Bloodlust

by Nicole Zoltack

  But the goliath held her deathly still, scarcely breathing, and gradually, other noises could be heard. The call of a raven. The screech of a banshee far off in the distance. Much closer, however, was the sounds of footsteps.

  And the owners were coming straight toward them.

  "Trolls." The goliath's breath brushed against her face, and she wrinkled her nose despite it not smelling wholly unpleasant. She had thought of goliaths as inferior, but this one certainly was a warrior.

  "How can you be certain?" Ivy tried to glance around, but his grip tightened. She was so close to him she could see copper specks in his green eyes.

  He exaggerated a sniff. After all, Goliaths were known for their advanced smelling prowess.

  "How many?" she asked, her voice the faintest of whispers. She struggled to listen to heartbeats other than his but his pounded so loudly, so near, she could hear nothing else, not even the fishes swimming in the pond.

  "Impossible to say."

  "Let go of me." She thrashed about in his grasp, struggling to break free.

  He chuckled faintly. "Am I too strong for you?"

  "Hard—"

  He clamped a thick, calloused hand over her mouth. "Do you want..." His gaze fixated on something behind Ivy.

  Now he released her. She whipped around to see five tall trolls staring down on them, each holding at least two weapons, one even had a blade between its teeth. All wore identical grins, their eyes alive with malice. Their skin a dark color that contrasted with their white armor, built like mountains, the trolls warriors would not go down easily.

  If she were a goliatha. Or a puny human.

  But she was a barbarian. Their princess at that.

  These smirking, snarling trolls had met more than their match.

  Without a word, they attacked. The goliath nodded at Ivy, but she paid him no heed. If he thought they were an alliance, even for this battle, he was sorely mistaken.

  The nearest troll howled, and her blood curdled, thickening, filling her body with Bloodlust. 'Twas strange that the battle with the goliath hadn't summoned it, but as soon as her sword clanged against the troll's mace, Bloodlust overtook her, controlling her limbs. With a heavy swing of her sword, she chopped of his hand. His weapon flew through the air, and her blade cut his in thirds before making its way to his helmet, and through it, to his brain. Not even a grunt passed his lips as he sank to the ground.

  Her eyes unseeing, she attacked the next person, moving solely on instinct. Every other sense was heightened: the stench of sweat and blood; the sounds of grunts, whistles of weapons cutting through the air, and the wails of the wounded; the touch of the hilt in her hand. Two hilts, she had acquired another weapon. Perhaps the goliath's morning star.

  Soon, the grunts and wails all ceased, and no other weapon stirred the air but her own. As quickly as it came, the Bloodlust ended. Her breathing normalized as her vision returned to see a heap of trolls, some of their limbs on top of the pile.

  To her surprise, the goliath stood beside the mound. Not only still alive, but unblemished. Sweat dripped down his nose, along the line of slightly darker green.

  "Not bad," he commented.

  She blinked a few times. How had she not heard his heartbeat? The Bloodlust should have ensured she kept killing until no one else survived. Some of the reason why barbarians did not send many warriors into battle. One, they did not need to. A single barbarian in Bloodlust mood could take down a force far greater than this. And two, once in Bloodlust, barbarians killed everyone, even other barbarians.

  "I took down two," he continued.

  Why was he still speaking? The grip on her sword tightened.

  "Which means I handled three," she returned in a tone that suggested him to be, by far, inferior to her.

  "Ah, but one of the ones I killed had been ready to end you."

  "Impossible." Once again, she brought up her sword to start their own battle anew when the caw of a vulture had her dropping her blade and shooting an arrow as soon as the bird appeared in her sights above the trees.

  She raced back into the Forest to the body and opened the bird's stomach. Similar marks to the other coded message marred the scroll.

  Ivy straightened and smoothed the folds in her armored dress. Half of the once white skirt was now stained with blood, none of it hers.

  "Interesting."

  The damned goliath. Why was she still suffering his presence?

  Her sword ready to strike, the message crinkling against the hilt, she whirled around, ready to end her time with him.

  Only he had scaled a tree, high up, out of reach. By the time she secured her silverbow, he had jumped out of the tree, tumbled into her, knocking her off balance. Their hands brushed first against her shield as she retrieved it — just why did he want it so badly? — and then against the wrinkled message.

  Merely because the last remnants of her Bloodlust had already dissipated was he able to pilfer it from her. He examined it, his full lips twisting, his bushy brows forming a "V."

  "Do you know what it means?"

  His green eyes flickered above the blood-stained message toward her. "You're asking for a goliath for help, Oh Barbarian-Princess?"

  His mocking tone grated on her nerves, and she especially did not care for his knowing who she was, although only the barbarian-princess' armored dress bore the crest of her people.

  She snatched the paper back. "Go on your way and I will spare you."

  He snorted. "I know not why you're out here, beyond your lands—"

  "I could say the same for you." She itched to go, but her legs remained immobile.

  "I propose an agreement."

  Now she was the one to snort. What could a goliath possibly offer to her that she might even be tempted to want? Again, she eyed his tunic, the barbarian one overlaying it flapping in the breeze. A wide belt sported a metal plate of a monstrous wolf head. Tan pants stretched to accommodate his thick tree trunk-sized muscular legs. She brought her gaze back up to his face. The lighter shade was a yellow-green shade, she decided. The darker reminded her of a fruit she’d tasted only once before, an apple. By far, the yellow-green dominated his skin, making the apple-green markings almost like a birthmark or a tattoo.

  Perhaps this goliath could answer the questions she hadn't the chance to ask the female.

  "Why are the goliaths lurking near my borders?"

  His green eyes narrowed to dark slits. "Do you know the action of every barbarian?"

  A convenient excuse.

  Rolling her eyes and half-turning away from him, she asked, "What is your... agreement?"

  "I will bring you to someone who can decipher the message."

  Her blood sang. Such knowledge would be exceedingly helpful, for both her and her people. So that she could be elevated in her father's opinion and so her people could be spared from unnecessary battle — if the battle proved to truly be unnecessary.

  "In exchange for?"

  The goliath rubbed at a speck of blood marring his tunic. "Your shield."

  He wanted it desperately, had made that quite clear. She saw no reason for it, and frankly was relieved he hadn't asked for something more important.

  "Do we have a deal?" He held out his large, mostly yellow-green hand.

  A barbarian and a goliath making a deal. Who would have ever thought?

  His hand devoured hers, engulfing it as they shook.

  "Deal."

  Her hand was soft yet firm, almost a weapon in and of itself. She was powerful despite being so much smaller than him. Lukor towered over her by more than a foot. He wasn't used to being around such a short female. Most goliathas grew to be as tall as the males. The barbarian-princess was completely feminine and yet a killer.

  And she had agreed to his deal. Oh, how she would one day rue that decision.

  "But, goliath," the barbarian princess continued, "I will only give you the shield after your person translates the message."

  "As you say." He could
not stop his lips from smirking. "I do have a name."

  "So do I. And I deserve more respect than you are giving me." She crossed her arms beneath her armored bodice, her blood-soaked skirt swirling in the breeze.

  "Perhaps if you showed me an ounce, I'd gladly give you a pound."

  Her purple eyes widened, and she tilted her head upward to look down upon him in spite of their height difference. With a sigh, she waved her hand. "Out with it."

  "Lukor," he supplied, seeing no need to provide his full name, all ten parts of it.

  "Lukor," she repeated, "you will address me as Barbarian-Princess, or Your Highness."

  "Or Ivy."

  Her murderous gaze notwithstanding, he stood his ground and did not flinch, although he would not hesitate to bring up a weapon or two to defend himself should she attack. The way she had chopped through those trolls...

  But she merely took a deep breath. "Where are we off to?"

  The dense Forest of Gildersnatch prevented Lukor from seeing the barbarians' stone fortress. "Do you not have an escort? Or wish to tell your father where you are going?"

  Ivy stiffened and narrowed her eyes to slits, the barest trace of purple visible. "Where are we off to?" The princess spat out the repeated question with no grace.

  As a warrior goliath, Lukor had managed to kill a barbarian before, when he had stolen the tunic, so the princess was not his first encounter with the race. He had longed to see how close he could get to their fortress without detection. Had not even managed to see it because of her. Too curious as to why a female barbarian was bathing so far from the fortress.

  She was so unlike goliathas, who were more docile, save when hunting for food, and so easy to make happy. He doubted the princess had even experienced that emotion.

  To say she was nothing like the reigning goliatha empress would be an understatement.

  Many goliathas had scars on their bodies, usually from vicious animal attacks, but none were like the ones he'd seen on Ivy's body while she bathed. The disfigurement had not lessened the lines of muscles and raw power in her back. Had he realized who she was, he would have left her be. But she had known he stood there and he had no choice but to reveal himself.

  "The Rocks of Breakingham," he finally answered.

  The princess jerked her head for him to get going. He complied, but not before he saw her glance in the direction of her fortress. It was a seven-day march to the Rocks. If they made good timing, they might be able to cut it to five. Still, it would be some time before she saw another barbarian again.

  Or he a goliath. The Rocks were on the edge of the human domain.

  "So, Ivy, why aren't you within your land?"

  "Do you honestly think I'm going to talk to you?"

  Grinning, he peered over his shoulder at her. "Enjoying the view from back there?"

  Her tanned cheeks burned. "Your backside leaves a lot to be desired." She quickened her pace to be only an inch behind him.

  She was used to leading. That she needed him must irk her something fierce. He smiled again. Irking her was quickly becoming a favorite pastime.

  As they walked around the base of the mountains, the teal grass melted away to blue bushes and sand. Her strides were just as long as his, but she moved quicker, and soon was a step ahead. Her shield bounced on her back. So tantalizing. He could reach out and snatch it.

  But she'd hunt him down. Probably could outrun him. He'd never make it back to Ordisium in one piece.

  The shield though. He never thought barbarians used a defensive weapon. True, it did have a spike in the center, but it still struck him as against everything he knew about barbarians. Regardless, if it should be sent back to Barbadia without its owner, war was all but assured.

  Once they bypassed the last of the mountains, he halted. "Time for a meal."

  "Let's press on."

  "The Spirit Realm is not a location to traverse during the dark hours."

  Her small eyebrows rose in perfect arches. "Why would we bother to go that route? The Smog is a desolate place, yes, but it will be quicker—"

  "Not if you know a certain route through the Realm." He was asking her to trust him. When he didn't trust her either. And had given her no reason to trust him.

  After a tense moment, her hand resting on her hilt, she nodded. "I'm hungry anyhow." She sniffed. "I think I smell your cousin nearby."

  A pig was not far from them. Snorting, cowardly creatures, how could she compare a warrior to such a timid animal? The insult had him unleashing his axe before conscious thought.

  Her sword met his weapon, a spark flying from the joint metal. With a shrug, she scampered off into the small spattering of nearby trees.

  Lukor still had a small ration of meat, and he chewed it idly as he waited for her to return. Why was she was so impatient to intercept trollish messages? From his own correspondences with the brutish race, the trolls were ready to launch an attack on Barbadia Fortress within two weeks. The trolls were not hiding this fact. Surely, the barbarians already knew about it.

  But they should have no knowledge that the goliaths were strongly considering joining their one-time enemy in the venture. A good number of goliaths were uncertain, however, and Golempress Heda had dubbed Lukor a quest-seeker to discover one way or the other if she should risk her goliaths' lives in war.

  But Lukor had his own agenda. His mind was already made up.

  When Ivy returned to the foul-smelling goliath, he had already started a fire. She tossed her possum onto the coals. Not her favorite meal — she preferred salamander veal or dragon's tongue, when they were available — but it would have to do. The pig, the coward, had run off squealing when she approached.

  She ate in silence as the goliath watched the horizon. Every fiber in her being directed her hand toward her weapon, to end him, but she held back. No amount of prompting could secure his secret route, or the name or race of his informant.

  Having to rely on another person, especially a goliath, left her in a foul mood. All she wanted to do was to learn what the messages contained. To be coded, they had to hide important secrets, far more than merely warfare. A desperate gamble to save her people — that's what this venture was. Battles, barbarians craved. But war, with their few numbers, could mean their extinction. As much as she longed to fight, war had to be avoided.

  In the early days, most barbarian rulers served only a few years before their offspring offed them to claim the throne. How the first generation of barbarians didn't kill each other until none were left, Ivy often puzzled over.

  Her father had ruled for five years now, her grandfather only two. Before him, a different family line had been the royals. If her father kept berating and belittling her, it was only a matter of time before she snapped. She had come so close the last time they had spoken she had to flee Barbadia and put some distance between them.

  She had to be right in her guess with the messages. If she returned empty-handed, her father would kill her. Or she him.

  As an only child and without an heir — most barbarians married young, developing and maturing faster than humans in that regard — Ivy had been hounded for years to marry. She had no desire to. None. Not even to secure her own bloodline. Barbarians did not marry for love. Indeed, few if any bothered to feel that emotion, preferring instead the darker edge of life and its virtues.

  Her meal finished, she caught the goliath staring at her.

  "You have some blood on your clothes."

  What a pompous ignoramus. Of course she had blood on her clothes, that of her enemies. If he continued to insult her, she'd kill him, regardless of his connection. She cared not if he lived or breathed. Her father alone was allowed to degrade her because she had no desire for the crown. If she had, she would have married and killed him years ago.

  His grin grew, his teeth glistening in the waning light. "Go on, kill me."

  The call of a nearby bird had her gaze lifting to the skies, but she could not see it against the dark backdrop. Few
stars shone down upon them.

  "Ignoring me, are you?"

  "Hate the silence, do you?" She removed her dagger and picked at her fingernails.

  After a blessed moment of silence that ended far too soon, the goliath asked, "Why don't you sleep some?"

  "Allow you to keep watch?" The noise she made deep in her throat sounded similar to his snort earlier. "I think not. You sleep if you so choose."

  He shrugged, lying down on the grass, arms folded beneath his shaking head. "I don't trust you either."

  The hours passed slowly, but mercifully, he stilled his tongue. True to their words, neither slept. Once the earliest rays of the violet sun warmed her face, Ivy bolted to her feet. Wordlessly, they resumed their trek.

  The land stretched endlessly before them: hills and valleys, lots of bushes and trees. Soon, the vegetation melted away, the vibrant teal color of the grass fading to a drab gray before dying away altogether as they entered a swamp.

  Cool, murky water touched the hem of her skirt, staining it black and removing the blood. Being a shorter and far lighter than the goliath, Ivy moved easily across the wet land.

  "Avoid that patch," Lukor said, suddenly beside her, his hand near, but not touching, her elbow. He pointed to a tall tree that marked the middle of the swampland.

  The tree stretched so high she couldn't see the top. Not a thing graced its black, tarnished branches. Dead, lifeless, like the rest of the swamp.

  "They say—"

  "I know well what they say," Ivy snapped. She might be a barbarian, but she wasn't a mindless savage.

  Tales of the Doomed Tree, as some called it, had circulated for generations. Supposedly, a human male had loved a troll woman, but she had not cared for him. So the human had asked an elf for help — some claimed to forget his love, others that he wished for an elixir to entice her to "love" him, and still more that he asked to have his heart taken away. The elf had transformed the human into the accursed tree. Rumor said if a troll gazed upon it, they were so moved to tears that all the water would be leeched from their body, and they would die of mummification.