Dark Gods Rising (17 page)

* * * *

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. They
will
see me
now
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 someplace 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.

Slowly, the thief drew his hand back and dropped his head.

“You will
not
touch me. If I find you innocent, I will release you and you can find your own food. If I find you guilty, the gallows will be your destination after you receive a final meal. In either case, you will not touch me, or it will go worse for you.”

The thief sagged, looking as if he would fall flat upon the ground.

Calto’s scowl deepened. “I know you were with Simta the night she disappeared so do not tell me you do not know her. I have been informed you and she were close friends, that you had once been her mentor in crime.” Calto sneered, daring the thief to lie. “You will tell me exactly what you were doing on the night in question, and what happened to Simta.”

Releasing a low despairing groan, the ragged man lifted his head, sadness twisting his haggard features. “My Lord, I swear to you I didn’t hurt Simta. She was a bright woman, undeserving of her fate.” Selnac sat up straighter. “We went to rob the jeweler’s shop, Radno Hornblaster’s. She went into the building while I stood watch without. After that, I don’t know for sure what happened. There was a commotion inside, and then a little later the door was broken down and something small ran from the building with people and things chasing it. I had no choice but to think she was caught, and so I faded away, but later— later I put out word on the street for people to look for her. Even offered a reward if they would win her free.”

Calto narrowed his eyes. He was willing to believe Simta and this thief might have planned a robbery together, but he knew better than to believe Selnac would be so altruistic as to offer a reward for Simta’s safe return. Street scum did not behave in that way. “Why would she need to burgle a jewelry store? She had shelter. She had food and clothing and position. What more could she want?”

“She was trying to keep a woman named Ani as her lady-in-waiting. She didn’t have enough to pay her weekly wages so she needed a way to make some extra . As I understand it, Simta also wanted to move Ani out of the Downs.”

A cold feeling seeped over Calto. “Simta hired Ani and wanted to bring her into her household?” Gods, how could this have happened? How could Simta have been so stupid as to bring a guttersnipe into her own home permanently? Damn it, he hadn’t asked her to adopt the woman. He had only asked Simta to keep an eye on Ani and Missa.

The thief nodded. “She said she wanted to gain your favor so you would make her a respectable woman.”

Calto’s chest tightened. A throbbing in his head started at the front and began to work its way back. “Why? Why would she do this?”

Sighing, Selnac shook his head. “I guess she wanted to do the right thing. She cared for Ani and her daughter, was good to the both of them, and I suppose she
‒
she desired you or at least what you represented.”

Calto clenched his hand into a tight fist. No, no, no, no, this was not his fault. The woman was daft— insane. All she had to do was as he’d told her.

Selnac continued. “I don’t know what happened. All I know is a fire started inside the building, and then several large dogs flew out of it, chasing the small creature I mentioned. Honest, sir, I wanted to go inside and find her, but the owner was in the building still and also a woman. I couldn’t go in and look for Simta, not when there were younger people about. I’m too old for those games now. Too stiff.”

Calto’s anger built. From the reports he had read earlier this day, it was this thief’s fault Simta had learned to steal. By leading her astray, he had ruined Simta’s life.

Drawing his sword, he looked down on the terrified man. “You are correct, she did not deserve her fate, and you do not deserve to keep your head.”

A red blur suddenly shot from behind Calto and skidded to a halt in front of the thief. Back arched and hissing, the cat, Simta, stood before him, stood between him and the thief. Fur standing on end, she growled and shook her head. “Mreowwww.”

“Get out of the way, Simta. Because of him, you have besmirched the Morthanhi family name. It is my right— no, my duty to see he pays for his life of crime.”

Simta growled louder. Her eyes grew bright, and her body became haloed in a soft light. Calto’s sword began to vibrate in a way it had never done before, stinging his fingers, sending tendrils of pain up his arm.

Yelping, Calto dropped the sword. After striking the floor, the sword vibrated for a few short moments and then stilled. Hand tingling, Calto took a step back.

“Why do you defend the mangy man?” he demanded of both Simta and his goddess. “It is his fault you are a cat.”

Simta hissed and then turned toward the cowering thief. She gently pawed at the man’s hands where they covered his head in a worthless attempt at protection. Selnac looked up at the touch, gasped, and then Simta stepped closer to rub her head beneath his chin, purring.

“Holy Thom. What happened? Is this— is this— Simta?”

Calto fumed. “Yes. It is.”

Someone knocked at the door.

“What?” Calto yelled. His anger roiled about him like a heat wave.

The door swung wide. Two more knights entered into the room, dragging a struggling Dargot between them.

“I told you I would see to him when I was finished with this one.”

The knights were unfazed, taught to show only calm in the face of adversity. Havlar, a dark-haired man, stepped forward, gracefully swinging his braid from his shoulder.

“High Lord, this traitor insists he has information about the thief and the cat.” The knight looked upon Calto’s angry visage with disdain. For those knights in Anothosia’s service, it was base to lose one’s control. Havlar’s expression said Calto lessened himself with this display, a silent message Calto accepted with ire.

Calto reigned in his temper, barely. The sight of Dargot made him want to behead the man where he stood. Just the night before Dargot had been arrested after being caught in Sulya’s bed. After Larson’s shade had given Calto reason for suspicion, he had ordered all his upper ranking knights to avoid her wiles.

“We already know of your traitorous ways, Dargot. After discovering you have been bedding Sulya, we searched your quarters. Do not tempt me with your presence any longer than needed or challenge me with lies because we know of your dark dealings.”

Dargot shook his head. “My life for the needed information to save the slut.”

Calto snorted. Simta hissed. “You call her a slut! Cat or not, she is still a-a— whatever!” Calto waved his still aching arm out in front of him. “Oh hell, she is still a member of the upper class of Yernden. You will watch your tone and how you address her.”

The knights looked at him as if he had lost his mind, unaware of the predicament before them. Calto wiped his face and took a deep breath. “I will be the judge of whether you live or die. Spill it or I’ll have them take you away.”

Dargot shook his head again. “No, my life for her cure.”

Calto growled.

Walking over to Calto, Simta meowed softly. Her soft green eyes were moist. Calto’s heart thawed— a bit.

He looked at Dargot, his anger simmering, but still formidable. “If what you tell me is found to be true, I will spare your life. You have my word.”

Dargot nodded. “The man who did this to Simta is Radno Hornblaster. He is a transfigurer, but the only thing he can do is change someone into a cat.” Inhaling deeply, Dargot paused.

Calto motioned him to continue, his hand straying to his dagger. “This much we already know.”

Dargot eyed the dagger nervously, swallowed, and continued. “Hornblaster is dead. However, he has family in Greenswale who might have inherited his gift or are able to understand his spells.”

Calto thought a moment. If Dargot was wrong he would personally decapitate him. “How do you know this?”

Dargot looked at the floor.

“Tell me or I will consider this an attempt to fool me.”

Dargot hesitated, lifting his head to stare at Simta. “I— it was Sulya. She reported finding Hornblaster dead, ripped apart by hellhounds.”

Calto’s body tightened. By hellhounds? How convenient. “We have suspicions you have been dealing with hellborn. We know you have been fucking Sulya. Tell me, has she also been dealing with hellkind? Have any other of our brethren been doing so?”

Dargot shook his head violently. “No, Lord, I swear no. It was only me, and I didn’t want to deal with the hellborn, but I’m older than I used to be, and I’d been having trouble pleasing women for more than two years. I had to deal with them, you see. I had to, or I couldn’t have satisfied Sulya.”

“Had to,” Calto muttered, disgusted by his under-priest’s weakness. “Had to in order to break your vows to your wife. Fine. You say you’ve given me your information.” He looked to the two knights. “Take him back to the dungeons and give him to a questioner. Before long we’ll find out the truth of this and how much he hasn’t told us.”

“No! You promised to spare my life! You gave me your word!” Swearing profusely, Dargot struggled in his chains.

Calto arched an eyebrow, staring snidely down his nose at the traitorous bastard. “And I will keep my promise if the information you gave me is found to be true. You will live, though you may no longer enjoy the experience.”

Dargot swallowed hard. “Please, have mercy on me, My Lord. Don’t send me back down there. I swear I’ve told you the truth. Please! Set me free.”

A slow, wicked smile crawled across Calto’s face. “You only asked for your life, not your freedom.”

Dargot’s expression twisted into a mask of horror. “No–no–you promised.”

“I despise traitors even more than I hate not being obeyed. You will be my whipping boy for the rest of the ranks— for a very long time. Take him away.”

It took both knights to subdue the desperate man. Dargot screamed and cried as he was carried from the room. Once he was gone, Calto turned his attention back to the thief. Simta still hovered near him protectively.

Calto scowled. He felt loath to do it, but he would allow the thief to go free.

“Get up, peasant. Get out of my sight and never let me see you again.”

Shaky and unsure, Selnac stood. Obviously unbalanced on cramped legs and still in chains, he tottered slightly to one side and then the other.

Simta brushed up against him, still glowing. At her touch the thief seemed to grow stronger; color returned to his face. His eyes became clear, and the chains fell away. Calto sucked in a harsh breath as Simta’s nimbus transferred to the thief.

Selnac smiled, his face lit with peace. Reaching down, he picked Simta up. “Thank you, friend. I’m so sorry this happened to you, but I’ll do all I can to find a way to help.”

Simta’s purr was loud, appreciative. She rubbed her head beneath Selnac’s chin.

“Go on. Leave.” Calto said, disgusted to see Simta treat the thief with such reverence. The man was a nothing, an eyesore to his goddess. Even Flinstar would have rejected the thief’s worship, but then Flinstar was probably gone, maybe dead, but certainly disappeared. It had been a very long time since that stand-offish god had spoken to one of his priests or acolytes, much longer than Calto’s lifetime or even his father’s.

Selnac hugged Simta one last time, then left, walking tall, proud, but with a decided limp.

When everyone else was gone Calto glared down at Simta who suddenly became very frisky and playful. She jumped back and forth on the floor, swatting at Calto’s sword. He bent down to retrieve it, hesitating a moment before picking it up. For the first time ever, he was not sure what its touch would bring. Once it was in his hand, he turned the blade before him, studying its design. What had happened to make it vibrate earlier? Why had it hurt him, refused to be held? Worried, he placed it back in its sheath and collapsed upon his settee. Simta instantly jumped upon his chest, laid down, and purred loudly.