Bloodlust (19 page)

"Why are you all gathered here instead of at Balog's meeting?" Lukor addressed the entire assembly, his arms spread wide, looking at those who met his gaze.

The tall goliath, Varo, said, "We do not accept Balog as our ruler."

"So what plans have you?" Despite Varo's war paint, Lukor did not see any weapons on a single goliath or goliatha.

"We were going to... It doesn't matter. You're here. You can—"

"You can treat the ruler of the goliaths with respect," Lukor bit off, his stomach churning at the idea of the vile Balog being said ruler. He should have killed Balog long ago. Ever since he had been added to the line of succession, Balog had often taunted and bullied the other goliaths. Even earlier, he'd always been arrogant and thought only of himself. So emotional, too emotional. A barbaric goliath if ever there was one.

But still, if the goliaths were to be reunited under a new ruler — himself or Karrina — then they needed to have deference for the position of authority.

Varo opened and shut his mouth several times.

A goliatha stepped forward and swept back her long black hair. "I can take you to Karrina, if you wish to see her."

Varo grunted, his displeasure clearly evident.

Lukor shook his head. "No need." He clasped a hand on the taller goliath's shoulder and squeezed until Varo's knees buckled. "Do you want to become like the humans and fight your own brethren?"

"O-of course n-not," he sputtered.

"Or act like barbarians and not care if goliath blood is spilt by goliaths?"

Varo tried to jerk free.

Lukor held fast. "Do you want Balog to be your golock? Will you bow to him?"

"Right now, Balog is golock," Varo protested. "That is all that matters."

Lukor stalked away. Aye, that was all that mattered. For now.

Chasing ends that were deader than his sister. Wasting time. Running around without a plan.

"What am I supposed to do?" Lukor muttered to himself, his head down. He had abandoned those goliaths and goliathas to continue their talk.

The problem wasn't that he didn't know what to do. The problem lay with the execution. Killing Balog would not be easy. Balog was even a more skilled warrior than he. Whether through lackeys or deception or even outright killing himself, he'd slain four rulers. He'd have no qualms fighting and killing Lukor.

It was a battle Lukor knew he would lose.

Perhaps Balog could be reasoned with. After all, he was now golock. He had what he wanted.

Not that one could reason with a vicious, savage male who more resembled a barbarian than a goliath.

He wearily rubbed his face. Then he straightened his tunic and lifted his chin, straightening to his full height. With a proud swagger, not even bothering to reclaim his armor, he marched through Ordisium back to their main hut, Orda Citadel. The two posted guards did not acknowledge him, so he strolled inside and sat upon the throne.

Made from the bark of every tree in their garden — all twelve hundred of them — with intricate carvings and details, the throne was majestic. The outline of the tree from their crest had been painted upon the chair's back. Its blackness contrasted nicely with the different colored woods. So smooth and seamless, the woods of the trees were. The bark had adapted to its home as a chair and managed somehow to produce roots and continued to grow, slowly, slightly, with fresh designs carved into the freshest growth yearly.

He rested his arms on the armrest. The seat of the chair seemed to conform to his body as he sat. Perhaps only a figment of his imagination. Or perhaps the bark throne was conscious and knew who he was.

Lukor knew what had to be done.

He was ready.

His nerves remained settled as time passed. Perhaps he should have remained with Golic and learned what Balog wanted, or even challenged him there, but now was not the time for second guesses. Now remained the time for action.

Lukor stared at the ceiling. 'Twas so high he almost could not see it. This hut was larger and taller than any other castle or ruler's dwelling place.

The golock finally strolled into the throne room, only to hesitate, one foot in midair, before waving the guards away. Balog slammed the stone doors shut himself, the walls of the hut shaking slightly. His firm, quick footsteps echoed throughout the room as he marched toward the throne. "Get out of my seat."

Lukor traced a skull on the right armrest. "My dear Balog, you've always been a demanding one."

"Why have you returned?" Balog hissed. His eyes, the blue during a vicious storm, flashed with anger, almost looking purplish for a moment. "Get off of my throne."

"Grumm angered the barbarians. What say you about them?" Lukor made no move to stand.

"If I have to remove you myself, I will," the golock threatened, his words barely more than growls and snorts.

Lukor's foot nudged his axe, another one from his vast collection, which he had claimed during his wanderings earlier. It now leaned against the wooden throne.

"You dare threaten me?" Balog puffed out his chest and reached over his shoulder. A mace came forward, in his hand, the three spiked balls attached to the weapon via metal chains twirling around.

"Is that Bruk's blood or Nazro's?" Lukor refrained from flinching as Balog whipped the mace down, each of the spikes landing a breath away from Lukor's stretched out legs.

Balog's wicked grin stretched across his face, both of his green colorings far darker than most other goliaths, almost black. "I will have you know they both begged for mercy before I killed them. As I will kill anyone who stands in my way, whether they be goliath or barbarian or anything else."

"Just what is it you want, Balog?"

He lifted his mace once more and pointed it toward Lukor, the bottom of the center spiked ball touching Lukor's right thigh. "Address me properly."

Lukor smirked. "O, Golock, tell me what it is you want most?"

Balog gripped Lukor's tunic and threw him out of the seat. Lukor landed on his hands and knees, and Balog stepped on his back to reclaim his throne. "Much better. You may stay in that position."

Lukor stood.

Balog's eyes clouded over. "I said—"

"I asked you about the barbarians." Lukor encircled the throne, pacing, nervous energy punctuating each step.

"There is more to the world than those brutes."

"So you mean to help the trolls to wipe out the barbarians and then what? Exterminate the trolls? Help the humans kill each other until none breathe? The elves? When will this madness end?"

"Of course not. What good would that do? I don't want all of the barbarians dead. They would make quite nice pets, if controlled properly. I hear their princess isn't quite ugly."

Definitely an understatement.

"And the trolls would make fine laborers." Balog stroked his bearded chin. "We need to expand our city, our domain. I want a larger citadel built. The humans will be my slaves. The dragons will also make exquisite pets. Just think, no longer would we have to endure the bitterness of winter without fire. Too much snow falls for us to ever sustain a fire for longer than two minutes. But their warmth..."

The goliath was beyond mad. Trying to overtake the entire world. He was almost as crazy as Ivy's father!

"How did your meeting go?" Lukor asked, still ringing the throne. "Not everyone was in attendance. I'm afraid I wasn't either."

The golock remained mute, but his jaw clenched and a muscle in his throat jumped.

"Not everyone accepts you as ruler yet," Lukor continued, coming to a halt in front of Balog. "Tell me, how many more goliaths in line to be golock will you kill? When will you stop?"

"How narrow minded of you."

"Ah, yes, you're an equal sex killer. Forgive me for leaving out the goliathas. I know Heda would never have begged."

"Ah, but Lucia..."

Lukor yanked the mace out of Balog's hand, but the golock already gripped Lukor's axe and had produced a morning star, perhaps from his back.

"And that is why you would not make a good golock. Far too emotional." Balog shook his head as he stood, weapons ready to block any blow. "I would be doing our people a favor by killing you."

Lukor swung at Balog's feet, but the golock merely stepped out of the way, toward the center of the room.

"Lucia would have never made a strong golempress either. You and she never should have been in the line of succession. Too weak and emotive."

"You talk too much." Lukor brought down the mace again.

If Balog wanted him dead, Lukor could only strive to kill him first.

A huge metal cage surrounded the perimeter of the human's land. Only a short man stood guard. "Hallow," he called down from his tower-like perch. "State your name and business."

"I am Ivy, Princess of the Barbarians."

Despite the hundreds of feet between them, she saw the disbelief in his eyes. She glanced down at her clothing. The armored bodice weathered many dents, and the skirt scarcely covered her upper thighs, let alone her knees and calves. And that wasn't mentioning the dirt and grime and soot and blood. Plus her long blond hair was all knotty.

"And your business?" he reiterated.

"I wish to talk to your leader or leaders. Whoever is in charge."

His response was a cross between a scoff and a laugh.

"The two warring leaders, if that is more clear." She crossed her arms.

"I'm afraid both are otherwise engaged at the moment."

"Trying to kill each other no doubt," she said dryly. "Aren't you humans tired of killing your own species?"

"Aren't you barbarians tired of killing everyone you come across?"

She flashed her teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Come down here and say that."

She watched his Adam's apple bob. "I-I... I can't—"

"I know you don't have the clearance. Find someone who does. But let me in first."

He disappeared. Minutes ticked by and he did not appear. Ivy toyed with the idea of leaving when a small metal door opened. She hadn't even seen the lines of it when the door had been shut and had to move aside so as not to be stepped upon when a tall, distinguished man approached, wearing a uniform, his fashioned out of silk.