Only the desecration of the Arisen Gods’ altars made the mortal war of any use to His cause. Each altar lost was like a knife in the heart to a God. And for each altar the Arisen lost, He gained an altar and grew in power. True, individually the Arisen weren’t losing that many altars since the loss was spread among Them all rather evenly. But He was gaining altars, and power, at an enormous rate in comparison. So by the time He reduced Them to mere Godlings, He would be the mightiest God to have ever existed!
The thought cheered Him, even as He watched the flickering flames of His enslaved soldiery slowly snuffed out one by one along the perimeter of His domain. It was a small sacrifice for the prize He would eventually gain. Besides, with victory their souls would still be His to devour, for when He killed or captured other Gods, He could take over Their Realms of existence, too. He could then feast upon the souls They had gathered around Them.
Shifting His perspective, Dakar narrowed His sight to a tiny village not so far away. Narrowing it still more, He found the hut He wanted, then a host. The half-elf was awake and alert. Quinn surrendered control of his body without struggle.
It was dark, but the elven eyes saw well in the meager light. The fire was reduced to hot coals beneath a layer of ash. The Ashtarite was also on guard, sitting cross-legged in front of the closed door. There was a long silvery blade lying across her lap that He recognized as the swordsmith’s personal sword. He could see by her posture, by the way she moved, that He had hurt her neck badly.
He smiled.
Turning, He looked down upon three forms curled up beneath blankets around the dying hearth fire. Delving into the half-elf’s memories, he was able to identify them. Tane Kyleson, the failed hero of the Arisen, was the middle form, on the opposite side of the hearth from Raven. The swordsmith was mumbling in his sleep. A dream? No, more likely a nightmare by the sounds of distress and the half-elf’s memories of past nights.
Quinn’s mind held memories of Tane’s past nightmares. He had no doubt that Kamain had sent those dreams to the human. The Arisen despised weakening Themselves by actually leaving Their personal Realms. And like petty humans, the Arisen considered it demeaning to go before a mere mortal and ask for help, so sent Their wishes in the form of dreams. In all likelihood, they would prefer to perish than beg for mortal help face to face.
It would be helpful to be able to enter Tane’s mind, to see his nightmares, to know His prisoner’s deepest fears and secrets. But Tane had not given himself to Dakar, and He understood the human never would. Oh, He was sure Tane would say the words if his friends were threatened, but words alone were less than useless. A mortal had to willingly give devotion, had to want to give his or her soul for a God to have power over it. While fear could inspire devotion in a human, Tane despised Him too much to ever do that.
It was a shame Tane wasn’t a dwarf or elf, or at least part elven or dwarven. Those two races were open to Him in ways humans would never be, devotees or not. Dwarven minds were the easiest to “read,” surrendering their innermost thoughts and memories without struggle. Elven minds could also be delved into, but it took considerable effort on the God’s part if they fought back. Quinn being an enchanted slave, despite being half-human, allowed Dakar to sift through his mind without a fight. Humans were harder than elves to enter and examine, and their minds were chaotic cesspools in comparison to elves and dwarves.
Dakar mentally shook Himself. Lamenting His situation didn’t change a thing. He would use the tools He had available, and prevail despite their failings.
Now that He was more powerful, Dakar could “see” many of the Elder Races further north and west. From his priests he learned of the Elven Empire. And just south of that, a land utterly forsaken by the Arisen and inhabited by outlaw elves, dwarves, and humans, not to mention goblins, ogres, and other younger races of created by diabolical minds. It was a land ripe for a God like him.
Tane’s devotion or lack of devotion would have no bearing on the strength of the Swords of Power he would make. Such swords, alone in all the Realms, could kill Gods. The power they gave mortals over Gods had made the mere thought of making them too terrible to consider by the Old Ones. The Arisen were taking an appalling risk to save Themselves by granting Tane the Gift to craft such talismans.
When Dakar first learned of what They had done, He had been horrified. Even now, had He such knowledge to give, He didn’t believe He could even trust High Priest Mogens with such a Gift. Such knowledge, such power, was a threat to Him as well as Them. True, the Arisen hadn’t told Tane the true nature of the swords he was to make. And the Swords of Power were only meant to be used to reseal the Gate and trap Him in another Realm. But if Tane should make more swords afterwards...
No. Impossible.
Dakar had no doubt the Arisen Gods planned to kill Tane afterwards, if he had been successful. They would’ve had no other choice, for his Gift and the human need to do their best in all things would give Tane no other choice but to continue to make the best sword he knew how to craft. So the Arisen never had any other choice but to kill Their champion after he saved Them. Indeed, Dakar intended to have the swordsmith and friends sacrificed atop His nearest altar immediately after He defeated the Arisen.
Which brought up His trickiest problem of the moment. How many Swords of Power should He force Tane to make? One per Arisen? Ten? One hundred? How many could He truly control? And would He be able to control the Swords’ wielders? Humans, more than any other race of mortals, were hard to read, and harder to control. And afterwards, it would be near impossible to collect all the Swords of Power. Some would be lost in battles, others stolen and hidden for future use against Him.
Disturbing thoughts. No answers.
He had no choice but to wait and see.
I will start with just a handful of Swords, given to My most trusted priests, Dakar thought. Priests who have trained and lived as warriors, and whom I can trust to use the Swords effectively.
Maybe add to the number of Swords until the Arisen were routed. Hunting the remaining Arisen down and killing Them wouldn’t require as many Swords. At that point, so He could quietly begin collecting and destroying the Swords.
Tane’s muttering and stirring quieted down. Dakar watched him a moment longer, wondering how Kamain and the Arisen could’ve possible thought such a miserable creature as a human could defeat Him. Were they truly so desperate? Was it a ploy? Probably not. They had defeated Dakar and the other Old Ones through just such human efforts. It was just Their way.
The shining light of His High Priest was approaching him back at the temple. Strange, for it was quite early for anyone to be awake. Perhaps Mogens had important news. Perhaps another city had offered to surrender, or had been overrun. So satisfied that all was well, Dakar slipped from Quinn’s mind.
High Priest Mogens strode through the shadowy nave, an enchanted slave close on his heels. Dakar waited patiently, studying his High Priest with intent eyes. He could enter Mogens’ mind and discover what was so important, but disliked entering human minds. Elven minds were serene, and dwarven minds intent and focused, but humans and goblin had rambling, incoherent thought processes. Even when they believe themselves totally consumed with something, the truth was that their minds are wandering over scores of ideas, thoughts, and daydreams. Dakar found the experience of entering their minds too discomforting to do unless absolutely necessary.
Bored with waiting, He turned His attention to the zombie attending Mogens. Young, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, she was comely, as humans go, with white-blonde hair and large green eyes. By her bedraggled, bloody, malnourished appearance, he figured she had been a zombie for a couple of weeks.
“You’re up early,” Dakar said once High Priest Mogens and the zombie paid the proper respects. “You and the slave may rise and attend me.”
“Thank you, Divine Master,” High Priest Mogens said. The zombie remained mute. “But I have yet to sleep this night. What I have found is so important I knew
I had to bring her before you without delay.”
Dakar was intrigued. Turning to the girl, he tried to ascertain what it was about her that Mogens thought so important. Had he learned of another ploy of the Arisen involving the girl?
“Indeed?” He said, turning back to Mogens. “What is so important that it could not wait?”
“This woman is Tane Kyleson’s cousin. They were very close,” Mogens said, grinning wolfishly. “They grew up together. By her own admission, he was ‘insufferably overprotective’ of her.”
“Interesting,” Dakar said, rather disappointed. “But since the swordsmith is Mine to command, I see no use in the girl. He is already bound to My service.”
Mogens kept his feelings hidden, but Dakar knew how Nizar’s success galled the man. They hated each other with a passion. So far, He had used it to His advantage.
“Not entirely, Divine Master,” Mogens said. “From what I’ve learned of the swordsmith, he is a devoted follower of Kamain. And, if you’ll excuse me for pointing out, but You frequently believe humans think and behave like elves and dwarves, and that our word is written in stone.
“Just because You hold his friends captive, don’t believe Tane Kyleson is completely under your power. If his faith is as strong as I believe, and obviously Kamain put great faith in him, then he will come to believe he has no choice but to abandon them for the greater good of his Gods and all humanity.
“But he does have the common weakness of all humanity, and that is family. Blood ties are the strongest ties, Divine Master. Not even the Gods demand greater loyalty and support than family. The Arisen understood that and used it by breeding with humans ages ago.”
“And creating those accursed Tyrians!” Dakar growled, eyes flashing. Unconsciously, He began rubbing the hand in which He had held Raven. That had been the most pain He had known since the War of the Gods that vanquished Him and the other Old Ones. “What a disgusting dalliance.”
“Yes, so true,” Mogens said with a bitter scowl. Dakar knew he was sincere in that, since the Thanir were a tribe that left the Tyr Mountains just before the Arisen began breeding with humans. The Thanir people missed being kin of the Gods by just three weeks. “But that act endeared Them to all humanity, Divine Master. Indeed, the Tyrians are the most fanatical supporters of the Arisen Gods of any people. They are, after all, family.”
“Yes,” Dakar said, regarding the blank-faced girl with more interest. He saw her usefulness now, but disdained going back to further threaten a mere mortal. It made Him feel weak to have to resort to such tactics. It would’ve been so much easier to magically enslave the swordsmith, but Tane couldn’t utilize his Gift as a zombie. “Keep her close and out of danger. If the swordsmith shows any sign of rebelliousness, I’ll kill his friends before his eyes and then use her as a hostage to ensure his continued cooperation.”
Chapter 60
Tane woke to find Quinn feeding the fire. He lay half-asleep, watching with little interest as the half-elf quickly built the fire up and warmed the hut. But then Quinn looked straight at Tane from across the flames, shocking Tane into a sitting position.
“Your eyes!” Tane said, recalling how they had glowed in the escape tunnel. Quinn stared at him, face blank. “They glow like a wolf’s eyes.”
“Of course. My father was full-blooded elf,” Quinn said. No emotion at all. Nothing more than absolutely necessary. “It is time you ate and went to work.”
His outburst had awakened the others. Everyone sat up and looked at the fire.
Undeterred, Tane said, “Do all elves have eyes that glow in the dark?”
Quinn gave him a blank look of a long moment, then shrugged. “I assume so. I haven’t met many elves since half-elves are even more unpopular among elves than they are among humans. But you are incorrect. My eyes don’t glow, but merely reflect the available light back.”
“But – ”
“Enough talk. Eat,” Raven said. She sniffed loudly to clear her nose. “If you are not hungry, then it is time to work.”
Angry, Tane snapped, “Wipe your nose and shut up!”
To his surprise, Raven rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. She said nothing else, but gestured at the food.
Well I’ll be, she obeyed me, he thought. I wonder if they all will just as quickly.
Covertly touching the hidden dagger blade to ensure he hadn’t lost it, Tane moved over to the fire. There was a small covered pot sitting at the edge of the fire. A stack of wooden bowls sat nearby. Lifting the lid, he found the pot full of a thin vegetable soup.
“Where did this come from?”
“It was brought a few minutes ago,” Quinn said. Picking up a bowl, he filled it with the steaming fare. “Here. Eat.”
Suddenly feeling famished, Tane greedily took the bowl and began shoveling the soup into his mouth with two fingers. Once he started, the others took bowls and served themselves. They ate just as quickly.
Tane cursed himself for a coward as he finished his bowl. The others seemed eager to finish, too. Probably because of him, he decided. They had to guard him, and wanted to finish all the breakfast before he forced them to go outside. But all he could think of was what he was about to do to a friend. What he had to do, for all their sakes.
Can I really stab Joelle? he wondered. What if her magic isn’t strong enough to save her? I’ll be a murderer then.
Armin stood and pointed at the door. “Go to work.”
“Now,” Quinn said.
“Now,” Joelle said, pointing at the door.
Raven just stood and pointed, held mute by his command.
No, he couldn’t allow them to continue like that, no matter what the consequences. In Joelle’s place, he would want to be put out of his misery. Better dead than a mindless zombie slave.
“You’re right,” Tane said, rising slowly to his feet and looking around. He needed a reason to keep Joelle back, while sending the others away. He needed time. “Quinn, go out and start working on the bellows. I want the fire raging hot by the time I get there. Raven, you go with him and feed the fire as needed.”
Quinn and Raven started out the door. Armin stayed put, watching Tane. Joelle still knelt in her blankets, also watching Tane. It gave Tane an idea.
“Armin, go wait for me and Joelle outside the door,” he said. “It’ll take a while for the fire to be ready, so I’m going to enjoy a tumble with Joelle. And I want to do it without the rest of you watching. So go, so I can get it started and over with.”
Armin looked out the door. His expression never changed.
“It is almost light enough to work,” Armin said. “Wait until tonight.”
“No,” Tane said. “The priest said I could use the women, so I’m going to use Joelle. Besides, I’ll be finished before the sun is fully up.”
Armin hesitated a heartbeat, then moved out of the hut.
Tane heaved a sigh of relief once the warrior was gone. Turning, he found Joelle half out of her clothes.
“What are you doing?” he said, heart pounding.
She stopped undressing and looked up at him in confusion. It was the first time he had seen anything even resembling emotion on any of their faces since their capture. And he thought it was beautiful.
“You said you wanted to have sex with me,” she said. “Did I misunderstand, master?”
“Don’t call me master,” he snapped. “And yes, I do want to...I mean...I....Oh, never mind.” Gods, what was he going to do now. How could he distract her long enough to inflict the necessary wound. “Uh, kneel...I mean, get on all fours and face that way. No! Stand up and face that way.”
She obeyed every command immediately, though gave him a look close to exasperation as she stood up. Tane felt his face burning red hot. Gods, what she must be thinking? he thought. Well, if she can think. But the experience was still the most humiliating of his life.
Not giving himself anymore time to think about it, Tane pulled the dagger and stepped close. He could feel the heat
off her bare body as his hand snaked around her to hold her still for the thrust. Then he thrust the blade into her back and up into the diaphragm. Or at least he prayed he did. If he missed, she’d be screaming any moment now.
Joelle tensed, her eyes widening in shock. Tane quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, just in case. But she never cried out, or even grunted. Instead, she slowly collapsed to the ground, with Tane doing his best to ease her down softly. Then pulling out the blade, he cradled her head in his lap.
“Joelle? Forgive me, but I had to,” he whispered, seeing intelligence once again in her eyes. But pain quickly claimed her features. “I did it to save you. I need you to magic yourself well. Please, Joelle, heal yourself.”
“Bastard,” she rasped. “Been quicker to slit my throat.”
“I don’t want you to die, damn you,” he whispered. His eyes were burning and his whole body trembling. “Heal yourself. Armin said healing was your Gift. You’ve done it before.”
“Quiet,” she said, closing her teary eyes and grimacing. Then holding up her hand, she said, “I don’t have enough strength, enough life energy, to do it. I’ll need some of yours.”
Tane quickly clasped her hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
An instant later Tane felt a great rush leaving his body, like a raging river. It startled him so that he jerked his hand, but Joelle’s grip was firm. Before he could begin to struggle, she released him, clenched her fists, and began a quiet chant.
Tane leaned back against the wall, panting and dizzy from the ordeal. He felt so terribly weak, with a familiar ache in his chest. It felt like he’d been swimming too long.
Joelle’s harsh chanting soon ended. When she pushed away and sat up, Tane could see she was even more exhausted than he was.
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll be fine, thanks to you,” she said, managing a weak smile. “Clever plan. I pray you never have to do it again, especially on me.”
Belly of the Beast Page 26