Leksi was pulled up and shoved toward his horse. Before he could curse the man who had slapped him in the middle of his back, another had reached out to grab him between the legs. Eyes wide, lips drawn back from his teeth, Leksi lashed out with his foot and caught the abuser in the balls, planting his boot firmly and with savagery in the other man’s crotch.
A yowl of agony ripped out of the man’s throat and he fell to the ground, his hands wrapped protectively around his wounded parts. Rolling back and forth and groaning in pain, he was ignored as another man lifted Leksi and plopped him down in the saddle.
“You are quick, boy,” the leader scoffed, “but when the king is finished with you, you’ll be down on your knees sucking Wafid’s cock for having done that to him! I can tell you now he’s going to shove it down your pretty little throat until you choke!”
The other men laughed and as Krull was lifted to his mount and his ankles—as were Leksi’s—lashed together beneath the belly of the horse, the leader went over to see to the injured man.
“Get up, Wafid,” the leader ordered, nudging the moaning man with the toe of his boot. “You’ll have your time with the Pretty One.”
“I w-will c-cut off his b-balls!” Wafid vowed as he struggled to stand.
“I’m sure the king will gather you an audience for that,” the leader conceded.
Leksi had a black eye and several shallows cut along his forearm, a few scrapes and bruises but nothing major. Krull was suffering from a bitch of a headache caused by the blunt end of an attacker’s sword to back of the Lord High Commander’s neck, felling him from his mount. Along with the various shallow cuts on his arms, there was also a gash on his cheek from when he’d fallen to the rocky ground. Other than those injuries, the warriors were pestered more by wounded pride than anything else. Both were furious that they had allowed themselves to be captured, and neither had any illusions about what awaited them at Abalam’s keep.
* * * * *
Okypous was on her hands and knees before Queen Antianeira. The stout woman’s ugly face was screwed into a mask of terror and tears flowed copiously down her cheeks. Her hands were clenched under her chin, her voice a mere shriek of sound as she rocked on her knees and begged forgiveness for her sins, her babbling words accented with hiccups of hysteria.
“What sin is she babbling about?” Queen Deianeira demanded.
“I have no idea,” Queen Antianeira replied. “Get the hell up, woman. It is unseemly for you to be wallowing around like that!”
Okypous shot to her feet, but was so afraid of her Queens she could do little more than whimper. Still bobbing back and forth, she began shaking her head, flinging her unbound hair this way and that.
“What in the hell is wrong with her?” Queen Deianeira asked. “Where is Flavia?”
“At the Abbey,” her twin sister answered. She stepped down from her throne, drew back her hand, and slapped Okypous as hard as she could, staggering the heavier woman.
Eyes flared wide, Okypous dropped to her knees once more and wrapped her arms around Antianeira’s legs. “Forgive me, Majesty!” she pleaded. “Forgive me!”
“For what?” Antianeira shouted.
“I did not want to do it, but Flavia would have killed me. I…”
Queen Deianeira was beside the distraught woman in a flash and hunkered down beside her. She grabbed a handful of Okypous’ hair and dragged her head back. “What did you do?”
“I s-sent a message to my cousin,” Okypous stuttered, and a bubble of snot burst from her nose.
In disgust, Queen Deianeira shoved the woman away and got to her feet, her lips twisted with repulsion.
“Sent what cousin a message?”
“Sorath Nergal,” Okypous confessed.
The twin sisters exchanged a look. “The Chief of the Secret Police in Nebul?”
“Aye,” Okypous whined. She covered her face with her hands. “I am so sorry, so very sorry. Forgive me!”
“Once more you have allowed that bitch Flavia to lead you into mischief,” Queen Antianeira said. “Why do I suspect this is real trouble you’ve gotten yourself into this time?”
“I did not want to do it, Your Majesty,” Okypous moaned. “I knew it was wrong.”
“What did you tell your cousin, whore?”
“The plan,” Okypous whimpered. “Oh, Alluvia! I beg forgiveness!”
Antianeira and Deianeira looked at one another. “The Pleiadesians know Krull is coming,” Deianeira said.
“He should have been here by now. The sun has only an hour left in the sky,” Antianeira remarked.
“And he would have been unless there was an unwelcoming party sent out to snare him.”
The sisters turned their furious eyes to Okypous. “This was Flavia’s doing?” Antianeira wanted clarified.
“Aye,” Okypous moaned, the word drawn out.
“Why?” the Domestic Queen demanded. “She never does anything without a personal motivation. What is in it for her?”
“I don’t know, Majesty. She didn’t explain her reasons to me.”
“This isn’t a case of trying to thwart us,” Antianeira said. “There’s more to it.”
Queen Deianeira looked to one of the two Amazeen guards stationed at the door to the throne room. “Gather a squad and go after Flavia. Bring that treasonous bitch back in chains but make sure she is unharmed. I want the pleasure of chopping off her head myself when this is done!”
The guard had snapped to attention the moment her Queen’s eyes fell on her. With a slap of her balled fist to her heart, she took a step back, pivoted on the toe of her boot and spun around, making haste to do as she was bid.
“And you,” Deianeira said, pointing at the remaining guard, “send a fast rider to Galatea’s villa and alert her niece to what has happened. She will want to go after her lover.”
“And wind up in the harems of Abalam’s vile Tribunal?” her sister challenged.
“Nay, not that one. She’ll know what she should do.”
“Do we ride against the Pleiadesians along with her?”
“No. We are outnumbered unless we have the Venturians and the Hell Hags with us. Go, sound the alarm. I will gather my warrioresses together and send messengers to Tasjorn and Bandar. It is time we put an end to Abalam Robeus once and for all!”
“What about the Qabalans?”
Queen Deianeira’s face showed her disdain. “They wish to remain neutral? Let them. When we put Clea on the throne of Pleiades, we’ll make her Regent of Qabala, as well. The Qabalan king is a fool at best. He won’t gainsay us!”
Chapter Eleven
Kynthia was not at her aunt’s villa when the messenger arrived, her lathered pony heaving for air.
“She’s gone after him, and her sisters and I are preparing to follow,” Galatea informed the messenger. “I also sent word to Queen Mona.”
“My Queen will wish to know who told you of this,” the messenger said.
“No one needed to. Kynthia knew the moment her man was taken,” Galatea said. “She has powers.”
Never one to question the gifts of the gods, the messenger nodded, wished Galatea and her nieces a safe journey with the Wind, and then turned her horse to race back to Amazeen where she hoped to join those headed into battle.
“I’ve never seen Kynthia so angry,” Haidee said as she came out of the keep, her quiver of arrows lashed securely to her back.
“I pray she calms down before she reaches Nebul,” Galatea replied. “It will be full night by then and not a one of those barbarians will survive a meeting with our Reaper.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” Erinyes sneered. “Let her drain every last heathen one of them!”
Galatea rolled her eyes. “Have you no concept of what stealth battle is all about, Erinyes? Have you learned nothing I have taught you?”
“You can draw more flies with honey than vinegar,” Celadina quipped as she strapped her dagger to her waist and adjusted the sheath. “Our sister will
need to be calm and levelheaded if she is to get inside that dungeon and find her man.”
“Aye,” Ophelia agreed. “Going in there in a frenzy will only get her hurt.” She looked at her aunt. “Or worse.”
“It will take a sharp blade across the neck to stop Kynthia,” Galatea said. “Wounded, she will be more vicious than her enemies. That is why I say she must be calm. She can walk right by the guards if she but puts those Reaper powers of hers to work.”
* * * * *
Cainer Cree felt the same way. He was sending messages to Kynthia as she rode hell-bent for leather along the coast road to Pleiades. He was speaking softly to her, stressing each word, cautioning her to think before she acted.
“They have my mate!” she shouted, the wind whipping her hair as her steed galloped across the sand.
Aye, but he is alive still. Think, Kynthia. Do not act rashly. You will be no good to him otherwise.
Knowing she had a superior warrior instructing her, Kynthia silently agreed to temper her fury. A part of her was livid with rage while another shrank at what might be happening to Leksi.
You would feel it if he were being hurt, the Reaper reminded her. Concentrate on him, listen to his thoughts. You’ll find him quicker that way.
Kynthia was bent low over her mount’s neck, her heels drumming into the beast’s straining side, urging it to a faster speed. Her hands gripped the reins so tightly the leather was cutting into her palms.
You have never used the ability to make others overlook you, wench. Listen to me and learn how it is done.
“Why do I…?”
How else will you get into the dungeon to free your lover? the Reaper snarled. Listen to what I say!
And so she listened, and when the lights of Abalam’s keep could be seen glittering in the distance, she turned her mind from Cree’s words to try to find Leksi in the teeming mass that was Nebul.
“I can’t hear him!” she cried, tears filling her eyes.
I can, the Reaper said calmly. You are not trying hard enough, wench.
“How can you hear him?”
Because you took a part of him inside you. You tasted that one droplet of blood upon his cut cheek therefore you have a portion of his DNA and the parasite can smell it. It sought him out, homing in on his position and sent word to the Queen. It is through her that I can hear him.
Cainer did not tell her he was blocking Kynthia’s “hearing” of her lover’s thoughts, for within the last few moments the man had begun screaming in pain. The Reaper knew in order for her to act rationally, she had to stay calm and cold, and detached. If she knew the man she loved was being tortured, she would get herself caught.
He is in the deepest section of the dungeon, wench, the Reaper told her. Here is how to find him.
Kynthia paid close attention to Cree, though she worried that she could not hear Leksi’s thoughts. She knew the Reaper was pulling the directions of how to reach her lover’s cell from Leksi’s memories of being taken to that vile place. If Cree could hear him, she knew he was still alive.
By the time you free your man, the Amazeen and Daughters will be at the gates. There will be a ruckus unlike anything you’ve ever heard but pay no attention to it. You will need to go ahead and make Helios One with the Blood. Do you understand?
“How?” she shouted. “You said the beastess would not allow me to—”
Konan Krull is with Helios. He will have to be the one to harvest the fledgling. He won’t understand, wench. You will need to make him do as you bid. Is that clear? Don’t give him a chance to balk. Time will be of the essence.
Though it was the last thing she could imagine settling in her mind, her own impregnation of the Reaper’s nestling washed over Kynthia’s mind. She could see the blade in Galatea’s hand. She winced at the remembered feel of the incision that her aunt had opened on her back. She could hear her aunt’s hiss of disgust as she plucked the fledgling from its jar and dropped it to Kynthia’s back. The memory of the ungodly pain seared Kynthia’s brain and took every other worry from her thoughts.
“Stop it, Cree!” she bellowed. “I remember well what it felt like!”
Never forget it, he said softly, for it is the very life of you.
Just as she had been forced to gain her aunt’s cooperation in helping her to become One with the Blood, she knew she’d have just as much trouble convincing Lord Krull that it had to be done.
But why?
Aye, Leksi had mentioned in passing that he would not be averse to becoming a Reaper but why was Cainer Cree insisting on it?
How close are you to the gates of the keep?
The intrusion of the Reaper’s thoughts broke into Kynthia’s.
“Just a few hundred yards,” she replied.
The Reaper knew he had to stop her wondering about why she needed to turn Helios. Once she was inside the dungeon and got a look at his battered and broken body, she would know.
Do as I told you. Think of the fog that drifts down through the mountains. Imagine it thick and milky white, so thick it is nearly impossible to walk through. Cloak yourself and your steed in that fog, wench. Let it drown out all sound of your passing. And when you dismount inside the bailey, leave a portion of that fog behind to protect your horse. Do you understand?
“Aye,” she said, the word nothing more than a breath of sound for she was passing under the portcullis and into the keep.
Walk with that mist surrounding you, Kynni. Let it flow before you as you move and trail behind you so that no one will see your passing. Walk quietly on the balls of your feet, padding as lightly as the wolf stalking its prey. Do not move quickly for you will leave behind a movement of air. Walk calmly, purposefully and turn toward the main gatehouse. The dungeon can only be accessed through the guardroom. There is a stairway there but it is manned. You must send the fog ahead of you and when you do, imagine that fog entering the guards’ nostrils, their ears and mouths, every orifice of their bodies. Let it settle within them and lull them into a stupor. When you do, you will be able to pass by them unseen.
Dismounting, Kynthia saw people all around her but no one was looking her way. The fog was not an actual entity but a state of her own mind into which she had enveloped herself and in the doing, removed all traces of her existence from the sight of those around her. She wondered how Cainer Cree had discovered such a marvelous weapon and made a mental note to ask when she could speak with him again.
There were five guards in the main gatehouse. Sitting around a table, playing cards, they were as oblivious to Kynthia’s passing as through the bailey. She moved past them like a feather floating upon the wind and was almost to the stairs when she heard the first scream.
“He’s got a set of lungs on him, don’t he?” one of the guards joked, and the others laughed.
She knew it was Leksi who had screamed and almost let go of her control of the mind-shrouding fog hovering around her. The edges of the fog began to pull back.
He’s as good as dead if you lose it, wench! the Reaper shouted in her mind. Is that what you want?
Fear for Leksi brought tears to Kynthia’s eyes, but she reinforced the strength of the fog. She watched it flow smoothly away from her once more and moved quickly toward the stairs.
“There’s a damned draft in here,” one of the guards complained. “Shut that door Lykus.”
See what I mean? the Reaper cautioned. Go slowly, wench. You’ll get to him in time.
In time? The words drove straight into her heart and when another scream pierced the walls, she put her hands over her ears.
Steady, wench, Cainer Cree said.
“He is in pain,” she whined.
The next scream was cut off in mid-vibrato and Kynthia stopped dead still, her eyes wide. “Cree?” she whispered.
He has passed out. Hurry now, wench. There are no guards between you and where Krull is being kept. Get to him and release him. Now!
“I am not worried about Krull. I want—”
R
elease Krull, then go after your man. If you wait, Leksi Helios will die and there will be no way to bring him back!
The insistent directions slithering through her mind led Kynthia to the cell where Konan Krull stood with his hands wrapped around the bars, his forehead pressed tightly against the iron. He flinched as she rushed toward him.
“Let go of the bars!” she ordered, following the Reaper’s instructions.
Krull was so stunned to see a woman in that terrible place, he could do no more than gawk. When she took hold of the bars and jerked, he laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding, woman!” he said. Despite the hopelessness he felt having been listening to his captain’s screams of agony, the sight of a mere woman trying to open a locked cell by pulling on the bars was hysterically funny to him.
But the Lord High Commander stopped in mid-guffaw when the door not only sprang open but also came completely off its hinges. He blinked as it was tossed away, as though it weighed no more than a feather.
“How the hell did you…?” he began, but was interrupted as the warrioress grabbed his arm and jerked him out of the cell.
“I’ve no time to answer your stupid questions,” she snapped, and began dragging him down the corridor.
If Konan Krull had been astounded at the strength this woman had exhibited when she’d yanked the cell door, he was dumbfounded when she took on two guards single-handedly and sent them into the hereafter without so much as breaking a sweat. He looked down at the dead Nebullians and whistled silently. Broken necks crooked at opposite angles, the warriors lay slumped against the wall to either side of the torture room door as the woman jerked it open and disappeared inside.
The three torturers applying their trade looked up with quizzical expressions on their ugly faces but none rushed to intercept the virago who had blown into the room. They stood where they were—hot pinchers in the hand of one, a cat-o’-nine-tails in the hands of another—and gaped while the third dropped the dagger in his hand and backed away.
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