Rhys galloped over and pulled his horse alongside K’xarr’s. He very pleased to have the healer back. When Rhys was with them, the odds of anyone surviving a wound went up a hundredfold. “It looks like your sisters will have to ride after all,” K’xarr said, throwing a thumb back to where the women rode.
“Yes, with Kian and Endra gone, there was little choice. Morgana and Rachael’s comfort is not what I wanted to speak with you about, though. It was something I heard when I was in Bandara.”
“Well, out with it then.”
Rhys shifted in his saddle. “The queen told me that Kian and Endra are not the only targets of the pope and his priests. We are as well.”
K’xarr grinned. “That isn’t news to me, I am sure we are on the pope’s list of enemies of the Church. After everything that happened in Bandara, I bet he would like to skin us alive, and besides that, our blood's not to his liking.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. All this time, we thought it was Kian and Endra that were their main focus and we were just an afterthought, but Raygan said we are just as important to the pope as Kian. It’s your blood, K’xarr, you and Cromwell. It’s the only thing all of you have in common.”
K’xarr’s lips tightened. “We have heard this before; it’s no secret that the pope wants us dead.”
“Did you know he has sent out word to all the kingdoms that anyone with the blood has been named a servant of the Beast and should be destroyed on sight? It will make you and any that follow you outlaws to anyone that reveres the Church. Your career as a mercenary captain will be short-lived. His edict has doomed you to fail. No one will want to hire a band of demon worshipers.”
K’xarr rubbed his eyes. “I want to be alone now, Rhys.”
“I am sorry, but I thought you should know.” The healer waited for him to respond, but K’xarr stared straight ahead until Rhys rode away.
The world was not going to let him have a chance, the curse of his birth and the associations he had made were going to be impossible to overcome. Yet he could not just give up. He would follow through with his plans, and the pope and those who believed his lies could be damned.
He had tried to make peace with it, but the curse would not let him go. It gnawed at him like a starving animal, taking piece after piece of his life. Someday he would find a way to reclaim everything that had been taken from him. On that day, he would take his revenge.
***
Rufio rode in silence, trying to stay out of the conversation. Cromwell had brought Rhys’s sisters up along the column of men until they rode on either side of him. He didn’t really want company, but if he told Cromwell, the Toran would just stay even longer.
“When do you the think we will stop, Cromwell?” the larger sister asked.
“When K’xarr’s ass gets tired, I would say.” Cromwell and Morgana both laughed heartily. Rufio thought the woman was very pretty, if you liked meaty women.
The Toran and Morgana slowly let their horse drift away, leaving Rachael with him; Cromwell gave Rufio a knowing look. He wanted him to keep Rachael busy while he tried to use his crass charms on her sister.
“I think your friend has taken a liking to Morgana.”
Rufio’s head jerked around and he swallowed hard. He was caught. The woman had spoken before he had time to make an excuse to ride away. “Yes, I believe you are right,” he said, blinking rapidly.
“Morgana has always been very outgoing. She thought it would be a great adventure to travel all the way to Bandara to see Rhys.”
Rufio detected a note of resentment in the young woman’s voice. “It sounds as if you don’t want to be here.”
Rachael cleared her throat and lowered her already soft voice. “No, I didn’t want to come. I love my brother dearly, but this isn’t what I wanted to do. I don’t like the outdoors much and I simply hate riding. Frankly, most of the men here scare me. The looks that they give women are simply…lecherous. ”
Rufio had lost himself in her velvety voice, so soft and sweet. All he could manage was a grunt in response.
“I don’t mean to complain. I’m sorry I bothered you, Lieutenant.” She turned her horse to leave.
“Rachael, wait.” She stopped her horse and looked at him, innocently biting her lip.
“Please call me Rufio. Rhys is a close friend, and I won’t have his sister calling me by my rank. If you wish, you can stay close to me and I will try and make the trip as easy for you as I can. I will keep the men from bothering you till we reach Gallio. Perhaps I can teach you a thing or two about riding that might make the traveling more pleasurable for you.”
Her smile was intoxicating. “Thank you…Rufio. You are truly a gallant man.” She moved her horse a little closer to his and kept pace with him.
He could feel the heat from his ears turning red. Gods, what had he said? He sounded like a blasted Church knight. He looked around to make sure no one else had heard him.
He had saddled himself with being the girl's protector without even thinking. What in the Reaper’s hell was wrong with him? He glanced over at her riding along beside him. Well, he thought, it’s just till we reach Gallio, and she is pretty.
***
That night, they made camp some distance from the road. The men complained about the food, as they had every night since Nick Nock had left. The young cook and his ability to make anything taste good had won the admiration of the mercenary band.
Even K’xarr missed the portly man. He could always make their food go much farther than anyone thought possible. Since he had been gone, they'd had to scavenge twice as hard to feed everyone.
Other than grumbling about the food, the men seemed in good spirts. They sat around their fires, eating and talking about what they would do with the gold they were going to make in Masaria. K’xarr was pleased that his mercenaries were enthusiastic about the coming fight.
He hoped he could secure a good contract for them. They deserved it after sticking with him for so long, and after what Rhys had told him, it might be the last job they would ever have.
“Do you know the size of Malric’s forces, Captain?” Ivan asked.
K’xarr swallowed his mouthful of hot oats. “I don’t know, but I have heard they are formidable.”
Rufio dropped his spoon onto an empty plate. “No one has more troops than the Church. If they want Malric’s head, the pope will have it.”
“Of that I have no doubt. We will also have to see how many men the pontiff wants to lose to bag the renegade general. I just hope this Malric has the stomach for a fight with the Holy Father.”
Rhys stood and stretched his back. “It sounds like I am going to be busy…” A scream rang out, breaking the silence of the quiet night. “That’s Morgana,” Rhys said, looking at K’xarr wide-eyed. The healer dropped his plate and ran towards the sound.
“Rhys, wait, damn, it’s not what you think,” K’xarr said, trying to stop the healer's headlong flight into the darkness.
“Should we go after him?” Rufio tried not to smile.
“Come on,” K’xarr said, pulling Rufio and Ivan to their feet.
***
Rhys raced through the knee high grass. The scream had not been far away. He realized he had no weapon, but it didn’t manner. Unarmed or not, he wasn’t going to let any harm come to his sister.
Another scream split the night, this time it sounded muffled and it was just to his right. It was too dark to see more than a foot or two ahead, but he sprinted on, heedless of any danger. Without warning, his legs hit something and he tripped, rolling headlong through the grass.
“What it the hell?” he heard a deep voice say.
Rhys got to his feet quickly, recognizing the voice. “Cromwell, is that you?” the healer said, peering into the dark.
“Gods, but you have bad timing, healer.”
K’xarr and his two lieutenants came running up seconds later. Rufio had thought to grab a torch and was holding it above his head. Its soft glow revealed Cromwell an
d Morgana both sitting in the tall grass, completely naked. The Toran was trying to cover the woman from the prying eyes of his companions with his large bulk. “Put that torch out, you depraved Dragitan,” he bellowed.
Rufio stepped back, stifling a laugh.
“How dare you take my sister, you Toran pig.” There was anger in the healer’s voice. He lunged at the huge warrior, but Ivan intervened, stepping between the smaller man and the nude couple.
Morgana tried to cover her large breasts with her arms, but it was almost impossible. “Rhys, calm down. I am here of my own free will. I’m sorry if I caused any alarm, I didn’t know…”
The other men all laughed. They could not hold it in anymore. Cromwell stood up, and they could see the Toran’s smile in the flickering light. “I didn’t mean to make her scream, Rhys, but you know I’m not called the Toran bull just because of my fighting prowess.”
Rhys pushed Ivan’s hand away and stormed back towards the camp.
“The rest of you, go away. We wish to be alone,” the big warrior said, caressing Morgana’s arm.
“I have to talk to my brother, Cromwell, I’m sorry.” Morgana grabbed her clothing and covered herself as best she could, following her brother back to the camp.
Cromwell stood naked with his hands on his hips, looking at the others as if they had just cheated him at a game of dice. “Well, that’s a fine way to end the night. Rhys’s dainty feelings are more important than me, I guess. What the hell is wrong with that woman?”
“Cromwell, you are the most troublesome man anyone could ever travel with. If it weren’t for the fact you can brain an ox with your fist, I would leave you here,” K’xarr said as he and the others walked away.
“How is any of this my fault?”
“Get dressed before you come back to camp. No one wants to see you naked,” K’xarr yelled over his shoulder.
***
Rhys had not spoken to anyone for two days and his sisters were worried. It wasn’t like their brother to be sullen and unfriendly. They watched him as he jerked and tugged at his horse's saddle.
“He’s still mad at me,” Morgana said.
Rachael patted her sister on the back and gave her a comforting smile. “Rhys has no right to be angry. If that brute of a man makes you happy, then you should do what you choose with him.”
Morgana’s face reddened. “I do like Cromwell. I know he is uncouth and ill-mannered, but I have always dreamed of finding a mighty warrior and…well, you know.”
It was Rachael’s turn to blush. “I’m going to talk to Rhys right now. There no reason for him to be acting this way.”
The slim girl gave herself a curt nod and walked over to where her brother was finishing putting his belongings on the back of his horse.
“Are you going to speak to me or have I done something too?” Rachael said sharply.
Rhys didn’t look at her. “You have done nothing, Rachael. I’m just upset with Morgana and you know why.”
“Yes, she had a romp with your friend and you didn’t like it.”
“Cromwell is my friend, true enough, but I didn't want my sister to shag him. She bedded down with him like she was a common whore.”
“That is a nasty thing to say, Rhys Morgan. I guess Morgana should just find a convent and become a nun?”
“That’s not what I meant. She should be a little more like you, that’s all I’m trying to say.”
“You think she should be like me? I am afraid of my own shadow and too shy to say the things I want to say. Morgana isn’t like us. She is different, more adventurous and unafraid, and I love her for it. I wish I could be more like her.” The girl had tears running down her face and her voice was choked with emotion.
“Don’t cry, Rachael. I love you and Morgana, I just want the best for both of my sisters.”
“Then you have to let us choose what makes us happy, Rhys. We said nothing about you and the queen, and she is a married woman.”
Rhys coughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I suppose you have me there, but…”
“But nothing. You have to promise to let us be who we are and do what makes us happy. You’re not Father, thank the heavens.”
Rhys nodded. “What choice do I have? Just please tell Morgana to try and be more discreet. You don’t know how much grief K’xarr and the others will give me for what happened the other night.”
Rachael gave him a sweet smile and hugged him. “I’m sure they are just jesting with you.”
Rhys rolled his eyes. “That’s easy for you to say, you don’t have to listen to it.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “I want you to know that it is a grand thing to have a brother who cares so much. Now go make up with our sister.” The healer gave her a silly smile and went to speak with Morgana.
The vampire stood on top of the ancient tower, waiting for the sun to rise. It had been two years since the rays of the sun had touched his skin. The forest was just coming alive in the early hours before the morning. Birds had begun to sing and the small woodland creatures that inhabited the Adorn were rising to find food and drink, while the creatures that stalked the night had returned home to their caves and burrows. It was going to be a beautiful day.
The vampire was not a patient monster and was unaccustomed to having to bow to the fickle ways of the world, but for all his power, he could not make the dawn come any faster and it was starting to wear on his nerves. “How much longer must I wait, Siro? Will the damnable sun never come up?”
The short, ugly man stood behind the vampire, wringing his hands. “Please, Master, come inside. What if the spell you cast on the amulet doesn’t work?”
The vampire looked down at the red stone hanging from his neck. “Imbecile, you know what will happen. I will burst into flames and burn to ash. Now be quiet, if you don’t have anything useful to say.”
“But I don’t want you to turn to ash, Master. Can you find another way to test the spell?”
“I could, yes, but I won’t. This ends today one way or the other. I will not be a slave to the daylight or anything else. If I can’t come and go as I please, then to hell with this existence and to hell with the little twit that forced it upon me.”
Siro rubbed his stomach and shifted from foot to foot. “I have told you I am sorry and begged for forgiveness every day since you changed.”
“That is far from good enough, rodent,” the Vampire said without turning around.
Day was quickly approaching. The trees were beginning to cast their first shadows. It would be any second now.
The little necromancer raised his hand and wiggled his fingers in an intricate pattern. A dark light slowly flew from his hand. The light changed to something akin to smoke but thicker. It began to wrap itself around the vampire like a cocoon.
The undead wizard raised his hand and the smoke dissipated into nothingness. He slowly turned his head, blinking in disbelief. “Siro, did you just try to cast a spell on me?”
The short man began to back up. “I am sorry, Master. It was just a small control spell, so I could make you come back inside.”
“Treacherous little bastard. Save your filthy death magic for your rotten friends down below. How dare you try and control me.” The vampire turned and began to walk toward the necromancer, his long dark hair catching the morning breeze. “I am going to split you wide open and tear out you entrails and…” The sun burst into the sky before the monster could finish. He instinctively covered his face before the golden rays of the new dawn.
Feeling the warmth spread across its cold body, the cringing vampire slowly brought its hands down and looked right into the blazing ball in the sky. “Siro, it worked. I am free of the night.” He reached down and looked at the amulet. The red stone slowly pulsed. The protection spell had worked. “Siro, go prepare a celebration.”
“I thought you were going to tear out my entrails, Master?”
“Don’t try to be funny, you are very poor at it. Now go.”
> The homely wizard went down the ladder into the tower. The vampire remained with his arms outstretched, basking in the light. “Even you have no power over me,” he said, looking at the sun. “Soon no one will.”
***
Marshal Alistair Fawkes stood at attention, waiting for the Holy Father to speak. Though he was the highest ranking military officer in the papal army, one always showed respect for the pope, it was just good form.
He had served as the head of the pope’s army for the last twenty-five years. He knew the Holy Father had to be harsh sometimes, even ruthless one might say, but when the fate of so many souls rested in your hands, hard decisions had to be made on occasion.
Fawkes watched as the pope looked over the map of Masaria. He wanted to ask why after five years the pope had only now given orders to march against Malric the Usurper. Many in the Church hierarchy had called for the renegade general’s head when he slaughtered the royal family in Gallio.
Masaria’s late King, Godfen Hale, had been a staunch supporter of the pope and his Holy Works, and Fawkes had thought the papal army would descend on Masaria and destroy the foul murderer and his Wardogs when they had received word of his vile deed. The Holy Father had surprised him and all the other elders of the Church by telling them that Malric would not escape justice but that they must wait for the right time for God's hammer to fall.
The time must have come. A few weeks ago, out of the blue, the pope had ordered a campaign against Malric and his men. One of the papal armies had been on the march for some time now. As his army approached the Masarian border, the pope had finally decided to look over the strategy Fawkes had laid out.
“Things look fine, Alistair. I trust everything I asked for was put in place?”
“Yes, Your Holiness. I have dispatched thirty thousand men from the papal army along with ten thousand Church knights, mostly taken from the Knights of Deliverance, but their ranks were bolstered by knights from the Sacred Lance and the Order of the Holy Tome. This false king will stand no chance against their holy wrath. He and his Wardogs will most likely try to offer terms at the first sight of our banners.”
Song Of Fury (Gods Of Blood And Fire Book 2) Page 7