First Queen of the Gryphons (Ishtar's Legacy Book 5)

by Lisa Blackwood

  As he glided closer, Amata saw they need not have worried. The two guards on the roof were drinking and laughing. They weren’t even looking out at the surrounding slopes. They didn’t see her deadly arrows coming for them. Her targets crumpled one after the other.

  “Hold tight,” Hillalum ordered. Then rearing until he was almost vertical, Hillalum came in for a landing between two of the pillars.

  Stealthily, he circled the outside of the temple until he found the stairs leading down into the next level of the ziggurat. Amata remained seated on Hillalum’s back, bow at the ready should they come upon more raiders unexpectedly.

  Hillalum descended to the next level, his steps swift and sure and silent. Even though she was expecting more raiders what she saw in that first dimly lit chamber made her lips draw back in a snarl.

  A raider had one of the temple priestesses bent over a table. Amata would have shot him in the back, but at this close range her powerful bow might drive the arrow right through the man and impale the woman, too.

  But Hillalum was already there, his beak snapping closed around the man’s neck. A savage twist and the man’s blood was spraying them all. The priestess never screamed, only a muffled gasp echoed against the walls as Hillalum tore into her attacker.

  “You’re safe now,” Amata said as she met the woman’s startled gaze moments before Hillalum carried her past, but it was enough to acknowledge the woman’s surprise. There was no time to offer reassurances to the woman. They needed to move as swiftly as possible, killing each raider as they encountered them.

  Together, Amata and Hillalum continued their hunt. They had just entered the third chamber on the middle level when a raider screamed a warning moments before sharp talons silenced him forever.

  More men rushed in from another chamber and Amata could hear yet more coming up behind them.

  “Let me down,” Amata called. “You will fight more effectively without my weight. The sooner we kill this first wave, the better.”

  Amata didn’t like their odds if all the remaining raiders rushed them at once.

  Hillalum must have agreed with her assessment for he slowed and lowered one wing, allowing her to slide from his back. Her feet just barely touched the ground, and she was already picking out a target. Exhaling, she tracked her target and released the arrow. It hit the raider, but only impaled the stocky fellow in the shoulder instead of the heart. Amata corrected that error with a second arrow. Then she was running after the gryphon who was quickly outdistancing her.

  It wasn’t easy to keep up. He was scary fast on the ground, even with the temple’s tight corridors and maze-like chambers slowing him down.

  Sensing some danger to Hillalum, she put on a burst of speed, leaping over the bodies he’d left in his wake. Amata rounded a corner in time to see him fighting five men at once. One had gotten past his deadly beak and sharp front talons to slide up next to his more vulnerable flank.

  Amata released another arrow the same moment the raider sliced down with his sword.

  Hillalum attempted to dodge the strike, but the wall on his opposite side prevented escape. Both sword and arrow struck flesh. Hillalum screamed out in a loud, raptor’s screech of rage. The human with Amata’s arrow buried in his chest could only gurgle out his last few breaths.

  Amata raced forward, another arrow notched and ready to strike her next victim. That human died as well. Then Amata was in the thick of battle. Foreign instincts rose up within her, guiding her strikes as she swung her mighty bow with one hand and her sword with the other. The stout wood of the bow was almost as good as a club.

  Time seemed to halt, enemies moving too slow to avoid her sword’s deadly blade. She did not know how long she fought side by side with the gryphon, but at last no more enemies arrived.

  She blinked at the bodies in the hallway and tried to ignore the buzzing in her ears.

  “It’s over,” Hillalum said, his voice flowing over her. He was close. Just standing there. So close she could feel the heat radiating off him. “The raiders we didn’t kill are fleeing.”

  “We should hunt them down.”

  “We will,” he promised. “But first we need to patch ourselves up and free the other priests and priestesses.”

  It was only after Hillalum took a limping step that she recalled he’d been struck by the sword.

  Goddess, how had she forgotten? Amata reached to grab Hillalum’s tail to halt him. When he turned, she saw the gash.

  “We need to treat that at once,” she hissed at him, fear for him and anger at herself making her tone sharper than she’d intended. “And you need to stop bloodying yourself every chance you get!”

  “Let’s free the others first. They must have a healer among them.”

  Amata bobbed her head. She would agree to anything even if it involved sewing Hillalum back up herself.

  Chapter 21

  As it turned out, the first woman they’d saved had been the high priestess. She was a skilled healer and agreed to help Amata tend Hillalum. Though the priestess showed a healthy respect for the big, blood covered gryphon as she walked forward with a small knife for shaving.

  “Will he allow himself to be shaved?” the priestess pointed at the long gash running down his fur covered side.

  Hillalum laughed. “You mean to ask will I bite off your hand, priestess? No. You are safe.”

  The woman stepped back, shocked. “He can talk?”

  “Yes, and more besides,” Amata said in a rush, not liking how much blood Hillalum was losing. In a soft voice, she added, “I know you’ve been through a lot, but we need to patch him up now. I’ll explain everything else later.”

  The older woman squared her shoulders and began shaving the fur away from the wound while Amata washed away as much blood as she could. Once that was done, she saw to sanitizing the needle over a candle flame.

  Amata had stitched up livestock before. This should be easier. At least that’s what she kept telling herself. Hillalum wouldn’t struggle.

  Why does this feel so much worse, then? Amata asked herself.

  But she knew. Hillalum had come into her life and filled an aching lonely void.

  She didn’t even want to think about what his sudden absence would feel like. Clenching her jaw, she threaded the bone needle through his flesh and began stitching up her gryphon king.

  Chapter 22

  Amata wiped the sweat from her forehead as she surveyed her work. The wound was closed, and only a little blood still seeped from it.

  “Normally I’d use a poultice, and then cover it with a bandage, but you’re caked in blood and gore. You need a good scrubbing first.”

  Hillalum grunted agreement.

  “There is a hot spring in a cavern under the temple. The water is blessed by Ishtar to bestow healing upon any who enter it.” The priestess paused and then gave them both a deep bow. “I am sure Ishtar would want two of her greatest warriors to have use of its healing waters.”

  Amata nodded and murmured her thanks.

  “Come, I will show you where it is.”

  As they followed the priestess, Amata knew it was time to explain to this woman what they’d been tasked with finding.

  Keeping her tale as short and concise as possible, she only touched on the most essential points. It wasn’t until she’d finished her tale that she noticed the priestess looking at her strangely.

  Amata blushed. “I know this sounds farfetched, but I swear every word is true.”

  “I believe you. You came in riding a gryphon, and the two of you defeated over thirty battle-hardened men. You are both touched by the gods.” The priestess paused and then sighed. “It’s just that there is no temple in the wild lands.”

  Amata’s eyebrow arched. “There certainly is.”

  “I know all the priests and priestesses in this region and would know if there was a temple there.” The woman held up her hand. “I’m not saying you’re lying. Only that no temple was ever built there by mortal hands. There
are tales, though. Stories from merchants and other lost and injured travelers. They speak of a temple deep in the wild lands and a beautiful, ageless woman who appeared to help them. Once healed, given directions, and then sent on their way, none were ever able to find the temple again.”

  Amata didn’t know what to think. But she didn’t imagine it, and Hillalum was certainly real.

  The gryphon must have been thinking along the same lines as Amata because he tilted his head to stare at the other woman. “I have visited the temple many times since I was a cub. It was always there, real and solid. It was no dream.”

  “I’m not saying it was but let me ask you something. How many of my brethren served at that temple?”

  “One.” Hillalum hissed out the single word. Then added, “A High Priestess.”

  “And what was the woman’s name?” The priestess was looking at Hillalum in an almost worshipful way.

  “She told me her name was Ereshti,” he said at last.

  The priestess’s eyes widened slightly and then she drew herself up to her full height. “Ah. It seems I’ve been greatly honored as well. If in a different way.”

  “What do you mean?” Amata prompted.

  “Because I am Ereshti. And I am now certain the one you knew by the same name was, in fact, our great goddess, Ishtar. You are her chosen.” The priestess bowed deeply to them once more. “I and my brethren will begin at once to seek this sacred dagger. Every able-bodied person will search. When we find it, we will bring it here for your inspection.”

  “Thank you,” Hillalum said.

  Once the new Ereshti bowed and left, Hillalum cocked his head at Amata. “Is it just me, or is she entirely too composed for all the hurts and shocks she has suffered?”

  “She’s composed because she has to be. As their leader, she doesn’t have the luxury to be anything else. Later, once things calm again, she may very well have a good cry, and there will be nothing wrong with that.”

  Amata began to sort through the supplies the priestess had brought. The woven basket contained soaps, cloths, creams, and bandages. Everything she would need for dressing Hillalum’s wound later, once he was clean and dry.

  After selecting a jar of soap and a soft cloth, she turned, took in Hillalum’s massive size, and then grabbed a second jar of the soap.

  “Come on,” Amata called as she walked to the pool’s edge. “Get in the water, and I’ll scrub you down.”

  Hillalum obeyed, clouding the water pink as he waded deeper. The gentle current soon carried the soiled water out through a drain along the south wall.

  Amata stripped and then followed Hillalum. The hot water was delightful on her tired and aching muscles, but she had a task to finish first.

  Hillalum fully submerged. When he came up and wandered back to her side, Amata had to fight back a laugh.

  The majestic king of the gryphons looked more like a half-drowned eagle.

  “Come, here,” she called to him again.

  He came, and she began working soap carefully into the feathers of his face and then down his neck. When she was finished there, he ducked his head again, and she moved to his body, working soap into the fur.

  “I believe the priestess was correct about the water. The wound barely aches now. My kind heals fast, but a wound like this should take at least three days to fully heal,” Hillalum commented in an off-handed way as he gave his wing a test flap.

  The move slapped water across the chamber, and Amata got a face full.

  “Thanks for that,” she growled in mock anger.

  His tufted ears wilted in embarrassment. He muttered a gruff apology, and she laughed, swatting him along his flank. “You’re forgiven.”

  Once she finished scrubbing him, she began on herself.

  She’d only just started when a bright golden light filled the chamber. She immediately marched over to him, stopping when she was toe to toe with him.

  “What were you thinking? You just destroyed all the work I put into sewing you up.”

  “I’m fine.” He moved to shallower waters. “See?”

  Yes… all that water-slicked sexy muscular male was something to see indeed.

  Then she reminded herself what she was supposed to be looking at. She leaned forward and pushed his right arm away from his side. The wound was nothing more than a pale line against the rest of his skin.

  There was no evidence she’d ever sewn him up. “How did you know shifting would heal the wound, not tear it open again?”

  “If you hadn’t stitched the edges back together, even shifting in this magic-laced water wouldn’t have healed this completely.”

  Amata traced a fingertip down the scar that threaded its way from just under his armpit to his hip. His skin twitched at her touch.

  Amata straightened and cleared her throat. “Sorry. Did that hurt?”

  “No,” his gaze captured hers, heat and some wild instinct flared in his eyes.

  She leaned back and reminded herself she couldn’t forget Hillalum wasn’t human. But it was hard to think with him standing so close. His scent, wholly male and pleasant, wrapped around her senses, promising wicked things.

  He swayed closer, his gaze shifting to drop to her lips.

  His parted on a breath. A moment later his nostrils flared to drag in a deep lungful of air. Black pupils expanded to swallow his irises.

  “My Blade, you fought well today.”

  A smile stretched her lips at his compliment, and she couldn’t hold back her own words of praise. “You were magnificent to watch as well.”

  Reaching out, he ran his thumb over her bottom lip. “Amata, my beautiful Blade, may I love you again?”

  Chapter 23

  His words, spoken so gently and politely, were at odds with the hunger burning in his eyes. He wasn’t the only one feeling something after the battle, Amata reflected. Instinct was urging her to press her lips to some part of him—every part of him. She was nearly vibrating with whatever power was rising between them.

  She was shifting forward to act upon the urges when a throat being cleared broke the spell. Amata spun to find High Priestess Ereshti and several of her brethren waiting along one wall.

  “Forgive us for the interruption, but we have found the dagger you seek.” The High Priestess bowed. Awe and trepidation clouded her features as she presented the box she held.

  Amata narrowed her eyes. “How do you know it is the one we need?”

  Ishtar-Ereshti hadn’t described the blade, only saying Amata and Hillalum would know it when they saw it.

  “It is the only dagger we were able to find,” Ereshti replied.

  Amata and Hillalum glanced at each other and then back to the High Priestess.

  Ereshti clarified, “It is the only dagger still within these walls. All others have vanished. Even those upon the bodies of the dead. This one was found on Ishtar’s altar.”

  “Well, I suppose that means Ishtar wants us to complete the blooding ceremony.” Amata glanced at Hillalum. “You up for shedding a little more blood?”

  Hillalum grinned. “Always.”

  “Try not to enjoy yourself too much.” Then turning serious, she looked toward Ereshti. “We should get started.”

  The high priestess approached the water’s edge and held out an ornate gold and gem encrusted box. Inside was a rather plain looking dagger with a bone hilt.

  Amata chuckled.

  The priestess glanced up with a question in her eyes. “My Lady?”

  “I’m a sheep herder, not a lady. But I find it amusing this plain blade will be used to shed the blood of countless kings and queens for eons to come. At least, that was what the other you claimed.”

  “Ah. I see.” High Priestess Ereshti motioned for the others to come forward. “There were more gifts.”

  One priest came forward holding a beautiful harness and a scabbard. There was no sword, curiously. Another priest carried a knee-length loincloth of bright white fabric with gold stitching running along th
e hem.

  Lastly, a priestess came forward carrying a fluttering armful of fabric. When she held it out, Amata realized it was a skirt made up of shimmering streamers. There was a broad belt of hammered gold and blue gems. It matched the harness and scabbard perfectly.

  “I’m going to assume the pretty skirt, harness, and scabbard are for Ishtar’s Blade.” Hillalum grinned. “I don’t think I’d look quite as fetching in them.”

  Amata snorted. “You are very pretty for a man; you could wear anything and still look regal. I’ll just look silly—a poor shepherdess wearing fancy garb fit for a goddess.”

  Hillalum shrugged. “I think you’ll look glorious. I would love to see you dressed in your new gifts.”

  “I suppose I could wear them now.”

  “There is something else we must do first.” Hillalum reached out and stroked his fingers down the mark running along the length of her spine.

  It felt so good Amata arched her back at his touch.

  “Come,” Hillalum said while she was still distracted. “We will allow Ishtar’s servants to aid us in this.”

  Hillalum emerged from the warm water and allowed two priests to towel him dry as he explained what they needed.

  With a shrug, Amata exited next and allowed Ereshti and another priestess to perform the same function.

  Amata noted the other humans took it upon themselves to add a few extra flourishes and prayers beyond the instructions Ishtar-Ereshti had given them.

  Eventually, they led Hillalum to a bench, and the priestess guided Amata over to join him.

  With another series of deep bows, Ereshti and her brethren retreated from the chamber, leaving Hillalum and Amata alone.

  Hillalum stared at the bone-handled blade where it sat on the bench in front of him. “I suppose there is no point in putting this off.”

  He picked up the dagger and swiftly brought its tip to his chest. Hesitating only a moment, he made the first slanted cut across his pectoral muscle. He made no sound, merely flashing white teeth in a grimace of pain.