‘That is not the name by which I know him,’ acknowledged Locephax. ‘But he feels that a woman with your unique…’ The man’s eyes rested on Valkia’s hips, moving slowly up to drink in the swell of her breasts. ‘Talents, shall we say, is wasted in the service of a warrior-god. If you would only reconsider, give yourself over to me, then you will reap the ultimate reward.’
She felt physically sick at the suggestion and rose from her throne. ‘Get out of my camp right now,’ she said, ‘and I may spare your life – if you run fast enough.’
‘Oh come, Valkia. How long is it since you last bedded down with a lover? I can give you what you yearn for deep in your darkest, put-away heart…’ His voice was poison. Dripping blades that were coated in honey and it sickened her that she felt part of herself responding to him, the part of her that was still a woman with a woman’s needs and desires...
I belong to Kharneth.
She spoke the words over and over inside her head and it helped quash the heat of the rising desire for Locephax.
‘There is no reward your god could offer me that…’ Locephax had somehow sidled right up to her until he was virtually nose-to-nose with her. His breath was sweet and yet made slightly sour by the wine; a potent combination that made her dizzy.
She had not even seen him move.
‘Life eternal, Valkia? Come now. Even a woman of your strength and power cannot last forever. Would you not welcome the opportunity to rule over your tribe for ever?’
‘We live as long as we are meant to,’ she responded. She had learned that from Fydor, a near-mythical figure who had lived almost twice as long as most of the Schwarzvolf. ‘If I die in battle tomorrow, it is because that is what my god has set down for me. I will march at his side in the ever-after and reap skulls for his throne in the realms beyond.’
‘You deny yourself the pleasures of the flesh, Valkia.’ Locephax’s voice was the low purr of a predator. He reached out his hand and stroked her face with his long, delicate fingers. She turned her head to the side, but he caught her chin in his hand, pulling her back to look at him. ‘Why do you think it is that your own most trusted whisper against you?’
She was caught in his grip and his amethyst stare, unable to turn away and not truly wanting to turn away. ‘My people do not...’
‘They speak that you cannot be a true woman. That you have become so mired in bloodshed and death that you have forgotten how to truly live your own life.’ She wanted to shut out his words, to push him away and tear out his lying tongue but she was frozen to the spot. Whoever this Locephax was, he possessed true power. ‘You are a dead and barren husk of a woman, Valkia daughter of Merroc. But I can breathe life back into you. With the power of my master flowing through you, you will learn to experience pleasure like you have never known.’
Locephax leaned down and placed his lips on hers in a long, sensuous kiss. She shivered violently and to her horror, it was not with cold. It was with pure, unfettered lust. A thousand images raced through her mind; all of them suggestive and lewd. It took every ounce of willpower she possessed, but she somehow reconnected with her senses. Her hands came up and grabbed at his wrists, tugging him away from her. She turned her head from his kiss and he laughed lightly.
‘Relax, Valkia. You have earned a little pleasure. Let me show you how it could be. When you are in your rightful place amongst my harem, you will yearn for the nights I choose you to keep me warm.’ He crooned the words softly, hypnotically, and for a heartbeat Valkia felt her resolve waver. But then her earlier mantra pierced through the haze of glamour that Locephax had woven around her.
I belong to Kharneth.
‘You dare imply that I am destined to be nothing more than a slave girl? To cater to your lusts and whims for an eternity? Death is preferable by far.’ She stepped back, her face aflame with shame and confusion. She whipped the dagger from her boot and sprang forward, the tip aimed at his heart. He roared with laughter.
‘Kill me if you can, Valkia. This form is merely a vessel for my greater will. I could stop your heart where you stand, before your little knife even scratched me. Know that I will not give up until you succumb to my desires. My powers are beyond anything your mortal mind can start to comprehend. You will yield before me, Valkia. And do you know why? Because you are weak. Your mortality lessens you. Become mine and you will be granted something more.’
With a scream of rage, she flung herself at him. Locephax snorted and made a dismissive movement with his hand, flinging Valkia to one side without so much as touching her. She crashed down to the ground, dazed.
‘Magic,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘You have the nerve to imply that I am unnatural? You would use the tools of a coward? What kind of god must your Reveller be to resort to sorcery to win his battles?’
‘The kind of god who delights in all the pleasures the world can give,’ came the immediate response. ‘The kind of god who sees the pleasure you get from murdering and butchering your way through the Northern Wastes and who sees in you the potential for greatness.’
His words brought Valkia up short. She had been about to deny that she found battle pleasurable, but what was it if not? For the second time, her will began to waver but she forced herself to clarity.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No. Your words are as twisted and as meaningless as you. Your perverse lusts and desires do not compare to the purity of battle.’
‘I do not need my magic to crush you Valkia. What if I were to defeat you in your own so-called Circle of Blood?’
‘To fight to the death? What would be the point? You have told me yourself that you cannot be killed, if I am to believe such a thing.’
‘As you say. However, I can be...’ He considered for a moment, then smiled. ‘Inconvenienced. I would consider it a victory for you and in the unlikely event you defeat me, I will leave you and your people and not return. Should I win, then your soul will belong to my lord and master.’ Locephax shrugged his slender shoulders. ‘I will of course petition for you, but as you have not agreed to my terms... I cannot say what will happen.’
Valkia ground her teeth furiously. Locephax could not have struck a more vicious blow to her pride by challenging her to a duel. She was a mistress in the arena. She could destroy this prancing interloper, she was sure of it.
But she was not completely sure and it was that uncertainty that made her angry enough to agree.
‘I accept your challenge, Locephax.’
‘Tomorrow, then?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No. I want you out of my camp now, and if I have to cut out your heart to do it then so be it.’ She moved to the entrance of the tent. ‘Now is as good a time as any to accomplish that task.’
Locephax sneered unpleasantly and for a moment his fine-featured face became a thing of nightmares, twisted and distorted beyond humanity. ‘You would fight me now? Without your precious armour?’
She returned his sneer with a look of outright contempt. ‘I would fight you naked to prove the point, Locephax. Except that given what you have told me, I suspect you would enjoy that too much. Yes, I will fight you without armour. I have my spear and my shield and I have my god’s blessing. I need nothing else.’
She held the tent flap up.
‘Get out.’
EIGHT
To The Victor The Spoils
It was a chill night and Valkia felt the kiss of the cold northerly wind raise goose bumps on the exposed flesh of her arms and neck. Above her, the twin moons were hazy and indistinct, their faces veiled behind the heavy clouds. They shed very little light on the camp of the Schwarzvolf. There was no problem with visibility however; flaming torches burned brightly and the warrior queen moved with purpose towards the muddy arena.
As she exited the tent, a warrior came up and walked beside her. She didn’t need to look around to know that it was Hepsus and she felt a moment’s gratitude that he was there.
‘Our guest has not endeared himself to me, Warspeaker,’ she said, h
er coiled rage turning the words into a snarl. ‘He has demonstrated either courage or stupidity in throwing down a challenge. He has invoked the Circle of Blood and I have accepted. I intend to humble him.’
Behind her, Locephax snickered like a child laughing at an inappropriate comment. She ignored him staunchly and pointed at a young boy. ‘You! Fetch me my shield and my spear.’ The boy bowed his head and scurried off immediately.
‘Your armour, Valkia...’
‘I do not need it. This will be brief. When I have taken this decadent, snivelling bastard’s head, I expect you to throw his carcass to the wolves. Is that understood?’
‘I...’
‘Is that understood, Hepsus?’ The snap in her voice caused even the solid, unyielding warrior to start slightly.
‘Yes, hetwoman. I could remove him now if you prefer.’ In response to his words, he saw a raging glimmer of madness in Valkia’s eyes that he had never seen before, even during the heat of battle. It unsettled him in a way he could put no word to.
‘When my honour is called into question, Hepsus, I would rather settle the dispute swiftly and with finality. Leadership is about never being afraid to do the things you would order your own people to do.’ They had reached the arena and Valkia stepped confidently into the churned circle of bloody mud.
‘We will need more light here,’ she conceded quietly to Hepsus. ‘And I suppose in the interests of fairness, we should give him back his weapons. I presume he surrendered them on entrance into the camp.’
‘He did,’ confirmed Hepsus and raised his hand, bringing one of the gate guards across. ‘Fetch the visitor’s sword.’ The Warspeaker turned his attentions once again to Valkia, noting the determined set of her jaw and the growing fire in her eyes. He glanced over at Locephax who had also entered the arena and was strutting around on the opposite side with what could only be described as a swagger. Both of Valkia’s daughters had come out to see what the commotion was about and were watching him admiringly.
‘Keep them away from him,’ she said to Hepsus in an undertone. ‘He claims to be a chosen of the Reveller.’
Her words drew a sharp intake of breath from Hepsus and a look of hatred flashed into his eyes. Valkia knew that her people felt much the same as she did. There was a time for the Reveller: rites of spring and fertility and the celebration of birth – but a hardy people like the Schwarzvolf had little need for such decadence in their lives. They had just enough and that was adequate.
Valkia could not bear the way her daughters stood together, their eyes fixed on Locephax. She could understand it however; he had shrugged off the tunic he had worn over a light shirt with long, wide sleeves gathered at the wrist. The shirt too was removed, revealing a smooth, alabaster white and entirely hairless torso. The abdominal muscles were well defined and Valkia’s eyes narrowed. Locephax was not just slim, he was strong as well.
‘Your spear, hetwoman.’ The boy had returned with Slaupnir and the large round wooden shield that she tended to favour in battle. She did not thank him, but took up the weapons, garnering comfort from their familiar weight and feel. Her eyes had not left Locephax. She was gauging his speed and potential weaknesses. The guard brought him a rapier sword with a basket hilt; a delicate weapon that to Valkia’s eyes looked insubstantial and almost hair-thin and nothing like the sturdy weapon she herself wielded.
‘There is still time to change your mind about this, Valkia,’ Locephax called across the arena. He made a deliberate show of making a fancy display with his sword, cutting the air before him in a series of intricate movements designed to catch the eye. Valkia did not watch. She was looking straight into his face.
She slid her arm through the back of the shield. ‘The choice was made the moment you told me who you serve, Locephax,’ she said. ‘Now stop your childish mewling and let us bring an end to this.’
‘It will give me no pleasure in killing you, Valkia.’ Locephax sounded as though he actually meant those words with all his heart. ‘My master saw such potential in you. He will be greatly disappointed.’
‘You can explain it to him yourself when I send you screaming back to his realm. Now fight, Locephax.’
Valkia surged forward, the shield held up in her left hand, Slaupnir in her right. The arena was not particularly large and she moved with the killing speed of a hunting cat. Within a few seconds, she was in striking range of Locephax, who stood idly, his sword resting against his shoulder. His insolence infuriated the warrior queen and she pointed the spear towards him.
‘Fight,’ she roared in a curious echo of the alter-cation she had had with Deron all those years before. ‘Or at the very least kneel and accept your death like the coward you are.’
‘Oh, very well,’ Locephax said with a theatrical sigh. He tipped his head to one side for a moment. ‘But I should warn you. I will not hold anything back. My master has granted me powers beyond your understanding and I will use them.’
‘Try using them without a head.’ Valkia tired of the endless discussion and lunged forward, the tip of her spear flickering toward Locephax’s unprotected throat.
With a casual step, he moved slightly to the right so that her thrust missed him completely. She did not hesitate to consider the speed of his movement, and merely spun to attack him where he stood. Again, he moved idly out of the way.
‘Is that the best you have, Valkia?’ His voice took on a mocking, taunting tone and he held his sword out in front of him, closing one eye and studying her down its full length. Before she could retort, his form blurred and was behind her. In less than a heartbeat he had closed the distance between them and was bringing down the hilt of his sword on her shield arm. The pain was immediate, but passed swiftly as the muscle deadened. Her shield arm was numb for now, but she had experienced enough to know that it would recover.
With grim determination, she forced her muscles to retain their position so that she didn’t lower her guard and twisted her body around so that she was standing virtually toe-to-toe with Locephax. His smile was sardonic and superior.
‘Slow,’ he said. ‘Like an old, weary farm horse. An interesting comparison, don’t you think?’
The insult to her person was startling. She was used to being called many things – not all of them flattering – but a spiteful swipe of this nature was entirely new. A snarl of primal rage began somewhere in her chest and boiled its way past her lips, spraying Locephax with flying spittle.
‘Charming …’ He sniffed.
Control your temper as far as you are able in battle, Lille Venn. If your temper takes hold of you, it becomes your master and your sense of reason is lost. But always remember to ride the wave of fury. Let it carry you through the hardships and trials of battle, but never let it control you.
The words of her father came back to her in an unexpected rush. She had always heeded his quiet wisdom, having witnessed warriors lose themselves to the red berserker-like rages that claimed so many. Their power was undeniable, but their ferocity was wild, undirected and inevitably ended in their death as they plunged into the enemy. Consumed by her swelling hatred for her foppish foe, the furnace of her rage rose up, filling her limbs with killing strength.
Locephax finally tired of exchanging light verbal blows and actually moved in with his sword. She deflected the first three attacks with the haft of Slaupnir but the fourth caught her across the shoulder blade. It cut through the leather of her jerkin, leaving a red trail as the blood welled from the wound. Her opponent’s sword was impossibly sharp. The injury registered on some level of her awareness, but it did not seem to matter. With a cry she launched herself fully into the attack, the spear flashing in the torchlight.
The fight began in earnest after that. Valkia’s psychotic rage burst forth in a berserker fury and she lunged at Locephax over and over. Her attack was met with languid ease as the silver-haired man parried everything she had to throw at him. His amethyst eyes glowed in the blazing torchlight and taunted her, stoking her temper ever
higher.
Whenever Valkia took the field of battle, she always reached a point where perception of the world around her faded into the mists of insignificance. Within the boundaries of the Circle of Blood, the same thing was happening. A red mist at the very periphery of her vision was clouding everything but the sight of her hated enemy. Locephax was in sharp focus and her every effort was concentrated on bringing him down. Thus it was that she did not notice the slow but sure effect of the man’s presence on her tribe.
Locephax’s depravity and ambient aura of decadence was seeping from him in an invisible trickle, taking root in the hearts and minds of those who were closest. It brought with it an insatiable desire to satisfy appetites for whatever excess the individual desired.
Valkia did not notice, therefore, when fights broke out around the arena as one warrior turned on another. She did not notice those of her people who were overcome with lustful desires for the person they stood beside. She noticed none of it. All she could see was his face, hateful and abhorrent and all she wanted was to end him in the most violent and bloody way she could manage. In such a way, had she but known it, his influence had taken her as well.
He was speaking to her; his voice a muffled buzz breaking through the veil. It took several moments before she could comprehend what he was saying. He was taunting her which did little to improve the rage.
‘You are weak, Valkia. Your mortality gives you only so much strength. You will tire of this battle long before I do. And when you are at your weakest, I will strike.’
She did not respond, physically unable to get words out past teeth that were clenched so very hard that her jaw was already aching. Her athletic body spun gracefully, the spear in her hand a living thing that had been known as a bringer of death and terror to the people of the north for many years. Now it was useless, nothing more than wood and metal. Her rage briefly directed away from Locephax and turned inward.
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