The Star Of Saree

by A. J. STRICKLER

  K’xarr hadn’t come with them, but he sent five of what the captain considered to be some of his best men. With Endra, Cromwell, Ashlyn, and Kian himself, the company was nine. He thought it was too many. Stealth would be needed to rescue prince Dimitri, and many of the group was less than guileful.

  Pepca had offered to come with them, but he had refused to take the princess. Things were likely to get risky and very unpredictable. He wouldn’t have time to watch out for the young woman, and Kian didn’t want to see anything happen to her. The princess was a bold-spirited girl, but she was ill-equipped to travel with them. Her directions and account of the palace’s interior were clear, so there was no need to take the chance of bringing her along. It would be a miracle if all of them returned to the rebel camp after what they had planned.

  The sky darkened and the wind picked up again. It was time find a place to stop for the night. They came across a little draw not far from a frozen creek. The small gully was snow-filled and too small to fit the horses in, but it would keep the wind off them for the night. A crude picket line was made in front of the shallow draw’s opening, and the horses were unsaddled and tied off. Kian hoped the animals could endure the cold for another night.

  Hastings and Tench dug through the snow until an armload of frozen wood was found. They had packed a fair amount of tinder and kindling before leaving the rebel camp, knowing dry wood was scarce this time of year.

  After a bit of work, the two mercenaries had a small fire going. The flames crackled as the fire warmed the cold wood, and soon the fine blaze began to warm the camp. The heat was welcomed by all of them. There was little chance anyone would spot the fire’s light, since only a madman would be out in this weather. The snow tapered off and the wind died down by the time they all settled down in the gully.

  “Tench, I believe you have the biggest ears I have ever seen,” Pierre said, shaking the snow from his hat. “And your head is as wide as one of Nick Nock’s big skillets. How do you manage to get a helmet over all that?”

  Kian looked at Tench as he searched for a reply to the Celonian’s insult. The mercenary was a deadly fighter, though his wit was not the quickest.

  “Pay no attention to the peacock, Tench,” Adisa said, packing his pipe. “He doesn’t like the cold much, and he’s taking it out on you.”

  “Who in their right mind would like this abominable weather? And I wasn’t taking anything out on Tench. I was simply pointing out his head looked like a bucket.”

  The group all chuckled as they chewed on their dried beef, anticipating the argument they all knew was coming. K’xarr’s mercenaries entertained themselves nightly by insulting each other as foully as could be achieved. Each one of them seemed completely proficient in a wide array of vulgarities.

  “At least he doesn’t cover his face with a girly beard or sport that whorish hair under his nose like you, peacock,” the black warrior said.

  Pierre ran his fingers along his waxed mustache and twisted his goatee into a point. “I assure you, Adisa, that this style is very popular in the Celonian court. Not that a savage like you would know anything about style. I understand that those from the southern kingdoms run around naked, scratching at their dirty arses all day, so I wouldn’t expect you to know anything about style.”

  Adisa considered Pierre and lit his pipe. He took a long pull and blew the smoke into the air. “It is true, I know little of the courts of your weak land, but warm or cold, you don’t hear me complain, peacock, and that is because I am a warrior and a man. You, my friend, should have become a priest. Then you could have lived your life in a nice, warm abbey, buggering boys like your father.”

  “I will have you know my father was a nobleman, you illiterate buffoon, and as fine a swordsman as ever graced my homeland,” Pierre bellowed, pointing at the dark-skinned warrior.

  Adisa smiled, his pipe clenched between his teeth. “Is that so? Well, I heard different things about your father. I understood he was a drunken sod who had to marry his sister because she was too ugly to have any real suitors.”

  “Shut up, you baldheaded piece of shit,” Beck said, scratching at the hole where his missing ear should have been. “And you too, you overdressed cock. Why don’t you both shut the hell up? You’re giving Hastings a fucking headache with all this idiotic rubbish. Neither one of you is worth a hot piss, so close your fucking mouths before I stab you both in the neck.”

  The freckle-faced warrior seated beside Beck nodded, agreeing with the one-eared mercenary’s assessment. Kian didn’t believe he had ever heard Hastings talk, though Beck claimed he was very chatty when he wanted to be.

  “I have never been overdressed in my life,” Pierre mumbled.

  “You’re all idiots,” Cromwell said, stretching his huge frame. “The fire has made me sleepy, so listen to Beck and shut up.”

  “Young Falcon would like to share my blankets tonight? I will be happy to keep the cold off you?”

  “Pierre, you couldn’t keep the cold off a goat. If you want to stay warm, roll up with Adisa. You sound like his wife anyway,” Ashlyn said with a half-grin.

  “I believe you are growing to be more of a bitch by the day, Ashlyn,” Pierre countered.

  “Watch your mouth, Celonian pig,” Cromwell warned.

  Ashlyn stuck her tongue out at Pierre and flopped down in her blankets.

  “You are all mad,” Endra said, yawning. She scooted over next to Kian and they wrapped their blankets around each other. Silently staring into the fire, Endra rested her head on his shoulder.

  After the nightly arguing had ended, everyone settled down and got as comfortable as they could on the snowy ground. Kian watched Tench slowly rise from his bedding. The large-eared mercenary crept toward where Pierre lay, already softly snoring. Carefully, he straddled the prone Celonian. Squatting low, he dropped his buttocks close to Pierre’s face. “Hey, peacock,” Tench called.

  Pierre’s eyes opened just as the big-headed mercenary’s backside erupted. Kian had never heard anyone pass gas so loudly, and his sensitive nose instantly picked up the foul odor.

  Everyone sat up and stared at Tench.

  “My ears aren’t that fucking big, Pierre,” the rancid warrior said, stomping back to his blankets.

  The foppish warrior coughed and gagged. “By the gods, your insides are rotten, you damn simpleton. I have smelled hogs that have less of a stench.” The Celonian held his nose, and everyone roared with laughter, even Kian chuckled.

  As their mirth subsided, the sound of a woman’s soft laughter could still be heard just beyond their camp. All nine of them sprang to their feet, cloaks and blankets thrown off weapons in hand.

  A short figure stepped between the horses and into the small fire’s flickering light. Pulling back the hood on her long sable cloak, the woman shook loose a mass of fine black hair cut into bangs just above her brow. Her porcelain skin set off the greasepaint on her face. The red of her lips and the black lines that framed her dark beguiling eyes only enhanced her natural beauty. The woman’s perfume drifted across their small camp like a cloud of scented roses. In the flickering light, she was intoxicating. “You men do have an interesting way of passing the night, don’t you?” she purred seductively.

  “Tragedy,” Kian said.

  Endra looked at him. “You know her.”

  “Yes, she is a member of the Circle of Thirteen.”

  The group shifted uneasily at the revelation, none pleased that such a powerful sorceress was among them.

  “Why are you here, Tragedy?” Kian asked apprehensively.

  “The Circle has interests in Trimenia, and when I found out you were here, I thought I would say hello to an old friend.”

  “We aren’t friends, Tragedy,” Kian said firmly

  “Well, that is by your choice. I didn’t think it would upset you to see me again,” she said, stroking one of the horse’s flank.

  “Kian, how do you know this painted wench?” Endra demanded.

  “Sh
e was my jailer when the Circle captured me.”

  Tragedy flicked her hair and tilted her head back, giggling. “I suppose that was one of the things we shared…Slayer.”

  Kian could feel his face heat up and his chest twinge. He hadn’t forgotten the wild lovemaking he and the sorceress had shared.

  Endra stepped forward. “Leave now or I swear by the blood of the gods, I will cut you down.”

  “You are as unpleasant as the rumors suggest. You should be a little more gracious to me, Shieldmaiden. If not for me, Kian would still be rotting in a cage in the Synsarian waste.”

  “Kian, is it true?” Endra said, her voice low.

  “It is,” he whispered, lowering his eyes.

  “It is the price he paid for his release that you should be asking him about.”

  Endra moved forward and Tragedy raised her hand, causing the shieldmaiden to rethink her advance.

  “Don’t be foolish, dear. We will meet again, I am sure of it.” She pulled up the hood on her fur cloak and vanished from their sight.

  Everyone was silent, staring into the night and waiting for an attack, but none came. Slowly, they settled back down into their blankets, convinced the sorceress was truly gone. Still, it would be sometime before sleep would come for anyone.

  Kian returned to their blankets, and Endra sat beside him. She reached up and turned his face to hers. Swallowing hard, she choked out the words, “Tell me.”

  Kian had hoped he would never have to tell Endra what he had done, but he would not lie to her. So he began his tale.

  As the gray morning light woke the others, he finished the account of his captivity. The cold tears that streamed down Endra’s face were wiped away before the others could see. She hadn’t spoken a word or asked him a question as he told her how the sorceress had tried to bargain for his seed to end the curse her father had placed on her, and how in the end, he had submitted to her desires.

  His chest ached, though he didn’t think it was from whatever afflicted him. He loved Endra beyond all else and he had hurt her. He deserved her wrath, but Endra offered not a word.

  They all saddled their horses in silence, and Kian wished he was anywhere else.

  They had abandoned the horses in the dilapidated barn where the children had taken refuge after he had freed them from the Archbishop of Brova. None of them relished the thought of the walk to the city. It was over two miles in the dark and driving snow. The blizzard had hit just as the city had come into sight. The snow was heavy enough that it would be hard to see anything more than a short distance away. It wasn’t ideal, but the storm would give them cover.

  They hoped to reach the city by dawn and take their places before the inhabitants awoke. Kian, Ashlyn, and Beck would go to the palace and wait for the others to create a disturbance down in Brova. Then the three of them would try to snatch Dimitri from the royal dungeon.

  Kian thought the plan had little chance of working out the way they hoped. It all hinged on speed and the vampiric baron’s inability to be roused during the day, and that assumption was based solely on Trimenian legends. It was just another foolhardy plan in a long line of foolhardy plans.

  It was worth the risk, though, if Pepca was right and her brother could sway a large number of the Trimenian soldiers to the rebellion’s side. The outcome of the civil war wasn’t why he had come. The kingdom’s politics meant nothing to Kian. To him, the princess was just a young woman asking him to save her brother. Kian had learned that aiding people helped keep the darkness inside him at bay. It was also what Gildor had taught him—help those in need, and one day, fate would repay the kindness. Besides, K’xarr was right. He was an easy mark for young women in distress.

  The wind whistled through the old barn as they made a final check of their weapons and armor. He glanced at Endra as she tightened her sword belt. She still had not spoken to him since he told her what happened at the Keep of Broken Souls. He had tried to talk with her, but she had only given him a blank look and refused to answer anything he asked.

  Raven black hair swirled around her beautiful face as the wind found its way through the cracks of the old structure. Shaking out her helmet, she looked up and fixed him with a stare. For a moment, the two of them stood there with eyes locked. Endra dropped her helmet; she closed her eyes and sighed. Without warning, she charged forward. Grabbing him by the back of the head and wrapping her fingers into his dark hair, she kissed him with such passion he thought Endra would swallow him whole. He crushed her to him, ignoring the other warrior’s bemused glances.

  Smiling, she gently pushed him back. The delight in her eyes was honest. There was no woman more beautiful than Endra when she smiled like that.

  “I thought you were angry with me?” he asked, searching her face for answers.

  “Your offense was no different than mine. In your position, I would have done the same. A fool can see that bitch is playing a game with us. To what end, I don’t know, but the sorceress is pathetic and she can rot in Hell.”

  “If you weren’t angry, why haven’t you talked to me?”

  “The whorish enchantress started me thinking about something, and I didn’t want you to interfere till I had finished considering it. I had to be sure before I said anything, and you would have distracted me.” She swallowed and looked into his eyes. “I want to marry you, Kian, the world be damned. I promise I will love you till my heart ceases to beat. I have thought on it, and there is nothing I want more.”

  Kian kissed her again as the dragon heart in his chest pounded like a warhammer. “I am forever yours, Endra; I have known it since the first time we met. I would be honored to have you as my bride.”

  “Are we going to do this or are you two going to shag first?” Beck asked, spitting on the ground.

  Cromwell grabbed the mercenary by his remaining ear. “Shut your mouth, Beck, or I just might rip this off and give it to my friends as a wedding gift.”

  “Fine, you hulking bastard,” Beck said, cringing from the pressure of the Toran’s grip.

  Glancing at Cromwell, Kian let go of Endra and stepped back. “He is right, brother. We should go.”

  “We can finish this later, my love,” Endra said, picking up her helmet and pulling it over her head. She looked at him through the helm’s eye guards, dark eyes sparkling with happiness. It had been a long time since he had seen her so content.

  Reaching out, Kian squeezed her shoulder. “Be careful and don’t let Cromwell do anything foolish. Remember, the Church and its archbishop are the enemy.”

  The Toran shrugged. “I won’t do anything that you wouldn’t have done if those vermin had murdered Endra.”

  For a moment, Kian imagined what he would do if the woman beside him had suffered Morgana’s fate. “That is what worries me, brother.”

  They marched out through the snow across the flat field that stretched out before the city. The band of warriors nearly ran into Brova’s walls before realizing they had reached the city. The group split as the day’s first light tried to fight its way through the clouded sky. He watched as Endra and the others disappeared into the blowing storm.

  “We should hurry. It will take us longer to get where were going,” Beck said.

  “I hate to think about trudging up that hill in this mess,” Ashlyn added.

  Kian nodded and ducked his hooded head to the wind.

  * * *

  Archbishop Volos Lech scratched at his liver-spotted head and tossed back another cup of brandy. The strong spirits helped to ease the pain the cold weather brought to his aching joints, though he would need a great deal more to fully drive out the soreness.

  The priest set up straight, stretching his back and pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been reading scripture from the Holy Tome for some time, and the fine print had made his eyes burn. The storm outside was too nasty to do anything but sit in his chamber, enjoy the cozy blaze in his fireplace, and peruse the word of god.

  The anger that had plagued him since th
e inhuman warrior had interfered with the executions had finally begun to subside. It wasn’t just the pagan warrior he was angry with. He had gone to Baron Serban and the king over the incident, but neither had taken much interest in his troubles. Serban had told him it was a Church matter and he would have to handle it himself, while Petru had completely ignored him. Those fools would regret their indifference once he showed the Holy Father his love for God by ridding Trimenia of all those with the accursed blood and the heretics who aided them. He would become powerful among the pope’s inner circle, and then he would remind the king and his baron of their mistake. Volos took another drink of brandy and chuckled to himself at the thought.

  It was troubling that Brother Xavier had not returned with any news from Tyro, or wherever the monk had disappeared to. The children had escaped him, but at least the woman had not. Even though she had not been purged by holy flame, her death should at least count for something with the papal throne.

  When the monk returned, he would request a company of soldiers to help him and Brother Xavier scour the countryside for the escaped children and any others that bore the blood of the Beast. They would be rounded up and cleansed in the holy flames of God. Then he would receive his reward from the pope and the almighty. One day, he might even be summoned to serve in the grand cathedral in Tyro, if he could accomplish the feat. “That would be something,” he whispered to himself.

  His chamber had a chill. His fire had died down and the room had always been drafty. He had sent some of the younger priests to fetch more wood, but they hadn’t brought it in yet. Volos had heard them banging around out in the sanctuary a short time ago, which irritated him. They had been told not to bring the wood in through there. Now the large room would have to be swept again before services could be held the day after tomorrow.

  It was easy to understand, though; many of his young charges had never partaken in humble tasks. They were the sons of noblemen, after all, and had seldom done a day’s work. Apparently, the group was also inept at taking instruction.