Gods Of Blood And Fire (Book 1) (58 page)

***

Kian woke to a strange noise like a low growl but not like the growl of a big cat or a dog, this was deep and much louder. He must have slept a long time, the fire’s ashes were cold.

He quickly jumped to his feet, shaking off the fog of sleep, looking down the tunnel he saw two large eyes coming towards him, they were much too far apart to be a bear, his feline-like vision let him see the huge reptilian head coming up from the depths of the hole.

The beast was moving slowly, it was as large as the tunnel itself, squirming to get out of the tight space. He knew at once what it was when he saw the dark green shade of its scales; he was in the winter lair of a forest dragon. The smoke from his fire must have awoken it from its winter slumber.

Kian leapt out of the hole as fast as he could, the beast right behind him, he started to run, but drew Malice instead. Why he didn’t know. The dragon wasn’t a great wyrm or a breather, but he didn’t think he had much chance of fighting a beast of this size. However, it was too close and too fast, he would have to try.

As the dragon emerged from the ground, he drove his blade into its head, he meant to strike between its eyes but only managed to bury his sword in its snout.

The monster flipped it head from side to side, causing the swordsman to lose his grip on his sword, its powerful neck muscles sent him flying through the forest, he landed hard, rolling across the snow-covered ground, the strength of the dragon was immense.

It squeezed itself out of its winter den, forty feet of terrible serpent. The forest’s dragons had no wings and short legs, but were known to be very quick and clever.

Kian knew he had to retrieve his sword from its snout or he stood no chance at all. The beast turned to face him, he ran at it as fast as he could, leaping into the air, landing on the head of the creature. The agile warrior ripped his sword out of its snout and jumped off the head.

The dragon spun and snapped at Kian while he was still in the air, one of its dagger-like fangs tore down his shoulder, if not for the confining the space of the trees, it would have bitten him in half.

Kian hit the ground, blood running down his back, the bite burned like fire. The dragon charged again, this time the swordsman somersaulted to the side and came to his feet, his blade flashing; he struck twice, severing the fore leg of the beast.

The monster staggered and reared up on it hind legs, Kian ran underneath it, plunging his sword to the hilt in its soft belly, twisting the blade free as he ran out the other side of the enraged creature.

The dragon came down back on all four legs again, its wounded leg causing it to collapse onto its belly momentarily. It spun, whipping its thick tail like a huge flail, catching the warrior full in the chest, sending him careening end over end into one of the forest’s great trees.

Kian lay in a heap; he shook the snow off and stood up, leaning against the tree for support.

The beast came limping at him, blood dripping from its stomach wound. The thick red ichor oozed out, staining the snow-covered forest floor. It let out a great roar, lowered its head, and lunged at him. Kian gathered his legs under him and jumped straight up. The dragon’s head rammed into the huge tree, shaking the snow off its top-most branches. Kian came straight down and landed on its large head. Holding the sword like a dagger, he drove the blade into the top of the dragon’s skull.

Malice parted the dragon’s tough scales like they were made of silk and slid down into the serpent’s brain.

It shook its head and started to stagger; Kian repeatedly stabbed the monster’s head until its thrashing shook him off again. The swordsman managed to pull his weapon free as he flew off this time and land gracefully on his feet.

The dragon came on but slowly, Kian used the trees to keep the beast off of him, weaving back and forth between them, blocking the creature’s advance, finally it lay down and closed it silted eyes.

The Half Elf approached it cautiously, then with a few swings of his blade cut the dragon’s head from its body. Kian backed up against a tree, sliding down to sit in the snow. He was sore all over and bleeding from several minor wounds, it would be night soon, but he wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

***

“Master, did you hear me?”

The Dark One looked at Siro, he had in truth not heard a word his servant had said. “What is it, can’t you see I’m thinking?”

Siro sat down opposite of his master’s huge desk, it was littered with all matter of magical devices and writings. “He is coming, he has killed the young forest dragon, and he will be here soon, Master.”

The wizard picked up a rag from his desk and raised his mask, dapping at the fluids that were draining from the wounds on his face. “I will find some way to slow him down. Is the baby ready?”

Siro smiled. “Oh yes, Master, with the magic he should be fine, a bit tiny, but he will survive.”

He adjusted his mask and threw the rag on the floor. “Good, then cut it out today.”

Siro stood. “Does it matter if the woman lives?”

The Dark One thought for a moment. “Yes, she may have uses later, depending on what happens in Bandara.”

Siro looked at his master with downcast eyes. “May I have her, Master? I could gently kill her in her sleep then bring her back without a mark on her. She would make a stunning bride for me.”

“You already have an undead woman, you don’t need two, you nasty little creature. I told you there would be a limit on your special people. Now get to work and bring me that baby.”

The little necromancer hung his head and walked out.

The Dark One stood on top of his tower, the cool air felt good on his face, he had to get ready, his creation would be here soon.

He had lied to Siro, he had no intention of slowing Kian down. This time he would bring the Half Elf under his control. This time the swordsman wouldn’t escape.

He felt a huge surge in the magical forces that floated invisible in the air. He turned to see a tall slender woman. She would be beautiful if her features were not so severe. Still, she was not unpleasant to look at.

Dark eyes and slender nose, thin lips forever frowning, her black hair was combed straight back but he could still see the white streak that ran all the way through the middle of it.

He went to his knee. “I’m yours to command, my Goddess.”

She had a look of pity in her eyes. “Do get up, kneeling does not become you.”

He pushed himself up. “What brings you to my humble tower, oh most powerful one?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know that the Mistress has laid claim to your … invention?”

He bowed his head. “I do know, but she has no right, and I will not let her have him, if I can stop her.”

The Goddess of Magic laughed—something she rarely did. “You, stop her? I don’t know that I could stop her, you fool. Look what happened to you last time you tried to stop a God. Besides, I think you will have your hands full with your creature, it does have a mind of its own.”

“For now,” he fired back.

“Will you ever learn, my pitiful little man?”

“Did you come to warn me Shiavaka, or was there something else?”

“No, I came to see if you were aware of what you are up against, I see that you do. I know what you want and why, but I will not stand against the Mistress, if she intervenes, I won’t help you.”

He bowed again. “I understand. I will not call upon your aid then.” She closed her eyes and vanished. He turned back towards the south, it didn’t matter if the Gods interfered or not, it would be over soon one way or the other.

Chapter 23

O
liver Deverall was still trying to make sense of why he had been sent on this mission, he had been trying to figure it out since he and his knights had left Tyro. Oliver had not questioned it when the Pope’s own vicar handed him the orders. He didn’t want to make any trouble for himself, it had taken him too long to reach the rank of commander.

He was a Celonian and few men who commanded an entire knight order were not full-blooded Tyroians. He had worked too hard to become the commander of the Knights of Deliverance. All the years of being a page and squire had not been wasted. He had become a skilled warrior and had educated himself in all the fields he needed to excel in the Church’s knight orders. He had spent half his life in pursuit of this command. He was not going to jeopardize it now by questioning orders.

Still, fifty knights sent out in the dead of winter to chase down one half-breed? It was an odd mission indeed, but the order came from the Pontiff himself, and the man that spoke for God was never questioned.

The fact that the Church had also sent Dracen Milara along with him made the commander even more uneasy. Milara was a Lord Justice of the Holy Inquisition or as they were called the Eyes of God. Milara had brought along thirty of the Hand to keep him company. God’s executioners are what the members of the Hand were jokingly called by the Church knights, but it was nearly the truth. They acted as guards for priests, enforcers of God’s law, and assassins when needed. If they were the Hand of God, they were his left hand. In Deverall’s opinion, they were little better than common brigands.

The knight orders seldom worked with the Eyes or the Hands of God. Hunting down heretics and blasphemers was their work. It was not the job of the papal knight orders. The knights were a martial arm of the Church; they were seldom used to track down pagans. If God needed a battle fought, the holy orders were the ones that brought God his victory. The half-breed they hunted must be very important to the Church and most likely dangerous if he and his men had been sent. They had nearly killed their horses getting to Bandara. It was unusual for a priest of Milara’s rank to travel at top speed. Most times the priest took their sweet time going anywhere.

“I told you the weather would improve, Commander.” Deverall looked to his right. He hadn’t noticed the Lord Justice had ridden up alongside him.

Lord Justice Dracen Milara didn’t look like most bureaucrats of the Church. He was very young to hold such a lofty position in the Church. The Lord Justice was maybe forty years old, Oliver guessed. Thick dark hair and goatee waxed into a point. Milara was a powerfully built man. He looked like he could wear armor as easily as he did his robe of office.

“That you did, Lord Justice, the snow has stopped and I think it’s warmed a bit as well.”

“God knew we were coming to do his work, Commander Deverall, he knows when the righteous have need of his mighty hand. He has reached down and tamed this unholy weather. Now we must turn north.”

Oliver looked to the north. “Lord Justice, Turill is south, there’s nothing to the north but farmland and the Adorn Forest.”

The Justice pointed. “God says our work is there and there we will go.”

***

King Havalon sat in a large chair covered with a bear fur. One of his men had killed and skinned the beast and given it to the King as a gift just before winter had hit. He had been brooding for the last two days. Thousands of his men had died at the hands of those vile sorceresses.

Where this General K’xarr had gotten them he didn’t know, but he would make them pay. He had sent messengers to the Church; they would be very interested in what had happened here. He had thought the Church had rid the land of all the powerful renegade wizards long ago. Only the Circle of Thirteen remained a thorn in the Holy Father’s side. Where had those women come from? The Church would find out and put an end to them. Of that he had no doubt. For now though, they were his problem.