurizan.”

  “I felt it after the battle,” Maurizan said. “It wasn’t just like being tired. It’s like using up part of yourself.”

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  “I don’t know,” Maurizan said. “This is still new for me. Alem?”

  “Yes?”

  “I can’t do it again. I can’t love you and then you leave me for her. Just tell me now.”

  “Just because I’m concerned about her doesn’t—”

  “Please. I know. I’m not accusing you of anything. Honest. I just can’t . . . I won’t. It hurts too much.”

  He reached for her hand. She let him take it.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s not an issue.”

  She smiled at him. He smiled back.

  Then his eyes shifted to the man entering the tent. It was Maxus the wizard, and a soldier in leather armor. They went to a nearby cot. Captain Sarkham stood there, a bloodstained bandage around his head.

  Alem realized the man in the cot was the duke of Sherrik. He was shirtless, had a bandage around his torso. He’d been cleaned up, but the burn covering half his face looked just as terrible as before. It must have been excruciatingly painful.

  “Something’s happening,” Alem said. “I’m going to eavesdrop.”

  “Tell me what you find out,” Maurizan said. “I want to check on Kalli.”

  Alem gave her hand a quick squeeze as she left, and then he edged into the semicircle of men surrounding the duke’s cot. Just keep quiet and act like you belong here.

  “This man’s patrol has just come from the city,” Maxus said. “I’ve brought him to you just as you ordered, your grace. So you can hear for yourself.”

  The duke propped himself up on one elbow, wincing at the effort. His eyes looked alert and concerned. “Okay, then. Let’s hear it.”

  “It’s true, your grace,” the man said. “My patrol found them just inside the merchant’s quarter, marching in a line like any army would except . . .”

  “They were dead?” asked the duke.

  “I don’t know about such things,” the man said. “But we filled a half dozen of ’em with crossbow bolts, and they didn’t so much as blink. Just kept marching right for us. I’m glad we had horses. We got out of there and came back right fast.”

  “How long until they get here?”

  “The water’s slowing ’em up a little, not much. A couple hours, three maybe.”

  The duke sighed, nodding as if he’d been expecting bad news all along. “Thank you, trooper. Rejoin your men. Get a hot meal if you can.”

  “Your grace.” The soldier bowed and left.

  “Well, gentlemen, don’t get too comfortable,” the duke said. “I want us packed up and moving within the hour.”

  “That might be difficult, your grace,” Maxus said. “You’ve seen the men and the wounded, and there are civilians too. They’re all dead on their feet.”

  “Dead on their feet, you say? An interesting choice of words,” the duke said. “Because apparently the dead are on their way. If anyone is too tired to move on, if they feel they had a hard day, then just remind them what’s coming, and we’ll see if that motivates them.”

  Maxus cleared his throat. “As you say, your grace.”

  “Your grace, if I could make a suggestion,” Sarkham said.

  “Go on.”

  “I’ve done a quick head count,” Sarkham said. “We’ve lost a lot of men and have plenty of wounded, but I can scrape up five hundred men still hale enough to hold swords. We could fight a rear guard, give the wounded and the civilians a head start, buy you some time.”

  “An excellent suggestion, but not here,” the duke said. “The village of Millford north of us is a better spot. A stone bridge crosses the river. A stand there might be more fruitful. Does that meet your approval?”

  “Most certainly, your grace.”

  “Go make your preparation, then.”

  Sarkham saluted and left quickly.

  “I want all the wagons and carts for the wounded. Conscript abled-bodied civilians to carry whatever meager supplies we have,” the duke ordered. “Ah, Lord Alem, glad you could join us.”

  Alem reddened, shuffled his feet. “I apologize, your grace. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Nonsense. Maxus, can I have a moment with Alem? I’m sure there’s something wizardish you should be doing.”

  Maxus nodded respectfully and left.

  “Rina told me you’re quite the horseman.”

  Alem was surprised. “She talked about me?”

  “We had a few opportunities to pass the time with idle chatter, and the subject of horses came up. She told me you were the best rider she knew.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “I didn’t bring it up to flatter you,” the duke said. “I have an enormous black stallion picked out, and I want you on it and riding north in the next twenty minutes.”

  Alem blinked. “Your grace?”

  “As you just heard, an army of the dead is coming for us,” the duke said. “We’re heading north. I need my cousin Pemrod to take us in. Behind the walls of Merridan is where I’ll feel safest, but it’s a long road and we’ll never make it. I need you to carry a message. The king needs to send his army out to meet us. The sooner he gets the message the better, so if you’re half the rider I’ve heard you are, Lord Alem, then you’re the man for the job.”

  “Your grace, I have to tell you. I’m not a lord. I’m not anything or anyone.”

  “I see. To be frank that’s not very important right now. You get to the king on time, and I’ll make you a lord. I’ll make you earl of this fucking tent or anywhere else you want.”

  “Don’t you want an officer for this?” Alem asked. “Somebody important?”

  “I’m sorry for this, but you’re forcing me to be blunt,” the duke said. “I need my officers. And remember I was on top of the palace too. I heard Rina say you’re no good with a sword. That makes you useless to me here. But you can ride, and that’s what I need right now. I find myself with precious few resources at the moment, and I need to be as smart as possible about how I allocate them.”

  Alem’s heart beat faster. He felt flush and ill. He didn’t want this responsibility.

  “The horse I’ve picked for you is a good one,” the duke said, “but you have my permission to run his legs off. I’ll give you a bag of silver. Buy as many fresh horses along the way as you need.”

  Alem nodded, trying to find his voice. “Yes, of course. Whatever I can do to help.”

  “Good man. I knew I could count on you.” He took off his ring and handed it to Alem. “As stationery is a bit hard to come by at the moment, I can’t write you a letter of introduction. My signet ring will prove I’ve sent you.”

  “And I can warn others as I go,” Alem said. “Tell the people in each town and village what’s coming.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m sorry, but no,” the duke said. “If you warn them, they’ll take everything that isn’t nailed down and flee. I have hundreds of refugees, and we’ll need food and supplies along the way. We’ll pay fair prices and warn them as we pass through, but I can’t have you scaring them off. Likely word has spread ahead of you already anyway, but that can’t be helped. Your good intentions do you credit, but I hope you understand my position.”

  Alem was sure he might throw up. He looked around for a place to do it.

  “Think of it this way if it makes you feel better,” the duke said. “You’ll be riding away from the dead army that wants to kill us all.”

  “Why does it have to be you?”

  “I told you,” Alem said. “I’m
the best rider available, and I’m shit with a sword. I’m elected.”

  “Then I’ll get a horse too,” Maurizan told him. “I’ll go with you.”

  “That’s not how this works.” Alem stuffed the bag of silver into the saddlebag with the meager ration of food he’d been given. At his request, they’d also dug up a crossbow for him and a quiver of bolts. “First, they can’t spare another horse. Second, if they could, it wouldn’t be as fast as mine, and I can’t wait. The whole point is for me to ride as fast as I can.”

  “There’s got to be a way we can both go together.”

  “Well, if we both had lightning bolts on our ankles we could,” Alem said. “But we don’t.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Look, nothing, okay? I’m going crazy,” Alem said. “You think I want to leave you? I don’t.”

  He grabbed her and pulled her close. “If I get killed, what’s the last thing you want me to remember? That you were screaming at me, or that you gave me the best kiss of my life?”

  One of her hands went to the back of his head and pulled him down. Her lips met his. She kissed him softly at first, then gradually harder. Her mouth opened, her tongue finding its way into his, and after an eternity she pulled away slowly, the taste of her lips lingering on his.

  A shiver ran through him. “That actually might have been the best kiss of my life.”

  Maurizan fixed him with a hard glare. “That does not mean you have permission to die.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Brasley rolled over in bed, his eyes opening slowly. There was a horrifying disoriented moment before he remembered where he was.

  You’re in Klaar. You’re safe.

  Gray light leaked in through the shutters, still very early in the morning.

  His wife curled next to him. He scooted in closer, his erection growing against her softness. She made a purring sound and wiggled back against him. He reached around her and grabbed a full breast. His wife was so incredibly soft. He could just sink into her in a way he was never able to with other women.

  I’m going to treat you right, he thought. I’m going to be the husband you deserve.

  She reached down and guided him in, a little gasp escaping her. He stopped suddenly.