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

by A. J. STRICKLER

  Tempest took the princess’s face in her hands and looked into her eyes. “I know.” Giving Pepca a quick hug, she and Miro followed the two young warriors into the dim corridor.

  Pepca felt shame welling up inside her. How could she stand there and let her friends go alone to face Serban’s evil? She sat down on one of the dining hall’s benches and thought. The baron was Trimenia’s problem, which made him her problem. She remembered her weak father, her courageous brother, and poor Julian. They were all victims of the wicked noble’s conspiracies. Pepca could feel the wolf’s fury welling up inside her like a living thing. She thought of trying to bring on the change. If Vladimir could kill Serban, couldn’t she? She was just too afraid. What if she lost control? Besides, her nerves were too on edge to concentrate, but she had to do something.

  “I must go,” she said almost to herself.

  Constantine looked down at her. The man opened his mouth to protest, and then he touched his lips with a finger. “Very well, Princess. I will accompany you.”

  She drew her sword and walked into the hallway. The sounds of battle echoed inside her former home. Shouts and the sound of running feet could be heard reverberating through the deserted halls.

  Pepca thought the palace’s remaining inhabitants were all near the front of the huge building. K’xarr and his men must have been just outside the doors of the royal residence. The baron would have all his remaining soldiers there to repel them.

  “Let us go this way, Princess,” Constantine said, gesturing to one of the large staircases that led to the upper rooms.

  “I don’t think the others went that way,” Pepca said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Then someone should, don’t you think?” the rebel general said, lifting a shoulder.

  Pepca nodded her agreement and slowly began to climb the stairs, her sword out in front of her. Her hearing was such now that she could detect movement from the second floor.

  “There are people up here,” she whispered. “Most likely servants trying to stay out of things, I bet.”

  Constantine let her move in front of him. “Take us to them, child. They may know where the baron is.”

  Pepca swallowed and gritted her teeth, summoning as much courage as she could. Once on the second floor landing, they moved as quietly as they could, passing many closed doors and small alcoves containing suits of armor or small statuary. Pepca began to feel she was home again. So many little things reminded her of days long past.

  The noise she heard was coming from a room on the southern end of the second story. Pepca knew the room’s balcony would overlook the battle.

  She could hear people moving inside as they closed in on the door. Someone was watching the battle. As they got closer to the door, she recognized Danika’s voice. She almost smiled. Her sister was alive. Even though neither cared much for the other, the thought of seeing a familiar face sparked a small flame of hope inside her heart.

  Pepca opened the door without a thought and stepped inside. Danika stood in the room with three members of the royal guard. The door slammed behind her and she could hear the sound of Constantine’s footfalls as he ran back down the empty hall. Pepca didn’t give a thought to the man’s strange behavior. She was entirely focused on her sister.

  Danika’s beautiful hair hung loose, and the dark gown she wore exposed a great deal of cleavage. Her lips were dark red and her eyes were framed with a thin line of black greasepaint. Pepca thought she looked like one of Brova’s courtesans.

  “Well, little sister, this is a surprise. I see you have come to fight. Take her,” Danika ordered.

  The three men rushed at her. Pepca was so stunned, she dropped the sword to the floor. One of the guardsmen picked it up and another pushed her down.

  “Danika?” she said, staring up at her leering sister.

  “You are a little fool, Pepca,” Danika said, reaching down and slapping her across the face. “Alexis will be quite pleased with me when I feed you to him.”

  “What are you saying?” Pepca said, rubbing her stinging cheek.

  “I serve Baron Serban, you ugly twit. I have always served him.”

  “He killed our family. How could you be in league with such a monster?” Pepca said, horrified by her sister’s confession.

  Danika laughed. “Eternal life, you little ignoramus. When he is finished with this little rebellion of yours, Alexis will make me an immortal like him and we shall reign together forever.”

  “What of Henry?” Pepca whimpered.

  Danika reached down and squeezed Pepca’s jaws so hard it brought tears to her eyes. “He and his wretched clan are dead, as is our father. You see, Alexis didn’t kill our entire family, sister. It was I who killed father. He died squealing like the weak pig he always was.” Danika shoved her backwards. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Pepca felt a red rage come over her. Heart pounding, the princess’s breath began to come in short gasps.

  “What’s wrong, little sister? Are you afraid?”

  Pepca’s vision blurred. The wolf was coming. It had gotten away from her. “No,” she growled, jumping to her feet. Her eyes turned a light shade of yellow and sharp claws extended from her fingertips.

  Danika’s smug expression turned to one of fear as she stumbled backward.

  The wolf grabbed one of the guardsmen and hurled him from the window as a large set of fangs filled her mouth. Another of the soldiers tried to swing his blade, but she caught his arm and ripped it from the socket. The remaining guardsman stood frozen with fear as the beast loomed before him. His sword slipped from his hand and clattered on the floor as her clawed hand swept through the air, tearing his throat out.

  Saliva dripped from her mouth and she could smell the scent of blood as the creature took full control of her mind. The last thing Pepca remembered was hearing Danika’s terrible screams.

  * * *

  Frantic cries for help rang from one of the upper floors before the screams abruptly stopped. All four of them stared at one another.

  “That sounded like a woman,” Tempest said.

  Payton gazed up as if he could see through the ceiling. “Perhaps someone should go see. Vinsant, why don’t you and Tempest go take a look?”

  “I don’t think we should split up,” Miro said, looking over his shoulder.

  “It will be fine, priest,” Payton said with a grin. “You and I can continue on while they go see to the woman. Or don’t you think Tempest and my brother can handle it?”

  “No, I just think we should go together. We are stronger that way.”

  “It will be okay, Miro,” Tempest said, touching his arm. “We will be right back.”

  The former priest reluctantly nodded.

  “Vinsant, tread carefully,” Payton advised.

  The two headed back to the staircase they had passed a short time ago and disappeared from sight.

  Payton and Miro carefully continued down the hall. The sound of the fighting was growing louder the farther they moved into the palace’s interior. Miro couldn’t believe he was in the king’s palace hunting for an undead nobleman, when only last year the most excitement he had was holding mass and performing marriage rites.

  “It sounds like K’xarr and the other are close to breaking inside. Maybe we should wait till the rebels break through,” Miro whispered.

  “I have no doubt you are right. Captain Strom is a determined man. He will breach the palace soon enough, but there is no reason to wait. The sooner Serban is destroyed the sooner this is over,” Payton answered pointedly.

  Talking with Payton was more like speaking with a military officer than a boy, Miro thought. He and his brother were both violent, but after his experience with their mother, he was not surprised.

  Rounding a corner, the pair came face to face with three members of the royal guard. Both groups attacked without hesitation. Miro parried a blow aimed at his head and quickly drove his sword into the man’s collarbone. The ex-priest kicked at a second attacker, cau
sing the man to jump back.

  Payton’s opponent cried out as the boy severed his leg at the knee. Miro saw the man he had kicked at move to attack Payton. He quickly thrust his blade into the man’s side, the point of the longsword parting the soldier’s mail as well as his ribs.

  The soldier on the floor screamed, looking at the stump of his leg as blood pooled around his backside. Payton silenced him with a blow that split his skull.

  “Others will come. We should get out of the corridor,” Payton said.

  They trotted back to the last door they had passed and stepped inside. The room looked like a small parlor, perhaps for the palace staff. The furnishings weren’t rich enough for it to be used by nobility. There was a small table surrounded by four wooden chairs with a vase of withered flowers in its center. Two divans and two overstuffed chairs were spaced perfectly apart on a large burgundy carpet. A small cold fireplace sat against the east wall that looked as if it hadn’t been used since winter. A place for the servants to gather, Miro surmised.

  Payton stood near the table, looking at the vase full of dead flowers. Miro regarded the boy. He thought it sad that one so young had been exposed to such violence in his short life. It was a crime the boy’s parents would have to answer to God for.

  Cracking the door, Miro peered into the hall. “I think we are okay. I don’t see or hear anyone in the hall.”

  A sharp pain lanced through his body and he felt something snap in his back. Unable to control his legs, they wobbled once then collapsed and the ex-priest slid down the wall.

  He felt little pain, but could not raise his arms or will his legs to stir. Slumped against the room’s cold stone wall, he blinked rapidly up at Payton. The boy’s expression was emotionless as he watched the blood dripping from his sword.

  “Why?” Miro struggled to get out, his lungs heavy.

  “K’xarr, Cromwell, and even my mother may have forgotten how you pigs raped her and burned my little brother alive… I have not.” The boy knelt beside him. “One day, I am going to kill your god, priest, and drown all his followers in a sea of blood.”

  Miro tried to speak, but he couldn’t catch his breath. The boy had severed his spine with his evil thrust.

  Payton came to his feet and grabbed him by the ankles. There was no compassion as boy threw open the door and dragged his limp body down the corridor to where the fight had taken place. His vision darkening, Miro tried to mutter a last prayer as Payton raised his sword. The boy’s eyes were cold and merciless as he spoke. “I remember that black smoke, priest. Rot in Hell.” The sword descended and there was nothing more.

  * * *

  Once they reached the second floor, Tempest and Vinsant moved towards the frightful noises they heard. It was clear the battle still raged outside. The pair followed the sound of the fight down the passage to the room at the end of the hall. Tempest softly put her ear against the door.

  Besides the shouts of the combatants in the palace’s courtyard, a low growling and a terrible crunching sound emanated from the chamber. Uncertainly, Tempest looked at Vinsant, then slowly pushed the door open just a crack. Squatting down so Vinsant could see inside as well, Tempest peeked into the room.

  A hellish scene met her gaze. Blood was splashed all over the walls, so fresh it still ran down in gruesome rivulets. Several people had been torn apart. Tempest couldn’t say how many because their heads and limbs were scattered throughout the room. Sheer white curtains blew in from the balcony’s open doors. Their bloody hems fluttered around the nightmarish beast that squatted in the center of the horrific massacre. The animal chewed at a delicate foot in its large, clawed hand, tearing the flesh and crunching the bone.

  Bile rose in Tempest’s throat and she softly closed the door before she got sick.

  “Is that Vladimir?” Vinsant asked softly.

  Tempest shook her head and pulled him down the hallway with her before she spoke.

  “May the gods have mercy, it is Pepca,” Tempest said, hurrying to the stairs.

  Vinsant glanced back to the door. “Aren’t we going to do anything?”

  “Yes, we are going to get as far away from her as we can. She has no control in that form, and will likely attack us just as easily as she would anyone else.”

  Vinsant gave her no further argument, quickly following her down to the first floor.

  They found Payton a good distance down the hall, standing over several bodies.

  Tempest’s breath caught in her chest and she turned her head. “Oh, Miro,” she whispered, clutching Payton’s arm.

  “There was nothing I could do,” Payton said coldly.

  “At least you’re safe,” Tempest said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  Tempest cleared her throat and steeled herself. There was no time to mourn. Miro had been a good man, and she would cry for him later.

  “Let’s go find Vladimir and Katrina, they might need our help,” she suggested.

  “What did you find upstairs?” Payton asked.

  “A monster,” Vinsant replied.

  * * *

  The stone stairs leading to the palace’s front doors and the courtyard were littered with the fallen. Slashed, twisted, and broken, the dead stared without a care into the afternoon sky. The living battled on, the entire area choked with men determined to kill one another.

  K’xarr knew Serban’s troops could not hold much longer. Their forces were dwindling every moment the fight went on. Even though they had been outnumbered, the rebels had fought with such intensity that the enemy’s advantage hadn’t mattered much. The Trimenians wanted revenge for Prince Dimitri, but it was the Sons that had tipped the scales.

  He searched the killing ground for Kian. He had spotted Cromwell and the Slayer earlier. The two had been in the thick of things, but he had lost sight of them.

  Breaking off and moving back, K’xarr scanned the battle to see if he could locate the pair. The Slayer’s sword could break the stalemate at the palace’s stairs. He saw Beck moving away from the fight with Hastings’s arm wrapped around his neck. The quiet warrior had taken a nasty cut to his thigh.

  The one-eared mercenary eased Hastings to the ground when he spotted his captain. Beck’s dirty face was splattered with blood and he grinned slightly. “This is a good one, Captain.”

  K’xarr nodded. “I’m glad you’re pleased. Have you seen Kian?”

  “Aye, just look for a big heap of dead Trimenians. The Slayer is in a bloody mood today.” Beck pointed to the right. “Last I saw him and the Bull, they were over that way.”

  “See to Hastings then get your ass back in the fight.”

  “Aye, Captain. I would still be there if it wasn’t for this lazy bastard,” Beck said, giving the wounded man a gentle kick.

  K’xarr jogged along the rear of the lines until he saw Kian and Cromwell. The two warriors stood side by side, bringing death to any brave enough to stand against them.

  “Kian,” K’xarr shouted. The swordsman didn’t respond. K’xarr lifted Crimson Wave and waded into the fray, cutting down two men before reaching the Slayer.

  He watched as Kian’s golden eyes searched out another foe. Silence sheared though the Slayer’s foe with ease, sending another soul to their damnation. Beside him, Cromwell swung his two-handed sword like the giant warriors of legend, his heavy blade chopping through steel and bone to destroy the enemy soldiers before him. What he could do with a company of men like those two.

  “Concentrate on getting to the doors. We need inside. I’m not letting Serban escape us,” he ordered.

  Cromwell took note of what he had said and tapped Kian on the shoulder, pointing to the stairs. The two men rushed ahead, crashing into the wall of royal guardsmen who still defended the palace. K’xarr followed, pressing forward until he was beside the pair. The three warriors spearheaded a fierce attack on the enemy’s right. The soldiers in the courtyard threw up a staunch defense. They knew there was nowhere to fall back to.

  Kago and a group of the
Sons hit them from the left. K’xarr, Cromwell, and Kian surged forward again from the right, followed by what was left of Dimitri’s deserters and the peasant forces.

  The royal guardsmen at the doors broke against the onslaught. Some tried to surrender while others died where they stood. K’xarr offered no quarter.

  Battering at the doors until they smashed into the palace where the last of the royal guard met them, determined to die in defense of their palace.

  “Kian, go find Serban and kill him. We’ll finish up here,” K’xarr commanded.

  The swordsman crashed through the enemy, heading deeper into the palace. K’xarr would have liked to go after the vampire himself, though it would be a mistake. He knew he couldn’t defeat the monstrous noble. He had no idea where Vladimir had gotten to, so Kian was his best option.

  Cromwell crushed the head of a guardsman and came up beside him. “You’re sending Kian alone?”

  “He can handle it.”

  “The baron is beyond mortal man, K’xarr.”

  “I know, that’s why I sent the Slayer.”

  * * *

  Kian sprinted down the corridor leading to the throne room. A dark rage pulsed through his mind. It reminded him he had no soul. The voices insisted that he was a creature of blood and death, nothing more, and his only solace would come when he was dead.

  Malevolent forces swirled in his consciousness. They had been but whispers until Endra had spurned him. Now they cried out for him to exact revenge on the world that created him, and uttered threats of damnation for all he held dear. It took all of his iron will to shut out the evil that plagued him. He was here to destroy Serban, and no one else.

  The doors to the throne room were open and Kian dashed in the opulent room, quickly taking in his surroundings. The shutters on the windows were closed, and only the flickering light from four braziers lit the horrible scene the swordsman gazed upon.

  A large dark-haired warrior and four grim-faced mercenaries stood over Vladimir’s naked body. The Trimenian rebel bore several terrible wounds and his throat had been torn out. Serban stood before the dais, his face buried in the crook of Katrina’s neck.