The Record of the Saints Caliber (25 page)

“I’ll find some milk for her.” Karver said in his low, grumbly voice, paying Rook no heed. “It won’t do if she dies before we can sell her.”

From outside a burst of bolt-thrower blasts sounded. They were still far, but closer than they had been before. Karver looked at Rennic. “And you, Rennic, we’ll take whatever else you can find in this mess. More babes would make a trip to Valdasia more profitable, and we’d pay you more.”

Rennic’s red lips turned up in a smile, and like some sort of creature he slunk back over to the hatch and disappeared back down into the sewers.

Garrot and Karver looked at each other and mumbled to themselves. With one arm Karver pointed at Rook and Garrot nodded, his fat chin wiggling. Then, with the crying Ursula in his arms, Karver strode out the door, shutting it as he left, and Rook found himself alone with Garrot.

“Wh-What are you going to do with us?” asked Rook. He could feel himself trembling.

The fat man didn’t immediately answer. He stood there with his one dark eye raking over Rook, the lazy one bobbing slightly. He grumbled some words under his breath, something about
Karver says it’s got to be done
. Then he said more loudly, “Give me your clothes.”

Rook looked at the man. He was a big blur beyond the tears in his eyes. “They’re…they’re all I have.”

“I don’t mean to keep them.” said Garrot. “Now take them off.”

“G-Give me my sister,” said Rook, trying to sound firm but knowing he failed miserably. “I want to go home now.”

“This is as close to home as you ever get again.” said Garrot. “You take them clothes off and don’t make me tell you again. Karver says I got to see what you look like, know how much money you’re worth. See how much food we got to put on those bones before a noble will have you.”

Rook stood trembling. He felt warm tears streaming down his cheeks. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes with his shirt sleeve. But then his stomach lurched. Garrot was taking off his shirt. “Wh-What are you doing?” asked Rook.

Garrot rolled his green tunic up over his head and tossed it to the floor, revealing his pale, corpulent belly, flecked with large, black moles. Coarse, greasy hair stretched across his chest and belly and in matted patches upon his shoulders. A more potent form of his sour body odor now assaulted Rook.

“P-P-Please don’t hurt my sister,” pleaded Rook as a flow of tears escaped his eyes. “I…I just want my sister and I want to go home.”

Garrot looked at Rook, the lazy, saggy eye floating in place as he took off his pants. “Nobles pay more if you’re used to being touched. If you can please them without flinching. Karver says it’s best I get you conditioned now. First time’s always hardest. Get’s easier after a while. Might even come to like it once you put your mind in the right place.” He began rolling the tight underpants down his fat, hairy legs.

“A-A-Are you going to hurt me?”

“My cousin, Kraken, he used to hurt me when I was little. Used to take me from behind. Used to show all the others and then let them try on me. But I not do that to you. I only do front to front.” Garrot, fully naked now, took a step forward and placed his fat, bejeweled hands on Rook’s shoulders. “Now come on. Let me get those clothes off you.”

— 6 —

SOLASTRON

Solastron the wolf hadn’t told his master, Etheil, that he had caught the scent of death in the air when they had arrived back at the castle of Durtania. It was faint, but it was definitely in the predawn wind, mingled with pine, damp stone and the frosty bite of snow. It was a scent of death that was at once strange and familiar. It was a scent embedded in ancient memories, but Solastron dared not say anything to Etheil until he was certain about it. Up here in the cool mountains the scent was unmistakable. He placed his giant, black nose to the crumbled, desiccated rocks and sucked in a few deep gulps of air.

“Celacia,” growled Solastron softly.

But there was something else on the wind. Another old but familiar smell. A smell that had come much later than that of Celacia. It was the scent of Saints. Solastron put his massive head to the wind, letting the icy mountain air caress his snout. Six of them. Male and female.

Solastron put his nose back down to the earth, his hot, smokey breath churning up dust from the dead stone of the mountain trail. He used a massive blue paw to tear up the desiccated stone and padded his way down the trail of dead earth toward a small cliff. The sun was close to rising in the distant east, casting the mountaintops in a dilute haze of twilight. Solastron peered out into the abyssal heavens of the west where his aquamarine eyes caught sight of the Stellarium out upon the snowy peaks. He put his snout to the wind again, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scents. They were there. Not Celacia anymore, but the Saints. They were at the Stellarium.

Solastron sat down upon the cliff and peered out at the fortress. There was no sign of trouble, no signs of distress. His pointed ears adjusted themselves against the wind, trying to catch sound of anything, but all was quiet. His shaggy blue tail swished back and forth as he contemplated this. The only scent of death was that of Celacia and the path she had trodden many weeks before. Neither she nor the Saints had come here to fight. A chill wind swept through, ruffling his long, cobalt blue fur that was striped with amethyst. His eyes narrowed into slits and a low, guttural growl escaped his lips.

“How long have you been awake, Celacia?” rumbled the great wolf to himself. He looked toward the dark sky and its pathetic handful of stars. “The hour is late for your return, Celacia. What brings you here? And why have you come with Saints? Have you come to finish the black dragon’s work?”

The wind shifted, now bringing to his nose the scents directly from the Stellarium. His frosty eyes narrowed. “I remember that day still. So long ago. A bygone era. That day the Mard Grander was broken and the Dragonstones fell from it. It was a day long after your time, Celacia, and you would not know the story. I never thought the Oracle’s prophecy would mean your return.”

Solastron recounted in his mind what the Oracle had told him after giving him the Dragonstones from the broken Mard Grander, the hammer gifted to the men of Duroton by the old gods.
Guard the stones for all time, until Death walks the Earth and the Raven wields Dragonfire.
Solastron rumbled a low growl. “Death now walks the earth, but I know not of a Raven who wields Dragonfire. I shall yet keep the Dragonstones. The time is not yet right to reforge the Mard Grander.”

Solastron stood back up on all fours. “The Jinn are fools,” he rumbled softly. “Celacia serves only one master.”

Solastron puffed a few hot breaths into the wind, then bounded off for the Stellarium. He was much larger than a normal wolf, yet he could move with the wind, bounding off cliffs and shooting up boulders and overhangs. He tried to stay ahead of the approaching dawn, sticking to the shadows as best he could, for he did not want to be seen or detected. He had suspected that the Jinn and the Knights of the Dark Stars had been up to something for a long time and he wanted to find out what that was. He would never have guessed it had anything to do with Celacia and Saints.

Solastron decided he would sneak his way around the Stellarium and try to determine what was going on. He’d have to be careful though. Neither the Jinn nor any of the Knights of the Dark Stars liked him, and without Etheil around they would certainly try to kill him. Still, he had to know what they were up to; what brought Celacia and six Saints to the Stellarium. He wondered if the King knew, and supposed he did. He also supposed it had something to do with Brandrir and the Rising of the Phoenix ceremony that was coming up. There was talk that the Jinn had seen an omen in the stars that Brandrir’s crown would bring Duroton to flames. Needless to say, the Council of Duroton did not want Brandrir to sit upon the throne. It was his brother, Dagrir, they wanted.

Solastron slunk his way up the side of the mountain, avoiding the last of the Northern Guard sentries just as the morning sun began to bathe the eastern walls in pale light. He was now upon the sheer, western slopes where the choppy waters of the Graystone Bay crashed a thousand feet below. Even for Solastron’s four large but nimble paws, scaling these cliffs was treacherous at best. Many times his ebony claws had to tear into the stone just to get a grip, and more than once a hind leg slipped, tossing loose stone into the murky waters far below. Solastron’s only solace was found in the various windowsills carved into the mountain where he could rest, but even then had to be ever vigilant for watching eyes or occupied rooms.

It was at one such window that Solastron caught a strange scent upon the wind. It was not unlike the inoffensive malodor of human, but with an unmistakable redolence of molten metal that Saints often carried. It was an undetectable smell to most, but Solastron was hypersensitive to it, for it was quite pleasing and reminded him of the stars and of the bygone goddess, Aeoria. Indeed, the smell and touch of star-metal was something he craved and it tended to awaken some sort of primordial feelings within him.

Solastron put his snout up, his nostrils flaring as they gulped the frostbitten wind. How long had he craved that scent? How long had it been? His nose twitched. There was something else here too. Another ancient scent. It was a scent he had long forgotten. It was the smell of dragon scale. It was faint, nearly nonexistent, for Celacia was no longer here. Still, that scent of her dragon scale armor lingered.
“Darkendrog,”
growled Solastron.

Solastron’s eyes narrowed into crescents and he bounded up the sheer cliff faster than what was safe for the miniscule ledges and overhangs. He followed his nose upward and clung with all his strength to the sheer face just beneath a particular window ledge. His muscles strained as he peeked his head up. Through the image of his giant, blue and purple striped wolfen head reflecting upon the glass window he could see a darkened bedchamber. The windows opened outward like doors and had been cracked just a little, but it was enough that the smell of Saint and Star-Armor was pungent and overwhelming from within.

Into the darkened room Solastron’s aquamarine eyes focused. There, upon a bed, was a female Saint. She was sleeping…no, she was unconscious. Solastron’s nostrils gulped in the odors of sour breath and wounds…a single wound. There was blood. Just a hint of it, but it was there, mingled with the odors of her femininity. He struggled up to the ledge and quietly opened the window with his paw and then slunk down into the room. He padded his way across the stone floor and right up to the bed.

She was naked but for the star-metal breastplate upon her chest and a loose sheet clumsily tossed over her waist. Solastron sniffed at the leather bodysuit that had been thrown to a heap on the floor and took in the scent of its oiled leather and the Saint’s sweet sweat. The rest of her Star-Armor was there on the floor too: her bracers and leggings and boots. He sniffed at them and closed his eyes, taking in the odors. They had that lovely but faint odor of scorched metal and acrid welding fumes—the smell of stars—and it was quite pleasing and nostalgic to him. He rubbed his head upon the armor for a few moments, taking the scent upon his fur.

Solastron now turned his attention back to the Saint who lay in bed. Her hair was like strands of gold and he knew that her eyes would be similar if they were opened. He could smell the sourness of her breath and the milky crusts of dried saliva at her mouth and knew at once that she must be thirsty. Then a new scent, a terrible scent, caught his nose and his snout traced down her arm and to a small puncture mark just below her bicep. There was a dried fleck of blood there, but it had the most foul of odors. A chemical odor. Like bleach but sweeter and far more caustic. It was not the scent of anything that had come from nature, but had instead been made in an alchemist’s laboratory. Solastron’s snout curled at the scent and he withdrew.

Solastron stood there gazing upon her slender form. He could sense a gentleness to her, something the presence of other modern-day Saints were fully lacking. There was something about this one that reminded him of the goddess; that took him back to ancient days even he could barely remember. His ears twitched and he could hear her raspy breath and her troubled heartbeat and wondered why it all had to come to this. The odor of the star-metal again caught his attention and Solastron found himself longing for the days he could smell it in abundance; when he walked amongst the stars with Aeoria.

“Countless, they were,” rumbled Solastron to himself. Upon the bed the Saint seemed to stir at his voice. Solastron’s head cocked slightly at this. “Do you remember me, little one? Somewhere deep from a bygone age does a memory stir? Of a memory you think now was only a dream? I cannot place your face. But then, mine was of an age when I ran upon rivers of stars. Countless and innumerable.”