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

by A. J. STRICKLER

  He was fixated on finding the man he had fought in the heart of the battlefield that first day. Kago wanted to face the warrior with the red sword once more. The man was hard and merciless and worthy of killing. Ignoring the protests of his junior officers, he had ridden back out each day to confront the warrior, but their paths had not crossed again.

  It had not taken long to discover that the man he had crossed swords with was K’xarr Strom, a Camiran from the Harsh Coast and the leader of a group of mercenary cutthroats and killers. He, like many others, had heard the stories about the Bandaran civil war and the Abberdonian invasion. He had seen no demon swordsman with the mercenary captain, but he didn’t think this K’xarr needed one.

  This Camiran and his band of butchers had been relentless, leading the Masarian cavalry in charge after charge against his well-trained and better armored knights. The man was a barbarian and fought like a vicious savage, and so did his men. Kago found he liked the bastard and coveted the freedom of his independent command. He knew they were men cut from the same bloodstained cloth. He admired the mercenary’s courage and natural brutality. It was a shame he would have to kill him.

  ***

  Smoke rose from the assortment of small cooking fires around the camp of the Sons of the Reaper, their crude black flag flying above them bearing the symbol of the Sons: a skeletal warrior with sword held high astride a rampant skeletal warhorse. K’xarr had bid Rhys to stitch the design into the black cloth since the healer was the only one with enough skill to do the fine needlework. It was clear no seamstress had done the job, but K’xarr had been happy with the finished results.

  Eight hundred of his mercenaries remained after the three days of ferocious battles. Rhys was still working on those who had been gravely wounded. There were few, most the Sons' casualties were lying on the battlefield among the dead.

  K’xarr had ordered his men to build a small camp separate from the Masarian’s. He wanted to keep them separate and distinct; he wanted his men to feel superior to the common Masarian soldiers. The Sons had fought well and he was proud of each and every man under his command. They might be an unsavory lot, but when it came to killing, his men were flawless.

  K’xarr knelt before a small fire, and Cromwell squatted beside him. Rufio, Ivan, and a few others stood around discussing the exploits of some of the men during the battle.

  “The commander of the papal army has sent no word about a truce so the dead can be gathered and removed from the field,” Rufio said.

  “It will come soon. The Church won’t let their dead rot in the field, and the bodies need to be sanctified before they can be burnt or buried. It’s the Church’s way,” Ivan added.

  K’xarr put his hand on Cromwell’s shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. “I don’t think this commander is interested in the bodies of his fallen men or the Church’s rituals. From what Achillus got from the prisoners he took, their general is not just some papal lackey. His name is Kago Kattan and he isn’t some pampered noble or weak-willed priest. Achillus told me Kattan is an experienced warrior and we shouldn’t expect traditional tactics from him.”

  “The knights won’t leave their men on the field,” Ivan said with conviction.

  “They will if he ordered it. There’s no request for a truce because he plans to come at us again as soon as his men and horses are rested. We need to be prepared. I’m going to talk to Achillus and see what he thinks, and hopefully he will agree. Rufio, you and Ivan see that the men and the horses are ready to move at moment’s notice. This war might not last as long as we thought. This Kattan wants a bloodbath, not a drawn out war. A man like that is dangerous and unpredictable. He will bring the fight to us, we best be ready.”

  A commotion at the edge of their camp distracted K’xarr and his officers from tending to the tasks they had just been discussing. The quiet banter of his men had risen in volume. It didn’t sound like a fight or any type of quarrel, but whatever it was, it had caught the attention of his mercenaries and broken the somber mood of the Sons.

  Quickly making their way toward the ring of bodies the men had formed, K’xarr saw that something had his men stirred up. Adisa, Pierre, Beck, Tench, and many of the others were whistling, shouting, and clapping their hands. The Camiran frowned, annoyed by his men’s sudden jocularity.

  Pushing his way through the cluster of men, K’xarr strained to get a look at what had caused the disturbance. The company parted when they saw their captain shoving his way through, and when the circle opened up, he saw the reason for the entire ruckus. There, standing in center of his men and holding her horse by the reins, was Endra Korlest.

  Cromwell slapped K’xarr on the back so hard it almost knocked the air out of him. Rufio, Ivan, and Cromwell all went to greet the wayward woman. Cromwell picked her up in a big bear hug and spun her around like a child.

  “Put her down oaf before you shake her brains loose,” K’xarr said, trying to hide the relief spreading through him.

  The Toran sat Endra down on the ground and kissed her on the top of her head. “I have missed you, shield maiden.”

  “And I you,” she said, patting his big face. Rufio and Ivan both embraced Endra with enthusiastic relief.

  “Where the hell have you been? And where are Kian and the children?” K’xarr said, putting his arm around her and leading her toward the center of the camp.

  She look up at him with tortured eyes, and he could see her tale would be a dark one. “Come on, let’s find somewhere to talk.”

  ***

  They had borrowed Achillus’s command tent. Cromwell, Rufio, Ivan, Rhys, and K’xarr all stood in stoic silence as Endra told her tale. She could see the pain in each of their eyes as she told how little Vadin had died, and the fate of Nick Nock and the other children. She left out what had been done to her. She couldn’t bear to tell them how she had been tricked into prostituting herself for the little boy’s life or the rapes that followed after. It would be a shame she would have to bear alone. Though she loved each of them, she just could not share her disgrace.

  Rhys’s tender sensibilities were unable to handle the little ones' deaths. She could hear sobs of anguish wrench from his chest as he bolted from the tent.

  Continuing the tale, she told them of her escape and what she had done to Caleb on the road. She saw no judgment in their eyes for taking revenge on the boy. She thought K’xarr and Cromwell would have done the same, or maybe worse.

  “I give you my word, Endra, that we will avenge the children. I vow it before the gods themselves,” Rufio said, his voice cracking. Ivan clapped him on the shoulder and nodded his agreement with the Dragitan’s vow.

  Cromwell ripped his Voltakar from his side and quickly slashed it across his forearm seven times. “I will destroy Milara and his vile Church, Endra. I swear it by my blood and the blood of my ancestors. Those unholy bastards will pay for what they have done, and when I finish with them, I will rip their god from Heaven and take his head too.” She could see the Toran’s eyes were wet with emotion and she knew he would fulfill his promise, even if it meant his life. His look turned cold beneath his heavy brows. “And you say the Circle has Kian?” Cromwell asked, his rage easy to see.

  “He is gone. The sorcerers took him right before my eyes. They have him now and I know not where.”

  “It is said that there is no escape from the Circle,” Ivan murmured.

  “We’ll fucking see about that,” Cromwell said, slamming his fist down on Achillus’s war table.

  “Don’t start, Bull, we can’t just walk away from this war and you know that,” K’xarr said harshly. The captain turned to her, his voice softening. “I will see if Malric can send some riders to see if they can find out what became of Nick Nock and the children. Maybe this Bennington was lying to you. It’s the best I can do for now. As soon as this is finished, I will personally help you kill every one of those bastards. We’ll burn down a few churches for good measure. Hell, I will even take on the Circle, but it will ha
ve to wait, there is no way I can leave now. I hope you can understand that.”

  She nodded. It wouldn’t manner if they left now or later, Kian and the children’s fate remained the same.

  “This is horse shit,” Cromwell said, shoving K’xarr as he stalked from the tent. Rufio and Ivan followed him out, leaving K’xarr alone with her.

  “I am sorry for everything that happened to you, and I will do what I said. I just can’t abandon this war. Too much blood has already been shed.”

  “I understand, K’xarr. It's just good to be among friends again. Would it be alright if I rode with you and your men…for now?”

  “You know you don’t need to ask, but you don’t have to get yourself mixed up in the war, that’s our problem.”

  “You and the men of your company is all I have left.”

  “We could always use your sword arm. I just don’t know if you can find the comfort you need here.” K’xarr looked at her and sighed. “You should try and rest for a while. Achillus said you were welcome to use his tent as long as you need it.”

  “Thank the General for me. I would like to be alone now, if you don’t mind.”

  The Camiran gave a forced smile and touched her shoulder as he walked out. She was glad to be back among her friends, but the emptiness inside her had not left. She was hollow without her family, but that was not all that caused her insides to ache.

  She had killed Caleb, but it had not eased her suffering. She had orphaned two children, slaughtering their parents and older brother right before their very eyes, and leaving them crying in the rain at the mercy of fate’s cruel design. The deed had blackened her heart and she would have to learn to live with it, for it could not be undone. There were more dark deeds ahead. Death rode in her shadow now, she had made an oath and there could be no turning back. She lay down on the general’s cot and waited for the nightmares she knew would come.

  ***

  “Majesty, there is a bishop from the Church to see you.”

  The king’s brow furrowed as he stared dumbfound at his chamberlain. “A bishop… How the hell did he get here?”

  The chamberlain shrugged. “I don’t know, but he is at our gate, Majesty. He says his name is Bishop Hanson Carter and he has urgent business with you.”

  “How many men escort him?”

  “Two monks in white robes are his only escort, Majesty. The bishop claimed they were called the order of the Blessed, some new holy order of monks or some such drivel. Should I have the guard detain them?”

  Malric leaned forward on his throne. “No, send him in, under guard of course.”

  “Very good, Majesty.” The chamberlain quickly left to fetch the bishop.

  He was just about to leave to join Achillus at the front, now a visit from a bishop? He was at a complete loss as to why the pope would send an emissary to see him, and a bishop at that. What was that old snake playing at? Malric decided he would find out what the bishop wanted, and then he would send the holy man’s head back to his pope in a basket.

  Bishop Carter sauntered into the throne room with his hooded companions. Slightly bald and with a slim build, this priest would be easy to forget except for his piercing blue eyes and a slyly disarming smile. Malric thought him very young to be a bishop.

  The two monks’ demeanor was completely different from the man they accompanied. Their manner was sinister at best, but the bishop’s friendly disposition pulled Malric’s attention away from the two mysterious priests. “King Malric, I am pleased to make your acquaintance at last,” the Bishop said, bowing slightly.

  “I’m sure the pleasure will be all mine, Bishop Carter, but I don’t understand why you’re here. We are at war, are we not? I don’t see what we could possibly have to say to one another, the pope has excommunicated me and branded my reign unholy.”

  “That is exactly why I am here, Highness. God and Pope Ammiel both deplore violence. If there is a way to resolve a dispute peacefully, it’s the Church’s duty to pursue that avenue of resolution. From what I have heard, it has been costly for both of us already. Why don’t we try and settle our differences without any more bloodshed?”

  “What does His Holiness have in mind?”

  Bishop Carter smiled shrewdly. “Clear the room and I will tell you what the pope proposes.”

  Malric nodded to his guards to leave the throne room, and the bishop waved the two monks away. “I can’t wait to hear this,” Malric said sarcastically.

  The Bishop put his hands behind his back and smiled. “I think you will be very pleased with what I have to say.”

  Malric couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Everything he ever wanted was being thrown in his lap. “Let me understand you, Bishop Carter. The pope wants to formally bring Masaria back under the protection of the Church, legitimize my reign, and make my crown and title hereditary?”

  The bishop smiled, inclining his head. “Yes, King Malric, your reign would be blessed by the Holy Father, and I will coronate you myself, granting you all the powers of a true and rightful king. Your word would not only be law in Masaria, but supported thoughout the civilized world by the Church. Your throne would become a true monarchy.”

  “You still haven’t told me what the Holy Father wants in return for his generous endorsement.”

  “Just the two renegades, Strom and Blood, and any other black-blooded devils you might know the whereabouts of. Bring them to the palace and help me take the Beast's minions into custody or kill them.”

  “I have put a great deal of time and effort into Captain Strom,” the king said, leaning back in his throne. He thought a little bit of lying would not hurt his cause. “Strom has become a trusted friend of mine and I have placed him in command of a large portion of my army. It would be very hard to betray the man.”

  The bishop raised his hands, palms up. “It is very unlikely you will win this war, Majesty. If you do happen to defeat this army, the pope will send another and another till he has gotten what he wants for God and the Church.”

  Malric was hard pressed to argue with the bishop's assertion. After getting reports from the field, he realized he had been naive to think he could win against the pope and his array of papal armies. They could simply outlast him. He just wondered how badly the pope wanted K’xarr and his men. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful for your offer, but even if you legitimize my throne, I have suffered great losses and my people have been sorely aggrieved by the papacy’s disregard. Perhaps if my people and my royal treasury were compensated, I could see my way clear to handing over my friends to the pope.”

  The bishop rubbed his hands together as a crafty grin spread across his face. “Well, Majesty, please enlighten me on just how much suffering you have endured?”

  “A million in gold would ease my pain, plus all the rest that you have promised.”

  “Done, Highness. We will take Strom and his minions together, and you will have what you always have wanted. It’s as simple as that.”

  Malric took a deep breath. “I don’t know how simple it will be, but we have a deal.”

  The bishop gave him a nod of appreciation. “Leave everything to me, Highness.”

  Eight goblin bodies lay scattered across the rocky ground. The Slayer bared his fangs, roaring at the four still on their feet. In each of his bloody hands, he held one of their crude swords. The loathsome creatures backed away from the dark-haired warrior, fearing another of his deadly attacks. He had cut their companions down with ease, and now the terrified raiders looked for a way to escape his wrath.

  “What be you?” one of them asked, its voice quaking.

  Springing forward without answer, the swordsman kicked one of the stocky creatures off its feet as he removed the head from another. He was far too quick for the goblin warriors to retaliate. The two who remained standing knew they were outmatched and fled from his lethal assault. Both were cut down from behind by the inhuman swordsman before they took three steps.

  Getting to its knees, the last o
f the raiding party tossed its sword on the ground. “Please, monster, you no kill Tak. What you say we have truce?”

  The Slayer took stock of his frightened adversary. Tak’s head bounced away like a child’s ball. The body crumpled forward, greenish blood spurting out on the sandy ground from the stump of the goblin's neck. “The monster says no,” Kian said coldly.

  He shook the blood from the goblin blades. Appraising the two swords, Kian tossed the one in his left hand away. The other was unbalanced and nearly dull, but it would do for now. He would need a weapon if he hoped to cross the waste.

  That had been the third band of goblins he had slain in the last few days. All had borne the symbol of the Circle somewhere on their person. He hoped it would be the last of the green-skinned creatures he would come across. Killing them was slowing him down.

  Tragedy had been right; the Synsarian Waste was no place for anyone traveling on foot. The region was inhospitable to say the least and filled with a multitude of creatures from mankind’s nightmares, but it was not only the Waste’s residents that needed to be overcome.

  Water was scarce and the only foliage on the rocky plain was sparse patches of scrub and small areas of reeking grass. Buttes, canyons, and tableland were plentiful throughout the severe landscape. There were gashes sliced into the land so large that it looked like titans had hewn them into the unforgiving ground. Hills and mounds were numerous throughout the barren terrain, any of them capable of hiding an ambush by a raiding party of scavs or goblins or any other of the unsavory creatures that called this land their home. The dangers of the Synsarian Waste mattered little to him, though. Nothing was going to stand between him and those he loved.

  Leaving the goblin bodies behind him, he moved on at an inhuman pace. The day was warm and he was glad of it. He had nothing on but tattered pants and a worn pair of boots. Strangely he felt at peace moving freely. Unfettered by the need for human accouterments, the animal inside him was pleased. Alone on the barren plain, instinct took over his fragile intellect, making his thoughts simple and primitive. He wanted his mate and he was going to find her.