by Jason Jones
“Kendari of Stillwood, and I would prefer the title High Priest Savant, if you would be so willing.” Kendari kissed her soflty on the lips, biting just a nibble, then motioned with his eyes for her to lead on ahead. The deer nudged his leg, hard, showing his silent disapproval.
“Shall…shall we then?” She stuttered and led up to the tenth floor.
“Yes, but I will be seeing you after, your name was…?”
“Lysette, I am an acolyte guardian to the priestess, queen Andora. There are many of us, trained with the blade, and in rituals, and…” Lysette grabbed his dark hair, pulled close, and kissed him furiously with lust and dark desires.
“Save some for later, my sweet acolyte.” Kendari pushed her back, gently after at least a dozen tongue filled repetitions between their lips.
“Yes, High Priest Savant, forgive me. My lust is drawn, being so denied in my service, I did not mean to offend.” She bowed and continued up the stairs.
“No offense, young one, none at all. Shall we?”
Kendari took notice during the foreplay, of seven of the Nataloni guardians here below, three more near the tenth floor, and the other twelve had positions in the other towers. The scimitars on them were enchanted with dark arcane magicks, as were their daggers, and even the blades and robes of these acolytes had infernal designs that held power. Kendari saw it all, without looking, during the embrace of this young girl of perhaps twenty years.
As he followed to the tenth floor, three sets of eyes went from black shadow to white solid gleams. Three curved blades and three wicked daggers crossed in front of him. Three shaggy heads of grizzled beard and unkempt hair smiled, fangs of black dripping with saliva, and their near naked gray skinned bodies were now between he and Lysette. Kendari went for his blades, on instinct, thinking his ruse was somehow undone.
“Stop, he is a guest of the queen.” She listened to words that made no noise, somehow conversing with them, then she turned to Kendari.
“Your blades, you may only enter unarmed, and alone.”
He thought hard, they had the advantage, blades drawn across his chest. He knew he had a chance, despite his positioning, to take them here. Kendari unbuckled his belt, and set his sheathed blades across the deer.
“As her highness commands.” He knelt next to the deer, staring into his brown trembling eyes. He rubbed his small horns soft for a moment, winked, then grabbed hard.
“Wait here, I will be back for you in awhile.”
The doors were ordinary, yet the acolyte bowed before entering nonetheless. She pushed them open, the Nataloni Nochti resumed their haunts in the shadowy corners, and red lights glared into the foyer of the tenth floor.
“Do not touch my offering, it is still a virgin. I expect it to still be so when I return.” Kendari glared a sideways glance to the hidden infernal men he knew were there.
Lysette knelt to the floor, Kendari did the same, yet his eyes could not help but take in the room. Bodies, naked women, all gutted with black burned gazes, lay in a circle with their hands nailed to the feet of the others. They were stretched, connected with black spikes to one another, and fire rose from the chest cavities where organs should have been.
Blood pooled on the stone floor, the corpses were marked with infernal designs, most of which he had never seen. In the center of the circle of sacrifices, runes and blood smeared writing was fashioned with at least thirty flaming and still beating hearts. He felt the rhythm of the cut out organs, beating in time to something dark that was coming from inside the circle.
Green moonlight danced its way in through the windows, and the blood smoldered more when the light reached it. Kendari felt for his blades, but they were not there, so he looked up.
Tapestries hung all over, depticting demonic winged beings fornicating with men and women that appeared human. An altar on the far side of the room, draped with blood soaked cloth from ceiling to floor, held a stone figure of a naked man with wings. The statue was covered in entrails, fire licked from its eyes, and the small horns pulsed with red light.
Two red tomes radiated the same light, as a naked woman covered in blood and dark scripture swayed on her knees and chanted softly. Kendari could only see her back, a little hint of her breasts as she moved, yet he found himself already enthralled with her. He squinted his eyes tight, fighting off the rhythm of her voice and the beating hearts of these dead women.
Lysette waited until the queen had stopped chanting, then took her black robe to her and covered her from behind. She whispered softly to her ear, bowed, and backed away out the doors. Kendari noticed the three dark figures hidden, the deer trembling, and the doors were left open just a few inches. A pair of dark eyes watched him from the crack between the doors, never blinking.
“You may rise, High Priest Savant of Cancuru, and tell me what message you bring from beyond.” Andora of Armondeen spoke as she turned around to face this marked elven stranger.
Kendari leaned forward, kissed the bloody floor, then rose to his feet and met her dark eyes with blue painted designs.
“I am Kendari of Stillwood, your highness. I was sent to bring offering, a virgin sacrifice of Seirena, to assist in your summoning.”
“I need not the blood of animals to complete my rites, elf. I have never heard of such things, you lie.”
“Do I? Perhaps I do, often in fact. That does not change the fact that I was sent here, to you, this night. How many times have you performed this conjuration infernal? How many times has Harron duplicated it? My guess would be none.” Kendari tried to recall the conversation he and Angeline overheard.
“True, but I assure you it is perfect. The child of Shukuru, Kashtamias, Knight of Infernium, is arriving soon. My offerings here are correct, as will be those of Harron. I believe it is time for you to leave, Kendari. I need no assistance, none was asked for, so you coming here is most suspicious.”
He stepped around the circle, nonchalantly, looking at the preparations and words infernal as if he knew what they meant. He squinted from time to time, hummed to himself twice, and looked upon the grotesque scene with interest. Andora circled as well, keeping to the other side of the unholy fires, opposite him at all times.
“Here, this area looks in need of blood.” Kendari pointed to a dry spot inside the wall of fire. He could not reach in the circle without being burned with demonic flames, so he remained outside the area, without his much needed weapons. He thought of another lie quickly.
“My gift was given by a dark messenger, named Nareene. This deer, was taken from birth, from a sacred temple of the Whitemoon. It was fed the blood of virgins, the waters of the cemetaries, and it has been groomed for sacrifice.”
“I have never heard of such a thing, beautiful as it sounds.” Andora stared at this elf, watching his every motion.
“Queen Andora, I am over six centuries old. I know many things, books you have read or not, things that you likely have never heard of. Cancuru has sent me many a sign, many a gift, and told me to come here, to you.”
“You know much, there is no doubt hence this summoning is secret, as are the movements of Amirak Harron to the south.”
“I am blessed with the knowledge of all you do, and who he will offer as sacrifice in the curselands. I know of the elven woman, the minotaur, and those that have trespassed. I know more than you may think, Queen Andora. Praise be to the hells.”
“I see, so sing me a hymn to Cancuru. Show me then, priest of the eleven.” Andora smiled and fell to her knees.
“Better yet, show Kashtamias, for he is here. He will know if you are false.”
Kendari knelt fast, seeing horns, two curved black spiraling horns, raise slowly from the fiery circle. Red light poured through the floor, green moonlight beamed into the chambers, and the song of a thousand demons screaming for blood whispered in the tenth story of the tower of the Sceptre.
“Hail, Kashtamias, child of Shukuru, Knight of Hell!” Kendari spoke with conviction as he kissed the warming floor of
blood and red illumination, inches from the circle of corpses. His mind raced on what to say, what he had heard, how to delay.
The forehead rose, black skin, shining like pure dark water on a moonlit night, then the eyes of crimson with deep green pupils. The head had a human appearance, despite being twice in size, and it looked up to the ceiling where the patterns now glowed as well. Horned tips of black skin wings graced the mortal air, then its mouth and long curled chin came into view. Kashtamias opened his fanged mouth, revealing bulging teeth of curled yellow bone, and a forked ebony tongue that dripped with blood.
“Greetings Andora, faithful of the eleven.” His voice was a shuddering of growls and whispers that blended horror with song. He turned his head to Kendari.
“Who is this?” His hand, black thick skin with three fingers and a thumb each ending in a curved yellow claw, rose from the circle.
“He claims to serve Cancuru, and has come with sacrifice.” Andora looked up with a smile of pleasure.
“I am Kendari of Stillwood, bane of Seirena and the Whitemoon, hunter of her devoted, and the only of my kind to survive the Nadderi curse. I have a virgin offering, blessed by the mother of your father, the mother he despises and hates from his pit eternal. I offer it to you, great Kashtamias, and welcome you to the mortal night.” Kendari bowed, keeping himself calm as possible, thinking only of clearing his mind and visualizing the fires in front of him in his head.
The pause was the length of forever, longer perhaps. Then the infernal knight spoke.
“I smell your virgin deer, I sense the mark and brand of service to my uncle over your heart, and I can see the curse of the Whitemoon on your flesh. Rise, Andora of Armondeen, rise Kendari of Stillwood, and let us honor my coming to your world with prayers to each of the eleven firstborn.” Kashtamias whispered with the force of thousands, the fires inflamed all around, and the light of Gimmor grew strong in the chamber.
Kendari smiled, meeting the eyes of Andora through the flames, and she smiled back. He took off his shirt of enchanted steel, then of cloth, and stood with his hands clasped. His brand was glowing, it ached, yet he did not look.
He watched her disrobe, barely able to stop his loins from stirring as her naked voluptuous form stood beyond the fires. She began to chant, Kendari watched her perfect lips, anticipating what she would say, and repeated the unholy verses softly as the son of the devil rose up from hell before him.
“Soon, I will be consecrating a temple. So sing, both of you, sing with me of my father, Shukuru, who ruleth the hells of judgement. Sing to the eleven, so that I may go to the ancient city of temples, and bring about the dooms of Aldane Agara and the Caricians.” Kasthamias laughed, looking across as he rose through flame and blood, from the eighth hell. His eyes began to inspect every detail of the circle, he listened to the songs, and he breathed deep the mortal airs.
Hunters IV:III
Temple of the Whitemoon
Chazzrynn
“Just a little further Liogan Andellis, you can make it.”
Lavress Tilaniun pulled him along on his right shoulder, the heir prince Bryant on his left. The hunter of the Hedim Anah was exhausted after two days and nights of being chased, and they had not stopped for even a moments’ rest.
“I can’t…I cannot…go on…leave me…Lavress. Save, the…prince.” His breaths were shallow, his skin was pale, he had lost too much blood.
“If…I can…make it…so can…you…Knight of Southwind.”
Bryant could see just enough out of one eye to make out the face of the wood elf, Lavress, who had rescued him and killed Jehrale Valhera. He could see Liogan Andellis too, the young Chazzrynn man beside him, the one that had taken the crossbow bolt into his ribs during their escape.
“I..am a…knight of…Chazzrynn…my prince…” Liogan whispered out of force, not desire, his breaths were very short now.
“I forgot…Sir Liogan…my apologies…The battle…my father…when can we…go…back…Lavress…?” Bryant could hardly take in air, the pain from his broken bones shot up his side.
“Ssssshhh…no time for that, we are close, but so are they. Hurry now, be silent.” Lavress pushed on harder.
The forests of the southern frontier kingdom had been clear ahead of them, thankfully so. Lavress pulled his two injured companions over another hill, into a steep valley, nearly tripping as their feet dragged in the brush and roots. They had run, sprinted, marched fast, and stumbled the whole way. Their only rest had been when Lavress turned to face a few of their followers.
Bryant and Liogan had not seen it in the night, but their savage hunter had dispatched eleven Valhirst soldiers and four man-panthers already. He knew from his occasional climb into the higher trees, that many more were on their trail. Too many to fight alone. He had killed quickly, quietly, and then resumed their flight to the only safe spot he knew of in Chazzrynn, the sacred Temple of the Whitemoon.
“The grove, I see it ahead. Almost there men. Keep moving.”
He saw the false smiles on their faces. He was amazed Liogan was alive, most men would have died by now. The bolt was too deep to remove in the wilderness, so he ran with it still lodged into his side. Bryant may not have been able to see, but all three of them had heard victorious cheers to Johnas Valhera shortly after their escape two nights’ past. Lavress assumed that the heir prince knew why, and he decided not to allow an answer to any such questions. He had to keep them moving, or they were all as good as dead.
Lavress heard growling in the distance, not a quarter mile behind them, feline growling. The sun would not rise for another four hours, the panthers were midnight black, so by the light of the moon, he would fight, alone. He had seen over twelve last time he checked, he hoped some had given up the chase.
“Lavress, hurry!” It was not Bryant, nor Liogan, but another voice from the sacred grove.
Lavress knew the voice, the ogre outcast, the guardian of the temple. It was Grnikol, his twisted spear in hand, and his purple eyes and small yellow tusks gleamed in the moonlight.
“Help me, please.”
Lavress collapsed at the white stones that encircled the sacred grove before the stairs. Bryant fell into the arms of Grnikol, Liogan fell to his knees and drew his broadsword. Lavress thought of Shinayne, of his training, yet his face remained in the cool grasses outside the temple. His body gave out.
“Get up Lavress Tilaniun, you have brought enemies.”
Grnikol carried Prince Bryant into the temple entrance, the white stone was closing slowly, but already it was a tight sideways fit for the small ogre.
“Who…who..are you…an..ogre…?”
Bryant turned his head at a funny angle to see who was carrying him. His head bumped the stone, his body was unable to give the strength to his neck anymore.
“Yes, though not like the ogre your kingdom fights, Prince of Chazzrynn. My name is Grnikol, and I am taking you to the princess Ramaya-nun. She is waiting for you, be still now.” His words held no power, yet the calm of the sacred temple did, and Bryant Salganat fell into dark slumber as his body began to fail.
“My princess, I have two more outside, the heir prince is here. I go to battle, may Seirena bless you.” Grnikol bowed fast, set the prince down at her feet, and stomped back out of the temple to face whatever was coming.
“Hurry, my guardian, the doors close soon. Be brave…”
Her hair was wild with red waves in the air, her voice a song from the fey, and she flew over to the dying human prince. The daughter of Seirena, one of seven remaining fey matriarchs, kissed him on the lips and began to pray. Sparkles of dust circled the air, the temple whispered, and Ramaya-nun heard his heartbeat strengthen, just a little.
Grnikol could sense predators on the wind, not far over the hill before the sacred grove. The winds told him, the grasses warned, and the trees moaned. He looked to the knight that had saved his king last time he was here, Liogan Andellis, he recalled. Grnikol walked up to him, seeing the projectile deep in his r
ibs, and his white tabard stained with far too much blood. He knew the boy would not live another hour. Then the ogre looked to Lavress, still face down in the grass, beyond exhaustion.
“Liogan, I need you to come with me.” Grnikol walked him over to the temple, then grabbed him and carried him down.
“No, no, no! Damn you! I will stay and fight, I can, my place is with Lavress..stop, damn you, stop…” Liogan had not the strength to fight him, though he struggled as best he could.
“Niastae, priestess of the Whitemoon, help me please.” Grnikol ran sideways, his chest and back scraping the closing stone. He set Liogan down, slowly on his side, minding the bolt in his ribs.
Liogan’s eyes closed, as a sphinx with the face of a woman breathed over him. Her braids of mane dangled in his face, her eyes teared, and she folded her wings back and sat over him as little nixies flew all around her.
“Niastae, help, I beg you.” Grnikol stared at her.
“I cannot, you know this. I have to close the temple while Ramaya-nun saves the prince of Chazzrynn. We cannot leave it undone and open.”
“Please, something, anything. I will hold them off until it is closed.”
“I do not know, Grnikol, I can make no promises here. He is badly injured.” Niastae, priestess of the Whitemoon for her princess, prayed out a feline song, and focused on trying to save the young knight she remembered fondly.
“Try, please. I go out now, and I shall not return.” Grnikol made the sign of love to the sphinx, from heart, to chin, then to his lips with his hand. He did not wait for a reply, but marched up the stairs and forced his girth through to the top. He knew he could not get back inside now.
“Blessings of the mother upon…” Niastae’s voice faded in the distance below.
Lavress was still on the grass, face down, eyes closed. Grnikol ran to him, knelt, and then looked up. Fifteen black panthers snarled in the moonlight of the full Gimmor and crescent Carice. One of them had a patch over its eye, and it growled at the edge of the grove with its brethren.