by Dante King
“We need to find those daggers. Do you know where they are?”
“No one knows. Not even the Blood God. He must send his demons wandering across the earth like a pack of bloodhounds, sniffing out the weapons.”
“They won’t find this one.” I stared at the cursed dagger. “I’ll get my skeletons to dig all night until they’ve made a hole as deep as a fucking gold mine. I’ll bury the dagger in it and make sure whoever comes looking for it next will be here digging for a couple of years.”
“That would be a wise course of action.”
Still, the Blood Demon had found me. It made me think the Blood God had some means of tracking me.
“How did this Blood Demon find us?” I asked Isu.
“Now that one is easy to answer. He sniffed you out—your blood, that is. Everyone has their own unique ‘fingerprint’ when it comes to blood. Your uncle has sacrificed his own blood to the Blood God, so the Blood God knows its scent, its imprint, well. Yours will be similar. It is a simple task for him to ‘sniff’ you out wherever you go.”
“Fuck. My uncle has fucked me over again.”
“That’s right.”
“This thing isn’t going to be completely over until I’ve killed the Blood God, is it?”
“No. The only way this will end is with one of you dying.”
“Then,” I said resolutely, slamming my right fist into the palm of my left hand, “I’m gonna finish what my ancestor Uger started. I’m gonna kill the Blood God once and for all, and I’m gonna eat that fucker’s soul.”
Chapter Ten
The journey to the Wastes took another two weeks on the road. We didn’t run into much trouble, besides the odd pack of bandits. They either fled from us or foolishly tried to fight. My undead swiftly crushed them. Aside from such instances, the trip was uneventful. Hilly land, thick with forest, gave way to harsher terrain: barren, rock-strewn fields where nothing but long grasses and a few gnarly, crooked trees grew. Across these plains, an endless wind howled, and there was no life, human or otherwise, to be seen. As we journeyed farther north, the weather grew colder, and we soon began to see scattered drifts of snow lying on the desolate fields.
A few days later, the landscape changed yet again. Snowfalls became more frequent, and the terrain was often blanketed out entirely with white. Trees common to the colder climate of the North, like firs and pines, began to appear. They too were dusted with snow, as was everything else here.
As the snow grew ever thicker and the cold fiercer, creatures of the frozen Wastes also started to appear. Huge bears with white coats, white direwolves, white tigers, and even, from a distance, great lumbering beasts covered in shaggy fur with long trunks for noses and mighty tusks.
By the time we were within a few days’ ride of Drok’s settlement, my harpy finally made contact with Rami-Xayon. I used Talon’s claws to scratch the location of Drok’s settlement, a long and arduous task given my harpy’s poor intelligence. Rami-Xayon arranged to join my party there, in a village called Hothgrum. She was somewhere in the North, close enough to get to Hothgrum in a couple of days. She sounded dejected, though, and I suspected that she had failed in her quest. I would find out soon enough.
The closer we grew to Hothgrum, the more excited Drok became. He acted like a crazed puppy, a puppy that weighed close to four hundred pounds, stank of rancid troll diarrhea, and could single-handedly plow through a platoon of Splendorous Army troops in berserker mode. I had to wonder what his wife looked like and how she handled his reek when they were kissing—or, worse, getting it on. Perhaps, though, she smelt even worse than he did. You never knew with these northern barbarians.
I found myself wondering about the Wise Woman. I was very interested to learn what she could tell me about this supposed super weapon with which I could defeat the Blood God’s Demogorgon and possibly even the Blood God himself. I also wondered if she knew anything about the story of my ancestor Uger and Kemji. Most of these northern barbarians were illiterate, but because they passed their history down orally, they usually had fantastic memories. There may well have been some stories about Uger and Kemji passed down through the generations of this tribe.
Oe morning, an hour or two after the weak sun struggled up into the gray sky, we reached the top of a hill and saw a large village nestled in the valley below us. We had arrived at Hothgrum.
There were a few hundred wooden cabins and a large longhouse at the center of the village. The entire village was surrounded by a 15-foot-high palisade. The sentries spotted us approaching, and the gates opened as we made our way down the dirt track that wound a passage down the steep hillside. Immediately, several dozen warriors—all huge, hairy, and reeking, like Drok—stormed out of Hothgrum. Drok bellowed a joyous greeting in the tongue of his people, and the warriors responded with an equally enthusiastic cheer, raising their battle-axes above their heads. Then, they started bashing their axes against their wooden shields and chanting something in their language. Their attention seemed to be focused entirely on me.
“What are they saying?” I asked Drok.
“They say ‘Raiser of the Dead,’” he answered. “They been waiting for you come here for long time. Wise Woman tell everyone in Hothgrum about Raiser of the Dead. When he come, we now have hope for future. For long time, everyone in Hothgrum feel a great evil growing in world. Everyone very worried. But Wise Woman say Raiser of the Dead can fight great evil. Everyone excited for you, Vance!”
“When I became the God of Death,” I muttered, shaking my head, “I hadn’t exactly imagined that ‘saving the entire fucking world’ would be part of the job description.”
We entered Hothgrum flanked by cheering warriors. It was a true hero’s welcome in this part of the world, but I couldn’t help feeling like I hadn’t accomplished my task yet. I wouldn’t feel like a true hero until I’d defeated the Blood God. Just inside the town walls, the peasants were waiting for us too, lining the sides of the road like the warriors had outside.
Out of the crowd, a massive woman suddenly charged, wild red hair streaming around her enormous shoulders as she sprinted. She looked like she weighed over 300 pounds, and the barbarian furs that wrapped around her massive form only made her appear larger. I wondered how the hell she was able to run at all.
As soon as Drok noticed her, he threw down his battle-axe and sprinted right for her. I now knew what Drok’s wife looked like. A female version of him, really, with red hair and only marginally less unattractive in the face department. They crashed into each other and embraced, jabbering excitedly in their own language. Then they started kissing, and I had to stifle a chuckle as I looked to my left and saw Isu’s face scrunch into an expression of absolute disgust. I glanced to my right and saw Elyse wearing only a slightly more suppressed nauseated expression.
Drok and his wife’s kissing became more passionate, and within seconds, they were rolling around on the road, pawing at each other. It looked as if they were about to start screwing then and there. I realized I knew nothing about these giants’ customs, so it could very well be their intention. With a not-so-subtle rushed gesture, I commanded Rollar, Isu, and Elyse to follow me toward the longhouse.
“You’re going to have to be my translator,” I said to Rollar. “It looks like Drok is going to be occupied for the time being.”
“Can do, Lord Vance,” Rollar said. “We’re not shy about physical love in this part of the world. And Drok has been without his wife for many moons. Can you blame him for diving right in?” He gave me a broad grin.
“Oh, I get it, believe me. I just don’t want to be around to see, or smell, Drok’s, uh, joy.”
By this time, my small army had started filing into Hothgrum behind us. Unlike the people of Brakith, the people of Hothgrum didn’t seem at all intimidated by the presence of the undead. Instead, they cheered my undead soldiers on—not that the skeletons and zombies gave much of a shit about being cheered for.
“Why aren’t they afraid of my undead t
roops?” I asked Rollar.
“In this part of the world, necromancers are not seen as evil or immoral,” he answered. “Instead, the gift of being able to raise the dead is seen as just that: a gift. And it sounds like the Wise Woman of Hothgrum has been doing a lot of preaching on your behalf. These people see you as someone who will save them from a great evil. Your undead troops are seen as soldiers fighting against that evil. Remember, we are in a part of the world in which the Church of Light, with all its puritanical, restrictive teachings, has not yet managed to infiltrate. My own tribe is far closer to ‘civilization’ than Hothgrum, and we were conquered when I was a boy. But here, in the unconquered territories, where the Church of Light has no power, the old beliefs still prevail.”
Before the front doors of the longhouse, the chieftain of Hothgrum was waiting for us. He was an old fellow, bald-headed with wispy gray hair, but he was barrel-chested and still carried himself with the air of a warrior. His face was tattooed all over, more blue ink than pale skin to be seen. He was dressed in all white furs and leather armor, along with a burnished steel breastplate that was full of dents. He’d obviously seen his fair share of battles. He smiled broadly at us as we approached before he bowed before me. He boomed out what I assumed was a welcome greeting in his language.
“He says,” Rollar translated, “that his name is Hegmun, and he is honored to welcome the Raiser of the Dead to Hothgrum. He says that this is a most momentous day, one that he and his people have been waiting many moons for. He is happy that Drok succeeded in his quest to find you and bring you here.”
“Tell him that I’m honored to meet him and that we thank him for his gracious welcome.”
Rollar translated this, and Hegmun responded.
“He says that we have traveled a long way, and we must be tired. He invites all of us into his Great Hall for mead and roast meat, but you, he says, must first go and see the Wise Woman, alone.”
“How will I talk to her without you there?”
Rollar asked Hegmun this question.
“He says that she speaks the common tongue. You’ll be fine. You must go all the way to the far end of Hothgrum. Follow the road past the Great Hall to the end of the village. The sentries there will let you out. Once you’re outside the gate, you must follow a winding path into the woods. The Wise Woman lives alone in a cabin there. You’ll recognize it right away; there will be bones and charms hanging all over the place.”
“So, the rest of you get wined and dined while I trek out into the icy wilderness to go and talk to some toothless hag.” I grinned at Rollar. I wasn’t exactly disappointed. After all, I’d been waiting months to speak with this Wise Woman.
Rollar shrugged, obviously not understanding my humor. “We must respect the chieftain’s wishes, Lord Vance. Hopefully, you won’t be occupied too long with the Wise Woman. Oh, and uh, one thing I should mention: it is customary to enter the hut of a Wise Woman sky-clad.”
“Sky-clad? What the fuck does that mean?”
Rollar chuckled. “Unclothed, Lord Vance. Clad only in the air and sky.”
The thought of getting naked in this kind of cold was not particularly appealing.
I told the rest of them that I’d be back shortly, then dismounted and walked through the village to the gate at the far end. I made my way along a winding path that led through snow-covered fir trees up to a large log cabin, around two miles out of Hothgrum. This was certainly the residence of some sort of mystic. Skulls of various animals—and people—hung from the trees and branches nearby, as did dreamcatchers and other strange talismans. A wooden chest lay outside of the front door, marked with a crude carving of what looked like shoes, pants, and a coat.
I stripped down before I dumped my clothes and armor inside the wooden chest. My breath was misting in large puffs in front of my face, and the cold felt like it was piercing my skin like thousands of needles. With a shivering fist, I rapped on the door.
“Raiser of the Dead!” called a female voice from within the cabin. “I have been expecting you. Enter.”
To my surprise, it was not the croak of an old crone but rather the clear, bell-like voice of a young woman. Her command of the common tongue seemed to be pretty fluent too. I opened the door and was hit by a blast of welcome warmth, but the interior of the cabin was dim, and all I could see of the Wise Woman was a crouched figure near the hearth, stoking the fire. She was clothed in a dark-gray hooded cloak, upon which a great many runes were embroidered in white thread.
“Come, enter the realm of the spirits,” she said.
Chapter Eleven
I stepped in and closed the door behind me, grateful to be out of the bitter cold. The cabin was large and cozy. Hundreds of jars of herbs, potions, balms, and other such things were stored on shelves along the walls, along with plenty of bones, skulls, different types of rocks, bits of odd-looking wood, and a few different gems. The smell of incense, infused with some other sort of aromatic herb, was thick in the air. Thankfully, the Wise Woman herself smelled nothing like Drok. In fact, I couldn’t detect any hint of body odor or any unpleasant stenches at all in here. It smelled good.
The Wise Woman remained crouched, her face covered by her hood, when she spoke again. “Before we talk—and we have many things of which we must speak—you must be purified of any lingering evil that may have attached itself to you along the way here. And I must purify myself of any worries or concerns that will detract from my focus. Come, follow me, Raiser of the Dead.”
She stood and walked through a door at the back of the room. I didn’t really have much choice but to follow her, so I headed through the door. It led to a kitchen where delicious-smelling hearty soup was simmering in an iron pot over a fire. She kept going though, and opened the kitchen door—which led back out into the cold and snow. Shit.
I hesitated in the doorway. “The purification can’t be done indoors?”
“No,” she said firmly. “It needs to be done here. You will be warm enough during the purification process. This way.”
Well, no one could fault me for not following barbarian customs. I followed her out into the snow. She led me on a winding path up the hill for a few dozen yards, where the trees were thickly crowded and the snow was knee-deep. My teeth were chattering, and my legs felt like they would never thaw out when all this was over. I focused on the supposed weapon this Wise Woman possessed that would help me kill the Blood God. If she didn’t have it, and this purification ritual was all for nothing, then I might have to consider taking her soul.
The path turned a corner around a large boulder. When I rounded it, I was surprised to see a small pool with steaming hot water before me.
“This,” the Wise Woman said, “is the Purification Pool. Here we will cleanse ourselves before the ceremony.”
“Ceremony?” More barbarian customs. Ugh. This had better be worth it.
“It is important, Raiser of the Dead, that you perform this ceremony with me.”
“You can call me Vance. I mean, ‘Raiser of the Dead’ is a cool title and all, but it’s a bit of a mouthful.”
“Very well, Vance. My name is Friya. Now, enter the Purification Pool, please.”
I didn’t need to be asked twice. After facing the vicious cold and heavy snow, the bright-blue, steaming water looked as inviting as a soft canopy bed filled with willing women. I stepped into the water and sighed as its warmth imbued me. I quickly slipped the rest of my body in, sitting down in the pool so that only my head remained above the hot water. Ah, this was pretty great, actually. All I needed now was a mug of good ale and—
My thoughts stopped dead in their tracks the moment Friya, standing on the other side of the pool, turned around and slipped her cloak off her shoulders. She was suddenly naked before me like a divine apparition. She was no hag, no crone—nothing of the sort. Instead, standing on the opposite side of the pool was a tall, slim woman in her early 20s. White-blond hair cascaded around her slim shoulders. The features of her gorgeous fac
e were angular but not harsh, and there was an element of danger to her beauty. Her big eyes were the palest shade of blue I’d ever seen, and her luscious lips curved into a beguiling smile. Her body was lean, her legs impressively long. Her breasts—oh, her breasts. They were voluminous, almost disproportionately large for the rest of her figure, but they defied gravity and bounced enticingly in what seemed like slow motion with her every movement. Large pink nipples pointed upward and were visibly stiffening. I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or because she liked the look of me. Perhaps a bit of both.
Her crotch featured a narrow strip of a white-blond hair, neatly trimmed, pointing like a pale sign to the opening of her slit, which was just visible in the small gap between her thighs. The most striking thing about her naked body was not her physical attributes, which wouldn’t have looked out of place on a sculpture of a beauty goddess, but her pale skin—or rather, what was on that pale skin. Tattoos marked her entire body: runes, mystical symbols, and images of northern creatures, like white bears, direwolves, and shaggy brown beasts with tusks and long trunks. I’d never seen a woman with this many tattoos before. I had to admit, I liked it. It added to that pinch of danger I’d detected in her expression.
Fixing me with a piercing gaze from her ice-blue eyes, Friya slid into the water, a yard or two across from me on the other side of the pool. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and in the warmth of the water, my cock was starting to generate even more heat than whatever geological forces were warming this pool.
“Now that we have submerged our bodies in the waters,” Friya said, “let me begin the ceremony that will purify us of any evil or pollutants that may be clinging to our skin.”
She closed her eyes and began chanting in her own language. I was happy to let her get on with it since it gave me more of a chance to ogle her stunning, tattoo-covered figure through the water.