The Star Of Saree

by A. J. STRICKLER

  Tragedy flipped her black hair over her shoulder and licked her lips. “No, Missy. His woman.”

  Halina had shooed them into the hiding place under the floor when the soldiers came. Her sons Doru and Iosif, along with Eugen, had been making repairs to a small shed out back when the warriors rode in. Halina had coaxed Eugen into staying and helping her boys mend the structure’s roof in exchange for her taking in all the children.

  The six Trimenian horse soldiers had appeared from nowhere, cantering into the farmyard as if they owned it. Eugen had greeted them, giving Halina time to hide the children.

  “They probably just want to water their horses,” Halina said as Tempest squeezed down into the dugout space with the rest.

  The ground was cold on her backside, and she had to squirm around to get situated in the cramped space.

  “Now keep them still and don’t worry, dear,” the elderly woman said, trying to reassure her as she closed the hatch.

  She could hear Halina walk across the floor and the door to the house open and close. She had gone out to join Eugen and the others. It was uncomfortable and dark in the hole. Tempest hoped the soldiers would leave as quickly as they came.

  There was nothing to do but wait, and try to keep the little ones as quiet as she could. They smiled and made noises, trying to tell her they were content. There was no way to explain to them that their little giggles and grunts might mean death for them all.

  The three older girls knew very well what was at stake. They all stared and looked at her each time the little ones made a sound. Tiresias was wringing her hands and rocking back and forth. Brigitte nervously twisted her finger into Sabra’s thick black locks, and the dark-haired girl made no complaint about it. She simply squeezed Tempest’s hand and looked up at her, blinking her pretty dark eyes.

  They squatted there for what seemed like an eternity, listening to the muted conversations outside with the babies crawling all over them in the gloomy light that leaked through from the cracks in Halina’s floor. Tempest desperately wanted to know what was happening. It was taking too long to get rid of the soldiers; if the Trimenians got suspicious, they would search the house.

  The conversation outside grew louder, and the door of the house slammed open. Heavy footsteps creaked across the floor and the hatch snapped open. Eugen and a younger man she didn’t recognize stared down at her. “Get out of there, hurry now,” Eugen commanded uneasily.

  Handing up the three toddlers then boosting the girls out of the dirty hollow, Tempest climbed up into the farmhouse’s kitchen.

  “Tempest, you must take the children and run. Things are going to get nasty.” Eugen glanced nervously out the window.

  She caught sight of Halina and her sons pointing their fingers and cursing at the soldiers, some of which had dismounted. The two young farmers had armed themselves with a pitchfork and a hoe, and Halina had a carving knife clutched in her hand. Glancing down, she saw that Eugen had a large hammer stuck through his belt. “What’s happened, Eugen?”

  “They want to come in and eat. Halina told them no.”

  Tempest took stock of the younger man Eugen brought in for the first time. He was Trimenian, not yet thirty, and wore the white cassock of a priest.

  “Go with Father Sobena. With any luck, he will take you to safety,” Eugen said.

  “We can’t go with him,” Tempest said, backing away and shaking her head violently.

  Eugen handed her the child he held. “The father is a good man, Tempest. I trust him and you should too. He is your only chance.” Eugen patted her on the shoulder as he ran back outside.

  Tempest looked at the young priest. He had kind eyes, but he was a clergyman. The last time she had dealt with priests, they had tried to burn her alive.

  “I assure you that I mean you no harm,” the priest told her softly.

  His tone was reassuring, but she shook her head wide-eyed.

  He glanced down at the three girls. “I’m here to help, but we must go now. Tell your big sister it will be alright.”

  Brigitte kicked him in the shin, Sabra folded her arms and turned her face, and Tiresias stuck out her tongue.

  He rocked the two smaller children he held in his arms as they started to fuss.

  “Eugen is right…” The priest’s thoughts were interrupted as Halina let out a bloodcurdling scream. One of her sons had fallen to the soldiers’ swords.

  The priest became frantic. “I know what you are, young lady, and I promise I have no intention of allowing you or any of these children to be harmed, but we must leave now.”

  Tempest looked at the three small girls. They had no intention of going anywhere with the priest, and neither did she. Setting the baby down in one of the baskets Halina had fixed for them to sleep in, Tempest herded the three girls into a corner. “Stay here and don’t move.”

  The young priest looked at her as if she was mad. “What are you doing?”

  Tempest grabbed her bow and sword from the corner. Belting the sword around her waist and slinging a quiver over her shoulder, Tempest drew an arrow and nocked it to her bow.

  “You must come…” the priest started.

  She pointed in his face. “I told you I’m not going anywhere with you. Besides, I’m tired of running.”

  The priest gave her a look of resignation. He sat the two babes he held down in their baskets and grabbed the hilt of Tempest’s sword, pulling it from its scabbard. It was clear it wasn’t the first time the priest had held a weapon. “Then let us go out together.”

  It was her turn to look at him as if he had lost his mind. There was no time for questions. The two headed out the farmhouse door to confront the enemy.

  * * *

  It had not taken Kian and the others long to travel back to Halina’s farm, and the swordsman was glad of it. He wasn’t fond of riding; few horses cared for his scent. Some even baulked when he approached. However, Endra was impatient to see her children so Kian agreed to ride. The trip had been quick; they had ridden hard the entire way, only stopping to rest their horses.

  They saw the bodies as the group approached the farm house. The dead lying scattered on the cold ground created a terrible feeling of dread in all of them.

  Kian and the others pulled their horses to an abrupt halt and leapt from their saddles. Weapons in hand, they surveyed the bloody scene. Halina laid between her dead sons with a bolt from a crossbow in her chest. Several Trimenian soldiers were scattered throughout the front of the house, with one even wedged inside the front door. The swordsman squatted down near one of the dead soldiers and examined the arrow protruding from his neck.

  “What is it?” Katrina asked, stepping up behind him.

  “This is Tempest’s arrow. I recognize the fletching.” Quickly coming to his feet, Kian pointed. “Katrina, look there by the side of the house.”

  “Eugen,” she whispered. Vladimir and Grigore followed her as she ran to where the blacksmith sat propped against the house’s southern wall.

  Kian started towards the downed tavern owner when he saw the priest. A roar broke from the swordsman’s throat as he sprung on the unsuspecting holy man, slamming him to the ground and pinning his arms. Kian lowered his face over the priest’s, growling. Drool dripped from his exposed fangs onto the priest neck. He could taste the priest’s fear. “You will suffer for this,” Kian said, his voice inhuman and cruel.

  “Kian, no.” Tempest stepped over the dead soldier lying in the doorway of the farm house as she came towards him. Black blood from a small gash above her brow mingled with her white hair, and a dagger slick with Trimenian gore was in her hand. “Kian, please, he fought with us. Kian, do you hear me?”

  Endra and Ashlyn ignored her and went into the house, clearly unconcerned about the priest’s fate.

  Cromwell rested his hand on Tempest’s shoulder. “He heard you, girl, or the priest would be dead.”

  Tempest dropped the dagger and tried to pull him off the terrified man. “Don’t just stand
there, help me,” she yelled at Cromwell.

  “Come on, Arradar. The girl said he helped. At least we can hear his tale before we kill him.”

  Hate emanated from a place deep inside, but it wasn’t the animal or the darkness. He had grown used to battling those forces for his humanity. This was something primal and ancient. He wanted to tear into the priest with his fangs, rend him and eat his flesh. He wanted not just to kill the human, he wanted to devour him. Massing his iron will, Kian pushed the urge from his mind and allowed Tempest and Cromwell to pull him away. Shaking his head, the unfamiliar desire fled his brain as quickly as it had descended on him.

  The priest tried to rise, but Cromwell pushed him back down on the ground. “Stay down there, church rat, unless you want to bleed.”

  “It will be alright,” Tempest said to the man.

  “Tempest, you’re hurt,” Pepca said with concern.

  The white-haired girl noticed the princess and Julian standing by the horses. Quickly crossing the distance, Tempest threw her arms around the small young woman. The two exchanged a brief greeting then Tempest lead Pepca back to where Kian and Cromwell stood. Tempest helped the priest to his feet despite Cromwell’s objection, giving the two warriors a sour look.

  Kian stared at the man, his golden eyes unblinking. The priest looked frightened, and his hands were shaking as he tried to meet the Slayer’s dark gaze.

  “He helped us, Kian. He killed two of the soldiers himself,” Tempest pleaded.

  The priest started to move. “Stay where I can see you, priest, or I will tear your arm off and make you eat it,” Cromwell warned.

  “Tempest,” Kian said, taking her in his arms as if noticing her for the first time. He could see she fought the tears that tried to bust free. She had never killed like this before, and the swordsman knew it was hard for her.

  “All the children are safe, I didn’t…I didn’t want to run anymore,” Tempest stammered.

  “You were brave and fearless, and did what had to be done. I am sorry for Halina and her sons. They deserved better.”

  “They wouldn’t let the soldiers have us, Kian,” she said, pressing her lips together. “The soldiers meant to come inside, but Halina and Eugen wouldn’t let them.”

  “I am here now, and you are safe.”

  Kian cast a glance at the priest. His cassock was bloody and he looked winded. The man was fine-featured, though his dark hair was dirty and his face unshaven. Maybe the man had helped, but it didn’t manner. “The priest may have helped you, Tempest, but I have told you that you can’t trust the clergy. They are liars and deceivers. They will do whatever they must to destroy us. If he gave you aid, it was for his own purposes,” Kian scolded.

  She didn’t answer, giving the holy man a quick look.

  Kian kissed her on the forehead. “We will speak of this later. Go see the princess; she has talked of little else but you all the way here. I won’t kill the priest just yet.”

  Tempest hugged him quickly, then went to her friend.

  “Cromwell, keep an eye on the priest while I see to Eugen,” Kian commanded.

  “Don’t worry, brother. If this knee-bender so much as smiles at me, I will cut his throat.”

  Kian joined Vladimir and Grigore as they watched over Katrina. She had knelt down beside the former blacksmith and was holding his hand. Kian appraised the man’s wounds; there was a long horizontal slash across his abdomen, and half his intestines lay in his lap. Even Rhys couldn’t have saved him. It would take hours, but Eugen would die.

  “Kian, we have to get him to a healer,” Katrina said, looking up at him with the shadow of grim concern on her face.

  “I told her I not going anywhere.” Eugen coughed slightly. “Your children are safe, swordsman, every last one of them.”

  Kian was still struggling with what had happened with the priest. It wasn’t the time to worry about things he didn’t understand. Rolling his shoulders back, he took a deep breath. “You have my thanks, Eugen. You did well.”

  “Not well enough. I’m afraid I won’t get back to Brova to see my wife, that’s for sure.”

  “Yes, you will,” Katrina said. “You just have to hold on a little longer.”

  “No, I will die here.”

  “I will tell your wife what you did here, Eugen. You are a man of valor,” Kian said sincerely.

  “It will bring her little comfort, and she will name me a fool for getting involved with you, swordsman.”

  The swordsman nodded. “Your wife is a wise woman.”

  Eugen chuckled, then cried out in agony. He shuddered for a moment before regaining control. Kian thought the cold may be the only thing that had kept the man alive this long.

  “Katrina, could you get me some water?” Eugen asked softly.

  “Of course. I will be right back.” The female rebel hurried around the corner of the house.

  “We don’t have much time. I am likely to lay here till nightfall, and that is something I don’t fancy doing. I would have you see to it for me, Kian.”

  Vladimir and Grigore looked away, knowing what Eugen was requesting.

  Kian knelt beside the bar owner and put his hand on his shoulder. “It is the least I can do for you.”

  “Katrina will be furious,” Vladimir warned.

  “She is not the one dying,” Kian said quietly. Like a striking serpent, the swordsman grabbed Eugen’s head with both hands and with one quick jerk, it was over. Sighing heavily, Kian rose and looked down at the dead man.

  “He died well,” Vladimir said just as Katrina rounded the side of the house.

  She looked at Eugen’s body then at Kian. Her eyes filled and she hurled the waterskin she carried to the ground. She knew what had been done. “Damn you to hell, Kian Cardan.” She stomped away without another word.

  “I would steer clear of her for a while. She will cool off eventually. I will explain it was Eugen’s wish,” Vladimir offered.

  “Explain whatever you like,” Kian said coldly.

  The two rebels slowly walked away, leaving him alone. Kian glanced once more at the crooked-handed tavern owner. “Farewell, my friend.”

  When he returned to the front of the house, everyone had moved inside except Cromwell and Ashlyn. The Toran had bound the priest’s hands behind his back and held the man by the front of his cassock with one hand and was giving him a few clouts with his other.

  “Cromwell, stop slapping that priest. See if you can find some shovels; we have graves to dig.

  The wind was picking up when they finished. They buried Halina, her sons, and Eugen behind the farmhouse. Kian thought the old woman would like it there. The ground was hard as stone, and the task had taken some time, but it was close to her home. Everyone had come outside, braving the cold to pay their respects to the dead.

  “Damn, but that was a lot of work. We could have just made a pile and put a torch to—”

  “By the gods’ own mercy, Cromwell,” Endra said, hushing him.

  “I could say a few words,” the priest offered.

  “Speak and you die where you stand,” Endra said without looking at him.

  Kian knew she made no idle threat; in fact, he was surprised the priest still lived. He assumed it was out of respect for Tempest that Endra hadn’t killed the man out of hand. The girl had saved Endra’s children, which was most likely why the priest still drew breath.

  “I think we should stay here tonight and leave at first light,” he said, looking at Endra.

  The others murmured their agreement and began to wander back to the house.

  “Let us leave the dead to their first night in Hell,” Cromwell suggested. “And, Kian, I think it’s time we got this priest’s story.”

  Kian nodded. He had to admit he was curious about the priest.

  “What about the soldiers’ bodies, Kian?” Vladimir called out.

  “Let them rot.”

  A fire crackled in the stone fireplace and the aroma of Katrina’s stew still lingered
in the air like a putrid cloud. She had gathered ingredients from Halina’s pantry and created a grizzly concoction that tasted like sour dirt. It was nothing like the fine meals Nick Nock prepared, but they had eaten it with little complaint.

  Endra and Tempest had bedded down the small children in one of the back rooms for the night, while Pepca re-bandaged Julian’s wound. After a great deal of questioning, the children had finally drifted off to sleep along with the injured shapechanger.

  They had fed the priest at Tempest’s request, and now they all stood in the kitchen listening to his story while the fire’s shadows danced on his face.

  “My name is father Miro Sobena, and I was the priest assigned to this region of Trimenia.”

  “I have heard the name,” Vladimir said. “But as I remember it, you were excommunicated?”

  The priest lowered his head. “Yes, it is true; I am not counted a priest anymore by the hierarchy of the Church. Archbishop Lech sent word to Tyro, and his Holiness formally forbad me from participating in the holy sacraments or even attending services.”

  “Why?” Kian asked.

  “I would not take part in the inquisition. I wouldn’t kill your kind, Slayer.”

  The swordsman folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the wall. “You know me.”

  “The whole of the Church knows you. It is said you are the harbinger of evil, and anyone with the black blood is a child of the Beast. The pope decreed that you and those tainted by the evil must be destroyed.” The priest took a deep breath and met Kian’s gaze. “I do not believe any of it is true.”

  “Your Church is nothing but a bunch of chirping shit-birds. We are not demons. We are men just like anyone else, better I say,” Cromwell spat.

  “Let him finish,” Endra said, venom dripping from her words.

  “I don’t believe in murdering other human beings, no matter what the color of their blood. It is not what our God teaches. God, the pope, and man, it is the divine order of all things and it is our sacred duty to guide men, not rule over them.”

  “The pope believes otherwise,” Kian said. “I just want to know why you were here today.”