Sailors threw down gangplanks so the crew could disembark, and the crowd welcomed them as if they were close friends. Klovus knew that none of the returning fighters would want for drink or food, nor would they sleep alone if they didn’t wish to. The ur-priests bowed with respect as the fighters marched along the pier and into the swirling disarray of the harbor crowds.
The vessel’s hull boards groaned and the deck rocked, though the harbor was smooth. Klovus could feel the restless power contained in its cargo hold. Ur-Priest Xion stood on the high deck, his caftan tattered, his hair mussed, his face bruised. He looked drained and exhausted, and glad to be home.
Klovus pursed his lips. So, it must have been a hard battle, then.…
Xion remained aboard, quelling the entity in the hold until everyone else had disembarked. When finally a quiet settled around the ship like a fog of anticipation, he called down, “My godling is weary, Key Priestlord. We are both glad to be home where we can rest.”
“And where you can rejoice!” Klovus said. “Come, I will escort you to your temple in full view of the people.” He could feel the tingle of the entity as it anticipated going back behind its comforting spelldoor. “After what you achieved on Fulcor, many people will shed their blood to strengthen the godling.”
Worshippers responded well when godlings performed amazing feats on their behalf. After all, offerings at the Magnifica had gone up more than tenfold after the godling there had built an entire level of the temple while the people watched.
Xion opened the heavy trapdoor and let the wood crash down onto the open deck. From inside the cavernous hold, a reluctant stirring of smoke and wind growled, and the deity rose up like a thunderstorm stretching its legs. Klovus could see that the harbor godling was tenuous, which made him both sad and uneasy. The entity rolled and lumbered over the warship’s deck and followed Ur-Priest Xion as he descended the gangplank. Klovus was reminded of a dangerous but dutiful hound at the heels of its master.
Though still celebrating the soldiers, the crowd shifted to watch the shambling deity leave the docks and follow the priestlord back to its temple. Klovus didn’t want the people to notice the weary state of the godling, so he shifted their attitude. “See the tremendous exertion this godling has made for the heart of Ishara. For the heart of its people! Thanks to such effort and bravery, we now possess Fulcor Island. Our benevolent protector gave of itself to achieve our victory. And now you can help it.”
As Xion led the procession toward the harbor temple, more crowds closed in. Men and women already bared their arms, and ur-priests scuttled forward with blades and collection urns.
Surprisingly, Xion looked at the key priestlord with a flash of suspicion, as if Klovus had usurped something he himself should have done. He added in a shout, “We must give back to the godling that has given so much for you.”
Xion entered the open wooden doors of his temple, and the godling boiled inside, where it crawled through the pearlescent shimmer on the far wall, taking refuge behind the spelldoor.
Klovus turned to the enthusiastic people outside. “Give of yourselves. Offer your blood. Feed the godling, so that it may save us again.”
Ur-Priest Xion gave him a respectful nod and crossed the temple floor to be with his godling.
Worshippers came forward by the hundreds to give their blood, making the entity strong. Klovus was glad to know that his own godling, the Magnifica godling, was vastly stronger and would always remain so.
* * *
The leader of his Black Eel assassins came to Klovus with a fascinating report. “We have a prisoner from Fulcor Island, Key Priestlord.”
“I did not ask you to take prisoners.” Klovus was nevertheless intrigued. Zaha must have a good reason.
The bland-faced man gave the smallest shrug. “We found her of interest. She is the only survivor.”
In the confusion and disarray of soldiers disembarking from the warships, the disguised Black Eels had remained belowdecks to guard the prisoner in the brig. After dark, they smuggled her to the extensive chambers beneath the Magnifica. They met in a large, thick-walled vault sealed by an iron-reinforced wooden door. A hazy pearlescent fog marked the spelldoor behind which the Serepol godling dwelled.
A muscular woman sat bound in a chair in the middle of the chamber. Her black outfit was scuffed and torn, revealing silvery shreds of what had been expensive finemail. Her brown hair was hacked short, and her features were heavy without the delicate lines of feminine beauty. She had a swollen black eye and a split lip. She looked up when Klovus entered.
He narrowed his eyes, recognizing this woman as one of the Bravas who had accompanied Konag Conndur on his diplomatic mission. She must have remained behind at Fulcor, and now she had been captured. Klovus smiled mockingly at the defeated fighter. “Welcome to Ishara.”
She tried to spit at him, which only made blood flow from her smashed lip. “Bravas should have been here all along. Ishara was our promised land.”
Klovus leaned closer, and his smile widened. “Promised by whom?”
The woman just simmered on the chair. Zaha and the two other Black Eels stood protectively close, but he wouldn’t need their assistance.
“Bravas … that is what you call yourselves. But what does that mean, exactly?” Klovus asked. “Your features look different from a normal human’s … those eyes. You are alien somehow.” Her face was so battered and bruised, he had a difficult time imagining what she would have looked like under normal circumstances.
“These eyes show my wreth heritage. Bravas are half-breeds. We have some of the powers of our creator race, but we also have a human heart and soul.”
“Soul?” Klovus chuckled. “You have no faith. You have no godlings.”
“We have our honor and our legacy.”
“Indeed?” Klovus said. “And who are you?”
“I am Klea, the watchman of Fulcor Island.” Her head sagged. “I was charged with defending the garrison.”
“Ah, you failed in that, didn’t you? You failed because the people of Ishara do have faith. We create our godlings, and they are such a powerful force that your fortress could not withstand even one of them.”
“You are liars and you cower behind imaginary beasts,” Klea said.
“And we hate you as well,” he replied. “Godless worms! How you must envy Ishara. You lust for what we have.”
“This land should be ours.” Klea strained against her bindings. “We Bravas have declared a vengewar against all Isharans for your crimes.”
This woman intrigued him. Klovus slowly circled her chair. “And what crimes are those?”
Struggling against her bindings, she resisted answering. Klovus stepped back, letting his Black Eels coerce answers from her.
They got to work beating her further, breaking her. Despite her defiance, Klovus could tell she wanted to explain herself, to present the reasons for her hatred. Finally, she slurred words from a bashed mouth. “Centuries ago, Brava pioneers established a colony in the new world, but your ancestors brought a godling that wrecked our colony and slew our people. Only a few survivors made their way back home.” She strained against the ropes until the bindings groaned. “Since that time we have sworn ourselves to revenge. We protect the Commonwealth and we will eradicate Ishara.”
Laughing, Klovus glanced at the Black Eels, who remained expressionless. “That is a fine ambition!” He leaned closer. The battered Brava smelled of sweat and blood. “That must have been a traumatic point in your history, though few Isharans even remember that it happened. It was an insignificant event to us.”
The woman thrashed, trying to break free to attack him. The chair creaked again, and he saw one of her bindings begin to fray. The key priestlord danced back just as she snapped one arm free and lunged forward. If Zaha hadn’t intercepted her, she might have strangled him. The other Black Eels grappled with Klea, holding her down. In the struggle, she managed to break her other arm loose, but the Black Eels subdued her again
.
Klovus looked at the throbbing glow of the spelldoor, and an idea formed in his mind. “This woman wants to avenge a wrong that was done to her people long ago.” He mused and turned to her. The Brava ceased her struggles and glared at him. “She claims a godling harmed their poor, helpless colony.” He gestured to the spelldoor, felt the crackling static power, the presence of the entity roiling closer, full of anticipation. “I offer you the opportunity of a lifetime. Avenge your people. I will let you face a godling yourself, Brava woman. We shall see how well you measure up.”
The Black Eels released her, and Klea rose from her splintered chair. She shook herself and turned, wary, ready to fight.
The key priestlord released the godling from its world, and the powerful force flowed out through the portal. Even if the entity restrained itself, it had more than enough wild strength to do what was necessary.
The Brava bunched her fists and drew her lips back in a snarl. The godling spewed forward, and she threw herself at it, thrashing, punching, kicking.
The Black Eels did not interfere, but watched, eager to learn any Brava techniques.
The godling engulfed her, all smoky tendrils and ropes of wind. It swirled and popped, howled and roared inside the stone-walled chamber. Klea’s scream of defiance transformed into a cry of pain as her entire body was ripped into tatters of skin. A red mist of blood swirled around the whirlwind, and all that remained of Klea were threads of black cloth and a drifting smear of flesh and bone that settled to the floor like a grisly rain.
34
THE sandwreth queen was delighted when Kollanan described his attack on the ice fortress at Lake Bakal. She summoned her mages, nobles, and warriors to hear the story of how he had led a hundred riders across the frozen lake.
“Thon and I were there, too,” Elliel said. The wreth man stood next to her, and his sparkling blue eyes searched the observers in the room.
“And what did Thon do?” Queen Voo asked, apparently fascinated by the enigmatic man.
“He did everything,” Elliel said.
“I did what I could.” Thon’s lips curled in a smile. “We defeated them.”
“For now.” Kollanan went into more detail, describing how his raiding party had lured the frostwreth warriors out onto the frozen lake, where Thon had cracked the ice, boiled the water, and engulfed the enemy.
Voo laughed. “It sounds marvelous! I wish I had seen it myself.”
“We struck like hornets and stung them. Ancestors’ blood, we proved that humans must be reckoned with!”
Elliel added, “They did not expect our strength.”
“They said we were in the way.” Koll’s voice dripped with the insult.
“This is your war, Queen Voo,” Adan spoke up. “My uncle struck a profound blow against your enemies, and now he has come to ask for your help. I told him your promise.”
“Did I make a promise?” Voo sniffed at the suggestion, looking at Kollanan. “What does the king of Norterra have in mind?”
Kollanan stepped closer to her throne that rose above the sand. “You can help us hit them again. Harder.”
Voo leaned forward and rested her hands on her bare knees. “So, you provoked them, got yourself into trouble, and now you need my help?”
Kollanan faced her with a stony expression. “My army has engaged your rivals. Are you afraid to join in? I was told you wanted our help to destroy a mutual enemy.”
“Watch your words,” the queen warned.
Adan interceded. “You came to Bannriya after the sandstorm and asked humans to fight your mortal enemies. King Kollanan has done exactly that. And is willing to do more.”
Mage Axus leaned over to mutter something in Voo’s ear, and she tapped her fingernails together. With a knowing smile, the queen looked back at Kollanan. “A stinging wasp may enrage a wild bull. So be it! Onn will have no recourse but to retaliate against you. She will want to hurt you.” The queen rose to her feet, towering over them from the raised platform. “It would be a shame to see all your people massacred.”
He gave her a perfunctory bow, covering his anger. “That is why I need your assistance. I respectfully ask you to send sandwreth warriors to help defend my kingdom.”
Apparently satisfied, the queen mused, “With your blundering actions, you have inadvertently set up a trap for them.” Voo stroked her long hair and held up a handful of yellow-white locks. “When last we fought, Onn hacked off a hunk of my hair, and I slashed her face.” She chuckled, a sound like broken glass. “My hair grew back lush and full, but she still has her scar.” She lowered her voice. “I would be pleased to hurt her again.”
Kollanan felt unexpected hope, though he knew how treacherous this woman was. “So, you’ll send a sandwreth army north? We could drive out the rest of the invaders.”
“An army?” Voo set her lips in a straight line. “Onn and her frostwreths will not expect much from you. When my brother returns, soon, I will dispatch him north with a party of warriors.” She snickered. “Once he learns of this mission, I would not be able to hold him back anyway.”
“How large a war party?” Koll pressed.
“As many as I choose to send! Onn’s people will imagine they are fighting mere humans, but instead they will encounter my sandwreths.” She nodded, finished with her decision. “Quo’s war party will travel to your Fellstaff Castle when they are ready. It will not be long.”
Koll struggled with his emotions as he looked up at the razor-edged queen. This was what he had wanted, but Voo’s attitude was strange. She didn’t seem to care about the victory, only the exercise.
Adan looked at his uncle with cautious satisfaction. Koll bowed only enough to show thanks without undue deference.
“It will be good to kill some frostwreths,” Voo muttered, then cast her gaze around all the visitors. “Stay here tonight. You can depart in the morning.”
“That will give you time to gather your histories for me,” Thon said, standing on the sand as if he were a mere observer of events. He cocked his head at Voo. “I prefer not to sleep. I slept enough inside the mountain. Instead, I would like to look at your historical records.”
Voo quirked a curious eyebrow, but inclined her head.
* * *
The intense stars above the Furnace were bright enough to dispel complete darkness. Adan felt isolated in the private chamber Queen Voo had provided him. All members of the human party had been given rooms of their own. Adan would have preferred not to be separated, but she claimed it demonstrated her generosity and warned them not to object.
The tan palace walls were dry and smooth, and the air held a bitter undertaste of dust. As he tried to sleep, warm breezes drifted through the open windows, rustling the gauzy curtains. He found the hush of the desert disquieting: no night birds, no insects, no familiar city noises. It was the silence more than the brooding danger that kept him awake.
Under other circumstances, Adan would have been happy to stare at the stars and mark the constellations. His heart felt heavy as he remembered dispatching such observations to his father. The last time he and Conndur observed the stars together, they had talked about the end of the world.
Now that dark prediction seemed more likely than ever. Conndur the Brave was murdered, and Mandan had taken the throne, bent on starting a war with the Isharans. Adan might well have embraced that war, to avenge what they had done to his father, were it not for the far greater threat these wreths posed. He could never leave Suderra and sail across the sea, especially not now.
As king, he had to shoulder the fate of his people, but as a husband he lay back in the warm desert silence and missed Penda. He wished he could hold her against him, feel the child stir in her belly, and listen to her whisper in his ear about the visions she saw. He hoped Penda had found safety among the Utauk tribes, far from Queen Voo’s hungry eyes.
He heard soft footsteps outside his door, a whisper of fabric. He sat up in bed, instantly wary as a slender figure entered the room.
Voo’s long hair hung loose, and her topaz eyes gleamed as if lit with metallic fire. She had changed out of her leather and copper armor and now wore a tan gown no more substantial than a film of dust.
“Queen Voo,” he said with cold formality. “The hour is late. I did not invite you into my chamber.”
She chuckled. “This is my palace. I go where I wish.” She stepped farther into the room, as if defying him. “And I wish to be here.”
“I thank you for your hospitality, but please leave at once.” Adan refused to show deference or fear. “You should not be here.”
“And you should not be alone,” Voo said, then added in a scolding tone, “I asked you explicitly to bring your wife, and you refused.” She wagged a long finger back and forth. “Therefore it is obvious that you wanted to be here alone with me, so that Penda could not interfere. You realize that no mere human could ever match the passion of a wreth woman.” Voo laughed. “Or better yet, a wreth queen.”
Adan, still sitting on the side of his bed, said, “My wife is about to give birth. I wanted her safe. There was no ulterior reason.”
“She would have been safe in my palace, as you well know. I should punish you for your defiance.” She leaned closer. “No, I think I shall reward you instead. I had many human lovers at the end of the last wars. I will take you as my lover now.”
Adan’s throat went dry. He grasped her wrist to stop her hand. “I refuse. Penda is my wife. Honorable humans take only one woman.”
“I wonder where that ridiculous notion comes from.” Her expression was calculating. “I am the sandwreth queen, and my command will excuse you from any impediments of honor.”
She tried to push him down on the bed, but he refused to yield. “And I am king of Suderra. I could never ask my subjects to serve with honor if I did not rule with honor.” Voo grew frustrated, and he realized he was in increasing danger. As a wreth, she could physically overpower him or call in guards to force him to comply.
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