Once her men realized she was spoken for, he would not put it past them to kill her out of spite.
Ivy could handle herself, he knew, but the idea that she might soon be in danger's path again made him beyond irritable and anxious.
A floating candle in a high up window caught his gaze. It bobbled for a moment before stilling. For a long while, Lukor stared at the flames, imagining Ivy was the one holding the candle.
Hushed tones drew his attention away from the fortress, and he bypassed sleeping goliaths toward the voices.
"He's a fool," a goliath whispered. The voice sounded familiar.
"He'll see reason." Karrina.
"And if he doesn't?"
"He'll see my blade."
Ah, yes. Varo. The goliath, who had not wished Balog to be golock, had seemed to want Karrina to be ruler.
"There is no need for your blade to be soiled." The faint but unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn drifted toward Lukor.
"I'm rather partial to my blood," Lukor said dryly, stepping forward out of the shadows.
Varo jumped to his feet while Karrina slowly shifted upward from her slouched position on top of a rock to stare at him.
"You wish me dead?" Having shed his armor shortly after the battle, Lukor ripped his tunic down toward his torso to reveal his bare chest. "Go ahead. I await your blow."
Varo actually took a step forward.
Karrina stood. "Halt," she commanded, her voice carrying on the gentle breeze blowing through their camp.
Varo lowered his sword.
"Put it away," Lukor demanded. If she thought she could undermine his authority, she thought wrong.
The goliath bared his teeth and grunted before complying.
Lukor returned his focus to Karrina, but the goliatha had fled. His long arm snaked out and grabbed Varo's shoulder. "If you dare speak about assassinating me again..."
"Just know who the true enemy is." Varo looked uncharacteristically somber, his features lacking their normal belligerence.
Lukor nodded. After circling through the camp one last time, he found a perch high up in a nearby tree and slept on a branch, one eye open the entire time.
When dawn came, Ivy and her men set about collecting the dead barbarian bodies. Once their blood was drained, the barbarians dug up a massive grave and dumped the bodies within it. At midday, they shared a meal of meat and drank the blood. A barbarian ritual. Some swore they could see the memories of the barbarian whose blood they drank. Ivy thought it foolish nonsense.
That is, until she took a sip from her wooden goblet. The sight of her mother, looking rather young and quite happy, came unbidden to her mind. Another sip and the scene dissolved away, melting into one of her father and mother talking and laughing. 'Twas the first time Ivy heard her father laugh.
Not that he was her father.
More sips and more memories: her father collecting rare flowers for her mother, them exploring the land. Her mother's mother must have still been on the throne then, as Mother seemed to have no responsibilities, nor Thunhall for that matter.
Their wedding Ivy shoved away, not wishing to see it. Next came Angar addressing Thunhall, revealing Mother's betrayal.
Ivy pushed the goblet aside. Next would be her mother's death, she knew, and she would rather not finish her drink than endure that.
But curious glances from the barbarians sitting at the long bench with her had Ivy reaching for the goblet again. After a deep breath, she swallowed the last of it in a large gulp.
A saber. He had used a saber to kill Mother, slicing and hacking, cutting off each finger and toe before chopping off limbs and finally her head. Such violence, and yet she didn't feel rage on Thunhall's part. Nor anger. Only disappointment and hurt. Evidently, his love of Bloodlust had started sometime after Mother's death.
She had not uttered one word to her men thus far that day, although the men cast her many questioning looks. Ivy had no answers for them. She knew not what to do, but she did realize she needed her men to be on her side wholly and completely before she could dare bring up Lukor.
Her cheeks grew warm at the thought of him, her hands recalling the feel of his soft hair, the firmness of his chest, the passion of his kisses. Every part of her body had come alive, burning alive. Such an experience she had never felt before. She had been willing to die if that was what had been required to save his life.
And she would do the same for each of the barbarians here gathered around only three of the benches in the mess hall, as their new barbaroness.
'Twas customary for new royal clothes to be fashioned upon the changing of their ruler. Ivy had little time to think and breathe, let alone time for hammering armor and sewing a skirt, so she'd dressed in her mother's garb: a royal armored dress, the skirt long and flowing, smooth against her legs, with long slits that extended more than halfway up her thigh for ease of movement. Dust had covered the indentations within the armor of the barbarian emblem, and she had wiped them away before dressing.
She stood, smoothing said skirt. "All of the weapons from the field must be brought inside and inventoried."
"Even those from the trolls?" Helm asked, his dark eyes shrew.
"Yes. We have a few pairs of dragonhide gloves that will provide protection." She had no problem using weapons against their owners.
In every barbarians' eyes, she could see their questions, their doubts. But no fear. A true barbarian never felt fear.
Another reason to believe her father had not been Thunhall as fear gripped her now. When she finally told them all that their barbaron would not be one of their members, but a goliath, they might well rise up against her and killed them both, their race be damned.
"The barbaroness before me, my mother, oft said we need more defenses. Thunhall disagreed. Now, with our numbers so precious and few, with our enemies possessing enchanted weapons, we have no other course of action but to ensure our safety and future."
All night long, she had not slept. After gazing upon the flickering firelight of the goliaths, she had ransacked her mother's belongings until she had discovered all of her defensive plans for the fortress and the entire kingdom.
She laid the plans for the fortress on the closest table. "We shall begin with a moat."
"And fill it with?" Katar asked, his fingers inching the map closer to him.
"Leave that to me." Ivy straightened and placed more scrolls upon the table. "This work needs to be done before the sun sets."
"But..." Steel protested.
"You have the muscles and the strength." She would not hear any protests, although she was indeed asking them to do a week's worth of work in a single day. "You have little time to waste."
In small groups of fours and fives, the barbarians trickled out of the room until only Glaive remained. A capable barbarian, with more muscles than most, even Thunhall, Glaive had tried to befriend her on many occasions. She had never given him time before. Had been too wrapped up in her own foolish view of the world and her refusal to accept her role as barbarian-princess and choose a mate to ensure the kingdom would have an heir and never have to face the turmoil the humans did on a daily basis.
How different life would have been if she had never been so selfish and settled for Glaive as her mate. She might have already given birth to several barbarians by now and been a mother. Now that the prospect that she never would hear "Momma" out of a young barbarian's mouth directed toward her had sunk in, she grieved what she had lost. The picture of those compassionate children she had clung to her heart had kept her moving forward toward the goal of saving her people. Instead she had condemned them.
Even Mother, in the Spirit Realm, had named Glaive as a possibility.
"We shall get through this with you leading us." Glaive picked up the sole scroll remaining on the table and handed it to her.
"Your faith may be misguided," she murmured, unable to look at him for fear tears might be in her eyes. Such weakness she had never felt before, and it terri
fied her.
"Never."
The unease in his expression combined with the light of hope in her eyes tore at her heart. They had never had a chance, yet Glaive thought they still might.
He stepped closer to her. "The others might need time to adjust to a new ruler."
Time and change always wrought destruction and pain. Adjustment was an understatement.
"But they will come around," he added.
His conviction struck a chord within her, a song she had to either sing along to or jar into a new rhythm.
"I will see to it that we survive the trolls," she promised.
Go on. Tell him.
But she couldn't and made no promises concerning a barbaron or the future beyond the trolls. For she knew in her heart the trolls were only one obstacle the barbarians had to face. The road before them led to death, whether it be today or tomorrow or next week.
The sun would soon set on the barbarian race, and there was only so much Ivy could do about it. Still, she would struggle to find a way until her dying breath.
If she could save them, she would. That elf, that nameless elf, be damned.
When barbarians tumbled out of the drawbridge, Lukor leisurely approached, although his leg muscles tensed, wanting to race over. The violet sun did not touch upon a blond head, and Lukor halted. Once the tide stopped with a single latecomer, Lukor grunted. Ivy remained inside, for whatever reason.
The sound of boots sloshing in the mud forced Lukor to turn from the fortress to see the newcomer. "Oh, Golic, what news bring you?"
"The goliaths and goliathas followed you here easily enough because you told us we were to wipe out the barbarians, yet an hour before we marched upon their fortress, you changed your mind and made us swear we would not harm one barbarian, but to smite all trolls. Now we remain here when the trolls have fled like cowards."
"My people are restless."
Golic's grimace spoke volumes, although his tongue wagged no more.
"They care not for how I rule."
"They are... questioning..."
Lukor shoved the handle of his axe into the ground so the weapon stayed propped up. "What do you think?"
"I think you have been rather, ah, secretive lately. No one can figure out what is going on with you. You're impulsive and rash and—"
"Enough." Lukor managed a small smile to soften his harsh tone.
When the golock remained silent, Golic bowed and wandered back toward their camp. Lukor watched as the barbarians dug around the fortress with large shields. A huge moat, rather wide. So wide the goliaths would have to move their encampment back farther from the fortress.
A soft hand touched the bare skin of his bicep, and he flinched.
"My, you act like someone is out to kill you where you stand."
He grunted. "Darcia. You look like yourself again."
Still too thin, but her skin had regained its normal dual green coloring, and the blood was gone from her body and clothes, a fresh sight to his worried eyes.
"That Ivy cares for you a great deal."
Lukor glanced behind him. None of the other goliaths or goliathas stood within hearing range, most milling about the various small camps in search of food. Still, he whispered, "She loves me and I her."
"I feared as much." Darcia sighed and shook her head. "You can't—"
"I must."
"You've always been an impetuous fool."
"You have your own flaws," he countered. "Running off and getting yourself captured."
"I never told you this because you would never have listened, but now you might. I don't think a barbarian killed Lucia."
He released a long, drawn-out breath. "Why say you?"
"Because the emblem she held was too intact, too perfect. Whoever killed her wanted us all to think a barbarian had committed the crime."
"A set-up." If only Darcia had told him sooner, so much of this could have been avoided. The chances of him believing her had been nil, however, and he never would have crossed paths with Ivy.
Of course, had he not, the barbarians would not be in such dire straits right now. Or, perhaps, even more so.
Unbidden, the words of Balog came back to Lukor. He, too, had said a barbarian had not killed Lucia, that the emblem had been planted.
Most likely by Balog himself. Even then, the goliath had been trying to find ways to distract Lukor from ever being interested in ruling the goliaths.
How Lukor wished he could kill the goliath again!
"There is much grumbling and talk." Darcia glanced behind her to their camp.
"Talk is nothing."
"They are conspiring to move against you. Frankly, I am surprised they did not start marching home already. You are losing them, Lukor, and if you do not do something to restore their faith in you and soon, they will rise up and kill you." Darcia lowered her head until her forehead touched the face of the huge wolf on his belt. "Cousin, forget the barbarians. Focus on the goliaths."
An idea had come to him late last night, or perhaps in the earliest moments of this day, one that returned to him now. "Karrina is quite capable."
"She is cunning and vile. You're golock now, which mean many goliaths have died."
"Aye, by Balog's doing."
"I wonder..." Darcia muttered, rubbing her chin.
Lukor followed her gaze to the next in goliathic line. "You think she gave him the idea?"
"Would not put it past her." Darcia stepped to the side to block his view of the other goliatha.
"How many goliaths did the trolls slay?"
"Ten times twelve battalions."
One thousand four hundred and forty.
Perhaps their best course of action was not to stay here and protect the barbarians, but rather go after the trolls directly and eliminate the source of the threat. The goliaths and goliathas could not disagree with the notion of avenging their fallen brethren. A great deal of trolls had fallen in the battle. Perhaps their numbers were close to equal.
Would Ivy sanction such a venture?
It mattered not. Until they were wed, he had to worry about his people first, then her and hers. His heart burned within his chest, begging him to reconsider, but his head ruled him. He was Golock.
Lukor stalked toward the largest camp and jumped onto one of their makeshift tables born of branches and a bush. "My fellow goliaths and goliathas." He held out his hands wide, turning in a circle to address each of them in turn. "We stayed here this past night to recover our strength and to refuel our bodies."
Karrina's smirk caught his gaze, and she glanced behind him toward the fortress, her lips drooping slightly.
She suspects about Ivy and me. Although he had not bothered to deny the claim she had made last night, perhaps he should have. How convincing a liar he was he did not know though. He had once thought her an honorable goliatha. Now, he suspected that had all been an act.
Darcia stood beneath him, staring up at him. She nodded, her expression blank.
Lukor grunted. "A few days ago, I learned the truth concerning my sister Lucia's death."
The soft rumblings amongst a few of the goliaths and goliathas died.
"She had been killed, that we all knew, but not by a barbarian. A troll had killed her for no reason." Perhaps the truth, perhaps not, but the motive mattered not, only that his people agree to hunt down the trolls. "We came here not so much to aid the barbarians but to avenge her death. Perhaps that was rash, but the trolls have become far too powerful. Enchanted blades. They killed far too many goliaths yesterday."
Golic moved through the crowd and now stood beside Darcia. He handed a bloody object to Lukor, who held it up high for the goliaths and goliathas to see.
"I struck down their skuleader on this very field and still they fought on. The trolls are more intelligent than we have ever given them credit for. They are a very real threat to not only the barbarians, but to us too."
"If we never helped the barbarians in the first place..." Varo muttered.
>
Lukor fixed him a glower, and the goliath actually stepped back.
"The elves must be helping the trolls." Karrina approached Lukor and addressed the group.
He bristled but tried to keep his face a mask. "Perhaps, but if some of their blades are enchanted as we suspect, we can steal some and use them against the trolls. That will even the flow of the battle."
"'Tis suicide," a goliath shouted.
"There are one hundred barbarians left," Lukor countered. "Do you think for one moment that the trolls will not then turn against us? I would not even put it past them to go after their benefactors, the elves."
Karrina faced Lukor and threw him a wink.
His stomach muscles clenched in revulsion.
She addressed the crowd once more, "We should listen to Lukor."
Her acceptance of him made him all the warier, but the goliaths and goliathas slowly nodded.
"Pack up your things. We shall leave shortly," he growled.
Only a few of the goliaths and goliathas gave him a sign of respect before leaving.
The weight of the skuleader's head caused his biceps to scream, but he did not hand it to Golic. He eased off the table but neglected to speak as Karrina remained with Darcia and Golic.
"I hope you know what you are doing," the goliatha said, her tone cold.
"I hope you know your place." Lukor bared his teeth.
"Oh, so scary." She mock shuddered. "They are not yours but mine. If I lend you my words, they will follow you even to their deaths. If I don't..."
"Do not threaten me," Lukor growled. He would have to deal with her. He could not give her what she wanted — to rule by his side.
"Do not ignore me or my power." She whirled around, the long black hair of her high ponytail slapping him in the cheek. Karrina disappeared within a tent.
Lukor grabbed Golic's shoulder. "What had she done while I was gone that they cling to her?"
The goliath shook his head. "I think she was a voice of reason in a time of inner turmoil. Most everyone suspected Balog as responsible for the deaths, or at least most of them."
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