A shadow took the shape of a man and came trotting toward her. He was plastered ash grey save a few spots where blood flowed freely enough across his face to rinse dust away with oozing crimson. “I live,” he said, with a lopsided grin before collapsing at her feet.
28. The Stolen Key
“You’ve been asleep for almost two days,” said the old man.
The Sellsword blinked at the sunlight streaming through the open window. “Is?”
“She is here. When she saw you were stirring she went to get you some dinner.”
“Two days?”
“It is almost evening now, so yes, almost two days.”
The Sellsword realized the sunlight blinding him was the setting sun, which painted an orange glow cascading over the mountainside like wildfire. Then he realized he had another visitor, the hedge wizard, Y’damantos. “What do you want?”
Y’damantos gave a frown but answered, “The gods are not done with you yet. They grow weary waiting for you to act against Boha-Annu, as you must.”
“You’re mad.”
“Perhaps, but I always speak truth. The witch queen of Boha-Annu will perish this night by the wall of Tullan. You must make it happen.”
“I won’t fight a holy war for you.”
“That’s where you are wrong. This isn’t for me. I am merely the vessel through which the gods speak. This isn’t for me. I am speaking only of what I have seen. You will do this for you, and them,” he said, sweeping his hand over the whole of the window indicating the city.
“Shut up.”
“Do you two know each other?” cackled the old man. “Do you want to be alone?”
Neither the Sellsword nor the hedge wizard were amused, but the old man couldn’t stop laughing to himself so he left the room.
“I have my own responsibilities,” said the Sellsword. “Fighting in your crusades isn’t one of them anymore.”
“Your responsibilities? Isn’t that why you came here in the first place? You abandoned your men just to see what it was like again? To ride out alone and be the hero. I am telling you to be that hero and do what needs to be done. Why fight your nature if it is noble?”
The Sellsword grimaced and rubbed his jaw. “I’ve done what I set out to do and more.”
“You’re not done yet. And I know the nature of man. You are avoiding this because you have newfound feelings for the woman, and you are concerned that they clash with your lust for the voluptuous witch queen who proclaims herself a sexual goddess.”
“Should I have knocked?” asked Nicene, standing in the doorway with a tray of food for the Sellsword.
“No, it’s fine,” the Sellsword, tried to say, but Nicene dropped the tray and ran from the room.
“Thanks a lot,” snarled the Sellsword, getting up to go after her. He had a limp from damage he received destroying the basilisk.
“What did I say?” questioned Y’damantos.
***
The Sellsword almost caught up to Nicene at the steps out front of The King’s Crown. “Wait!” he cried, as he struggled down the steps.
She stopped a few paces from him, tears streaming down her face. “I heard everything. I heard what you were talking about, and I don’t want to stand in your way of whatever your duty is. and I won’t be second to whatever woman it is you really want.”
“It’s not like that. I was inhaling Tamdraque lotus. I was not myself.”
“I found the ruby earring in your pocket. I know everything. Go to her. Forget me!” She turned and ran off into the setting sun.
With his limp, he knew he could not possibly catch her and he was angry too. Angry at Y’damantos, angry at the old man, and angry at Nicene for assuming too much and not listening to him. He hobbled back up the steps and sat down at the bar. “Get me some mead!”
“You know where it is, get it yourself.”
“Tarim’s balls, you’re a cruel one,” he said to the old man as he danced one foot around the bar.
“No, I just know you broke her heart.”
“Me? You didn’t even like her a day or two ago. Told me she was, what did you say? A bed of glass.”
“I was wrong. She’s something special. Got her problems sure, but trust me, she is as good a woman as you could ever expect to meet in twenty lifetimes.”
The Sellsword angrily drank his mead, then slammed the tankard down on the bar and hopped back up the stairs. Y’damantos still sat there waiting. “Why are you still here? Can’t you see that I’m laid up? I’m not chasing down anymore fairy stories of yours, and I’m leaving the Marquis and anything you have against the witch queen moon goddess til the King’s Guard gets here. If I’ve been asleep for two days, they ought to come by tomorrow.”
Y’damantos nodded, but spoke as if he were addressing a child. “That is fine, except I did not see the King’s Guard taking care of this problem. I saw you doing it.”
“I-Don’t-Believe-In-Fate!” he shouted.
“It’s a prophecy, not fate! I am merely returning and reporting what I saw! I never said the gods rolled the dice with your life. You choose it. I merely have the blessing and the curse of seeing things before other men. And sometimes I am supposed to tell them to help it along.”
“If you’re right? Shouldn’t I just be doing it anyway without your telling me?”
Y’damantos nodded. “Yes. I believe you would.”
“Then why bother telling me anything?”
“I can’t get the voices out of my head any other way, than by speaking what comes to me. I have to share this gift, this curse, this blessing,” he said, earnestly.
The Sellsword sat up in bed, pointing at his bandaged leg. “Then let me tell you something. I’m wounded. I’m hurt. I will not get out of this bed for any reason. I will not be a part of your prophecy. I am staying here.”
Y’damantos looked to the door, then looked to the Sellsword, he looked back at the door and back to the Sellsword.
“What is it”
“He is coming.”
“Who the dark prince? That I must face with the sword of truth and might?”
“No, the old man.”
The Sellsword looked to the door now too. Nothing. No one came.
“See, you’re a crazy sham. Get out of here and leave me alone to sleep this off.” He lay down on the pillow and wrapped the blankets over his head.
Moments later, the old man burst through the door. “They’ve taken her!”
“Who?”
“The dark goddess and her priestesses,” answered Y’damantos.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before? Bloody hell!” shouted the Sellsword, throwing the blankets from him.
“You weren’t ready,” said Y’damantos dryly.
The Sellsword got up, hobbled over to Y’damantos and smacked him in the face. “Next time, tell me!”
***
He donned his mail, weapons and accruements as swiftly as possible and, despite the pain in his leg, he hobbled out to the cobbles. He even grabbed the spiked, bearded axe the old man had laying in the hallway. “Where are they?” he asked looking up and down the street.
“I saw them grab her after you had gone back inside,” said the old man. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help her. They had a titan with them. They headed up toward Hightown.” He pointed to the west.
“Then I know where they are,” growled the Sellsword.
“The temple of Boha-Annu,” said Y’damantos sardonically. “They seek a key to unlock that gated door to the infinite.”
“Where else?” said the old man. “I’ll grab my gear.”
“Unless you’ve got some more Dragon Powder charges, I don’t know how much help you’ll be against a titan.”
“Regardless of my age and ability,” the old man huffed, “I’m going with you to help where I can.”
“And I will witness your triumph,” said Y’damantos, with enthusiasm.
“For all the good that will do me,” snarled the Sellsword as they began the wal
k to Hightown and the debauched temple of the dark goddess.
29. The Goddess Revealed
The temple of Boha-Annu was high on a hill on the western most edge of the city. The Sellsword had not remembered it being so far and such a steep climb before. But then he was in peak form and without an injured leg and a nearly two-day stint in bed. His body was stiff and slower than he was used too. It was an altogether repulsive feeling to a man that knew what his prime felt like.
“No extra folk up here today, it’s like everyone knew they better get out of the way,” remarked the old man.
“They know divine wrath is coming!” shouted Y’damantos, cupping hands to his bearded mouth.
“Will you shut up. They don’t know need to know our exact position at every moment,” gritted the Sellsword.
“I hardly think it matters. You will prevail. I have seen it.”
“Did you see this?” he asked, as he cuffed the hedge wizard.
“That was uncalled for,” answered Y’damantos, rubbing his head.
The Sellsword had not seen the complex at the top of the hill at his first visit, it had been too dark, but now he saw a low grey wall on each side of the path, covered in lichen and sacred grove of trees just beyond. These were gnarled, small trees hardly taller than the titan, but for Aldreth and its stunted foliage they were giants. The standing ring of stones was further on and just on the other side of that the shining temple itself.
He also noted that from this position he had a commanding view of the giant bust of Innara, no he reminded himself, it was Boha-Annu who had the commanding view looking down upon them from the mountain side above.
They were nearly to where the low grey wall enclosed the temple grounds when movement caught their eye. Figures gathered before the temple and came toward them at a slow easy pace. One towered above the others, the grey-skinned titan.
Behind them they heard movement as well. A richly adorned palanquin was borne upon the shoulders of six men who moved as fast as they could up the steep hillside.
“Now who would that be?” asked the old man.
“The architect of all this madness.”
“I thought that was you,” joked the old man.
“The Marquis,” answered the Sellsword, solemnly.
By the time the palanquin reached them, the figures coming from the temple were past the standing stones and halfway through the trees. The Sellsword counted seven fighting men, three women, the titan and the man he recognized as the one who had performed as the goddess’s rite as the minotaur. Likely the martial commander of the others. He was a well-muscled man with light brown skin and an experienced fighter’s demeanor. He bore a long khopesh sword from the lands of Kathul. No one used such a weapon unless they were well versed with it, and in the hands of a true master it was deadly.
The ivory lacquered palanquin halted just behind them and was set down at an order issued from inside. Then the voice called out from behind the curtain of dark blue silks. “Sellsword, your services are no longer needed. You have succeeded in eliminating the dueling wizards and corrupt paladin forces and as such you are hereby dismissed under my direct authority. Retrieve your reward at once and please depart our city so that we may rebuild in peace.”
“I came to clean this town up, and I’m not done yet.”
The putrefied hand pulled aside the curtain. The old man took a step back as he witnessed the oozing sores and discolored flesh that threatened to fall off the bone.
“Very well,” drawled the Marquis voice. “I offer you the position of being the new captain of the paladins of Aldreth. That’s quite a step up from being a two-bit Sellsword who chastises old bed-ridden men who still don’t know who murdered their son.”
“You have known the whole time. You sent that decrepit giant Terance to do your dirty work. But the real murderer is you. Maybe you’ll tell me why before I send you tumbling down the hill.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
The six palanquin bearers were strong, but they were not fighters and one look at the determined Sellsword and his pitted bastard sword and they offered no resistance.
“Come out of there you, old lecher and explain what this is really about. How you profited from the dueling wizards for your own purposes. What was your master plan? Why kill your own son? What did he know about you?”
Y’damantos stood with his hands on his hips, beaming as if greatly enjoying himself.
The Marquis threw back the curtain entire, revealing his rotted face, eaten with the decay of plague. “I did it because he was weak. I doubt he was truly my son to begin with, so therefore I did not kill my son. I killed a stand-in who got in my way and delayed my plans. Just like you are.”
“Murder is murder.”
“You’re a fine one to talk, coming to my city and killing folk left and right, disturbing the peace time and again. Destroying expensive buildings and equipment. I understand you toppled our largest smelter. And all the while you stand there a self-righteous charlatan pretending to care about the divine right of the king and his precious law.” He spat a rancid yellow wad toward them. “I am the only law here in Aldreth.”
“Not anymore,” answered the Sellsword.
The Marquis chuckled. “I told you I had plans. That’s why I am here. You see the temple? I am about to be reborn and reign at her side. I will conduct the ritual that will bring her across the veil of shadows into our realm. Do you know who I have chosen as the key for this? I think you do. Nicene will be the blood spilt that is key to unlocking the door to that starless passage.”
“Sellsword,” broke in the old man. He nudged the Sellsword and pointed.
The figures from the temple had arrived. Seven red-robed adepts armed with long kris daggers, their faces masked with black scarves, naught but their hate filled eyes visible. In opposition, three of the temple priestesses were wearing near transparent silken girdles, each of them armed with a handful of throwing javelins and whips that hung at their sides, the coiled black leather contrasting with their exposed alabaster skin.
Then there was the towering titan. His mottled grey skin looking almost like the hard mountain stone itself. He had only a breechclout on and a large curved dagger in his fist. His gaze was white-eyed and dull, but the emotionless face only made him all the more terrifying.
The captain with the khopesh was as solidly built as the Sellsword. He was shirtless and his muscled skin glistened with oil. He wore a kilt and headdress that resembled those of Aegyptus. He challenged boldly, “I am Khamul. You will leave this sacred place now or I will kill all of you.” He waved his hand flat against them as if invoking a spell.
“You fiend from the slime ridden depths! You will taste righteous judgment!” shouted Y’damantos.
One of the priestesses threw her javelin. It slammed into Y’damantos’ stomach staking him to the ground.
The Sellsword threw his spiked ax at the titan.
The slate-grey giant caught the swinging hickory handle in mid-air and a crack of a smile exposed his gleaming teeth. He returned the weapon with triple the amount of force behind it.
The Sellsword narrowly dodged aside and one of the six bearers took the blow full in the chest and was flung over the top of the palanquin like a butchered hog. The other bearers fled.
Red-robed adepts came screeching forward and the old man held several at bay with his falchion. He swung wide and they tried to surround him, but dared not get too close. They knew he was old and would soon tire, so like wolves they nipped at him from all sides, waiting their chance to drag him down.
The Sellsword had his hands full with the titan. The monstrous reach and strength more than made up for the Sellsword’s greater speed. It was all he could do with his injured leg to fend off the powerful clubbing and sweep of the giants curved dagger.
A part of the Sellsword was grateful that the priestess and the khopesh captain seemed to enjoy watching the titan toy with him rather than joining in and easily finishing the jo
b.
The old man had gotten lucky and slain one of the adepts, but the rest were giving him nicks and cuts whenever his back was turned by one to face another.
Wheeling away from the titan, the Sellsword slammed into a trio of the adepts with their back to him, ripping their entrails from them with a powerful swing forward and then back. The shock of the attack gave the old man time to claim another as well.
The Marquis cried aloud from his palanquin and Khamul, in turn, called to the titan, “Mahijah! Take him to the temple. I will finish this.”
The titan bowed to Khamul, withdrew his pursuit of the Sellsword, and went to the palanquin. He picked up the Marquis in his great arms like a babe, utterly heedless of worry at touching a man so riddled with the plague. He didn’t mind in the least the sight of sloughing flesh sticking to the silken bed within and now to his own granite-like arms.
The brief respite gave the Sellsword and old man time to regroup, slay the last two red-robed adepts and charge at the priestess as they prepared to launch their javelins.
“Close the distance so they can’t throw!” urged the Sellsword.
One javelin flew by, narrowly missing the Sellsword; it stuck in a tree and vibrated angrily.
“They’ve got a greater reach than my blade,” said the old man.
“Aye, but they only pierce, they don’t cut,” said the Sellsword closing with one of the priestesses and batting away her lancing javelin. Then he had to suddenly wheel and block the slashing blade of Khamul.
“Don’t feel right, me trying to stick a woman,” grumbled the old man, as he merely kept the priestess facing him from jamming her javelin into his guts.
“Look what they did to Y’damantos!”
“That’s right!” cried the old man, renewing his attempt to disarm the scantily clad priestess.
From the corner of his eye, the Sellsword saw the titan cradling the Marquis in his arms and carrying him toward the temple. He didn’t know what would happen there and for once wished for answers from the fallen hedge wizard.
The old man caught one of the priestess trying to come up behind him in his peripheral vision, as he traded blows with the one in front. It wasn’t lost to his knowledge that the one he faced was doing her level best to keep his attention. She had even loosed her silken girdle in the front exposing the full glory of her rounded curves to him.
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