Hammer of the Earth

by Susan Krinard

  She knew at once what it was. Even so small a part of the Hammer radiated power that no mortal man could hope to control. Yseul changed shape and cupped the fragment in her hands. This was why Cian hunted the king. The Hammer was not complete.

  Yseul took the ivory-handled knife from the half-severed belt at Aryesbokhe’s waist and slit the skin of her right breast. She pushed the sliver into the wound. The flesh closed over it in a matter of moments. Heat seeped under her ribs and pumped through her body with every beat of her heart.

  Cian arrived almost quietly, as if he had been waiting for Yseul to finish her deadly work. He had undergone so great a change that she might not have known him if not for the Hammer in his hand and the flecks of gold in his blood-red eyes. He was naked, rampantly male—and utterly deadly.

  “Cian,” she said, rising to meet him. “Or should I call you Sutekh?”

  He bared a double row of pointed teeth. “Yseul.” He stared down at Aryesbokhe’s lifeless form and nudged it with the Hammer. “You stole my prey.”

  “It was unworthy of you, Bearer,” she purred. “No more than the dust beneath your feet.”

  He laughed. The boom of his voice loosed a shower of rocks from the slope above. “As you are,” he said. “Where is the thing I seek?”

  “It is here, within your reach.” She stroked her breasts, teasing the nipples to taut brown peaks. “Why take only a part, when you can have the whole?” She crouched at his feet and slowly straightened, drawing her fingers across his thighs and the thrusting column of his member. Her nails scraped his hard belly. “I no longer serve Baalshillek, my lord. I am not what I was.”

  He grabbed her breast and squeezed. “I could tear you apart.”

  “And lose one who would serve you well.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand to the soft hair between her thighs. “You and I are of the same breed, my lord. Together we can destroy your enemies. Even the Stone God will fall. The get of your seed will rule the world.”

  Rhenna heard Yseul’s boast with a shudder of dread. The mottled pattern of Cian’s skin distorted his face, but she could see the avid hunger in the curl of his lips, the unbridled lust that drove even a god to listen when Baalshillek’s creature offered her power and her body.

  Rhenna knelt on the steep hillside in the shadow of a great rock, filling her burning lungs with clean air. Cian’s progress across the city had been erratic, as if he sometimes forgot his purpose and destination. Once in a while, when he witnessed some terrible consequence of his rampage—a lost child crying for its mother, a woman’s body pinned beneath an immense block of stone—he paused to shake himself, his brindled skin fading to its normal color as he stared at the horror he had made.

  But in the end the god won. He had turned toward the mountains and sprinted up the treacherous slope like a mountain goat, driven by a single ambition.

  Yseul had been waiting for him.

  There was no sense to the thoughts that spun through Rhenna’s head, no certainty to guide her. She touched the figurine Aset had given her and continued to climb, making no effort to conceal her approach. They would know she was coming.

  Yet neither Cian nor Yseul spared her so much as a glance. They were intent on each other, communicating in their own silent language. Yseul was beautiful, utterly female, the essence of all any male could desire. Once Cian had rutted with her like a beast, driven by instinct beyond his control. Now the god wanted her. Once Yseul had him, Cian would never be free.

  “Cian,” Rhenna said.

  He ignored her. The corner of Yseul’s full lips twitched.

  “Cian,” Rhenna repeated. “Look at me!”

  He tilted his head as if he had heard the buzz of a troublesome insect.

  “You swore you wouldn’t leave me until the Stone God had fallen,” Rhenna said. “You swore, Cian.”

  Yseul hissed. “Kill her, my lord!”

  Cian half turned. The seething red slits of his eyes fixed on Rhenna. Yseul pressed against him, licking his neck as she stroked his engorged erection. “Kill her.”

  “No,” a half-familiar voice said behind Rhenna. A muscular arm seized her around the waist before she could react, and the finely honed edge of a blade nicked the tender skin at the base of her throat. “I demand that privilege.”

  Yseul grimaced in disgust. “Farkas. I thought you were dead.”

  His hot breath fouled Rhenna’s hair as he laughed. “You hoped.”

  They might have exchanged further insults, but Rhenna didn’t hear. Shock numbed her to all sensation.

  Farkas. The Skudat chief’s son who had drugged and raped her, working his own evil long before she first witnessed the horrors of the Stone God. He had haunted her nightmares for months after she had left the Skudat lands.

  He could not be here, yet he was. She could never scrub the defilement of his touch from her body, or forget the contemptuous triumph in his laughter. Somehow Farkas knew Yseul, and he had followed Rhenna and her companions thousands of leagues from the North.

  “You remember,” Farkas whispered in Rhenna’s ear. “A pity I have no time to give you another memory to cherish before you die.”

  Rhenna choked on the taste of bile and blinked to clear her clouded vision. Cian stood still, his eyes shifting from red to gold, memories of hate and violence reawakening the man he had been.

  Rhenna met Yseul’s cold yellow gaze. “I am surprised,” she said roughly, “that you keep company with a common mortal like Farkas.”

  Farkas’s blade pressed down, drawing blood. “Common mortal? I am far greater than the man you knew, bitch.”

  “Because Baalshillek made him,” Yseul said with a mocking smile, playing with the wiry red hairs on Cian’s chest. “He is the Stone’s slave.”

  Farkas pushed Rhenna away as if he had lost interest in her death. “I was never like Urho. He’s gone to seek the prophecies. He thinks he’ll carry them back to Baalshillek. But I will take them, and I will find the Weapon of Air.” His glance flickered warily to Cian. “Now that you have the Hammer…”

  Cian snarled. The brief uncertainty was gone from his face. Sutekh had returned, and Rhenna knew that only the god would hear her now.

  “Listen to him, God of Chaos,” she said, scrambling beyond Farkas’s reach. “He thinks you’re this female’s slave, eager to do her bidding. She always meant to steal the Hammer for herself.”

  “She lies, my lord,” Yseul said, rubbing her breasts against Cian’s back. “I know your power.”

  “Do you remember when Aset enticed and betrayed you, Lord of the Desert?” Rhenna asked. “How she stole from you the throne of the Two Lands with the use of female trickery, and humiliated you before the Council of the Gods?”

  “I am not Aset,” Yseul protested. “I—”

  Cian shoved her so hard that she slammed into a boulder and slumped senseless at its foot. Cian stalked toward Farkas, his head moving from side to side like a serpent’s. His skin rippled, colors shifting as if murky water ran beneath translucent flesh.

  And he began to change. Red fur sprouted over his body. The Hammer fell at his feet. He dropped to hands and knees, his mouth gaping to reveal double rows of serrated teeth. Sickle claws emerged from huge beast’s paws. He raked the ground, tearing rock like freshly turned soil. His sinuous, arrow-tipped tail lashed the air. He opened his grotesque, downcurved muzzle and gave a roar so terrible that Farkas covered his ears and shrieked in agony.

  Rhenna gazed into the Sutekh-beast’s burning eyes. Nothing of reason or humanity survived in that ravenous stare. She had stopped Cian from falling under Yseul’s spell, but in so doing she had driven him to a place where he could no longer hear the words she had meant to say.

  Nyx was wrong. Aset was wrong. She would do no saving this day.

  I have loved you, Cian, but love is not enough….

  The beast swung a three-toed paw at Farkas, catching him across the face with its claws. He spun through the air like a leaf c
arried on the wind. Yseul stirred and opened her eyes. She spotted the abandoned Hammer just as Rhenna dodged Sutekh’s charge.

  There was no time to reach Yseul, no way past the Sutekh-beast’s mindless fury. Yseul crawled to the Hammer and grabbed it in both hands. She screamed. The beast swivelled its ears and turned its head, one foot raised to grind Rhenna into the earth.

  Yseul screamed again, her face frozen in agony, and lifted the Hammer above her head. She ran at Sutekh. The Hammer plunged down toward its hindquarters. The beast sprang aside, clipping Yseul with its tail as the Hammer slammed into the ground where it had stood.

  The mountain rumbled deep in its heart. A crevice opened at Yseul’s feet. She balanced on the brink of the chasm with the Hammer stretched out behind her. The beast bent back on itself and crouched at the opposite side of the abyss, its bellow drowned by the mountain’s thunder.

  Rhenna dashed for the crevice, readying her legs for the jump. Something got in the way of her feet. The wheat-colored dog hopped from side to side, yapping and nipping at her ankles.

  “Rhenna!”

  Suddenly Tahvo was beside her, pulling her backward. A massive slab of rock sheered off the face of the cliff and plummeted from the heights, carrying half the mountainside with it. Rhenna found herself careening down the slope at Tahvo’s heels. They reached the bottom and rolled to a halt, pelted by a shower of stones.

  Rhenna got to her knees and looked for Yseul. She and Sutekh stood untouched amidst the upheaval, still facing each other across the chasm. The black fissure vomited a stream of rocks and drops of red liquid that steamed and sizzled as they touched the ground. Sutekh’s hindquarters bunched to propel him to the other side, and Yseul raised the Hammer to meet him.

  With a grating boom, the edges of the chasm gave way beneath Sutekh’s claws. He howled and leaped. Yseul tottered, swinging the Hammer forward in a desperate effort to keep her balance. Sutekh’s jaws seized the Hammer, but Yseul did not let go. Woman and beast seemed to float in air for a heartbeat, and then they vanished into the abyss.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Karchedon

  T here was no crowd to celebrate Quintus’s victory over the rebels, no envoy of courtiers with words of praise from the emperor. His return to Karchedon was as quiet as the voyage had been, unmarked by either trouble or triumph.

  Quintus disembarked with his small escort of soldiers, adjusting the cloak over his left arm. He didn’t look at the grotesque bundle carried by one of the men; a single glance had been more than enough. No one, least of all Baalshillek, could doubt that the rebel known as Buteo was dead.

  Baalshillek would be cursing his own evil gods before this day was over.

  “My lord,” the commander of the escort said, stepping off the gangplank beside Quintus. “Will you require a litter from the palace?”

  Quintus shook his head. “My legs are still capable of carrying me that far, Hektor. Go ahead, and give the emperor my humble regards.”

  “As you wish.” Hektor grinned. “Congratulations, Lord Alexandros.” He saluted, then signaled to his men. Quintus watched them march across the wharfside agora, passing Stonebound citizens who awakened from their indifference only when the horrors of Festival drove them to kill or be killed.

  The people of Tiberia were only a breath away from suffering the same fate. But now they had an advocate, a defender in the very heart of the Arrhidaean Empire. And Quintus would not fail them.

  “Lord Alexandros.”

  He glanced up, meeting the heavily kohled eyes of one of Nikodemos’s favored Hetairoi. Hylas smiled and bowed.

  “Well met, my lord,” he said. “I am pleased to see you safely returned…and victorious, I hear?”

  Quintus gripped Hylas’s shoulder. “I accomplished the task the emperor set me,” he said. “Have you come alone?”

  “Only because word of your arrival has but lately reached the palace,” Hylas said. “The emperor’s servants are already preparing a feast in honor of your success.” He lowered his voice. “Many have missed your presence at court.”

  “How is Lady Danae?” Quintus asked casually.

  A shadow crossed the courtier’s face, quickly gone. “She is…well, my lord.”

  Quintus frowned. “What is it, Hylas?”

  “I believe the lady would prefer to discuss it with you in person.”

  The last time Quintus and Danae had spoken, she had told him to forget the night they had spent together…the night arranged by Nikodemos himself. She had made no attempt to see him afterward. Something must have changed, and not for the better.

  Quintus broke into a fast walk toward the street that wound from the lower city to the citadel. Hylas trotted to catch up.

  “Do not be alarmed, my lord,” he said. “She has not suffered any physical harm.”

  “Nikodemos?”

  Hylas bit his lower lip. “Lady Danae would be the last to provoke ill feelings between the emperor and his brother,” he said. “I urge you to remember how much you have achieved, my lord…and how much there is to be lost.”

  Quintus slowed, wrestling his anger under control. “Is that why you came, Hylas? To warn me?”

  “To remind you.” Hylas peered into Quintus’s face, his own wrinkled with worry. “Lady Danae…I…would do anything to preserve your life.”

  “I know.” Quintus stared at the perpetual blaze of the Temple’s red beams stretched out above the city. “I won’t forget myself, Hylas.”

  The courtier briefly closed his eyes and matched Quintus’s pace. “Meet with the emperor, my lord. Make your report and accept the praise he offers. Then you will be free to speak with the lady.”

  There was a wistfulness in Hylas’s tone that Quintus couldn’t mistake, but he merely nodded and continued toward the citadel. The gates stood open, as was usual, but the guards saluted smartly when they saw Quintus. It was a far different greeting than he had received when he’d first come to the attention of the citadel’s inhabitants.

  Two soldiers broke off from the troop at the gates and fell into step behind Quintus and Hylas. By the time they crossed the broad square and reached the palace, a dozen more men had joined them, some grinning in defiance of proper military discipline. The emperor’s chamberlain, Kleobis, greeted Quintus outside the double doors of the reception hall.

  “My lord Alexandros,” he said, bowing deeply. “Welcome home.”

  Home. Quintus tested his feelings at hearing the word. Once the very idea had been repugnant to him, but much had changed. He had changed.

  “It is good to be back,” he said.

  Kleobis straightened but kept his gaze averted. “My lord, the emperor sends his greetings and goodwill. Unfortunately, he is engaged in matters of state and cannot see you today.”

  Quintus glanced at Hylas. The courtier forgot himself just long enough to reveal his concern, and then his face turned bland and smiling again. Quintus assumed the same dispassionate expression.

  “I understand that my brother has many obligations,” he said smoothly. “Please convey my regards and tell him that I will be at his disposal.”

  Kleobis released a quick breath and bowed again. “Very good, my lord. You will wish to bathe and rest after your long journey. Servants are waiting in your chambers.” He bobbed nervously and beat a hasty retreat.

  Quintus turned and strode down the corridors to his rooms in the royal wing. Hylas held his tongue until they stood at Quintus’s door.

  “Surely the emperor means nothing by this, my lord,” he whispered. “His responsibilities are many—”

  “I know.” Quintus met the courtier’s troubled gaze. “He must have received my escort’s report by now. I have nothing to conceal.” Unless Baalshillek suspects that I killed his priest, and he is unlikely to admit to the emperor that he let a rebel leader escape simply to set a trap for me.

  “No, indeed,” Hylas said. “You have much to celebrate.” He hesitated. “I will leave you to your rest, my lord, and se
e what I can learn of the emperor’s state of mind. As for the lady Danae…”

  “It might be best to wait before I speak to her,” Quintus said.

  “A wise decision, my lord.”

  “One more thing, Hylas. I would know how fares the girl Briga, who is under the emperor’s protection.”

  Hylas inclined his head. “I will see to it, my lord. Only send word, and I will come.”

  He set off, and Quintus opened the door. A pair of young female slaves stood beside a basin filled with steaming water. They bowed, and one hurried to pour a cup of wine while the other approached Quintus, prepared to help him undress. Quintus sank gratefully into the bath and accepted the wine, still weighing the reasons for Nikodemos’s apparent reserve. The slaves washed his back and shoulders with scented oil, scraping his skin clean with a bronze strigil. After they had dressed him in a fresh chiton, they offered him platters of fruit, meat and delicacies from the palace kitchens.

  Though both girls made plain that they were willing to stay and provide additional entertainment, Quintus dismissed them and lay back on his couch, listening to the constant murmur of life in the palace. Even after so long a sojourn, he was already restless. Inactivity gave his mind too much to dwell on. He thought of Buteo’s family, who might die now that Buteo had failed in his mission to betray Quintus. He remembered the suffering of the Tiberians, robbed of freedom and dignity by the evil of the Stone. And he felt his anger grow—anger at Nikodemos, who had tested his loyalty and now refused to acknowledge his achievement.

  A tap on the door pulled him from his brooding. He had hardly risen from the couch when the door opened and Danae glided into the room.

  “Quintus,” she said. Her face was alight with happiness she made no attempt to hide, and Quintus forgot the admonitions he was ready to speak. She met him halfway across the room. He opened his arms, and she walked into them. All at once he was transported back to that night in the wilderness, when he had caressed her naked body and possessed her, body and soul….