Song Of Fury (Gods Of Blood And Fire Book 2)

by A. J. STRICKLER

  Cromwell rode over to K’xarr as the mercenary commander pulled himself into his saddle. “You really are going to let them leave this time?”

  “They will meet us in Masaria after Kian saves another village of ungrateful peasants. Don’t worry, they will be fine.”

  The Toran’s brow wrinkled. “Well, I don’t like it. We should all travel together. It has kept everyone safe this long, we should not change now.”

  K’xarr straightened himself in the saddle and glanced at the Toran. “Who commands here, you or me?”

  “Command my ass,” Cromwell hissed as he rode off to join Rufio and Ivan, leaving K’xarr alone. The captain glanced back once more at the wagon as it disappeared into the trees.

  The streets of the great city of Asqutania were swarming with people. Winter’s chill was gone and the warm breezes of spring had enveloped God’s Holy City, once again bestowing it with divine beauty.

  The Gold Road flooded the city with merchants and pilgrims alike, some coming to sell their wares to the many shops inside the trade district, and others entering to worship God in one of the many churches that dotted the city. Some even hoped to attend service in the Grand Cathedral itself.

  Priests, knights of the holy orders, and agents of the Church could be seen everywhere along the cobbled streets of Asqutania. The magnificent capital of the Kingdom of Tyro was the essence of civilization on the middle continent, if not in all the world of Saree.

  Everywhere one looked, great fountains and sculptures could be seen adorning the holy city. The stateliness of the marble columned collages stood with dignified majesty, beckoning to any who had the gold and the breeding to enter their lofty lairs of knowledge.

  Merchant’s and craftsmen’s shops lined the trade districts of the great city, as well as eating houses and theaters. Fashionable ladies and gentlemen could spend the day entertaining themselves in many ways, from watching a play to attending the jousts at the Grand Stadium.

  The shrewd leaders of the guild houses grew fat on the gold their members brought into the city. They built elaborate homes that rivaled the palaces of some foreign kings and swaggered though the streets like peacocks showing off their affluent plumage.

  The King of Tyro’s palace was also located in the illustrious city. The dashing young monarch Farran Arundell’s family had ruled Tyro for centuries.

  He, like all the Kings of Tyro before him, regularly renovated or refashioned parts of the city. Asqutania was never allowed to become stagnant or dull.

  The king frequently held parades down the larger streets of the city, marching the powerful Tyroian army before the people. He liked to show them the might and majesty of the soldiers that protected the city and the kingdom from the uncultured and unpleasant world that existed outside Tyro's borders.

  King Farran’s palace was grandiose and its sheer size was daunting. Tours of the lower palace were often granted by the king for nobles and dignitaries when they visited the city. The lower levels displayed the artwork and treasures taken by the Tyroian army on many of their former campaigns.

  King Farran’s fighting force was not the size of the papal army, but the Tyroian military was very formidable. The king’s predecessors had used it in the distant past to fill the coffers of the royal treasury by introducing God to many pagan kingdoms. Tyro’s past was as bloody as it was divine, but the days of the Holy Crusades were but a memory.

  The young king and his army were an impressive force, but the true power of Asqutania and the kingdom rested in the hands of the Church and Pope Ammiel. Dracen knew this well, as did everyone else in Tyro and the world for that matter.

  The pope personally held one service a month in the massive cathedral and it was usually the only time he was seen by anyone other than his personal servants and the vicars. Dracen himself was one of the most powerful men in the Church and had only met with Pope Ammiel a handful of times. Now he had been summoned to the pontiff’s personal office by the great man himself.

  He walked down the marble corridors of the church escorted by the pope’s own guardsmen, the Faithful. These fighting men were said to be the very best. They numbered only a thousand but their skill at arms was legendary. It was a great honor for any warrior to be chosen to enter their sacred ranks.

  The lavishness and extravagance of the Grand Cathedral awed the lord justice every time he entered its hallowed halls.

  God had seen fit to reward his most devout servants with the wealth and power befitting those who dedicated themselves to his holy work. The massive building not only served as the administrative base of the religion and a place of worship but also the pope’s residence. It was not unheard of for priests newly assigned to the huge structure to become lost inside its many marbled hallways.

  He waited outside the huge golden bound doors of the Holy Father’s office for an hour before he was ushered in by one of the pope’s vicars. The vicar had the guards wait outside as he led Dracen before the most powerful man in the world.

  The room was opulent and stately. It had been a long while since he had been inside the pope’s office and he had forgotten the room’s tasteful elegance. Tapestries hung from the marble walls depicting the miracles of many of the church’s most prominent saints. All of the furniture inside the room was hand-carved from dark wood and inlayed with ivory, gold or silver. A deep red carpet covered the entire stone floor from wall to wall to keep the pontiff and his priest’s feet warm during the colder months.

  Pope Ammiel himself was very old but seemed to be in good health. His white hair was combed straight back and he was clean shaven. Dracen could see that the responsibility for all the souls of an entire world was etched across the great man’s face, but his pale blue eyes were still as vibrant as ever.

  The pope himself sat in a chair made from mahogany inlayed with ivory and gold and he wore only a simple white robe. The only adornment the elderly cleric wore was his ring of office: a huge red diamond set in a band of solid gold. Dracen knelt before the leader of the Church in complete reverence and kissed the ring.

  “Please stand up, Father Milara, there is no need to prostrate yourself before a tired old man.”

  Dracen stood but kept his eyes downcast. “What would you have of me, Your Holiness?”

  “Would you like any refreshments, Dracen?”

  “No, thank you, Your Holiness.”

  The pope motioned for the vicar to leave them. The man frowned, but hurried out of the room.

  “Sit down, Dracen. Let us talk.” The lord justice swallowed hard. The Holy Father had addressed him by his given name. This could not be good, he thought. He eased himself down in a large chair opposite the pope. He tried to remain relaxed but that was simply impossible.

  “I have given you two years to dispose of the half-breed and the others with the blood of the Beast. I offered you whatever resources you felt you needed and I understand these people still have yet to meet God’s justice.”

  “Your Holiness…”

  The pope raised his hand and silenced the Eye of God. “I do not want you to plead your case to me. I know why you have failed God and the Church, it’s quite understandable.”

  The lord justice began to sweat and his stomach rolled, hearing the Holy Father resign himself to his inability to complete the mission that had been assigned to him. “I am sorry, Holiness. I will humbly accept any punishment you deem just.”

  “The fault does not lie with you, Dracen, it lies with me. I did not give you the tools you really needed to fight these terrible foes. They are creatures of evil and they are aided by magic. When I bid you destroy them, I sent you out at a great disadvantage, my son.

  “Magic must be fought with magic.” The old pontiff placed his fingers together in a steeple and laid them against his chin. “As you know, God frowns on the use of sorcery unless the caster has been sanctioned by Holy Mother Church. So I am going to send you out against our enemies again, only this time with powerful allies that have the same goal in mind a
s we do. They are wizards of the highest order and have my full endorsement. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Holy Father.”

  “I am going to send Father Benington and the best members of the Hand along with you as well. The sorcerers will meet you before you leave tomorrow at the city’s eastern gate.

  “Treat them with respect, Dracen, and listen to what they have to say. They understand the minds of these people better than we do. Now go, my son, and may God grant you success.”

  The Holy Father extended his hand and Dracen softly kissed his ring. The lord justice turned on his heel and walked out of the office with his head held high. God had seen fit to give him another chance to redeem himself and he would not squander it. Wizards or not, he was going to use the Lord’s mercy to finish the task that had been set before him once and for all.

  ***

  “You may come out now, he is gone,” Pope Ammiel said, glancing around the room.

  There was a slight shimmer in the air and a woman appeared. Her eyes were narrow and almond-shaped. A head full of thick blue-black hair hung on her shoulders. The woman was short and her creamy olive skin looked flawless.

  The woman’s appearance told the Holy Father she was most likely from Zae or Wyn. It was hard to tell for sure as the rest of her facial features were covered by a jade-colored tiger mask.

  The woman wore tall dark green boots and a silk cape dyed a lovely shade of emerald. The rest of her clothing covered just enough for modesty. What stood out the most on her bizarre ensemble was the buckle of the belt she wore around her slim hips. It was a solid black circle with an inverted star, and along the lines of the star were thirteen skulls: the symbol of the Circle.

  The woman stood before the powerful priest with her arms folded. “Is that the priest who will accompany me and my colleague?”

  “It is. Father Milara is a good man, but I must remind you he does not understand that things must be done for the good of the Church, things that might seem to contradict our dictates.”

  The sorceress slowly walked back and forth in front of the Pope like an animal pacing in a cage. “Are you saying there might be a problem with his cooperation?”

  The pope shook his head. “No, he will do as he is told without question; I am saying he is unaccustomed to the use of magic. He may need you to show leniency in his ignorance of its benefits. I do not want him harmed, young lady, because he misspoke or caused offense.”

  The woman's laugh was as smooth as it was foreboding. “I will see you get your priest back and you will see that the price you agreed on is paid in full.”

  “When the half-breed and those monsters with the blood are destroyed, I will pay the price the Circle set. First the job must be completed.”

  “Killing a handful of warriors and half-breed swordsman should not be too difficult. In fact, we have already put things in motion that will destroy this so-called Slayer. I will send his head back with your priest if you wish it.”

  The pope twisted the ring on his finger and silently stared at the arrogant sorceress standing before him. “We have been trying to kill him for two years, my dear Green Tiger, and we have failed. Before that, the late King Havalon and the entire Abberdonian army could not destroy this one half-breed warrior. I suspect there may be more to this “Slayer” than we think. So before we speak of payments and heads being sent to and fro, I think you and your company of wizards need to show me the power you claim to possess.”

  The sorceress flipped her hair back with a jerk of her head. “Be careful, old man, that you don’t offend me or you may have more trouble than a few lucky sellswords to worry about.”

  The pope smiled and waved his hand. “I intended no offence, lady. I was just speaking the truth. Now go and let an old man get some rest. Remember we have no dealings publicly. The Church’s use of the Circle must remain a secret. Only Father Milara and Father Benington and the men that travel with them will know the truth. Try and keep yourselves concealed as much as you can.”

  “We will do what we must. That is all I will promise,” the woman said smugly. She raised her hands and vanished.

  The pope stood and calmly walked over to the ornate desk that sat at the back of the room. He poured himself a chalice of wine from the silver decanter that rested on top of the desk. Those he dealt with always thought him to be weak and simple-minded because of his age.

  Did this Green Tiger and the Circle think they were the first wizards he had ever used? One did not become Pope of Holy Mother Church without always have hedged one's bets. He would let these wizards think they were a threat to him, so that way if he had to annihilate them, they would never see it coming. “One must always keep the upper hand.” He chuckled to himself.

  ***

  Dracen waited at the eastern gate of Asqutania like he had been told. He would follow the Holy Father’s orders without question because Pope Ammiel spoke for God, but he didn’t have to like it. Not only would he have to work and travel with foul pagan sorcerers, he would also have to tolerate Alfred Benington, a man he truly despised.

  The leader of the Hand of God was an arrogant, self-important, egotistical murderer who Dracen even suspected of being a less than devout worshiper of the true God. Rumor had it that the dubious priest had attained his position though poison gold and sexual favors. The lord justice had no qualms believing that all three accusations were likely true.

  No one in the Church questioned Benington’s shady reputation, for the Hand contained many dangerous and unsavory men, Benington himself being the worst of the lot.

  Dracen wished Zachariah was accompanying them on this mission. He did not truly trust the vile killer, but at least he knew what to expect from him. Zachariah was uneducated and insane, but Dracen would not have to watch his own back.

  The assassin had unfortunately been sent away on another quest for the Church and Dracen had not seen him for some time. He would just have to deal with who the pope, in his great wisdom, had seen fit to saddle him with.

  The lord justice stroked the neck of his horse as he adjusted its bridle. This time they would kill the half-breed. The monster still haunted his dreams and he had not forgotten the embarrassment the animal had caused him in Bandara.

  The strain of enduring Benington and the wizards would be well worth it if they could manage to destroy the demon this time.

  With the creature dead, he may be able to capture the Korlest woman as well. She too filled Dracen’s dreams, not with fear but with lust. He had not been capable of forgetting the woman’s strong, hard body and exquisite looks. The thought of her often interfered with his nightly devotions. If he could capture her alive, he had other plans than a swift death for the woman from Sorrack.

  “Dracen, are you speaking with God or are you in a trance?” The lord justice jumped, startled by the man’s approach.

  “Benington.”

  “Ah, Lord Justice Milara, I see you are right on time.” Alfred Benington was of average height, but that was the only thing average about him. The Fist’s dark hair was greased and combed straight back, and the mustache he sported was waxed and turned upwards.

  The Fist of God was dressed in the finest riding leathers and cloak that could be found in the markets of Asqutania.

  The rapier and poniard that hung from his belt were made by the finest craftsmen in the city. To look at him, one would think him to be a noble of the highest renown, all except for his dark eyes. They were sinister and murderous. For all Benington’s pomp and pretense, he could not hide the violence in his eyes. The man was malicious and cruel. His gold and his wit could not hide the contempt that poured from his gaze. “Where are your men?” Dracen asked casually.

  “They are already waiting for us on the road. I thought it best they did not see who we were meeting with. I have also had the city watch close this gate till after we have gone. No one will see our tryst with our magical allies.”

  “Wise,” Dracen concurred.

  The Fist of God wal
ked into the shade of the towering walls of Asqutania and leaned back against the cool stone. “You don’t like me much, do you, Milara?”

  “Do you need me to?” Dracen said pretentiously.

  Benington laughed mirthlessly. “Not in the slightest, zealot, but let us come to an understanding. This is a mission of action, not one of politics. I will make the decisions when it comes time to take this half-breed’s life.”

  Dracen walked closer to the Fist, his hands folded calmly in front of him. “You have never faced this evil. I have. I know what the demon is capable of, so you would be wise to listen to what I have to say. As for how you kill him, I leave that to you and the pagan sorcerers.” Benington looked the lord justice up and down. Dracen guessed the man was calculating his next move. The Fist of God was powerful, but Dracen knew he was not foolish enough to try and bully one of the Eyes of God.

  “Fair enough, Lord Justice. Just try to stay out of my area of expertise and I will accommodate you and yours.”

  “Agreed, Lord Fist. I’m sure we will be successful doing God’s holy work.” The man knew just how far he could push. Dracen was impressed by the Benington’s intellect, but he would have to remember not to underestimate the Fist’s guile.

  ***

  Both priests watched as the air shimmered and a man and woman appeared. The woman strolled forward, her emerald cape billowing behind her. “I am the Green Tiger and this is my associate Hex.”

  The man walked forward. He was middle-aged and unshaven, dressed in a simple grey robe with the symbol of the circle emblazoned on it. The two Church officials paid no heed to what the man wore; their attention was solely focused on the wizard’s eyes.

  The sorcerer’s gaze never stopped moving. His eyes spun like a child’s top, always in constant motion. Around and around they went, constantly changing color from blue and green to red and orange and so on as they wildly rotated inside the man’s head.