Sword of the Tyrant

by Cebelius

  "Yuri?"

  The tiger-man shifted his attention from the dragon to look askance at him.

  "I want you to take Twisted with you," Terry said.

  "What? No!" Twisted howled. "You promised I could stay with you!"

  "Remember when I said I didn't need you?" he asked, meeting her green eyes steadily.

  She shuffled after a moment and glanced away as she mumbled, "Yes."

  "I was wrong."

  Her head whipped around and her tail started thrashing behind her. Before she could say anything though, he reached out and clapped Yuri on the shoulder as he said, "When I went through the dungeons with Yuri, I used my senses to help keep us out of trouble. Yuri needs a set of ears and a good nose. Know anyone?"

  "Um, well, my nose is pretty awesome," she said, sounding like she hated having to admit it. "But I wanna be with yoouu!"

  "Twisted, everyone here is part of my pack. We all contribute. That includes you now. This is what I need from you. You lived your whole life in a labyrinth full of traps. You're perfect for this job. Will you do it?"

  She actually whined, glancing from Terry to Yuri, who — after a brief exchange of glances with Terry — reached out and scratched Twisted between the ears as he said, "We will be getting this thing and coming straight back to Boss. I am sure he will be happy if you help me."

  Terry was fascinated to see a lock of Twisted's ruff go gray as she leaned into Yuri's hand, then whined again even as she gave in. "Okay."

  "Be sure to tell Yuri what you need," he admonished her, casting a meaningful glance at Yuri that the other man caught.

  Twisted nodded again, still looking downcast.

  Terry said, "Go introduce yourself to the others and help them get ready to go."

  "Okay Boss."

  With a last look at him, she turned and bounded off toward where Asturial was talking to Laina and Euryale.

  Yuri glanced after her, then raised an eyebrow at Terry, who shrugged and said, "She really should be useful. Pain turns her white, pleasure turns her black. If she goes all the way black she's trouble, so be sure to spar with her, and go hard. She actually enjoys the pain. I've seen it for myself."

  "You sure know how to pick them, Boss," Yuri said with a rueful chuckle as he shook his head.

  "You like that?" Terry asked, waving a hand in Twisted's direction.

  Yuri shrugged and said, "My people typically do not take mates outside our race, but I have spent the last two years with only my sister for company. While I love her, it essentially put me off my own people, particularly when I had to smell her heat. I have learned to appreciate a variety of feminine forms. Besides, white fur does it for me. It would be better if she had stripes, but no one is perfect."

  Terry's look turned speculative. "She's not mine, you know."

  Yuri chuffed and said, "Not yet."

  "Hopefully not ever."

  Yuri tilted his head and Terry met the other man's gaze evenly as he said, "I'm not interested in getting anyone else involved, Yuri. I can't keep up with the women I'm already responsible for. If you like what you see, please, by all fair means, get under that fluffy tail and do some damage."

  The tiger-man sputtered into laughter at that, and Terry grinned along even as he said, "I'm completely serious. It would be easier on me if you catch her interest."

  "Is that the real reason you are passing her off on me?" Yuri asked.

  "No, just a side benefit. She regenerates. Not quite as quickly as Euryale, but I wasn't able to put her down without magic when we fought, and some of the shots I landed would have killed normal people. At the very least I crushed her windpipe and cracked her skull ... not that I could prove it now. Teach her how to fight, teach her everything she needs to know, and use her nose just like you used mine. I want everyone to come back alive, Yuri."

  "You know I will do my best."

  "Yeah." Terry clapped Yuri on the shoulder. "I do. I feel bad sending you but ... just a look around tells me I really don't have a choice."

  Yuri showed his teeth in a feral grin as he said, "Who do you think suggested this?"

  The tiger-man pulled a bone scroll case from his belt and handed it over as he said, "This is Vlad's testament, naming me chieftain. Take it and go with Mila to my people. Watch over them until I get back with this sword you need. Then we can talk about next steps."

  7

  Out Ta Get Me

  Terry had wondered how they were going to safely ride Asturial, and the answer turned out to be simple. They didn't. They rode in the wagon, which the gargantuan dragon picked up and carried off as though it weighed nothing.

  Before that, they'd spent some time unloading it, splitting up the supplies.

  After Yuri and his party left, Terry and those who remained decided to spend one more night in the abandoned town before setting out. Svartheim was pretty much in the opposite direction from the fall-back position Vlad sent his people to, and the journey was still over two hundred miles, mostly over open steppe.

  As Shy was quick to point out, they were in no particular rush.

  It was a curious feeling for Terry, and he found himself sitting on the porch of the abandoned trading post, one foot hanging over the rail as he leaned against the back wall, thinking of nothing much. Part of him knew he should be spending this time more productively, but though he had the thought, it didn't move him. Given the obstacles before him, he doubted anyone would begrudge him a quiet moment.

  Prada had separated from him again and taken Halla's gift with her, so he was once again his normal height and weight. As the sun turned into a burning orange ball on the western horizon, Terry soaked in the quiet, and tried not to think about the fact that people he loved were risking their lives just to keep him personally out of danger.

  The others who remained cycled in and out of his view, about business of their own. There was never a time when he couldn't see at least one of them, and he knew that was deliberate.

  I'm being treated like a little kid.

  He caught sight of Shy, and blinked as he realized it was the first time he'd seen her since Asturial flew off, and that had been hours ago.

  She spoke briefly to Isthil, then sauntered his way.

  He grinned as he watched her come on, and she gave him a sultry smile and didn't rush, taking her time and letting him enjoy the show.

  Of all his women, she had a body that in many ways was the most human. Her green flesh was shot through with the whorls and lines of fresh-cut lumber, and it gave her an exotic, tattooed look. At the moment she had leafy foliage across her chest and swaying between her legs, and her leaf-like hair drifted on the occasional breeze. The Rod of Arcs was slung across her back, though he couldn't tell how she was holding it there. The iron ball atop the staff was surrounded by a halo of electric green light, and he could hear it humming faintly from across the street.

  Her eyes were green and only faintly luminescent in the evening light. Just watching her set him at ease, and when she finally stepped up onto the porch with him, he leaned his head back against the wall and gave her a lazy smile as he said, "I never get tired of watching you come and go. Whatcha been up to?"

  "I have been practicing my magic with the Rod of Arcs," she said, leaning back against the rail and folding her arms under her breasts as she smiled at him. "I came to ask for your advice."

  "My advice?"

  She nodded and said, "I want to use some spells like the ones you've been casting, but your activation doesn't work for me. I was hoping you'd help me work one out."

  "Which spells?"

  "The ones for strength, speed, and enhanced perception."

  She paused, then, speaking in clear English, said, "By the power in my veins, I demand my speed and strength be increased to the limits of my physical endurance."

  He blinked, then said, "Wow, that's ... pretty much perfect. You memorized that phonetically?"

  She hesitated and her smile faltered, then she shook her head and said, "No.
When you cast spells, I can understand your language. I think it's part of our bond."

  He nodded, impressed. After some thought, he said, "You've got no blood though. So the first part of the spell doesn't work for you."

  Shy's smile returned as she asked, "You're not mad?"

  "About what?"

  "I kept this from you. I've known for a while."

  His brow furrowed as he thought about that, then shrugged and said, "I'm sure you had your reasons. I'm glad you're coming to me now though. I don't want you getting hurt because you needed more speed and couldn't get it."

  Shy squirmed a bit and brushed a hand across her chest above her breasts as she ruefully admitted, "That ... already happened."

  "During the fight with Twisted and her buddies?"

  She nodded.

  "Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

  Shy sighed and said, "To be honest? Arrogant presumption."

  She leaned away from the pole and came to where he sat, leaning against the wall just next to him so that their shoulders touched. She smiled faintly at the contact, and he reached out and caught one of her hands, threading his fingers through hers.

  For a moment they were silent, simply basking in each other's presence. Shy filled him with a strange contentment that he knew was only half his. Every time she touched him was like a whispered 'I love you.'

  That she'd gotten hurt because she hadn't come to him bothered him a bit, but he was beginning to get the hang of letting the things he couldn't change go. She'd taught him that, or tried to.

  On impulse he echoed something she'd said to him once. "Live in the present, Shy. That's where I am."

  Her laugh was melodious as she leaned her head against his a moment and said, "We truly are rubbing off on each other."

  "There are worse influences," he said, a touch of rueful acceptance in his tone as he thought of Koschei. "As far as the activation, you pull from a mana pool instead of blood ... you don't have any blood at all now that I think about it. So ... what would be a good opening phrase to pull with? Hmm."

  He could sense Shy following his thoughts. Her mental touch was not nearly as subtle as Prada's. Long gone were the days when he was surprised or bothered by such intrusions though. She was his just as much as he was hers, and as his attempt to hide the danger of Tyrfing demonstrated, he couldn't keep secrets from her ... or any of his women really.

  "In accord with my nature," he said at last. "Try that."

  "In accord with my nature, I demand my speed and strength be increased to the limits of my physical endurance."

  Again Shy spoke with perfect pronunciation, and Terry couldn't see any outward changes, but Shy's eyes widened and she breathed, "It worked!"

  "Don't wreck the porch proving it," he said with a grin. "I believe you."

  She smiled broadly at him as she said, still in English, "End my spell."

  Then she wrapped him up and hugged him warmly, pressing her chest shamelessly against him as she murmured, "Thank you, lover. This will definitely help me. You have no idea how valuable what you just gave me is. Most people who want to alter or craft a spell must make deals with extra-planar beings, and the cost is always high."

  Terry shrugged and said, "Extra-planar beings suck. Use me instead. I may not know much, but whatever I have you're welcome to. I'll be happy to give you whatever I can."

  "Prada is one such," Shy said with a sly grin.

  "Yeah well, she sucks too ... just not quite the same way."

  As he spoke, his smile widened a bit as he felt her hand sliding down his shirt, then under it. She kissed his jawline, then the spot just behind his ear as she murmured, "Shall I show you just how grateful I am?"

  He chuckled softly and said, "I'm not an exhibitionist, Shy, despite what happened with Cecaelia."

  She bit the shell of his ear and sighed contentedly as she leaned away enough to look at him with mischief in her eyes. "Something to work on."

  He grinned and said, "Whoever named you Shy got it so ... so wrong."

  Her grin matched his. She leaned in and bit his lower lip, tugging it lightly before letting go as she slid her hand into his pants, murmuring, "You are so, so right."

  "Terry!"

  Blinking away his erotic haze, he looked up to see Isthil galloping toward them. He couldn't help but notice she had her shield in hand.

  "Tauren," she said without preamble. "Fifty or so, mebbe more, comin' on fast. Minotaurs the lot of 'em from what I seen, and all armed."

  She shook her head, the banner of her silver hair floating wildly around. "I dinnae think they're here t'play nice."

  For a moment, disbelief flooded through him. After all he'd gone through, this couldn't be happening. They'd dealt with Stheno. The threat to the Steppes was over.

  Shy seemed less bewildered as she withdrew her hand and sighed. "No good deed goes unpunished. Tell the others, we'll go to the longhouse. Even with just the six of us, we should easily be able to fend them off from inside."

  Terry shook his head, expression hardening as he snapped, "Isthil!"

  The Nightmare had turned to go, but paused and glanced back. Terry saw her expression slacken with surprise as their eyes met. He knew why. Rage had overtaken his disbelief. His face was twisted with it, and he couldn't bring himself to care. He didn't even try to suppress his anger. That they would come for him, come after him, after all he'd done for them ...

  "Tell Prada to join me," he said shortly. "And make sure she brings my pack."

  Isthil hesitated the barest instant, then nodded once and said simply, "Aye."

  Terry dismounted the rail. As he stepped off the porch, his fists tightened until his knuckles popped. He stretched with slow deliberation, then pulled his shirt off, followed by his pants.

  By the time Prada ran to him, his pack in hand, he was naked and ready for her. Terry noticed Halla and Mila trotting toward him as well.

  "Husband?" Prada asked, clearly unprepared for the sight of him.

  "Armor me," he said shortly. "And make me about ten feet tall."

  "Are you certain this is wise?" Shy asked, having stepped off the porch behind him. "The longhouse is designed for defense. There is no need for us to fight in the open. Between Mila and myself, we can fend them off using spellcraft with little risk."

  "This isn't about fending them off with little risk," Terry said as Prada — anticipation naked on her face — set his pack down before losing her shape, swirling around him and reforming into the sanguine armor he had worn in the Labyrinth. It was a copy in form if not color of the impressive set of platemail worn by the Lion of Florence, Albrecht Ross, right down to the clawed gauntlets.

  He gained size and height as she expanded within him. He felt Prada's substance as the protection it was. With her, he had little to fear from mortal weapons. She made no effort to cover his head, sensing his intentions. She knew he wanted the people coming for him to see his face.

  Her thoughts confirmed it, and assured him that she had his back. 'Shy is right about the risk, but I understand your feelings, Husband. We will be magnificent together.'

  He glanced back at Shy as the anger, the resentment coiled inside him, writhing like a living thing. His upper lips were curled in a barely restrained snarl.

  "This is about sending a message. I have been hunted, chased, and cursed. My friends and family have been captured and threatened. I have had it with being treated as though I and those I love are just tools to be used. If these fuckers really are coming for me? Heheh."

  His chuckle was dark, but there was more than a hint of acceptance in it. Part of him still didn't want this. Part of him was screaming that this was just the way Celestine worked. That he should run. These people were chasing dreams, and they just didn't think about what it cost him and his. The best thing to do would be to just slip away.

  But he had been running from or for other people ever since he'd arrived on Celestine, and he was sick of it. He wasn't some weakling anymore, and if he ran
now ... he would never stop running, and he knew it. Maybe they weren't thinking of the price he paid because he'd never given them a reason.

  He opened his pack and pulled out the bloody-hafted lumbering ax that had served him so well in Monsoon. Then he pulled out the Rod of the Heart, felt it ignite the power within him, fueling the rage until it was a roaring inferno fit to consume all. He didn't fight it. Instead, he welcomed it. His rage was justified.

  He'd reached his limits. He'd had enough.

  Terry straightened, ax in one hand and Rod in the other, and knew that he blazed with power. It was the impression he wanted, needed to make. There was still within him that core of self, that resolute last bastion, that demanded he give the people coming for him a chance — if only one — to see him and run. When they saw what they were chasing, glimpsed the power he had, maybe ... just maybe, they would fold.

  He almost hoped they wouldn't though. He was through playing games, and he wanted them to spread that word not as witnesses, but as survivors.

  Terry's expression was grim as he put the last of his reservations away and let his rage speak.

  "From now on, anyone lookin' for a piece of the Boss is gonna fuckin' get it."

  8

  Freedom's Price

  "Oooh. He is not fuckin' happy."

  Mila looked up at Halla, saw the expression of hungry anticipation on the oni's face, and couldn't dispute the claim.

  Terry was now ten feet tall, clad neck to foot in sanguine armor, and blazed with the kind of power she associated with creatures far mightier than mere mortals.

  She had seen him take up the Rod of the Heart before, had seen how it amplified his rage. Had Laina not been there to stop him, he would have used it to kill Asturial when the dragon first caught up to them outside Florence.

  A chill ran down her spine as she realized that Laina wasn't here anymore.