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

by A. J. STRICKLER

  The girl was quiet for a while as she marched alongside him, an unusual event for Tressa. “Do you think Kian and mother are still alive?” he heard her whisper.

  Nick reached down and patted her on the head. “Of course they are, it would take more than a few priests to do those two in. You know that,” Nick said, trying his best to keep the doubt from showing on his face.

  “Then where are they?”

  “I don’t know, but I know do know this. While your mother lives, nothing will keep her from your side.” Tressa smiled at him and Nick thought he had reassured the child, at least for the time being.

  Looking over his shoulder at the ragtag group, he took a quick head count, one short. Brigitte was gone. The youngest of Endra’s brood often wandered away from the others, always returning a short time later no worse for wear, so her absence didn’t worry the cook too much. Still, he thought it best to make sure. “Payton, did you see where Brigitte went?”

  “Over there,” the boy said, pointing to a large strand of bushes just off the side of the road. Nick could see the bushes shaking and thought the girl might be relieving herself, though the child had never been shy about doing her business in front of the other children. Maybe the scoldings her siblings gave her for being improper were finally getting through to the little girl. “Everyone, let’s wait for Brigitte,” Nick Nock ordered. They all paused, staring at the bushes and waiting for her to emerge. Within moments, the child broke from the undergrowth carrying something in both hands. Trotting up to Nick, she presented him with two freshly killed rabbits. The little girl grinned up at him, exposing her tiny bloodstained fangs. Though discovering Brigitte’s newfound hunting skills was extremely disturbing to him, Nick was a practical man. He took the dead rabbits from her and held them up.

  “Who wants dinner?”

  The two small animals wouldn’t have gone far, so after he had cleaned and dressed the rabbits, Nick had used his magic to make the rabbits roughly the size of two full grown foxes. The children had found some wild onions and a patch of asparagus to add to the pot. It had been a delicious meal. Nick wished he hadn’t lost the spices he usually carried with him. A little salt and pepper would have made the meal even better. With their bellies full, they all had slept well that night.

  The summer sun was rising on another day of endless walking that Nick wasn’t looking forward to. He had never liked walking, or riding for that matter. He just wasn’t fond of traveling and when he did have to go somewhere, he liked to take his time. Tightening his belt, he looked down at his stomach. He had shed more than a few pounds leading the group of children from Quintar into Bandara.

  He roused everyone and prepared to move on. They headed north along the old dirt track. Nick knew Turill lay somewhere in that direction, he was just uncertain of how far. He wasn’t as familiar with southern Bandara as he was the north. He knew the old road looped around to the west of the Bluff. It was slower going than the main track, but it was less traveled and would offer a much safer route to the capital. He wasn’t sure if Milara had sent men to alert his agents in Bandara or not, but there was no sense in risking being spotted by an agent from the Church this close to their destination.

  As the sun climbed higher in to the sky, the air grew hot and sticky. Nick thought it would be a hard summer, especially in the lands to the south. He looked back at the five children walking behind him. They were a hearty bunch, even Sabra and Brigitte had endured their long trek with few complaints. Rhys was right, he thought. The healer believed their black blood made them healthier and stronger than other children and after this trip, Nick had to agree.

  The land began to steepen and the road turned uphill. His feet hurt and the heat was blistering. Nick sighed, a break was in order. It would be good for everyone to rest a bit before plodding on through the rising landscape. “Let’s stop for a while, children, and rest,” the cook called over his shoulder.

  All of them sat down on the side of the road and took small sips from the water skin they carried. They would have to refill the water skin at the next stream or pond they came across. The heat was becoming too much to travel without an adequate amount of water.

  No shade was to be had; there was not a tree in sight. Laying back in a patch of grass, Nick covered his eyes with his arm. He had just about drifted off for a short nap when the children’s shouts snapped him awake.

  Four riders approached from the south, the powdery road dust flying from their horse’s hooves made a dirty cloud that spread out behind them. There was nowhere to take cover, so they all stood off the side of the road and hoped that the men would pass them by. Nick began to bite his lip when the strangers pulled their mounts to a stop in front of them. The men slid from their saddles, appraising the band of small ragged travelers. They were dirty and unshaven, and Nick Nock could smell their approach. Each man was armed and all wore the filthy remnants of Bandaran military uniforms.

  The shortest of the four, a wide man with close-cropped hair, looked each of them up and down with one eye closed. “Well, what do we have here?” he said, grabbing Tressa’s chin with his thick grubby hand. “Aren’t you a pretty little thing?”

  Nick knew trouble when he saw it. The war with Abberdon had no doubt left Bandara with its fair share of desperate men. In any conflict, there were deserters and fugitives, men who rejected honor and forgot their sense of duty. Often these renegades turned to banditry after the war, seeking an easy way to make a coin. He was about to try and talk their way out of the predicament, but Payton’s temper beat him to it.

  “Get your hand off my sister,” the boy said coldly.

  All four men laughed. “This one’s got a little spine to him, eh, Caldon?”

  A tall man with red hair and beard stepped forward. “Aye, Bryd, why don’t you see how tough he is.” The shorter man balled up his fist and struck Payton in the face. It was a dreadful blow, and the sound of the boy’s nose breaking was sickening.

  The mild-mannered cook’s temper flared. He had never been so angry in all his life. There was no talking to animals that would hurt a child like that. He stepped forward, drawing the only weapon he had: his skillet. With all his might, he brought in down on Byrd’s head. There was a dreadful crack that mixed with the ringing of the iron pan. The short man’s eyes rolled up in his head and he fell to the ground, still as a stone. For a moment, everyone on the roadside stared at him, astonished by what had just happened.

  “I’m going to kill you, pig,” the redheaded Caldon said, drawing his sword as he stalked towards the skillet-wielding cook. Without hesitation, the children stormed the other two brigands, punching and biting. They fought hard but they were no match for two grown men, and they were quickly subdued and slapped around for their effort.

  Nick had no time to help them. He ducked a cut to his head, but the man delivered an awkward backhanded attack, giving the cook a wicked gash across his chest. Nick Nock's instincts told him to run, but he was well aware if he did, the children were surely doomed. He put his head down and rushed his attacker. Swinging the skillet like a warhammer, the iron pan hammered into the man's face, cracking his jaw. Caldon fell, holding his face and writhing in pain.

  Nick looked down at his bloodstained skillet. He couldn’t believe what he had just done. Stepping over the man on the ground, he moved to deal with the two remaining assailants. He wanted to use his magic but there wasn’t time to cast, and most of his magical repertoire was culinary in nature anyway. There was no choice. Whirling the pan above his head, the chubby cook waded into the remaining bandits with a high-pitched cry. The skillet whipped through the hot midday air and thumped into one of the highwaymen on the shoulder, knocking him back. Nick raised his unorthodox weapon for another blow just as the second bandit’s sword snaked out and took him on the left side, just under his ribs. The cook fell backwards, landing hard. He couldn’t catch his breath. His hand clawed across the ground, trying to find his skillet, as the man slowly came towards him. He closed h
is eyes waiting for the final blow.

  “Stop in the name of the queen,” Nick heard a deep voice shout. Turning his head, the cook thought he must be dead or dreaming. There at the top of the hill sat a company of Bandaran knights. The afternoon sun gleamed off their armor and the banner of the Phoenix Queen flew above them. In their center sat Isabella, he recognized girl by her eye patch, and a woman in black with red hair who he couldn’t make out, but it was the lady that sat between them that garnered his attention. Mounds of dark hair spilled from beneath a wide brimmed hat folded up on one side in the style of the Celonian duelists. She was dressed in dark red riding leathers with a small hunting falcon perched on her arm. There was no mistaking the Phoenix Queen herself. Nick laid his head back and shut his eyes.

  The two remaining brigands sprinted for their horses and, once mounted, they rode hard to the south.

  “Captain Moorbow, please be a dear and ride those men down for me,” the queen said causally.

  The commander of the royal guard crisply saluted. “My pleasure, Majesty.” Waving for a few of the Bandaran knights to follow him, the queen’s young captain started after the two renegades at breakneck speed.

  Raygan climbed down from her horse, giving Scarlett an approving look. Now she understood why four days ago the witch’s clairvoyant sister had sent her out to hunt. “Isabella, have the healer see to Nick Nock.” Raygan handed her falcon to one of her attendants and started for the children.

  They had all grown so much since last she had seen them. She knelt down and spread her arms wide. Battered and bloody, they ran to her. The three girls threw themselves into her arms, all but knocking the diminutive queen over. “Oh, you poor dears, I must get all of you back to Turill. You look half-starved and sorely in need of a good scrubbing.”

  She looked all of them over; Payton’s broken nose was the worst of their injuries, but they all looked haggard and terribly worn out. She took Brigitte and Sabra by the hand and led all the little refugees back towards the horses. “I have missed you all very much. On the way back, I want you to tell me what has happened to your parents.”

  They passed two of the knights as they were placing the children’s defender onto a litter so the cook could be taken back to the capital city. “Majesty, will Nick be alright?” Tressa asked in a shaky voice.

  The queen gave the royal physician a questioning look. The royal healer answered with a shrug. Raygan narrowed her eyes, the line of her mouth tightening into a thin band. The healer swallowed hard and nodded feverishly. She called it her Phoenix Look and it always produced results from her subjects.

  Raygan reached out and caressed Tressa’s cheek. “Of course, Nick will be fine or a certain royal physician will be answering to me.”

  The God of War stood on a small hilltop with his arms folded across his wide chest. He had chosen not to wear his traditional armor, dressing in a simple red tunic belted at the waist. His dark hair and beard hung loose, free of their traditional warrior braids. Watching the two armies spread out across the field they had chosen for their killing ground, Fane’s concentration intensified as the soldiers began to form ranks and move into formation.

  The hour was early and the battle to come was still some time away. It would give him the opportunity to examine each commander’s strategy and take note of where and how they had deployed their troops. Thousands of years of experience told him it would be a bloody day, there would be no need to provoke or inflame either side. Each had leaders that would do that without his interference.

  Kago Kattan was little more than a bloodthirsty savage who hated the world, and Achillus Fabius Corvus had murdered his own father and there was a streak of cruelty deeply hidden in his quiet nature. Then there was Strom, a power-hungry killer driven by a limitless ambition and the violent blood that coursed through his veins. Fane was sure Strom would turn the field in northern Masaria into a place of death, without thought or remorse.

  Any other time, a fine bloody battle would please him, but there was something troublesome about this war and the way things were unfolding. Outside forces were influencing events and situations all over Saree. Fane could feel the other gods beginning to assert their control throughout the world’s kingdoms. It was subtle now, like the warm summer breeze that brought the most ferocious of storms, but this wind would bring no simple cloudburst or thunderstorm. It would carry a tempest of such force that fate itself would stand and take notice. He had no intention of allowing himself to be caught up in this war’s deluge. Masaria would soon become a place for no man or god to be. Only death would thrive here.

  “I thought I would find you here, brother.”

  “War has come, where else would I be?” he said without looking at the veiled goddess.

  “You don’t looked dressed for it. Where are your weapons and armor, Fane? Do you not intend to take part in the strife?” the Mistress said in a mocking tone.

  The war god rubbed his brow. The threat of a headache was in the offering. “What brings you here, sister? Why is the Queen of Hell interested in the affairs of mortals, or did you come just to irritate me?”

  The Mistress shifted her feet into a wider stance. “I plan to watch the battle. Have you forgotten I was once a warrior too?” The war god smirked and shook his head. “What’s so funny, Fane? I seem to remember besting you on a few occasions.”

  “That was long ago, a different time, a different place. When was the last time you even picked up a sword?” Fane remembered very well his sister’s skill, but he had no intention of feeding her ego.

  “I think the answer to that might surprise you, brother.”

  He was finished with her pretense. “I know very well. Why you have taken an interest here? All I have to do is look at the armor Strom wears. It’s not hard to see your handiwork there. You are playing a dangerous game with Hesperina.”

  The Mistress crossed her arms and raised a hand to her collar. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “He wears the colors of a Rider; do you think any of us has forgotten the armor of the Red Handed?”

  She gave an overexaggerated look at the field. “I see. Well, if our brothers and sisters have forgotten, I’m sure Captain Strom will remind them, And the mortals more than need a lesson in history.”

  “Have you told him what it is he wears?” Fane said, his voice rising.

  “No, but I know the kind of man he is. A tyrant without a kingdom, Strom is ill-tempered, extremely violent, and prone to fleeting moments of audacious valor. He is little different from those who rode with Octavian in the beginning. It is appropriate he wear the colors of the lords of hell.”

  “Hesperina will not be pleased. She nor Cem ever cared for the army of desolation or the Red Handed, and the queen was very specific about taking a much lighter hand with the mortals this time. She will know it was you who did this. It is things like this that could start a war among us, sister, or is that what you want?”

  The Mistress laughed out loud. “Do I hear you right? Fane, the mighty God of War, speaking out for peace? A touch ironic, don’t you think? Perhaps our numbers need culling. My husband was many things, but he was no fool. It’s possible the reason for his rampage was, like I, he saw weakness growing among the gods and if it takes a war in heaven to make us strong again, then so be it. ”

  Fane turned and pointed his finger at the goddess’s veiled face. “We are few. Whatever his reasons, Octavian only made us weaker when he killed the others. Now you want to do the same? There is no need for your devilry, sister. Calm that black heart of yours or it may prove to be your undoing. We will not allow any more of us to be destroyed.”

  “You and Hesperina can threaten me all you like. I will have what I want, Fane, and I suggest you stay out of my way if you don’t have the stomach for what is to come.” The Queen of Hell faded from the hilltop with a wave.

  Fane sighed, he had let her anger him. If his sister wanted to break from them, so much the better. She was nothing but trouble anyway. If s
he would not take her place on Shadow Dragon Mountain then she could go to Sidia and dwell with the Beast. His mouth formed an ironic grin at the thought. If anyone could drive their renegade brother out of his evil city, it was their sister.

  ***

  “The men are in position, General Kattan.”

  “Good, I will be there momentarily.” The soldier saluted and closed the flap on the command tent. The general put his helmet on and swaggered from the small pavilion. He could hardly contain his satisfaction. At last, he would lead his men into battle without any interference or oversight. No superior officers questioning his decisions or urging him to be cautious or hold back. He was content. Win or lose, this war was his.

  Kago swung into the saddle of his warhorse with a practiced ease. Turning the animal, he started for the center of his lines. They outnumbered the Masarians by less than ten thousand men, not enough to overwhelm their lines, but it would be his heavy cavalry that would win the day. He didn’t believe the enemy could stand before a charge from the knights. He despised the knight orders with their codes and laws and their self-important disposition, but they did have their uses. Kago had formed the steel-clad warriors into a wedge at the center. They would begin the attack by breaking the Masarian’s lines, allowing the infantry’s following attack to be much more devastating. Then a second charge should fully rout the Wardogs.

  As he neared the knight’s position, Captain Gladwin came galloping towards him. He had intentionally avoided speaking with the younger officer before the battle. He didn’t need the fool's input or his meddlesome snooping. The worthless bootlick could make his report to the Tyroian crown when the killing was done.

  “General, where are you going?” the captain said with a touch of indignation as he pulled his horse to a stop in front of Kago.

  “I am going to join the knights. The battle is about to begin.”