The Star Of Saree (GODS OF THE FOREVER SEA Book 3)

by A. J. STRICKLER

  The archbishop mumbled on as one of the young priests brought him a brass-handled torch. Archbishop Lech reverently took the torch and held it high in the air as his prayers grew louder.

  Katrina was about to call the whole thing off when she saw him. Kian appeared on a balcony jutting from one of the short towers of the cathedral. The crowd gasp as swordsman dropped from the tower into the circle of holy men. Katrina blinked, unable to believe what she had witnessed. Kian should be laying broken on the cobbles, yet he slowly rose and faced the archbishop and the warrior priests. The awestruck crowd shrunk back, all chattering at the feat they had just beheld.

  It was clear the archbishop was angry. His face had turned red and he visibly trembled at the startling interruption. The stillness of the grim ceremony broken, he raised his pastoral staff to silence the crowd.

  “Who are you to dare disturb this sacred service?”

  Kian pulled back his hood and dropped his cloak casually on the street. The large black longsword he carried was naked in his hand. Silver chainmail the finest she had ever seen protected the swordsman’s torso, and smoky black vambraces shielded his forearms. Katrina realized she was holding her breath as she gazed at the golden-eyed warrior. “I am Kian Cardan, priest; I think both your god and your pope both seek my death.”

  Before the priest could respond, the female captive screamed out Kian’s name. The two girl beside her cried out as well. “Father, father,” the two girls chanted. The swordsman’s eyes narrowed as he regarded the prisoners. She could have sworn she saw him sniff the air, but things moved to quickly to be sure.

  The Hands moved to surround the archbishop and the monk; the soldiers scrambled to move against the half-breed, their halberds at the ready. Kian was among them before they could form any kind of ranks. The long polearms they carried made it difficult for the soldiers to engage the warrior with any effect, and it was their undoing.

  Never had she seen anyone move so quickly and bring such terrible devastation. The black sword rose and fell without a sound. Soldiers died one atop the other, cut down as they rushed at the warrior. Julian had been right that day on the road. Kian could have killed them all.

  Nearly half the soldiers were down before she got her wits back. Signaling her archers to fire, Katrina and the other rebels broke from the crowd and attacked the reeling soldiers from the rear. Seeing her assault, Kian moved towards the prisoners. She could see the plan of a quick hit and run was slipping away, even if Kian ever intended to follow it in the first place. There was nothing to do now but fight.

  “Kill them now,” she heard the monk scream.

  Two of the warrior priests move to kill the prisoners. The large woman turned on the warrior priests like a wild animal. Struggling with one of the Hands, she tore at him with her teeth and nails like a mother bear. “Kian, the children!” she cried out.

  An inhuman roar broke from the swordsman’s throat as he cut his way to the captives. The archers had seen what was happening and directed their fire to the men holding the smaller children. Two fell to their deadly volley and Kian accounted for the third. The babes rolled out of the dead men’s arms and into the street when their captors fell. She hoped they weren’t hurt, but there was no time to be sure.

  The big woman’s chemise turned black as one of the Hands plunged a dagger over and over again into her side. Kian’s dark sword cleaved the man’s skull, but it came too late. The woman fell to the ground in a bloody heap.

  Katrina had fought her way to Kian’s side. Snatching up the two little girls, she called out. “We must take what we can get and go! We’re out of time.”

  The bloodstained warrior didn’t answer. He gracefully spun low, severing both the legs from one of the warrior priests.

  A sharp pain lanced through her forearm. Glancing down, she saw one of the children she had picked up had bitten her. The little girl looked up at her with Kian’s golden eyes and a set of small bloody fangs. The girl hissed and struggled to break free. Ignoring the pain, she pulled the wild brat tighter into her arms and turned to run.

  One of the holy warriors stepped in front of her, barring her way. Her arms full, Katrina turned to shield the two girls from the blow. As the soldier raised his weapon, one of her archers buried an arrow in the back of the man’s neck.

  The awestruck crowd was finally beginning to scatter. The ferocity of the battle was too much for them. Three of her men joined her, each carrying a babe in their arms. The others she had recruited had died in the street.

  “Go, get out of here now and take these two,” she said, handing the men the two young girls. The men didn’t hesitate and ran as quickly as they could for the alley behind the Broken Hammer where they had planned to meet before the melee started.

  “Kian, we have them! Come on!” she cried.

  The swordsmen ignored her. He had the remaining priests backed up to the church stairs. Archbishop Lech was nowhere in sight, only the monk and five of the Hands were still on their feet. Running up beside him, she shook his shoulder. “Let us go now, the children are away.”

  “I will not leave her to these vultures,” he said, his voice deep and full of fury.

  Katrina looked to the fallen woman. Too much black blood had pooled around her. She would not live. There was no reason to fight on.

  “You will feel God’s might, Slayer,” the monk called out as he pulled a strange metal-tipped rod from the red sash at his waist.

  Kian pulled her behind him. Four bright bolts of greenish light shot from the rod’s silver tip. The swordsman braced himself as the magic slammed into his chest. His feet slid across the bloody cobbles as each shaft of power hit its mark. Fear and disbelief spread across the faces of the holy men as the warrior stood unharmed before them. The priest’s arrogant expression turned to one of panic. The frightened monk gestured with his fingers and vanished before their eyes.

  “Run back to your master like a good hound, you gutless cur,” the swordsman growled.

  The five warriors that remained crouched low, their trembling blades held out before them.

  Screams filled the air as the deadly warrior advanced. The black sword disemboweled the first man, his entrails spilling over his quivering hands as he tried to hold the foul viscera in. The second aimed a terrible blow at Kian’s head. Katrina heard a sickening snap as the swordsman caught the attack with his left hand and broke the man’s arm. Gazing down at the exposed bone jutting from his forearm, the warrior priest howled in agony. The dark warrior pulled his enemy close, sinking his fangs into the man’s neck and ripping his throat out.

  Dumbfounded by the sheer savagery of the swordsman’s attacks, she didn’t notice the men behind her until she felt herself grabbed from behind. Several citizens, most likely devoted members of the church, had grown brave and attempted to aid the Hands. They were not going to stand by and watch their god’s priests being slaughtered without lifting a finger to stop the bloodshed.

  She struggled with her attackers. Flinging one off, Katrina landed a solid kick to the fallen man’s face. Still, she couldn’t pull her sword arm free from the other. Without warning, blood sprayed her face. The man holding her sword arm fell away his severed hand still clutched her arm.

  With the priests dead, Kian began to cut down the unarmed civilians until those that remained fled in panic, his dark sword rending their bodies with a brutal precision. The street’s cobbles were awash in blood and gore. Stumbling backwards, she tripped over one of the dead and landed hard on her buttocks.

  The killing went on as Katrina watched Kian strike without mercy, his sword soundlessly destroying what was left of those who had lingered too long. The archers had come down from the rooftops, but stayed a fair distance from the thing that slaughtered those who still dared to be in its presence.

  They looked to her for guidance, for they knew not what to do. One of the archers, a man named Boian, called out to her. “The watch is assembling two blocks down. They have seen what has happened, K
atrina. I think they are just waiting till more men can be gathered to fight that…thing.”

  Wiping her bloody face, Katrina surveyed the street. It was empty except for the dead; her breath caught as Kian stalked towards her. The swordsman was covered in the blood of his victims and a low growl issued from his throat.

  She felt herself instinctively begin to crawl backwards away from the predatory thing as it came to stand above her. She nearly cried out when he reached out a bloody hand to help her up. Katrina could not stop her hand from shaking as Kian pulled her to her feet.

  She had seen men die and she had killed, but never had the redheaded rebel witnessed anything like this. It was as if a wild beast had been set loose in the street.

  Katrina watched as Kian knelt down by the woman. She still lived, but it was clear it would not be for long.

  “Are the children safe?” she asked, dark blood bubbling from her lips.

  “Yes, Morgana, they are,” Kian said, taking her hand.

  It was obvious the swordsman knew the dying woman well.

  “How did you come to be here?” he asked her, his voice low.

  “K’xarr took work with the Baron… We were at his castle when the priests came.” She coughed hard and purplish black blood spilled from her mouth. “Tell Cromwell my last thoughts were of him,” the woman said as tears rolled from her eyes. “Keep the little ones safe, Kian, and tell Rhys…” She choked as more thick blood filled her mouth.

  Kian held her head up as the life left her pretty eyes. The swordsman hung his head and then gently closed her eyes.

  Horns sounded. The watch was coming; they were out of time. “Kian, we must go. They’ve gathered enough men to bolster their courage,” Katrina urged.

  He came to his feet, glaring at the watchmen as they came into view. For a moment, Katrina thought he was going to charge down the street. The archers rapidly scatted into the city, no longer waiting for her or Kian to flee. “Kian, please”

  The golden-eyed warrior lifted the dead woman onto his shoulder as easily as if she were a child, then he picked up the ceremonial torch Archbishop Lech carried. The priest must have dropped it when he fled. He set the pyres ablaze then threw the torch through one of the cathedral’s large arched windows, shattering the beautiful glass. “You will pay a heavy price for this, priest,” he bellowed at the church, his voice thundering with rage.

  She grabbed his arm and ran, leading him through the city along the escape route she had laid out. Some of the watch stopped near the church to deal with the carnage. The others chased after them, though Katrina didn’t believe any were in a hurry to confront Kian.

  They quickly out-distanced the watch thanks to her keen knowledge of Brova. Going house to house, the guardsmen slowly began to scour the city for them.

  The two of them hid until darkness covered the city. The moonless night would help conceal their flight from the city.

  Being cautious and moving with great stealth, it wasn’t long until they arrived in the alley behind the Broken Hammer. The watch was now searching the city by lantern light, though their progress had been slowed by the horrific scene near the entrance to the church. Karina thought if she was one of the watchmen, she would not be too keen on finding the thing that had killed so many people, especially not in the dark.

  Katrina pounded on the door until it opened a crack. She could see Eugen’s wife peeking through it.

  “Crina, let us in.”

  The older woman slowly opened the door, nervously brushed at the front of her dress. The woman’s eyes locked on Kian and his grim burden. “Eugen is not here, Katrina. He and those men you sent took the children from the city. He said to tell you that they were at some barn, he said you would know. Now you and that…man should go.”

  She quickly closed the door in their faces. Katrina looked at Kian, afraid of what his reaction would be to Crina’s inhospitable actions, but the warrior’s face was cold and expressionless. “The gate will be heavily guarded; the wall will be out best bet,” she said.

  Grunting his agreement, the swordsman followed her back into the dark alley. She knew a place where they could get over the wall with little chance of being seen.

  Within the hour, they were out of the city and headed south. The stories of the cursed blood were true. She had seen it herself. Katrina didn’t know if she should feel safe or afraid, traveling though the darkness with the man that marched along beside her, a dead woman draped over his shoulder. She did know one thing—Kian was not human or elven. He was a monster.

  It was late when they arrived at the old farm. The night was still, and the cold had crept into her bones since the sun had gone down. Blood and sweat from the fight had dried on her clothing and skin. Katrina felt awful and smelled worse. Kian was even worse than that. His hair was matted with gore, as was his chainmail. It would be some time before they could clean themselves, so she would just have to suffer her foul state until there was time to bathe.

  If not for Kian, she didn’t think she would have found the abandoned farmstead in the dark. He had informed her that he could see quite well in the night, which made her even more apprehensive toward the swordsman. The swift pace he set had never faltered, even with the dead woman slung across his back. The fight in Brova had been intense, and her legs were heavy with fatigue. She couldn’t imagine what drove Kian tirelessly on though the pitch black, burdened by the extra weight he carried. The more she thought on it the more leery she became of the man; he was far from being human, of that there was no doubt. He was not the man she remembered from that night in her village so long ago. Something had changed him.

  From what she remembered, the dilapidated barn had looked almost unsafe to enter. One side had given way to time’s cruel hand, and the other was bowed and seemed on the verge of collapsing. Now in the dark, she could barely make out the outline of the ruined structure. Quickly moving around its perimeter, they found an old wagon sitting in the rear with a large draft horse hitched to it, quietly grazing on cold grass.

  It was Eugen’s, she was sure of it; at least he had gotten this far. Her companion gently laid the woman’s body in the back of the wagon. Katrina handed Kian her cloak and the swordsman reverently covered the corpse.

  The barn door creaked terribly as Kian pulled it open. It was pitch black, but she heard children whimpering from the rear of the barn and a soft rustling.

  “Father?” she heard a tiny voice ask.

  Kian gave a grunt as something thumped into him out of the dark. She could see the outline of one of the children in the swordsman’s arms. “Get down now, Brigitte. I need to make a fire so the others can see,” Kian said softly.

  “Katrina? Is that you?” she heard Eugen ask from the back of the barn.

  “It is I.”

  “Thank God you are here. It feels like we have been sitting here in the dark forever. I didn’t want to chance making a fire, and we are all chilled to the bone.”

  “It is fine now. We are here, and Kian will have a fire going in a moment.”

  In a short time, the first embers of the swordsman’s fire began to blaze. He laid a few pieces of the old rotten wood from the barn over it and soon the fire was crackling, its heat warming the cold barn.

  When the light filled the small structure, she saw that it was nothing more than a hollowed out shell. Everything had either rotted away or been taken by other crofters scavenging materials for their own farms. Eugen sat with his back to the door of a broken stall, a babe in each arm, with Tempest by his side holding the third. Tiresias and the other two small girls surrounded Kian, taking turns embracing the warrior. The one that had bitten her hung from his neck like a cape. It was hard to believe the man squatting down by the small fire affectionately comforting the children was the thing that fought with such a cold-blooded viciousness earlier that day.

  Rising, Kian pushed the two dark-headed girls forward. “Katrina, these are my daughters Brigitte and Sabra.”

  Two of the childr
en were the swordsman’s daughters. It explained the savageness of the day’s battle, but not the reason for their presence in Brova. Katrina thought it better not to ask.

  “And me,” Tiresias clambered, hopping up and down by his leg.

  “I already know you, dear,” Katrina said, patting the blonde girl on the head.

  “I am sorry for biting you, lady,” the golden-eyed little girl said softly.

  Instinctively, Katrina touched her forearm where the strange little girl had sunk her teeth. “It’s all right…Brigitte? I understand why you did it.” The child was the spitting image of her father, right down to her fangs.

  “Whose children are those?” Kian asked the two girls.

  “Those big ones are Morgana’s—Warstar and Natasha, they are twins,” the girl called Sabra said softly.

  Katrina looked at the large children Eugen held, she guessed them not much more than a year old.

  “And the other?” Kian asked, raising his chin toward to the child Tempest held.

  The two girls looked at each other but said nothing.

  “Brigitte, whose child is that?” Kian asked again.

  “That is Bale. He is Mother’s, but she doesn’t like him too much. He came out of her after you left us.”

  Confusion and pain ripped across Kian’s face. Katrina didn’t know what Brigitte’s revelation meant, but it was clear that it stung the swordsman greatly.

  “Katrina, I have news,” Eugen said, struggling to his feet. It was easy to tell by the sound of his voice that it wasn’t good. “Vladimir, Grigore, and Julian have been captured along with Princess Pepca. Word came right after you left for the church.”

  “How can that be? They should have out distanced any patrols from Brova.”

  “I was told it was a band of Serban’s sellswords that tracked them down, but my source’s details were vague. The story passed through too many mouths to truly be sure of what really happened. The word is they are being led back here to Brova. You know what that will mean.”