Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign (Worlds of the Crystal Moon, Book 1) (51 page)

Amar was clearly excited. “I can’t wait to tell my brother. Morre will be proud of me.”

“I wouldn’t speak of this with your brother,” Lasidious suggested. “His service to his god is a fool’s service. Morre wouldn’t understand your desire to perfect the dark arts and seek power. It would be wise for you to keep your decision private. I have always looked fondly upon you, Amar. After all, we are friends, are we not?”

The mage’s head could not nod fast enough. “Oh, yes, My Lord, we are friends, although I’m surprised you believe me worthy. I’m your humble friend, and I live to serve you.”

Lasidious put his hand on Amar’s head. “Of all my subjects, your service I cherish the most. From this Peak forward, I extend my hand to you in friendship. You’re a free man, with free will, and I respect you as the mage you’ve become. I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

The Mischievous One patted Amar on both shoulders. “Now ... the moments have come for you to acquire glory. Rise up, and make all men fear you.” Lasidious smiled. “I’ll watch from above as your biggest fan.”

Amar was happy with the way his lord spoke. “Perhaps it would be best if I set out to find this George right now, My Lord.”

Lasidious shook his head and then reminded the mage that George was not yet in town. The god suggested it would be wiser to gather the materials Amar would need to travel with his new ally. The Mischievous One watched as Amar ran from the store and into the night with his staff held high to light the way. He uttered only three, simple words before he left for his next destination, “What a cretin.” With that, Lasidious vanished.

The Next Morning

City of Bloodvain

Map Depicting the City of Bloodvain

Lasidious’ patience was wearing thin as he waited in his pen for the Barbarian King of Bloodvain to arrive. The Mischievous One had taken the form of a thick-horned, black bull that was due to enter combat with Senchae Bloodvain for the king’s daily training.

Lasidious thrashed around inside the corral, playing the part of the enraged animal as he tore the fencing apart. When the handlers approached, he sent them flying, but he was careful enough not to throw them hard enough that they would break anything.

Senchae Bloodvain

King of the Barbarians

The general of the barbarian army entered Bloodvain’s arena. The holes in his sandals let in the sand that was covering the fighting surface as he approached his king. Taren Fergus was a large man, but he was still two hands shorter and not as muscular as Senchae. Nevertheless, like all barbarian warriors who lived to tell the tale after they entered the arena, Fergus’ shoulders were broad, his arms were well-defined, and his victories over the 10 foes he had slaughtered had all been gruesome and bloody.

Fergus’ skin was not as dark as his king’s. He maintained short hair and a clean shaven face, but he still had rugged features that most barbarian women enjoyed. He had a presence about him that demanded respect, and the men of the army were quick to comply with his orders.

Taren surveyed the arena with his deep, brown eyes that were shadowed by heavy brows. The tops of the evergreen trees were poking above the wooden stands that surrounded the oval fighting surface. The trees had been groomed for a purpose. They encircled the arena and swayed in the breeze as they provided shade for more than 3,000 souls who attended the fights. The general took in a deep breath of his surroundings and then adjusted his gaze across the arena at an enclosure that had been built into the stands next to the fighting surface. One of the three pens inside the enclosure was holding an angry beast, but this corgan-bull was much larger than those the king normally trained with.

“It appears you’re facing a spirited one on this Peak, My King,” the general remarked. “I’ve never seen this bull before. Even from where I stand, I can see his stare begging for battle.” Fergus reached out and patted Senchae on the back. “He’s bigger than the others.” The general smirked. “Your death will be glorious. I may even mourn.”

Senchae chuckled. “Perhaps you should be the one facing him to demonstrate how one might attain victory.”

Taren shook his head. “That would be unthinkable, My King. Stealing your enjoyment of the kill would be impolite of me. As the leader of your army, I should demonstrate manners, wouldn’t you agree?”

Fergus looked toward the king’s box at the officers of the army who had chosen to attend the king’s training. The men often gathered to watch the kingdom’s ultimate warrior during his Peakly workouts. “They are here for you, Sire ... not me.” The general bowed his head. “Besides, I could only aspire to match your skill.”

Senchae rolled his eyes. “Fergus, your lips are dry. You pay far too much attention to my ass.”

As the general laughed, the king directed his attention to the royal box and gave his officers a quick nod to acknowledge their presence. He then removed the pelt from his shoulders and pulled back his long, black hair into a ponytail.

Senchae was an enormous man at eight-foot four inches. He weighed nearly 550 pounds, and his muscles bulged. He was well known throughout his kingdom for his ability to fight for long periods without tiring.

Throughout the Kingdom of Bloodvain, it was customary for a barbarian to fight to the death, and today would be no exception. King or not, Senchae would fight wearing only furs to cover his manhood. If today was his Peak to die, then so be it. He would beat the first bull to death with his fists and then feed it to the leaders of his army.

The king studied the bull’s physique. “He’s a fine beast and worthy of dying by my hands.” Senchae looked at the general. “I hear your son, Churnach, conquered yesterday. He makes my kingdom proud.”

General Fergus responded. “It was his eighth victory since you surrendered the champion’s hide. He fights to glorify all barbarians, Sire.”

Senchae reached out and grabbed the back of Fergus’ arm. “Tell your son that I see weakness in his training. He must shed blood often to maintain his dominance. Tell him that I’ll instruct him if he so wishes.”

“My King, that is a most generous offer. I don’t know what to say.”

“Perhaps you should say, ‘I’ll tell my son of your desire to see him succeed.’ How does that sound?”

“I will say exactly that,” Fergus responded. “Churnach speaks of training as vigorously as you, Sire. Yet his best efforts fall short. I believe many moments will pass before he’s able to match your dominance.”

“Let’s hope this isn’t true. I believe your son could be as fine a champion as I. For now, let’s kill this beast so that we may feast.”

“As always, I look forward to watching its blood stain the sand, Sire. We shall feast heartily tonight before we bed our women.”

Senchae shook his head. “You bed the women, Fergus. I shall stay loyal to my queen. I don’t wish to suffer her wrath because these eyes wandered. She can be forceful, for a woman. A man who respects his love is respected in return and lives a good life.”

The men laughed at the fantasy of the queen’s power over the king. But the general knew his king was loyal. Senchae’s love for his queen was unconditional, and he would never gaze in the direction of another bosom. The king would forever hold true to his vows.

Now, fellow soul ... as loving as Senchae Bloodvain was to his queen, he was also the type of man who governed his army and High Council with a strong hand, but he did it with respect.

Unlike his grandfather, Bude Bloodvain, and most of the kings before him, Senchae achieved this respect inside the arenas of the Barbarian Kingdom over the last 15 seasons prior to assuming the throne. Every fight had been to the death, and the vanity of the barbarian people kept the challengers coming. With more than 80 kills to his name, Senchae remained, even though he did not compete in the arenas any longer, the most feared champion to have ever lived.

Senchae was the strongest and fastest barbarian the kingdom had ever seen. Since he was crowned, Senchae ruled while he still trained harder than any other.

Unlike the kings before him, Senchae believed that the respect of his army should be earned and not commanded. The king’s reputation was so beloved that his kingdom was loyal. He was proud, a great husband, an even better father, and like all barbarians, he believed killing was sport.

The leaders of his army and the High Council were allowed strong opinions. Senchae always chose to listen before he made a decision, but the men knew that once his decision was made, it was final.

“General, let dinner out of its pen. I shall sport with our meal before I beat the life from it.”

“Yes, Sire.” The general looked across the arena and shouted, “Release the beast!”

Lasidious exited the pen where he had been waiting patiently, or at least as patiently as an angered bull would wait.

“The beast seeks to dominate you, Sire,” the general shouted as he moved to sit in the king’s box. “Best watch your backside, his horns look to be a perfect fit.”

“Ha! You continue to desire to trade places, Fergus? I’m sure such intercourse with the beast’s horns would pleasure you far more than I. The way you look upon this animal feels amorous. I dare say you’re in love.”

The other members of the army laughed.

The general accepted the cut and forced the dark skin around his eyes to remain relaxed. “Witty, My King. I must remember with whom I jest.”

“Indeed, Fergus. My respect for you as the leader of the army stops at beastly pleasure. Perhaps you should focus on other matters.”

Fergus crossed his arms, clearly annoyed. “Perhaps.”

Senchae’s smile widened as Lasidious charged. Bloodvain grabbed a horn in each hand, then used the beast’s momentum to throw the bull-god to the ground.

As the Mischievous One landed on his side, a crushing punch pounded the side of his neck. Keeping in character, the bullish deceiver bellowed as he jumped to his feet. He dug his hooves into the sand, snorted, shook his head for effect and then charged again. He would allow the king to throw him once more.

The general and his men cheered for their king as the bull slid to a stop and absorbed yet another punch to his neck.

Lasidious knew the next part of his plan would not face interference. Again, Lasidious rose from the ground, shook the sand from his flanks and then charged. He allowed Bloodvain to grab his horns, but during this series of moments, he held firm as the big man tried to twist for the throw.