Then the screaming began.
“Fire! Fire!” One voice turned into a fifty within minutes, then into a hundred just minutes after that.
Tarak’s hands moved back and forth, spreading reds and yellows across the village. His painting grew larger as he stepped foot in the town. He surrounded himself with a cloud of smoke, so as to remain undetected while he created his masterpiece.
“Form a brigade!” The panicked shouts came from all around.
Tarak watched the frantic villagers form a long line from the water tower and begin to pass buckets of water from man to man. The reports he received from the first attack described the aptitude the villagers showed for fighting fires. That was the reason he chose to use flame for his artwork, he knew the whole village would contribute to the effort, most of them anyway.
As Tarak added layer upon layer to the picture, he began to wonder if the power was limitless. He had even managed to have the imaginary flames give off immense heat, which was a difficult spell to maintain. It was an incredible feeling to have the magical energy surging through his veins like it was his blood pumping.
“Brother Tarak.” A pillar of smoke approached and addressed him. The smoke faded briefly and Tarak recognized the robed man as one of the monks from his Church. “They are ready.”
Tarak nodded. He had been expecting the message. He followed the messenger to the edge of the village, where four large carts were waiting. Attached to each cart were two large oxen.
Following the plan, Tarak cast a cloak over the carts so they could remain hidden from view. If a person was to look closely, they would make out the carts track in the dirt, but it was good enough for their purposes tonight.
The oxen began to move and Tarak led them through town using seldom-traveled side streets. When they reached the Tower, the train went right through the gates and parked in the wide, empty courtyard.
“Search and lock down,” Tarak spoke low, but he was aware that the men following him knew what their task was already. As each man left the villa, they were given a package and instructions on their part of the mission.
In the package was a locking mechanism that was developed by the Builders. The mechanism had a circular body with two protruding arms. At the end of each arm was a claw, enchanted to never release whatever it was attached to. The body was also magically strengthened so that no matter how hard the arms were pulled, they would never detach.
The Brothers were instructed to search the Tower for people and lock down each clear area the best they could.
Tarak turned back to watch the villagers fight his illusionary fire with immense hard work. He knew his spells would be holding strong, thus, all those men and women believed they were fighting a raging fire, when, in fact, they were furiously, and uselessly, dousing their homes and buildings with water.
Within minutes, the Brothers returned to report that all floors and been checked and locked down. The fortress was empty, which surprised Tarak. His artwork had been so realistic that the entirety of the village and Tower were currently fighting it.
“Brother Calyn, the signal.” Tarak gave the order as he let the cloud of smoke that surrounded him dissipate.
A Brother stepped forward and pulled a wooden cylinder from beneath his robe. He placed it erect on the ground and cast a spell over it. A plume of blue smoke began to rise from the tube and climb into the sky.
Tarak watched the smoke rise and begin to emit a soft, bluish glow.
Within moments, villagers slowly began to arrive, one by one. As they passed the gates, each stopped briefly to pay respect to the High Priest. Tarak cast a blessing on everyone, a traditional Sacred Blood ceremony, performed whenever welcoming home an agent.
“Full count,” one of the brothers shouted.
A villager that was about to enter the gates immediately stopped, turned around, and took off running away into the night.
Brother Calyn cast another spell over the wooden cylinder and the glowing blue smoke disappeared.
Tarak turned and began to cross the yard toward the entrance of the Tower, when he heard the massive gate slam down behind him. He smiled.
The Tower of Kings was now occupied by the Sacred Blood.
42
“The interior is just as dismal as the exterior,” Tarak thought as he entered the Tower of Kings through the tall doors of the main entrance.
“It is my honor, High Priest.”
Tarak stopped to greet the robed Brother that called to him. As the huge man approached, Tarak extended his hand. The Brother immediately knelt before him, took Tarak’s hand, and pressed it against his forehead.
Tarak cast the blessing of Garron and let the man rise so he could address him.
“Brother Jaers. You have performed your duties with exceptional results. Garron, the Holy Dragonslayer, favors you, which earns you a place in Castle Pornoux.” Tarak took a step towards the big man and stared him straight in the eyes. “You may not be accompanied by your son. I have had reports that he is no longer one of the faithful. What do you have to say about this?”
The big man’s face became sorrowful. “He may never accept the truth. He has fallen away from the teachings and he has been consorting with the dragonblood. So far, we have been able to use him to influence the girl but his usefulness will soon run out. I will relinquish all that ties me to him but I humbly beg that he not be killed.”
“Perhaps. If he does die, I will see that you have a place in the basilica,” said Tarak
“Thank you, High Priest.” Brother Jaers bowed. “I must continue my duties. Please excuse me.”
Tarak nodded and Brother Jaers turned down the hallway. Tarak watched him go. “If only he had been selected for the Legion instead of the Church,” Tarak thought. “He would have made a fearsome warrior.”
Tarak resumed his journey into the Tower. The interior of the fortress was bland and unimpressive but that is not what interested him the most. It was the magical energy surging through the entire building. He had never felt anything like it before. It was from a school of magic that he had no knowledge of. He had studied a large variety of different magics over the course of his life, some more thoroughly than others, but had never felt an energy so raw or so primal before.
“It’s intoxicating,” he thought to himself.
This was one of the rare times in his life that he wished that his magical abilities extended into one of the elemental schools. Imagine channeling that power into a fireball or a sandstorm. That was the problem, though. He couldn’t channel that kind of power, no matter how hard he tried. It was like being in a prison but forced to watch your love continue on life with another person.
The thought became agonizing. As much as Tarak relished the idea of studying the magic in the Tower, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand, which was an easy way to distract himself.
He made his way up the Tower, entering rooms that had not already been locked with the magical locking mechanisms. He found that there was enough food in the kitchens to sustain them for a long time, should the need arise. He walked through the fenced off areas to inspect the newly dug rooms and tunnels.
As Tarak entered the deepest chamber, he was greeted by a group of four brothers, guarding the contents of the room. They each paid respect to the High Priest and stepped aside so he could inspect the room. Crates filled with all manners of equipment were grouped and set into rows.
“You work quickly,” Tarak said, nodding to the leader of the group, a young man called Brother Relo. “We have barely been here for an hour.”
“These arrived two weeks ago,” said Relo. “We snuck them into here and have been protecting them ever since.”
“No one saw you? For two weeks?” Tarak was astounded.
“Yes,” Relo said humbly, “I had studied with the Church and was able to use a cloaking spell to conceal them whenever necessary. That was not too often, though. Few people come down this far, these days.”
“Well, th
at is even more impressive,” Tarak nodded. “We now control the Tower. There is no need for you to remain down here. You and your men will escort me on my tour. You have knowledge of the tower?”
“Y-y-y-yes,” stuttered Brother Relo. His face showed how stunned he was.
“Let’s go,” Tarak said plainly and walked towards the exit. From the corner of his eye, he saw Relo jump to his feet, followed by the three other members of his unit.
“How long have you been here?” Tarak asked as they toured through the upper floors.
“Since the beginning,” Relo said, unable to maintain eye contact with the High Priest.
“So, you would say you knew this tower well?”
“There are many rooms that I have never been privy to entering but I know the layout.”
“Good.” Tarak nodded. “I am in need of your expertise. Show me the waterfall.”
Relo nodded and led them through the Tower to the water room. Tarak was intrigued by the design of the room. The walls and ceiling were clearly chipped out following a natural formation.
Tarak inspected the tanks that held water for distribution around the Tower. He had only heard about the Tower’s water system from rumors and second-hand tales but to see it in person was mind-blowing. He was looking forward to inspecting the system further to learn its secrets.
“Over here,” one of the Brothers whispered. He was peering around a corner.
Tarak walked slowly to a good vantage point to see what the Brother was pointing out. There were two men sneaking around a cistern. They were not Brothers, Tarak knew that for sure.
“The old one is Camdyn. He is Second to Commander Kai Woods of the Daxrah. They essentially run the Tower,” Relo whispered.
“Who is the younger man?” Tarak watched the man ease himself on the edge of the cistern.
“Kai Woods.”
Tarak squinted to get a better view in the dim lighting. He knew that man. Was it the man from the marketplace in Bridgewater? He was almost certain that it was.
The man slid beneath the surface of the water.
“They’re escaping,” Tarak said.
Relo led the other three Brothers forward to capture the old man as Tarak cast a quick spell of light. The old man drew his sword and took a defensive posture. The Brothers surrounded him, ready to attack simultaneously when a head broke the surface of the cistern pool.
“Dive,” the old man yelled to his companion before leaping into action, using the distraction to his advantage. He swung the blade in a wide half circle, slicing through one of the Brother’s masks. The robed man went down hard, the top of his skull rolling away.
Tarak could not afford to lose men for frivolous reasons so he leaped into action. As he drew closer to the old man, Tarak saw the face of the man from the marketplace, for just a brief moment before the man dove into the water again.
“Kai Woods,” Tarak whispered. “Why are you running?”
The High Priest of the Sacred Blood jumped into combat with the old man called Camdyn.
“Why do you have the fancy armor and the fancy mask?” Camdyn shouted as Tarak grew closer to him, squaring off. “What makes you so special?”
Tarak cast a spell of concussion. He concentrated the magic on his fists and tied the magic to his bracers. Tarak smiled. This was one of his favorite techniques. It was not practical but it was enjoyable when he could use it. Every time he landed a punch, the spell would cause a crushing blow. It was simple but effective during hand to hand combat.
Or in this case, hand to sword combat.
Tarak ducked and spun away from a flurry of attacks from the old man. He waited patiently for an opening. The old man was skilled, more than most, with the blade, Tarak thought, he used an uncommon style, native to the south of Partha. It reminded him of the way his father used to fight.
Tarak suddenly felt a rage growing inside of him. He dodged a forward thrust, then grabbed the sword by the blade, sending Camdyn into a sudden panic. Tarak pulled the sword, along with its wielder, towards himself and punched the old man square in the jaw. He felt bone crumble as his magically enhanced blow hit its mark. The sensation he felt when he broke the old man’s face was one Tarak was not familiar with, but it was strangely satisfying. He hit the old man again, this time in the midsection. Camdyn doubled over, gasping for air, and crumbled to the ground.
Tarak thought about his father, always leaving, then finally just abandoning them all together.
He bent over and hit the old man again, sending shockwaves through the stone floor.
It was his fault that mother was dead. She would not have died if he was home.
Tarak fell to his knees, straddling the old man’s chest, and began to drop fists on the old man’s face and head. He was consumed by a fearsome rage as if he were possessed. He just kept dropping blow after blow, until all there was in front of him was a bloody pile of mush mixed with bone shards.
“High Priest?” Relo voice shook with nerves and barely came out as a high-pitched squeal.
Tarak heard the Brother speak but it was a wash on his ears. What had he done? The thought was running ceaselessly through his mind. The Sacred Blood had a reputation for being violent but this was truly a new standard. He slowly felt his senses seep back to him, he gradually became aware that there were others around him.
“Brother Tarak?” Relo spoke slightly louder, with more confidence.
Tarak slowly looked around at the mess he had created. He felt like an animal, a feral beast. What kind of person would commit an act like this? Even the most savage tribes treat their enemies with more respect than he showed this man.
Brother Relo put his hand on the shoulder of the High Priest. Tarak slowly turned and looked up at the robed man.
“We will take care of it,” Brother Relo said.
Tarak drew himself back up. He took another look at the grisly scene he had caused then looked Brother Relo in the eyes.
“Speak of this to no one.” His voice was barely a whisper. He stared deeply into Relo’s eyes to be sure that the Brother had clearly understood what he said.
Brother Relo nodded quickly, assuring the High Priest that he understood perfectly.
Tarak nodded and walked slowly from the room. He continued at a reduced pace, contemplating his unnatural behavior as well as the sudden appearance of the Daxrah’s Commander.
He stopped by the bath hall to clean the blood from his armor, the best he could, then made his way to the entrance. He needed some fresh air.
Tarak entered the entrance hall, just as the front doors flew open. He let out an unintentional groan.
Omar Hussein had arrived.
43
Kai limped and crawled his way through the village and into the dense forest that surrounded the area. He was still recovering from the injuries he has sustained from Raven, and a trip down a waterway did nothing to ease the pain he was already feeling, thus making him slow, if he wanted to move without alerting everyone for miles around.
“I have to find Amelia,” he thought.
Camdyn had told him that the quarantined villagers were moved to the farms on the way to Shelby, so Kai thought that would be a good place to start. Adina or Rosalie would be there, for certain, and could point him in the right direction.
He was also in need of some medical attention.
Kai had been through these woods many time in the two years they had occupied the Tower of Kings, and he knew the lay of the land well, which made his slow progress more frustrating. Every landmark told him that he was still so far away.
As the night grew colder, Kai took shelter in a cave formed by the gigantic roots of an ancient tree. He tried to fight off sleep, as he huddled in the dark, but he could not win.
He woke just as the dawn was breaking the night sky, slowing bringing heat to the cool, crisp air. He sat up, finally getting a chance to inspect his accommodations, as some light began to streak into the remarkable cave.
It was not a big
space, but it was enough room that he could stand fully erect and lay fully stretched out. Kai committed the location of the tree to his memory before he continued in the direction of the farms.
He reached the edge of the farthest fields before the sun reached its apex. Relief began to creep into his chest as he grew closer to the villas.
“Rosalie,” he called as he approached the first compound. He burst through the gate to find the place empty.
He began to grow distraught even though he knew he still had four other farms to check. He could feel that the wear on his body from all the injuries he had incurred over the last week was now seizing his mind.
After much struggle, by mid-afternoon, he had found the right farm which, of course, was the last and farthest compound from the Tower.
“By the gods, Kai.” Rosalie came running through the gate as Kai limped down the lane toward it. She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight, tears bursting from her eyes.
“Let’s get you inside,” she said.
Kai tried to resist but Rosalie would hear nothing of it. She let him use her as a crutch and led him into the farmhouse where she immediately put him into bed and began to check him over. She fed him foul tasting concoctions and smeared him with rancid smelling salves. She did not even try to speak with him before she fed him a thick liquid and told him to sleep.
When he woke, there was still a stiffness through his whole body, but there was no pain. He opened his eyes to find Rosalie asleep in a chair next to his bed. He reached out his hand and touched hers. She opened her eyes slowly, a smile spreading across her face when she saw that he was awake.
“About six hours,” she said when she saw the frantic look in Kai’s eyes. “Amelia and Jaime are on their way here from Shelby. Rest until they arrive.”
Kai nodded and fell back to sleep.
When he woke next, he was feeling much better. The stiffness was still there but it was greatly reduced. Rosalie no longer sat by his bed but in her place, was his oldest friend, Jaime.
Sisera's Gift 2: Sacred Blood Page 28