The stranger pulled back the concealing hood, revealing narrow, delicate features, iridescent white skin, long silver hair, and black eyes that glittered like diamonds.
“You cannot exist,” Crimson cried, shrinking back from her savior.
“You know what I am, don’t you?” the stranger asked, his voice honey smooth. “You cannot copy me nor harm me in any way. You will never spell me into sleep. You cannot touch me. I am immune to your petty powers.”
Crimson cowered in her burnt rags, rocking her head back and forth. “No! No! You cannot live in this world. You were banished in the forgotten times.”
“Name me, Changeling!”
“You are Siabur,” Crimson sputtered, head bowed in fear. “Shadow Fey.”
“Yes. Very good. You do know what I am, don’t you, Changeling? I am Siabur, among my many names and titles. It is nice to be remembered, even by a parasite like you.”
Crimson nodded violently. “How can you be here in this world? Siabur died in ancient war.”
“That is not your concern. We once ruled this world, eons ago. Humans and demons have called us so many names throughout time, all to describe what you cannot possibly understand. But the names fey, sprite, and elf are not of my kind. We are antagonistic cousins to them. We were stronger. We were the first mage race. Older than the fairy races people still sing about. Siabur no longer reside in this realm, though it was the place of our origin. Nor did we all die.”
“How are you in this world?”
“That is a long story that you will not hear.” The Siabur touched Crimson’s head, as though giving a benediction. “I saved you from death, Changeling. You belong to me now. You will obey me from this breath, forever.”
Crimson nodded quickly, afraid to look at him.
“Good. You know you must, for none of your kind would be in this world if it were not for my ancient race. Now you must look at me, slave.”
Crimson reluctantly gazed up into his black eyes.
“I need a pet to spy for me,” he responded softly.
His words were so strong. Compelling. Enthralled by his magnetic presence, Crimson was now unable to look away from his austere beauty. A frightening thought interrupted Crimson’s veneration. “But my master, the goblin king Morziel, gave me commands.”
“I am your master now,” the Siabur avowed. “I have always been your master. I sent you to White Thorn. I am the dark lord in the mirror who has guided you, tested you for the honor of serving me. I am your God. It was destined. Accept it.”
“Yes,” Crimson surrendered, bowing in supplication.
He stroked Crimson’s head gently and the changeling clung to its new savior, weeping.
“What do I call my god?” Crimson whimpered.
“You may call me Lord Fallon, pet,” he offered.
“Yes, Lord Fallon.”
“Now go, seek out a victim from the criminals above and prove your worth. Feed on them with abandon. Be furtive and slip from this prison. Do not return to Mordok.”
Crimson hung her head. “But I failed to bring you Rose Greenleaf.”
“I will forgive that. It is best she learn more about her rhapsodé. It is so frail and unpredictable, a magic driven by emotions. When she is ready, I will take her myself.”
“Where do you command I go, Lord Fallon?”
“Travel southeast to the desert kingdom of Hazda.”
“But there are so many guards here. How will I escape the prison?”
“They are all returning to their standard routine. The Emperor is riding back to his palace. They will not expect you. Go. Prove you are worthy to serve me. I have enemies, as do you. Cling to that as you strive to live.”
Crimson’s face twisted with hatred. Yes, she had many enemies to slay, especially the Emperor, Culain Ironheart, and that damned Rose.
“I forbid you to seek out your personal enemies now.” It was as though he could read her mind, but then, Fallon was a god. “Many kingdoms will fall when shadows return to this world. Rose Greenleaf, however, is special. I may need her in the future. She must not be harmed, for now. Revenge must wait, my pathetic pet. Go to your freedom and be grateful your god watches over you.”
Fallon knew her secret thoughts. Gods know all things. Then Lord Fallon vanished and Crimson was alone.
The heavy iron door was open. Her god saw to that. She crawled up the stairs, her scorched flesh an agony. So many flights until she smelled the prisoners, licking her lips. She kept to the walls, using her changeling magic to meld into the background and scuttle past guards. It was late and most of the prisoners slept fitfully. She passed an isolated cell where a smelly human was sprawled on a dirty cot, snoring loudly. No guard patrolled this corridor right now and the cell opposite was empty. She tapped the bars eagerly to wake her victim. Touching the only remnant she still had to shapeshift, a strand of Rose Greenleaf’s hair, she transformed, but was a sad image in her scorched and torn gown.
The man started and jumped up when he saw her. “Tiny woman!” he croaked. “Why are you here?”
“You know me?” Crimson asked.
“Albin knows tiny woman!” he barked, anger propelling him from his bed to the thick bars and thrusting his hands through, choking her. “They’re sending me to the mines. For life! They gave me a life sentence because of you!”
“Then I will take that life,” Crimson laughed, welcoming his hands around her throat. She grasped his neck and licked her lips with human craving as her eyes shifted to black fathoms.
Albin screamed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Impatient, Beleth of Mordok watched for moonrise, cursing time and its crawl. She loathed the light as any goblin would. Cursing it with vehemence; wishing for the blackness of night to banish the sun. Swallow it with a brutal hunger. Beneath her sandaled feet was the deep underground cavern of her home, a magnificent fortress hidden from the upper world of sky and sun, a dominion of darkness; safe from human eyes. She loved Mordok’s harsh landscape; delighted in the flames and gases that spewed from cracks in the earth. It was demon country. A land of fire and blood made for all the demon clans, led by the goblins.
The long days of spring hindered her pleasure for going outside. Goblins of most castes could endure the sunbut abhorred its light. Beleth longed for the bleak winter days of hunting. Not that she needed to hunt for herself, for she was hatched with the markings of a queen, chosen to be the mate of the Goblin king. Others waited upon her, but she often hunted for pleasure.
The day gradually faded, deepening the blue sky. The chill of coming night prickled her skin and she pulled her fur cloak tighter around her shoulders. The tunnels were always warm, thanks to rivers of magma running deep beneath the mountains of her home.
But in truth, her impatience was for an important event. Her wedding.
At last the sky darkened to black and the moon rose in the night sky. She retreated back into her haven of tunnels and walked to her private chambers. Her old slave, Crone, awaited her. Crone was a pale, twisted creature of rock goblin caste with coarse grey skin, cold to the touch, and a withered face and beady black eyes. In contrast, Beleth’s skin was red as blood and hot as flame.
Beleth dropped her cloak on the stone floor. “It is moonrise, Crone, time to prepare me for the ceremony. Do not dawdle.”
Crone disrobed Beleth and anointed her crimson flesh with sacred oils while Beleth stared at her reflection in a polished copper mirror. Her handmaiden laid out the sheer black spider silk dress, embellished with flecks of garnet stones and a long train woven like a spider web. Slaves had spent weeks weaving her wedding garment. It was magnificent. The dress required no jewelry to enhance its perfectiononly Beleth.
“This is an important night, Crone. I was hatched into a world of foul humans who fear us, force us to live hidden away. Dwarfs, Tall Folk, and Giants waged war upon us, all but annihilating our demon clans centuries ago. Since then we have secreted ourselves away in the earth, scavengi
ng like vermin in the pits. Now is the time to rejoice, for the goblin kingdom grows strong and proud again. The new goblin king, Morziel, is fierce and shall lead us all to greatness.”
“We bless this dark day,” Crone chittered, stroking the pretty material of the dress. “You will be the most haunting of brides.”
Tuffs of whitish hair bordered the slave’s wizened face, causing Beleth to wonder if Crone had ever been young. Her curiosity about the old slave vanished as quickly as it came, and she returned to her chief concern. Herself.
“Morziel’s coming was foretold long ago by our seers. Now that he is chosen as King, I can truly fulfill my destiny as queen. His mother will pass the crown to him at our mating ceremony. Then a new and wicked age; an age of misery and terror shall arise, and I will bear witness as Morziel’s wife and queen. It will be the humans’ turn to suffer. The old gods, the Grim Gods, trapped beneath the ocean of chaos shall be released and this world will be reborn; anointed in fire and blood.”
“Yes, My Lady,” Crone kept her head bowed, gnarled fingers struggling to fasten the delicate fabric laces. “How does King Morziel plan to set the Grim Gods free?”
“That is no concern of yours, slave. It is enough to know he shall do so and I will be at his side. When the dark primordial gods are released, we shall become gods ourselves.”
“Thou art already a goddess in mine eyes,” Crone whispered lovingly.
Beleth grinned, revealing sharp fangs. She permitted herself a moment of pity for her servant and stroked her head. Common rock goblins were lowly creatures, suited only for slavery or fodder on the battlefield. The impish Crone was annoying, but had been her personal slave since the day she hatched.
Beleth returned to her mirror and admired her reflection. Heavy forehead ridges, accentuated by the thick black brows that swept upward like raven wings above ebony eyes. Her nose and jawline were strong and proud, and her cheekbones prominent. Mottled red skin, burnished like night fire, was truly enhanced by the black gown. Her dark eyes glittered and hair writhed with tiny living serpents sprouting through the black and thickly twined arrangement. Only the most superior female Goblins of the Kobalos breed had this highborn trait; true nobility.
Beleth smiled, satisfied she looked flawless.
The goblin clans all considered her demon beauty a perfection of the race and an honor to her clan. Many of the noble bloodlines were exterminated by humans during the last war, so when Beleth hatched from one of the great dark clans, she was treasured above all others.
The old queen had hatched many goblins in her lifetime, but only Morziel bore the mark of kingship. How the clans cheered that day! Beleth hatched shortly afterward and the seers proclaimed her to be the proper mate for Morziel. From that moment to this, she was kept pure for him alone. She was made for a king and none dare touch her but him.
Crone gently tugged at her hem and with head bowed, waited for permission to speak.
“What is it?” Beleth demanded, annoyed at the interruption to studying her reflection in the polished copper mirror.
“It is near time for the ceremony, blessed Beleth,” Crone whispered.
Without reply, Beleth swept from the stony chamber and walked the long winding corridors of the rocky tunnel to her destiny. Crone straggled after, stooped and head still bowed, scuffing across the stony floor as best she could keep up.
Beleth cared nothing for any ill-treatment she might inflict upon her handmaid. The worship and loyalty of all underlings was her birthright, as chosen of the shadow priests, and the hardship of servants was a privilege due her. Now, it was time to fulfill the most important part of her birthright, to become Queen of all the goblin clans!
The entrance to the underground temple was guarded by two giant scorpions, rare, large as horses and savage, their foot-long stingers certain death to any who dared trespass.
Beleth strolled past the two scorpions without the slightest hint of fear. Crone scuttled behind, whimpering as she held aloft the train of Beleth’s fragile gown. It seemed to the old goblin servant the horrible creatures actually bowed at Beleth’s passing.
Sconces made of bone were set at regular intervals along the corridor walls. The torch wood had been dipped in sacred fire salts before being lit it so each crackled with a deep red flame.
The pungent odor of incense grew stronger as they neared the sacred temple. Coming to a giant archway, with carved images of demons and terrible goblin gods set deep into the stone, the flickering torchlight seem to cause the effigies to move.
She entered the vast temple and welcomed the attention of all eyes fixed upon her glory. At the black stone altar, goblin demon priests prayed. Tall and menacing in their frayed black robes, festooned with chains, bones, and amulets as they swung iron globes smoking with incense in rhythmic arcs. Beleth strode regally toward the altar, and her chosen husband, certain every goblin here envied Morziel.
The hundreds of goblin clans gathered here to witness this ceremony were really here to partake of the coming celebration feast of moss wine and real meat instead of gruel and bugs. They were savages, born of the dark caves and hell pits of Mordok, hiding from light and the world. That would change when they rose to war. Besides the gathered goblins, there were the ogres, changelings, and trolls; lowly castes compared to goblins, yet permitted to witness this most sacred and important rite.
Crone left Beleth before she reached the altar, taking her place with the slave caste of huddled rock goblins. In the center of the raised altar, two royal figures waited. The ancient Queen Mother, Gurza, direct descendent of Raziel the Fallen. Though her back was crooked with age and her face a death mask of age and infirmity, Gurza’s eyes still glittered with the fury and bloodlust of a true queen.
Beleth imagined her in the glory of youth and felt a flicker of envy, which was mollified by her aged face and broken body. Gurza had ruled for many long years until a new leader at last hatched. Now, at this appointed time, she could finally rest.
At Gurza’s side was her son, the chosen one and Beleth’s husband, Morziel, the Goblin King. Towering over his mother like a god, he stood more than seven feet tall; molded of fire and night. Beleth worshipped him. Her heart raced, longing to be his forever. Keen to savage and kill side by side with Morziel and bring rightful darkness to the world.
Morziel was garbed in black robes, inscribed with sacred runes and wore bracers strapped to his massive wrists; stitched of human flesh, dyed black with pitch and adorned with bloodstones. How else should such a king stand before his subjects?
None but Morziel could ever humble her to such obeisance, falling at once to her knees and prostrating upon the altar steps in rare humility. She remained for countless breaths until his booming voice at last broke her genuflection.
“Rise, my bride in blood,” he commanded, “Take my hand and be bound to me forever.”
She obeyed, standing proudly as she grasped his hand, his claws piercing her skin. She faced him on the altar as the priest offered a cup of blood for them both to drink from. After the dark priest consecrated their union, they faced the old queen and bowed as one.
“Morziel, you are now King of all the goblin castes,” Gurza proclaimed. “And you, Beleth, are his Queen. I have ruled and kept the clans secreted for too long. Hidden away from humans, suffering in the darkness. My time is done. My blood has thinned with age and grief, yours is young and burns as fire. Go forth and set a blaze the world above. Reclaim the world.”
Gurza removed her bronzed crown and offered it to Morziel, who placed it on his head without hesitation. The throng bellowed their approval, the beating of sword and thundering drums swelled. Morziel raised his mighty hand and all fell silent.
“Beleth is now my queen,” Morziel decreed, and the dark priest handed him a smaller, delicate circlet of bronze. “I bestow upon you this crown. From this day, you are mine. Our blood and hearts will blaze as one before the Grim Gods.”
Her snakes danced like joyous handmaidens as h
e set the circlet upon her head. She smiled broadly for her new husband, her fangs sharp and enticing his lust.
The newly crowned king took the ancient sword of his Goblin ancestor, Raziel, from the priest and raised it high in triumph. He declared to all the goblins and creatures in this sanctorum of shadow, “My rule will mark a rebirth of blood and fire for all the clans. We will rise. We will kill. We will conquer. This time we will destroy all the humans of this world.”
Shrieks of bloodlust shook the massive temple.
Filled with the same savagery, Beleth wallowed in the moment of rapture, but deep within her mind, a vision flashed with a dark revelation, shattering her joyous mood. Beleth foresaw a black seed swirling in an ocean of chaos and fire, imprisoned by the Kraken and rings of blinding light. Could this be the Grim Gods? Did her vision bear fruit of their salvation form the Light? The Kraken, fearsome warrior angels of her enemy gods, Ursas and Ishar, guarded this celestial prison alerted to the threat. She despised these servants of the Light. Beleth winced, the bright glare unbearable as she stood within it and she was terrified of the blackness within, though she worshipped it since birth.
Something in that darkness had awakened, stirred by an ancient power she had yet to name. In the distance, another figure in scarlet robes with white hair and black eyes, observed the Kraken and their prisoners, as though patiently waiting. She sensed his primordial power. He frightened her as much as the Grim Gods that swam in the vapors. Beleth barely grasped what she was seeing as the Kraken raised their fiery blades in response to the unseen shadows stirring in the forbidden vortex.
It should have made her happy, this dark and ancient power rising against the light, but instead it filled the new goblin queen with foreboding.
Bardess of Rhulon Page 27