“I asked you to help the child, not kill him,” the redheaded witch said accusingly.
“Go, boy, run and find your family,” Winter said, pushing Payton in the direction she and Scarlett had sent the other two.
Payton gave the God of Vengeance a last look through his red swollen eyes and ran in the direction the white-haired witch had shoved him.
***
They waited until the boy had gotten out of earshot before they spoke again. Nickodemos’s eyes gleamed. “Scarlett, lovely and meddlesome as always, and you, dear Winter, are you still immune to my charms?” The white-haired witch looked away as if Nikodemos had not spoken. “I see, still as cold as the Sea of Ice.”
“Nikodemos, you’re a savage. There was no reason to manhandle the boy,” Scarlett said.
“The little imp was disrespectful to me. These mortals have forgotten what it means to anger the heavens. Besides, Father is far more savage than I yet I never saw you chastising him.”
“I like my head where it sits. Besides, scolding father would be like trying to reprimand a storm. My point is, we asked you to help us with these children, not frighten the life out of them.”
“I am the Lord of Vengeance, not a nursemaid. I don’t see why these little rats are so important, but if you want to watch over them, it is your business. I do advise not to let Hesperina find out about your interference. There will be repercussions if she does.”
“I know it is a risk, but I still intend to do what I can,” Scarlett said.
“You Sins have always been troublesome and I don’t trust any of you. Father might think highly of you half- breed curs, but I believe your motives have always been suspect.”
Scarlett gave him a seductive smile. “If we are so far beneath you, why have you spent so much time trying to share a bed with us half-breed curs? Oh, by the way, we are called the witches now. I much prefer it to The Sins, don’t you?”
Nickodemos’s lip curled. “I could care less what you whores call yourselves. For now our paths travel in the same direction, but I warn you, if any of your nasty little schemes interfere with my plans, I will kill you all.”
Both women bowed slightly as the Lord of Vengeance vanished.
“I have never liked him,” Winter said, staring at the spot where the god had been.
“It’s because he takes after his mother. You must just try and overlook it.”
Winter’s pale lips pressed together and she frowned. “It was easy to see he had done something to the boy. He should not be trusted, Scarlett. Nickodemos’s actions are only for his own ends, he is selfish and petty, and he does not know our true intentions. Having him aid us could be a big mistake.”
The redheaded witch looked in the direction Payton had gone. “I know.”
***
Payton’s heart was pounding in his chest and his head ached. He had seen a god, dark and terrifying, but that wasn't what tore at his brain. The god had shown him visions of the vile things the Church men had done to his mother and poor Vadin.
The priests were monsters and the god they worshiped was nothing more than a thing of evil. He wanted to kill the priests and destroy their foul church. He hated them all for what they had done.
He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, trying to escape the images that would not stop replaying in his head. He thought he might go mad if he couldn’t stop reliving what he had seen.
Feet hurting and chest heaving, Payton stopped to catch his breath; he thought he could see Tressa and Vinsant in the distance. He gritted his teeth until he thought they might break and wiped his eyes. He would not tell his brother and sister what he had seen; he would keep that to himself. He didn’t want to hurt Tressa and Vinsant with the truth.
Looking back, he saw smoke still rising in the distance from what had become his brother’s funeral pyre. He looked up at the sky and made a silent promise to Vadin. One day he would make the priests pay for what they had done, their great Church would burn and he would be there to watch.
K’xarr and his men rode into Masaria early in the morning. The strong spring winds that swirled down from the Scar Mountains stretched their black cloaks out behind them and the sound of their horse’s hooves echoed off the Gold Road’s flagstones as they thundered down the famed highway. The cool mountain breeze had brought down with them a chilly bite to the morning air, but it hadn’t lasted long. As the sun rose into the sky, the mercenaries could feel its warmth spread through their limbs, giving promise to another hot spring day.
The distant snowcapped mountains towered to either side of them as they rode through the natural gateway to Masaria. Less than two hundred miles wide, the entrance to the kingdom could easily be patrolled by Malric’s soldiers. It would be hard to slip a force of any size by the troops that defended Masaria’s northern border. The warrior king had also built four small garrisons, spacing them equally along the border for his soldiers to shelter in when not out on patrol.
After crossing the border, K’xarr and his men were stopped quickly by a company of the king’s cavalry. K’xarr explained to the soldiers that they had come to offer their services to the king. They were allowed to pass, but only after the officer in command assigned fifty of his men to escort the shady-looking mercenaries to the capital.
It was still almost three hundred miles to the capital and K’xarr didn’t like the idea of the soldiers tagging along with his company for so long. His men weren’t always well-behaved and most tended to have a violent nature. He would have to keep a close eye on them and make sure there were no incidents between his warriors and their Masarian escort.
As they followed the Gold Road south towards the capital, K’xarr noticed that there were very few farms. Their escorts told them that the ground of Masaria was too rocky to be plowed in most places. Only near the center of the kingdom would they see much in the way of fields that were being prepared for the spring planting. The rest of the land was populated by homesteads that raised herd animals such as sheep, goats, and a few cattle.
As the days went by and the mercenaries moved closer to the city of Gallio, they passed company after company of Masarian soldiers heading north. K’xarr estimated they had passed nearly twenty thousand of Malric’s men by the time they had reached the outskirts of the capital city. War was coming and King Malric was preparing for it. K’xarr was glad he had gotten to the kingdom before any blood had been spilled.
The walls that surrounded the city were only half the height of the walls in Turill. Gallio’s fortifications didn’t have the daunting presence of the enormous curtain walls of the Phoenix Queen’s capital, but they looked well-constructed and seemed formidable enough.
Gallio itself was a large city, not the size of Largos or Turill, but it had all the amenities and establishments found in great cities. However, trade was in short supply and some goods and services had become hard to come by because of the Malric’s excommunication, making the king even more unpopular with his people.
The Gold Road’s trade may have all but dried up, but the city’s harbor district was still a busy place. A quarter of the city’s total size, the wharf still brought in goods and gold for the crown. The traders of the harbor district worked feverishly to take up the slack caused by the pope’s embargo. Ships were coming in day and night carrying cargo and passengers from distant lands that loved gold more than they feared the pope.
The trade ships entering the harbor had to maneuver through the maze of warships that patrolled the entrance, as Malric had called for the majority of his navy to return to Masarian waters. They had been ordered to protect the harbor and keep it open at any cost. Without the Gold Road, the harbor would be the life blood of the city.
King’s Head Harbor was the reason the city was home to a wide variety of races and nationalities. Named for an old wooden head that had been carved on one of the harbor’s older piers, King’s Head was a major port of call for ships sailing across the Sea of Fins who wanted to avoid the strong Church presen
ce that dominated the harbors of Asqutania and Emlan. The foreigners who made their home in the kingdom intermingled with the people of Masaria over the course of centuries, giving people native to the kingdom a large mixture of visages.
The wharf was well known for its unscrupulous business practices and “colorful” tradesmen. It didn’t take a visitor long to find out that the King's Head Harbor district was a little dangerous, as well as profitable.
The King’s Head bled in to the southwest corner of the city. It was the oldest part of Gallio. The area had been the original harbor district and the heart of the old city. Now it was a filthy slum called the Wheel. The residents of the city had given it the name due the district’s roughly circular shape. This dilapidated and dirty ward had once been home to the wealthiest founders of Gallio. As the city spread to the north and east, the original buildings and homes were abandoned in favor of newer and better constructed residences and shops. A larger new harbor was put in place and the old one was left forgotten and unused.
Over the years, the poor, sick, and lawless took over the old harbor district and turned it into an impoverished shantytown for the destitute, the broken, and those who preyed on them. The once lucrative trade district now only supported menacing bars, filthy taverns, and dingy brothels. Street hawkers cried out during the day selling their wares or trying to coax people into one of their shabby businesses. By night, the Wheel turned into a dangerous and menacing neighborhood filled with thieves, rapists, and those who would kill for coin without mercy or remorse.
The biggest draw to the Wheel was “Ergan’s Amazing Circus.” Once a massive storehouse near the Wheel’s hub, the building now held a handful of performers that put on three shows a day for those who would pay a copper for the privilege of seeing their wondrous acts. Some of the most prominent citizens of the city would bear the stench of the Wheel for an afternoon to take in a performance.
The night life of Gallio’s Wheel not only consisted of street ruffians, thieves, and murderers, but drunkards, courtesans, gamblers, and those who would brave the dangers of the area to indulge in their favorite vices.
K’xarr had been told about the area when they arrived in Gallio and he was concerned the lawless district was just the kind of place his men would frequent. If he didn’t keep a close eye on them, some could easily fall back into their old habits. The best thing he could do was order them to stay clear of the place.
***
The company was led to the central quarter of the city. Several large stone buildings had been commandeered and turned into crude barracks for the mercenaries that had come to join Malric’s fight.
So far, there were three companies that had offered their sword-arms to the king besides K’xarr and his band. Their standards stood before the barracks that housed them. Over the last two years, K’xarr had familiarized himself with his competition and easily recognized their banners.
The Wolves, led by a man named Embry Fews. This band had been around many years on the middle continent and had a reputation for upholding their contracts and being ferocious in battle, a solid group, eight hundred men strong.
Then there were the Scarred Serpents. It was headed by a warrior named Aldun Eyes, a company numbering only eighty and with a less than trustworthy reputation, each member sported a small brand on the side of his face in the shape of a snake.
The third company was the Silver Swords, known for their law-abiding nature and honesty. The Swords had almost attained heroic status in the region, captained by Saran Cade, a warrior renowned for his skill with a sword. Saran had inherited the company from his father Rory Cade, who had in turn inherited it from his father. Rory Cade had been killed in a border war between Belanos and Warmark, leaving his son the family legacy. Over a thousand men rode with Cade, making the Swords one of the most powerful companies in the world.
As they rode past the makeshift barracks, K’xarr could feel the eyes of the veteran mercenaries on him and his men, judging the worth of the newcomers as they rode by.
In front of one of the stone buildings, a man stood holding up his hand for the riders to halt. He wasn’t tall but was powerfully built, his hair cut so close to his head that it was hard to make out the color. He wore a breastplate and greaves, and a blue cape trimmed with silver hung from his back. In one hand he held a horse hair crested helmet, while the other casually rested on the Dragitan shortsword at his side.
K’xarr and his men dismounted and sauntered over to where the officer waited.
K’xarr thought the soldier’s eyes seemed old, although the man looked to be only ten years his senior.
“You can store your things in this barracks if you choose, but I would not get too comfortable. You won’t be in Gallio long,” the officer said.
K’xarr nodded his agreement. “That will be fine… uh?”
“I am General Achillus, commander of the armies of Masaria.”
“I am K’xarr Strom, Captain of…this company.”
The man looked unimpressed. “I know who you are, Captain Strom. I will go over your contract and then I will take you to the palace.”
K’xarr brows furrowed. First he was met by the commander of the entire army, now this general said he was going to be taken to the palace. He felt it oddly unwarranted treatment for a company of mercenaries. “Why do I need to go to the palace, General?”
“The king wants to meet you. I don’t know why, but I have my orders.”
“In that case, I will have my battle surgeon look over the contract while the men and I see to our horses. After we have reached an agreement on the contract, I would be honored to speak with your king.”
Achillus’s grim face gave away nothing of what the man was thinking. “Let’s get to it then, Malric doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
The contract was signed. K’xarr had agreed to a year in the service of King Malric Denn with the terms to be revisited at year's end. Rhys and K’xarr had thought the pay fair and conditions suitable. He now followed Achillus and a small contingent of the royal guard back to the Masarian palace.
A small eight foot wall surrounded the home of the king. As they passed through the gates into the palace grounds, K’xarr saw that the courtyard was stately and well kept. The palace was not near the size of the Phoenix Queen’s nor was it comparable to the magnificent architecture of the palace in Turill, but it was dignified and seemed formidable.
The mercenary captain was lead up the stone stairs and inside. The palace was well guarded, but none of the sentries challenged General Achillus or offered to question what he was about.
As the small party passed through the hallways of the palace, he noticed there was little in the way of adornments or decorations. K’xarr surmised that Malric had had the place stripped of anything that would remind his subjects of King Godfen and his family. He thought given the same circumstances, he too would try to erase any memory of Masaria’s dead king. More than likely Malric wanted the people to forget what he had done to the former ruler and his heirs.
Two guardsmen opened the large doors to the throne room. Dressed in chain mail and heavily armed, the king’s bodyguard was not just for show. Their weapons and armor were functional and well made. They were there to protect the king, not to look pretty for visiting dignitaries and nobles.
The throne room itself had been turned into a war room and looked a mess. Large tables were shrouded with maps, and messengers stood here and there ready to deliver any orders the king issued at a moment’s notice.
Malric himself was easy to spot. Surrounded by a flock of Masarian officers, the king was leaning over a map studying it with an intensity born from years of soldiering. Malric was a few inches shorter than K’xarr and looked fit. His dark hair and close cropped beard was seeded with more than a few strands of gray.
The king wore the silver and blue uniform of the Masarian army. Malric had not changed the uniforms of the army when he seized control, but he had changed the country's coat of arms. Where
once a white gull rested on the chests of the kingdom's military, now rampant Wardogs adorned the soldier's uniforms, as well as the banners and flags of the realm. The people had protested the revision, but their complaints had fallen on deaf ears. Wardogs had been Malric’s coat of arms, and now they were the new symbol of the Masarian crown.
The king looked up from his maps as Achillus and K’xarr approached. “Well, you must be the famed Captain Strom, hero of Bandara. The young mercenary that defeated King Havalon and put the Phoenix Queen on her throne. I have heard a great many things about you, sir.”
The king extended his hand and K’xarr shook it firmly. “I don’t know how much of a hero I am, Majesty.”
Malric shook his head in protest. “No formalities in here, K’xarr, save them for the public. You don’t mind me calling you K’xarr, do you?”
K’xarr liked the king’s informal manner. “Not at all. You're paying me, call me what you like.”
“See there, Achillus,” the king said. “A man with a sense of practicality. Have you met Achillus?”
“I have,” K’xarr answered
“He is my second in command and the general of my armies, that is if I’m not leading them myself.” The king stepped away from the table, leaving it to the junior officers. “Was the contract satisfactory, Captain?”
“It was.”
“Excellent. I will be sending you north soon. I expect the Church to be at my border before the end of spring. Why don’t you and your officers have dinner with me tonight? We can discuss this in more detail then, and I would like to hear the tale of the battle of Braxton Bluff and the rest of your exploits in Bandara, if it would not bother you to regale me with the story.”
“It would be an honor, Highness,” K’xarr said, squaring his shoulders.
“Good, I will send an escort for you later. Show the captain out,” Malric said, motioning to one of his guards.
Song Of Fury (Gods Of Blood And Fire Book 2) Page 11