“Boha-Annu!” The minotaur shouted. “Come forth and grant blessings to these your children!”
The curtains that had hidden the goddess fell away. The brilliance of the light filling the aperture now bathed the body of the woman in its radiance. She stood nearly naked, yet proud, all her glorious beauty bared save for a tiny golden girdle about her hips and gold paint covering the nipples of her full breasts. A great blazing gem was attached to a golden tiara in the center of her forehead and a mask of fine silk hung beneath her eyes. Large ruby earrings dangled from her ears and caught the light in thrall.
A surge of desire washed over the Sellsword, so great that it made him tremble. Around him people fell to the ground together in excited fevers, clutching at each other in mad passionate embrace. All of this before the supposed incarnation of the goddess herself. Standing there still while others about him prostrated themselves, made him as conspicuous as the titan who loomed only a few paces away. But nothing could draw his gaze from the lovely voluptuous body revealed in the bright glow of the light-filled temple’s entrance.
“Hail Boha-Annu!” cried the minotaur again, his voice sweeping over the crowd. “The goddess has returned to life!”
The goddess was stunningly beautiful. She was perfectly carved like a statue of living marble. Yet, she was very much human. The Sellsword saw her breasts rise and fall with each breath. She kept her face immobile, there was no sign of emotion though the people ecstatically raised their voices in shouts of revered deference to her. That she had been chosen as the incarnation of deity, coupled with her beauty, regal bearing, and the attitude that led her to play the role of the goddess could only mean that she was the high priestess. The Sellsword had known other women, across many different lands but beside the goddess they were all eclipsed. He imagined that in the arms of such a woman, he would experience bliss incarnate. He had to have her.
The minotaur knelt before the goddess. He bowed until the silver horns touched the marble floor at her feet. When he arose and turned to face the crowd, his voice was again magnified beyond belief. “The goddess bids you celebrate in her honor,” he announced. “Let your joy be unrestrained and without limit! Do as you will!”
The answering cries from the crowd left little doubt that they understood his meaning. On the dais, the lights which illuminated the lovely glowing body of the goddess faded, just as they had risen to introduce her. The silken curtains closed as adepts behind the dais manipulated them to hide away the body of the goddess.
The Sellsword tore his gaze away from her chest as a strange figure moved through the crowd toward the standing stones. He climbed atop the great basalt slabs, the newly risen moon silhouetting his body in stark relief.
The man wore the rough homespun robe of a hedge wizard. His eyes burned with a blaze of anger that made those nearest him recoil in terror. This had to be none other than the wizard Y’damantos, the holiest and arguably maddest wizard in the northern kingdoms. Many said he was insane and yet others that he was the nearest man to the true gods. He was known to travel throughout the northern kingdoms and perform random miracles here and there, at least for the devout. These mainly involved divination and prophecy, nothing with any militaristic offensive power, unless you counted the power of an idea as offensive.
“As the gods of our fathers live,” Y’damantos shouted, “the curse of all that is holy is upon you all who’ve gone whoring after the false dark goddess.”
The people stood silent before the intensity of the old hedge wizard’s rage as he castigated them for their sins. Most looked away and those that could tried to slink away into the enveloping darkness.
“Wait and see, for in seven days’ time, the witch queen of Boha-Annu will meet her doom at the wall of Tullan. I, Y’damantos, have spoken on behalf of the old gods.”
It was a curious thing to the Sellsword that so many had been enraptured by the goddess and yet now were cowed by the zealous hedge wizard. He had met the wizard in years past on campaign, while not exactly a friend, he found the crazed magician to be an amiable sort in the right situation with a stiff drink in him. He wondered at the people of Aldreth’s reaction though. It was almost as if they felt guilt for the goddess worship, rather than truly believing it as their own. Why?
A woman’s voice broke the silence and the Sellsword was sure it came from the temple aperture. The priestess was barely visible in the dying of the light. But she could still speak. “Kill him!” She ordered. Her shrill voice filled with hate and anger. “Kill him now! Khamul!”
The minotaur nodded and pointed at the hedge wizard. As if he were a giant puppet, suddenly animated, the titan standing beside the dais moved. Plowing through the crowd, knocking people aside ruthlessly, he moved toward bearded old Y’damantos. The blaze burning in the titan’s impassive eyes left no doubt of his intention to obey his mistress’s brutal command.
The Sellsword realized only he stood between the hedge wizard and death at the hands of the titan. Y’damantos would have no chance against such a giant. Torn between not wanting to be involved or saving the life of a man he knew to be unworthy of death, he acted.
Tensing his body, the Sellsword moved nearer the path the titan was plowing through the crowd toward Y’damantos. As the titan came opposite him, the Sellsword dropped to his hands and knees and launched his body against the other’s legs, the tripping him unexpectedly.
The Sellsword struck in full force, wrapping his arms around the others knees as he lunged, and the titan went down hard. If the titan not had his eyes fixed on the hedge wizard, he would have seen the Sellsword and had time to evade the attack by the smaller man. With even his own terrific strength, the Sellsword could not hold the titan for more than a moment, but it seemed that the old gods Y’damantos served were watching over the hedge wizard. For as the titan fell, his head struck one of the standing stones. Stunned by the blow, the titan lay unresponsive on the ground.
A quick glance told the Sellsword that Y’damantos would need no more help from him this night. The hedge wizard dropped down from the stones, and, taking advantage of the confusion and darkness, he was soon out of sight. The momentary struggle before the dais not been perceived by many of the people packed into the standing stones and with Y’damantos gone, the crowd recovered its previous enthrallment.
The minotaur was quick to take advantage of the hedge wizard’s departure. Moving to the front of the platform, he shouted again, “Lo! Who can stand against Boha-Annu? See how they flee in terror!”
“The goddess is invincible,” a voice from the crowd answered.
“None can stand against her.” Shouted another.
“Let your joy be unrestrained and without limit in honor of the goddess,” the minotaur shouted. The crowd, eager to obey the injunction of the minotaur, and possibly in reaction to the brief moment of guilt and fear brought about by Y’damantos’s dramatic appearance, laughed and teased each other as they dispersed through the standing stones on their way home.
The Sellsword did not remain near the fallen titan, wanting no one to identify him as the one who sent the giant crashing to the ground. Nor did he join the people leaving the standing stones, as he was moved by another purpose. He wanted to see the goddess again. He felt enchanted if her very presence had intoxicated him and without distraction the feelings returned.
The dais was now empty, the priestess had disappeared and lights no longer illuminated the recess in which she had stood. The minotaur had withdrawn from the stage too, leaving it empty. No one remained to halt the Sellsword as he climbed the steps and crossed the stage. Something tore at his brain to find her.
The red-robed adepts who snuffed out the torches when the goddess of first appeared gathered to carry the titan away. It took a full dozen of them to cart away the giant. They paid no mind to the curious Sellsword. Only a faint light shone behind the curtain, and he could see the recess was empty.
The strange urgency that drove him yielded to no sense of caution
as he pulled the hangings aside, revealing a small alcove which had been partially hidden. It was barely large enough for one person to stand erect, and behind it a door opened into the temple. With a quick glance around to make sure no one had noticed him, the Sellsword crept inside.
The magic by which the lighting affect had been achieved was apparent. The alcove had been made with a special hollow surrounding the aperture. The Sellsword saw a dozen oil lamps in the space below his feet and up each side of the threshold. A section of carefully arranged mirrors concentrated the light which reflected at the space enclosed by the curtain recess. That he discovered the lighting miracle had been accomplished by purely physical means did not dampen the Sellsword’s desire to explore the attributes of the goddess further.
The door at the back of the alcove gave access to small chamber, used as a waiting room for those who took part in the ceremony. Powerful perfume lingered, evidence she had stood there only moments before with her body bathed in the reflected light. On the other side hung the abandoned minotaur mask. Then on the ground he saw an earring the goddess had worn. It was a shining teardrop of a ruby, the size of a grape. He picked it up.
The room contained nothing else of note, and the Sellsword decided to go no further into the temple. Just as he was turning back to the recess alcove, a door at the back of the room opened and a woman stepped into the dark chamber. She was covered from head to foot in a robe of rich, translucent silk and her face was hidden by the folds of a veil. But the shape of her body was unforgettable, and the Sellsword knew he was in the presence of the goddess’s double.
She didn’t seem to see him, searching the room by the light of a single lamp, most likely for the earring in his hand. He held his breath at her unexpected appearance and at the sudden powerful impact of her alluring fragrance. He drew breath. She heard the sound and whirled to face him. As they stared at each other, no more than two paces apart, the light from the single lamp showed him the glow of anger building up in her dark eyes.
“You!” She accused in a tone of savage fury. “You’re the one who stopped my titan.”
“He ran into me,” the Sellsword said. “We were both knocked to the ground.” What sane person would try and tackle a titan? It was near the truth. He hoped too that the light had not been good enough for her to see what had actually happened.
“Why are you here?”
“I was curious about the light and . . . you.”
“What about me?”
“I’ve never seen anyone so beautiful before,” he said. That was the truth at least. “Nor have I been so close to a goddess.”
The flames of anger in her eyes transformed to one of mounting pleasure and interest.
“You are either very foolish or very brave,” she said softly. “If Khamul knew you were here, he would kill you.”
“He is just a man,” the Sellsword said with a shrug and nod toward the mask. “Without that he is no one.”
She moved closer in a fluid motion of perfection. “Have you ever touched a goddess?”
“No.”
“Have you held one in your arms?”
Answering the implied invitation, he stepped closer drawing her into an embrace. Their lips met, and she did not resist, but the sudden tensing of her right arm and shoulder warned him something was wrong. He tried to draw away, but she griped his shoulder, holding him close. In the lamplight, he caught a glint of steel as she raised a dagger.
He moved quickly, saving his own life. Although the woman’s arm was about his body, he twisted his right hand free, seizing her wrist before the dagger point struck his skin. Still holding her in the crook of his left arm, he gave her wrist a sharp twist and heard the dagger fall the floor as she gave an involuntary cry of pain.
The veil swabbing her face had been pushed aside, and he found himself looking down into a pair of dark eyes in which there was no fear. Conscious of the feel of her almost naked body in his arms, he released her wrist and crushed her lips against his.
She did not resist, despite moments before having sought to kill him. Her lips parted beneath his, and she clung to him, responding tempestuously to the overwhelming surge of desire sweeping them both. For a cosmic moment in time it seemed an eternity. The Sellsword was lost in the warm fragrant kiss of the priestess’s eager mouth, the passionate yielding of her body whose every lovely contour he had witnessed only moments before. His hands parted the folds of her robe and found the soft, yielding, ardent flesh beneath. He released her arms to seize the edges of her robe.
She pulled away. With a mocking laugh, she broke free of his grasp and moved swiftly across the room, disappearing through the door by which she had come.
The Sellsword was at the door before the sound of its closing had died away. He tore at the knob, but before he reached it he knew it would be locked. His fists raised to hammer upon the door and demand admission to the innermost part of the holy of holies where the goddess must dwell, but reluctantly he let them drop.
Her dagger lay upon the floor. He picked it up. The handle was of ebony and set with tiny dark jewels. Thrusting the dagger into his belt, he went out to the stage.
He knew they would meet again. And next time, she would not break away with only the teasing promise of a kiss and an embrace as a token of the indescribable ecstasy she could bring to one who would become her lover.
***
He stalked back to the King’s Crown in a daze at what had just happened. Never before had he been so taken under any woman’s spell. In hindsight, she had been lovely but to the point of madness? It seemed cruelly perplexing, and he wondered if there was another answer.
The old man at the bar was cleaning up when the Sellsword stumbled in. “You look like you need a drink.”
“Yeah.”
“Took hold of you, something fierce, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Figures. The incense they burn is Tamdraque lotus.”
“What’s that?” asked the Sellsword, curious.
The old man laughed. “It’s a stimulant. It only grows in the high mountains of Shang-Henj.”
“What’s it do?”
“It makes you think you’re rutting buck. You lose your inhibitions and became very suggestible. I hear it’s the preferred incense for the harems of the sultans of Kathul. You probably shouldn’t go back there.” He laughed again as he finished wiping down the bar.
“You’re probably right. But I think I’ll have good dreams tonight.”
6. The Marquis
The next morning, the Sellsword strode to the ancient hall that was the current home of the Marquis. It was far from the villa of the now deceased Duke. It was a bastion of fitted basalt stone and looked imposing enough, though it was nothing compared to the stark grey tower of the wizard Varlak close by.
Rapping upon the big iron knocker, fashioned to look like a lion’s face, the Sellsword had to wait only a moment until an exceedingly tall, but skeletally thin, man opened.
“Yes?”
“I’m here to see the Marquis about his son’s death. I have information I think he would be interested in.” He held the same invitation he had displayed at the Duke’s villa.
The skeletal man pursed his lips. “Wait here.”
The Sellsword stood waiting, watching the wizard Varlak’s tower. Flames sputtered from the roof in ominous jets.
A few minutes later the doorman returned and let the Sellsword in. “I’m quite sure he would be interested on information regarding the Duke, but you must be warned, he is a foul mood because of such and he of course has a . . . condition.”
“I’m not worried about the plague,” answered the Sellsword.
The skeletal man blanched, “Please don’t repeat that word here. We say consumption, but yes, come in.”
The hall was plain with little in the way of furnishings beyond a table, a bed, and well-stocked pantry. It was soon apparent that this was but a foyer that the doorman lived in, while through another door w
as a landing with a stair leading down and one leading up. They went upstairs to the actual living quarters of the Marquis, which were exceedingly lavish and decadent. Here silken curtains and fanciful rugs adorned every square inch of what would have been cold stone. The windows were high and allowed in sunlight, though nothing but grey sky could be seen. There were paintings of beautiful full-figured women and several statues of black basalt with the same robust women in various obscene poses, similar to those in the Duke’s residence.
“Do not mention women to the Marquis,” whispered the skeletal man. “It is a sore spot for him, as his condition does not allow for . . . company.”
The Sellsword nodded.
Within a red-velvet covered bedroom was an enormous poster-bed with the emaciated Marquis lying dwarfed within. His face was pale as curdled milk save for the oozing red sores that pockmarked him. Most of an ear was gone as was the nose, yet his eyes were still a vibrant, angry blue, and he soon displayed there was nothing at all wrong with his mouth.
“What news do you have of my son? Speak quickly or I’ll have you flogged!”
The Sellsword produced the letter and seal. “I received a letter from the Duke a few weeks ago requesting my aid. I had just arrived in the city and went to see him yesterday but missed him. Then I found out he was slain.”
The Marquis scanned the letter. “This is from my son. What can you do about the troubles here though? He is already dead! You are too late! Get out of my sight! Terance! Throw him out!”
The Sellsword turned to look at the doorman and shook his head, “You’ll need help.”
Terance, the skeletal doorman, arched his brows and looked the Sellsword over before he shut the door and vanished. The Marquis sputtered in irritation at his doorman’s retreat.
The Sellsword barked, “Listen to me. I know something to do with your son’s murder, but I want guarantees and resources from you to deal with the guilty parties.”
“Why should I trust you with anything?”
BRUTAL: An Epic Grimdark Fantasy Page 4