When the dragons left, there was no need to build weapons to fight dragons so the Sacred Blood turned their efforts to the inevitable war the humans would have with each other. Castle Pornoux was a business and as a business it needed income. It was decided that to continue their traditions the Brotherhood would need to create clientele for their weapons of war. The leaders and the priests of the Order came together to create a corps of agents who would travel the world and incite rebellion and disrupt local governments while remaining concealed. When the kingdoms went to war with each other the Brotherhood was there to supply both sides with powerful weapons at a substantial cost.
The agents also served as watchmen. The dragons would return someday so the Brotherhood kept a vigilant eye out for evidence of the impure bloodlines. Humans would never again be subjugated by the tyrannical dragonbloods and their pet monsters again.
Tarak strolled through a maze of work stations, each containing a forge and a group of tools. Some were forging swords, some were making arrowheads. Some were creating long lengths of chain. One group of brothers was making nails. Tarak knew that these men had caused some problems as making nails was a minor punishment in the shops. Tarak had made a lot of nails.
Tarak arrived at the testing grounds, a huge open area at the bottom of a chasm. There before him stood a magnificent contraption.
“Greetings priest. What brings his high holiness to the Pit?”
Tarak turned toward the rough voice. It belonged to Cullen Davis, commander of the Brotherhood soldiers.
“Brother Cullen.” Tarak kept his voice low and steady. He suppressed the anger he felt toward the man before him. Cullen Davies was the embodiment of everything that Tarak disagreed with about the Brotherhood. Cullen was an unnecessarily violent man who killed to benefit himself, often before the Brotherhood. Tarak suspected that Cullen was not as faithful to their cause as he appeared to be. “Where is Brother Omar?”
“You’re not going to ask me about this?” Cullen grinned, pointing a thumb at the massive machine behind him.
Tarak scanned the contraption for a few moments then turned his gaze toward Cullen.
“It looks like two ballistae connected at the base with ropes connecting two huge steel-tipped missiles.” Tarak kept his voice low and monotone., his eyes expressing boredom.
“It is that and much, much more.” Cullen laughed. Tarak hated Cullen’s maniacal tones. He would kill the man if he wasn’t so useful. Cullen Davies was a brilliant machinist and a ruthless interrogator.
He wasn’t always like that though. Tarak could remember exactly when he changed. It was two years ago, when the Brotherhood was still underground. They had tracked a powerful filthblood mage to his estate on Partha. They infiltrated the household and slowly poisoned the man. They also kidnapped the man’s daughter to interrogate her for information. They were holding her at an abandoned farm on the outside of town. They discovered that she was also a dragonblood. They had been interrogating her for a few days when her partner launched a sneak attacked the farm, killing all the Brothers stationed there including the blood brother of the Order’s leader. Word was sent back to Castle Pornoux and the last contingent of Sacred Blood soldiers were lead to attack by Cullen Davies and their revenge thirsty leader, Omar Hussein. They attacked the dragonblood’s estate the night the old man died only to discover that the girl had somehow bonded with an actual dragon. The brotherhood was completely unprepared to handle this threat and their force was annihilated. Only Omar, Cullen and a few lucky survivors escaped back to Castle Pornoux. Ever since, Cullen was not right in the head. Tarak could hear him screaming in the night, his dreams set ablaze by dragonfire.
“It is impressive.”
Both men turned to face the man whose exclamation rung through their ears. Omar Hussein had a voice that commanded men and a physique that ensured those commands were followed.
“Brother Omar,” the men said in unison as they turned to face him. Both men bowed, Cullen bending just slightly deeper than Tarak.
“I designed it. It launches a spun steel mesh. I’m going to capture a live dragon.” Omar’s gaze held Tarak’s.
“You’re going to what?” Tarak was furious. “For what purpose?”
“I’m going to capture a dragon and torture it for information.”
Tarak could not believe what he was hearing.
“If we are going to win this war we need an advantage,” Omar said calmly.
“I agree but you are insane to think you can capture a dragon let alone torture it for information.” Tarak turned and glared at Cullen who had moved away from the others and was unsuccessfully trying to suppress a laugh.
Omar smiled. “I am going to capture a dragon and you will use your magic tricks to help me.”
“You brought us to the brink of destruction years ago, and now you want to do it again,” Tarak shouted. Heads turned in their direction before scurrying away to safety. “It has taken two years of hard work, not to mention a sizable fortune, to rebuild the army.”
Omar’s face became serious. He moved closer to Tarak. His voice started quiet but gradually grew until it was a full shout. “Yes, it has. It is not easy to find strong warriors who are also true believers. But I did it. We are once again strong enough to mount a fight against our enemies because of me. You’ve grown weak with all the power you’ve gained, priest. This is the way. This is the only way.”
Tarak used the sleeve of his robe to wipe the spittle from his face. He was a master of controlling his temper. He knew now was not the time for a major power struggle. Tarak did not want to lead the Order. He had bigger plans in mind. He removed any trace of anger from his face and looked Omar in the eyes.
“My apologies.” Tarak clasped his hands in front of his chest and bowed. “I spoke too rashly. With your wisdom and leadership, the Brotherhood shall prevail.”
Omar’s face softened into a victorious grin. Tarak imagined one day scraping that grin from the bottom of his boot.
“I was seeking you out for another reason, Brother,” said Tarak, with no trace of submission in his voice. “One of the cells have reported another dragonblood emergence. On the isle of Seron. A young girl. A former princess from what I understand. This one has bonded with a dragon, established a fortress and mustered herself an experienced army. A little more challenging than if she was a lone girl in an estate guarded by servants.”
The grin once again left Omar’s face but returned just as quickly.
“Well,” he said, his smile widening. “Now we know where we will find our dragon.”
A slight grin now flickered across Tarak’s face. “We need some stronger magic if we are going to fight a dragon,” he said. “Illusions can be powerful but they won’t kill a magical fire-spewing monster.”
“That is why we have beauties like this,” said Omar, patting the ballistae contraption.
“Illusion and brute force are a powerful combination but we have never seen a dragon much less fought one. If we are successful in this endeavor, the odds will be tilted in our favor from the beginning when the war comes.”
“It sounds like you already have a plan, priest. Spit it out.”
“I will travel to Droll and seek out the Brides of Garron, a coven of witches that are the keepers of the old magic. It was the magic used to take the dragons to the brink of destruction a hundred years ago. It has been hidden away, purposely forgotten for unknown reasons by those who had the power to do so.”
“Why do you only seek this magic now, priest?” Omar’s face creased as he tried to understand all that he was hearing. “Why not before?”
“I did. And I found the coven. They refused me. They would not even let me speak to their leaders. They knew who I was and what I wanted but I was told the time was not right. I believe the time is right now. This girl has potential and left unchecked she may gather to her an unstoppable force that will crush any resistance.” Tarak’s back straightened and his voice changed slightly. His many y
ears of preaching came to the fore. “This is a test from our savior, Garron the Dragonslayer. He is testing us to determine our worth for his prophetic return. We must show him our strength. All our strength. A decisive victory will assure our success in drawing others to our cause. We will stand against the beasts who would treat us as nothing more than food or slaves. We will stand against those whose ancestors fornicated with those beasts. We will stand and we will win. Garron save us.”
Tarak relaxed his stance and waited quietly for Omar to absorb the power of the sermon he had just delivered. He could tell from the look on his leader’s face that he was stunned. He watched as Omar’s vision refocused and knew his preaching had sunk in.
Omar looked at Tarak square in the eye. A smile returned to his face.
“Well, priest. I guess you’re going on an adventure.”
6
“I haven’t seen that face since we were kids.” Santaal Kader was shocked. He closed the book he was pouring over and stood to greet his brother who had just entered their private quarters. “The only time I ever see you smile is in the heat of battle. And now I don’t even see that because you wear the Face.”
“I’m going to Droll.” Tarak had the face of a warrior who had fought a hundred battles because he had. The most prevalent was a thick scar that ran from a spot above his right eye straight down to his chin. A thick dark beard further added to his intimidating appearance. To see a smile cross his lips was a rare occurrence.
“You’re not!” The look of shock returned to Santaal’s face after fading momentarily.
“I am. Our grand leader has officially approved my voyage. I will leave tonight.”
Santaal walked over to a table and filled two earthen mugs from a pot of ale. He offered a cup to Tarak who took it and they both drank deeply. Tarak ran his sleeve across his face to remove any foam that stuck to his beard.
“Those witches won’t refuse me this time. With knowledge of the old magic, the Brotherhood will win the war before it even begins. Imagine the number of lives that will be saved,” Tarak said as he busied himself with preparations.
“I suppose you have a plan,” said Santaal. He refilled his mug and dropped himself back into the overstuffed leather chair. He watched as his brother pulled off his rough cassock and retrieved a mirror and a razor from a medium-sized chest he kept in his foot locker. Tarak cut away at his lengthy beard until it was short cropped against his face. Santaal decided he liked this look a lot more that the thick beard. The close cut showed off the scarring on Tarak’s face; a face that would make even a blind man nervous. Perhaps Santaal enjoyed the look more because he knew the reasons behind it.
“Of course I have a plan. I will take one of our trade ships to North Port and contact the coven. If things go well, I will return within a fortnight.” Tarak pulled his long dark hair into a bunch at the back of his head and tied it with a leather strip. He retrieved his gear from a cabinet and after pulling on the supple leather leggings and tunic, he cinched it all together with a thick leather belt.
“I suppose I am to remain here and protect the faith?”
“The Church must maintain strong leadership.”
“If you don’t return then Hussein will have me killed and install his own man into the position. Then he will have full control of the Order. Come to think of it. He will do it himself so he knows it is done right. We should respect the man for that.” Santaal chuckled to himself and took a deep pull from the frothy brew.
“Your abilities rival mine in the realms of magic. You have the tools to maintain your superiority. Do not let them push you around!”
“Just come back and we won’t have to worry about it,” said Santaal. He threw his head back and shut his eyes. His way of showing Tarak he had finished talking for the moment. Tarak knew this cue well and went about packing the necessary potions, powders, and ingredients, that he needed for certain spells, into his battle robe.
Tarak had hand-made the forest green robe to have dozens of small pockets that were easily accessible in a fight. Santaal listened to the familiar sounds of Tarak meticulously filling each pocket. He had been privy to Tarak Kader’s pre-battle rituals for his whole life. He knew the way Tarak started at the top right pockets and worked his way down to the bottom then moved onto the left side. He then filled the inside pockets in the same manner. Santaal had asked him about it once and Tarak said it was simply to help him remember which pocket held which ingredient. Although the garment was over-weight, it was engineered to be perfectly balanced. Like Tarak, the robe was clever and efficient.
Santaal soon heard the similarly familiar sounds of Tarak pulling on his armor. A magical chainmail vest made with the finest Solotine steel rings and enchanted to be light as air. A layered leather brigandine with an attached leather hood fit snugly over the top of that. The armor was also light and strong but its true power lay in the stone that was molded into the leather breast piece. The magical stone gave whoever was wearing the armor slightly increased agility as well as a strong resistance to elemental magic. Soft dark fur lined the deep hood. His bracers were magical as well, similar stones set into the leatherwork. These allowed him to preserve the effects of a spell without having to maintain concentration.
The boots. Santaal chuckled to himself again. There was nothing special about the boots. As if the High Priest of the Sacred Blood Brotherhood needed anything else to make him more powerful.
Opening his eyes Santaal lifted his head from its resting place on the back of his chair. Tarak was making some adjustments to the laces and buckles. Pushing himself from the chair Santaal made his way to a chest that stood in the corner of the room. He pulled on a strip of leather that hung around his neck and pulled it over his head. At the end of the cord was a small iron key that he placed in the lock of the chest and turned. The lock opened silently and Santaal opened the lid of the chest. Inside, leather bound books and cloth wrapped packages amongst other hidden treasures filled the chest. Santaal retrieved a cloth bag about the size a melon and closed the lid. He went to Tarak who had just finished strapping his dual knife sheaths to the back of his belt. He looked up at the big man and threw his arms around him.
“Safe travels, little brother,” Santaal said with a hint of trepidation in his voice. Santaal released his brother and handed him the cloth bag. Tarak took the bag and grabbed his brother for another quick embrace. He then attached the bag to a hook on his belt.
Santaal picked up the earthen mug again and finished its contents. He grabbed the book from the table he rested it on and dropped himself back into the leather chair.
“Good luck,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper.
7
“Freedom,” Isabella shouted. She threw her arms above her head and waved them around.
“You better hold on,” Sisera said as she spread her wings and climbed.
Isabella grabbed the saddle horn and pushed her knees into Sisera’s side. Sisera pulled her wings into her body. When they hit the apex of their climb, she twisted her body around until she was facing down. Isabella felt the same rush of excitement she did every time they fell. They gained more and more speed as they fell. As they approached the crashing waves of the ocean Sisera threw out her wings which caught the air so they were travelling across its rough surface.
Isabella threw her arms up and screamed before bursting into a fit of laughter.
“What a rush!” she said, in a squeal of excitement.
“You have become quite the proficient rider,” Sisera said as they climbed higher into the sky.
“I have an excellent steed,” Isabella said with a smirk.
Suddenly, Sisera banked but Isabella expected that exact response and compensated so she did not fall out of the saddle.
“Maybe next time, horse.” Isabella laughed and gave Sisera a loving pat on the neck to acknowledge the ongoing joke between the two.
“You are a brat.” Sisera chuckled while she pulled back her wings in a stro
ng flap so they began a rapid climb once again. “How about one of those?”
Isabella looked in the direction Sisera indicated and saw the small cluster of islands in the distance.
“Sure,” she said. “I don’t think we have ever been there before.”
“What would the others say if they knew we went adventuring instead of training on the beaches like they told us to?” asked Sisera.
“This is training,” Isabella said, with a mocking tone. “Besides, I can take care of myself. I am a powerful dragonblood, don’t you know?”
“Famous last words,” Sisera said with a laugh.
“This looks like a paradise,” Isabella said as they approached the small cluster of three islands.
Each of them was only a few hundred yards long, and covered by dense jungle. Two of the islands had a wide sandy beach while the third was a massive stone outcropping that rose out of the water: sheer cliff face edging the entire island. To Isabella, it did not look natural.
“The beach farthest away from that place, please,” Isabella said.
Sisera landed with a great thud, white sand scattering in all directions. Isabella jumped from her back and loosened the straps that held her saddle in place. With practiced ease, she pulled it from Sisera’s back.
“I’m going for shark,” Sisera said before leaping into the air to go fishing.
Sisera's Gift 2: Sacred Blood Page 3