The Balborite Curse (Book 4) (13 page)

“My lord! Her face! Look at her face!” he shouted. “Call the guards!” The effort sent the elderly man into a fit of coughing. The woman did not move.

“Remove this wrinkled old fool from my sight, or I’ll crush his skull,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

Druknor dismissed the chamberlain with a nod. “Lessim, leave us, and seal the doors behind you.”

“B-but my lord! She’s—she’s one of… them!” he whispered the last word.

“Stop your jabbering and do as I tell you. I’ll speak with my guest in private.”

The old man scurried out of the room, looking twice over his shoulder as he left. As soon as the doors clicked shut, Skera-Kina shrugged off her heavy cloak. It fell in a black pool around her feet.

She wore a sleeveless leather tunic, leaving much of her muscled skin exposed. Even in the semi-darkness, Druknor could see the elaborate markings that covered her entire body. Skera-Kina was a Blood Master, the highest ranking spellcaster on Balbor. The only one above her was the High Priest. She was the best assassin on the continent; no one else could match her skill or ruthlessness.

Even so, Druknor had his pride, and he resisted Skera-Kina’s authority—they were not on Balbor, after all.

“Do not bark orders at me. You shall respect me in my own house.”

She ignored the warning and went on. “When did you become a duke, Druknor? Are you so bold to confer such a title upon yourself? Or did King Rali really grant you such an honor?”

She was baiting him, trying to make him lose his temper. Druknor sniffed vaguely. “I do not fancy myself a nobleman, and titles matter little to me. My faithful workers have named me thus, and therefore I do not correct them. It is a harmless bit of humor. It doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“Your servants have proclaimed you nobleman!” She laughed. “Your conceit is astounding!”

"I don’t appreciate your mockery or your attitude. Unless you have something important to say, I think this conversation is over.”

“I have not dismissed you yet!” she flared. “I am your superior, and you will sit until I have said my piece.”

He frowned and said sharply, “Peacetime has not tamed you, Skera-Kina—you’re still as bitter and unpleasant as ever.”

“Peacetime?”
she snorted.
“What peace?”

“The last five years have been quiet. You must admit that.”

“War may have faded from the day-to-day—but these years have been a short reprieve, nothing more. The Dark War is coming. It is inevitable. The temple priests are certain of it.”

“Do you truly believe what you say, or are you just repeating the mumblings of the priests?”

Skera-Kina’s eyes narrowed. “I believe the priests. I have seen the omens myself in smoke and water. Even as we speak, the mainlanders prepare for war against us. It is as the priests have foretold. A war is coming the like of which has never been seen before. We must attack the mainlanders first, while they least expect it.”

“Listen to yourself! Of
course
war is coming! War is
always
coming! The Dark War has been coming for centuries, if you believe the priests
’ predictions. Can’t you see the priests are using you? It never ends! It’s maddening!”

“You disappoint me greatly, Druknor. Once, you killed men for speaking blasphemy, and now you speak it yourself.”

Druknor shook his head. “No, not blasphemy; it is not a sacrilege to question those who govern our lives. The priests will never stop their fear-mongering. A first strike is the best way to start a war, so in that respect, the priests are guaranteeing their own prophesies.”

“Your words are unforgivable. What happened to you, Druknor? Out of all the acolytes, you were once the most promising. The priests sent you to the mainland to learn—to live among nonbelievers and act as our eyes and ears on the continent. But look at you now—you’ve grown fat and greedy in your frozen keep, hoarding coin like some pathetic fishmonger at market.”

Druknor’s jaw clenched in anger. “I tire of your verbal abuse, woman. Watch your tongue. A Blood Master you may be, but you are not my equal. Think long and hard before you threaten me.”

Skera-Kina laughed. “That’s true—I am not your equal. In every respect, I am your
superior!
Understand that, Druknor!
”

He frowned. “You don’t intimidate me. Despite your magical skills, you would find me a difficult target, I assure you.” He patted a gold amulet on his chest. Even from afar, Skera-Kina recognized it was a protective amulet. “My wealth has afforded me many things, including magical protection.”

“If you really believe that little charm will stop me, then you are a bigger fool than I thought.” She cocked her head to one side and smiled. “Your impudence is astonishing. I’m profoundly tempted to kill you now and deal with the consequences later.”

“Ha! You're bluffing. You wouldn’t
dare
touch me.
” Druknor forced a laugh, but his fear betrayed him, and his voice cracked.

“Are you absolutely certain of that? Perhaps the priests have grown tired of your scheming and have sent me here to kill you... once and for all.” Skera-Kina stepped forward, and the hounds snapped to attention, snarling at her with open jaws. This time, Druknor did not order the dogs to stand down.

“I’m too valuable to the priests. Plus, you don’t have the authority to kill me.”

“Don’t get smug. Or have you forgotten that are no priests in this room?” she said, her voice low and menacing. “I would happily gut you as easily as I would gut a pig. That amulet might protect you from magical attacks, but it’s useless against a knife across your neck.”

Druknor’s heart pounded. Although she needed explicit permission from the priests to kill him, she was right—the priests were thousands of leagues away. He chose his next words carefully. “It is not your business to criticize me or question my fealty to the temple. Why must I defend myself against false rumors?”

Patience
, Druknor,
patience
, he thought to himself, willing his heartbeat to slow down.

His mind raced. He had to think
—buy himself some time. Decades ago, he left Balbor willingly, volunteering to live among the mainlanders and act as a spy for the priests. Being young and willful, he jumped at the opportunity to impress the priests.

Born without magical powers, Druknor was considered expendable, and the priests offered him no help or support once he reached the mainland. All his training had been religious, and he knew nothing of how to survive or function on the mainland. Forced to fend for himself or starve, Druknor quickly lost his religious fervor.

With few options available to him, Druknor accepted a job as a slaver, and rose up through the ranks quickly. In his fifth year, he became the slave master in Sut-Burr, answering directly to the constable.

The following year, Druknor murdered his boss in a staged street brawl. Druknor feigned innocence, and the emperor believed him, granting Druknor leadership of the fortress. He had held it zealously ever since.

Druknor secretly remained a Balborite spy, and the priests were delighted with his new position of power.

However, he constantly wove a web of lies and half-truths, intentionally misdirecting the priests, while at the same time strengthening his position on the continent. He made doubly sure that no one could contradict his reports, and killed any new spies that the priests sent to the mainland. He was careful to make his murders look like an accident.

Druknor swore to himself that he would never return to his old life
—or to his cursed homeland. Let the priests believe that he was still under their control, and let the priests fight their endless holy war!

I have my own kingdom now, and I won
’t surrender it to anyone!

Of course, he couldn
’t say any of this out loud, or Skera-Kina would kill him on the spot.

Skera-Kina was a constant reminder of his past, a tangled web of lies that he could never completely escape. But as long as the priests wanted him alive, she would think twice about killing him.

Her cold eyes never left his face. “The priests consider you a useful spy, but I know that you are a fraud. I advised the priests to replace you. I can’t fathom why they haven’t killed you already.”

Druknor returned her glare. “Perhaps the priests are smarter than you. The priests know my value. I have done my job well over the years. Besides, do you honestly believe the priests would trust a nonbeliever to deliver their intelligence?”

“As far as I’m concerned, the priests are already using a nonbeliever.” Skera-Kina held her arms up. The swirling tattoos covering her skin were a walking testament to her dedication to the temple. “These markings are proof of my faith… where are yours?”

“Your tattoos signify nothing. I am not mageborn, so I do not need a face full of black ink to prove my worth. I serve the temple as faithfully as you, albeit in a different fashion.” He crossed his legs and popped another grape in his mouth. “Moreover, who could replace me?”

Skera-Kina smiled, as if she had caught him in a trap. “I know a dozen others who would gladly take your place. Don’t forget that.”

Damn this infernal woman, he thought, swallowing his bitterness. He had to keep calm and play this deadly word-game with her—if she discovered that he was a traitor, she would eviscerate him. Skera-Kina’s eyes were fixed on Druknor’s hands, which began to tremble slightly. “I swore to serve the temple, the same as you! And I don’t appreciate what you are implying.”

She watches me with such loathing, he thought.

Skera-Kina glared, folding her arms across her chest. “I’m going to expose you for what you really are… a spineless traitor.”

“Stop these wild accusations! What am I, compared to you? You are a master assassin, and I am just a spy—not even mageborn. In fact, I could just as easily accuse you of treason, so get out of my sight!”

Her upper lip curled into a snarl. “Are you so bold to speak to me thus?” She stepped closer to his chair.

He flinched. “What are you doing? Stay back!” His voice rose in alarm. Druknor’s two dogs barked menacingly, moving forward to defend their master.

“You sicken me.” Skera-Kina waved a glowing hand.
“Sofna,”
she said, and the dogs collapsed in a jumble at her feet. She stepped over them soundlessly.

Druknor
’s face blanched. “Don’t come any closer! Guards! Guards!”

"No one can hear you scream, you egotistical fool.” She slid toward Druknor slowly, like a snake stalking a mouse. “I cast a spell of silence as soon as your chamberlain left the room. Yell as loudly as you wish; you may as well be screaming into a windstorm.”

“I order you to stand back!” he screamed. “I am the
Duke of Sut-Burr!
”
His voice was frantic.
“I will kill you—I swear I will!”

She let loose a harsh bark of laughter. “Your pathetic title means nothing. I only answer to the priests. A king or a slave, it doesn’t matter to me—because you all die the same way.”

Druknor gulped loudly. “You do not frighten me,” he whispered.

Skera-Kina smiled. “You are lying... I can smell your fear.” She loomed over him now, silent and menacing. She was so close that he could smell the almond oil on her skin; it was used by the Balborite assassins to keep their tattoos dark and fresh.

He sunk down in his seat, retracting his neck back like a turtle. “Don’t touch me, you vile woman!”

In a blur, she clamped her hands over his wrists. Druknor struggled to free himself, but could not break her grip. She leaned in, her breath hot on his face. “You forget your place, Druknor. Allow me to remind you who you’re dealing with.”

She pushed down hard with her left palm and heard a crack as his wrist snapped. Druknor screamed, and the sharp odor of urine filled the air. An amber stream ran down the seat cushion and pooled beneath his chair, trickling down in hot rivulets. She pushed again, and Druknor cried out as his other wrist collapsed.

“Mercy!” he said, writhing in his chair like a trapped animal.

She pressed her lips to his ear as if whispering to a lover. “Stop your sniveling and be silent. Do not beg for pity like a dog.” She leaned back, and Druknor crossed his limp hands on his lap, sobbing quietly.

“Please, just leave me be,” he whimpered. “Go away…and leave me be.”

“I intend to but first, you must listen.” She stepped back and picked up her cloak from the floor. “While it is true that I do not have authority to kill you, if you ever speak disrespectfully to me again, I’ll skin you alive and throw your body to your hounds. Is that clear?”

Druknor nodded dumbly.

“Good, good, I’m pleased we understand each other.” She reached over and patted Druknor on the head, as one would pat a dog.

He looked up at her with terrified eyes. “W-what are you going to do to me now?”

“To you? Nothing. I’m going to sleep. I had a long journey, and I’m tired. Tomorrow, I’ll search your entire keep, gathering information for the priests. I’ll be looking through all your records. Advise your men not to approach me, because anyone who interferes with my work shall be killed.”