Bloodlust (22 page)

Clang, slash, spark, hiss, snarl. The sounds of the battle, the smell, the excitement all prevailed within Ivy. She welcomed them, embraced them, but refrained from giving into her Bloodlust. She wanted to remember Angar's death.

"Vile betrayer." She scarcely breathed heavy despite their fighting for a good hour now.

"Your mother betrayed me." His eyes glittered darkly, and his longsword snaked toward her.

The black tiger had raced off shortly after Ivy had dismounted. How she wished she had kept the beast around. Death by mauling would suit Angar well. At first, she had strained to hear its roar, but now the only sound she concentrated on was the beating of Angar's heart. Soon, it would pump blood no more. She would see to it.

"You would have had my mother go against her husband. Her barbaron."

"She had come to me first."

"Never." Ivy darted backward and threw her dagger.

Angar knocked it away with his blade.

She raced forward to reclaim it, leaning backward so her back was parallel to the ground, the blade of his longsword sweeping an inch above her. Her fingers curled around the hilt, and she exploded upward, launching toward him, too fast for him to bring around the sword again. Her dagger, unfortunately, only scrapped against his cheek, enough to cut him but not severely wound him. This had been the first blood to be shed though, the closest she had dared come to him, for his reach with his longer sword far exceeded her range with her puny dagger.

His fingers touched his wound. "To be the ruler of the barbarians, one has to be willing to kill whoever stands in their way to the throne. Your mother wasn't ready to take it for herself. She was too weak. Allowed your father to do as he wished. He knew what he wanted. He ruled with an iron fist and still does. Your fist is not iron."

"No," Ivy agreed. "It's not iron."

She feigned throwing the dagger again, and he bought it, bringing his longsword over. With the hilt of her weapon, she knocked the sword out of his hand. Her foot pressed the helve into the ground. Her dagger carved into his stomach before he could blink.

Ivy yanked her dagger back out and shoved her hand into the wound, reaching up under his ribcage. "My fist is in you."

Her hand found its way to his heart, and she squeezed the organ. Angar's eyes grew wide, his face blue. Strange that he didn't fight or struggle against her. He accepted his defeat almost graciously.

"Maybe... you do... have... takes... barbaroness..." he breathed.

Ivy removed her hand from his inside his body, still holding his heart. Angar collapsed.

Her hand trembled as she tipped it over, the heart falling on top of his form. Blood coated her arm up to her elbow.

"Barbarian-Princess Ivy."

She stilled before sweeping around to face her father.

"What have you done?"

"I killed someone who would have killed me if given the chance." She held her chin high, staring her father in the eye.

Such coldness. No love. Only hate. She felt no love for him either. Her mother was dead because of him. By his own hand. He had fed her and her kingdom lies over the years, praising their barbaroness for her bravery. Not in battle had she fallen. At least, not in battle with their enemies. Instead, one of their own had slaughtered her because she had been too weak to do it first herself. The curse of barbarians. To be ruled by the darkest of emotions.

Which begged the question: what had changed her mother's mind? Could it be that deep inside she had loved her husband? Compassion, love, and the like were alien emotions to Ivy. Her father certainly never experienced them.

"You have killed a fellow barbarian." Her father's voice was frosty and unimpassioned.

"I have."

"You will pay the price for your crime."

Ivy refused to show any emotion — not shock or aggravation or even disdain — although she felt them strong, boiling within her. Since when was fighting a member of royal barbarian blood not a crime? Since when was defending her life a crime?

"I hereby sentence you, Barbarian-Princess Ivy, to death."

Golock. Lukor had not expected the mantle to feel so empty, not that he had time to feel let alone think. After guards removed Balog's body and servants washed away the blood and signs of battle from the floor, Lukor invited every goliath of every age to join him at the tree garden. There, he addressed them, his voice clear and strong, forceful even.

"Good day to you all." He looked about the assembly. Some of the goliath younglings sat beside the bushes. There wasn't enough floor space for all of the adults, and more than a few climbed the trees to sit on branches.

He made a point of catching the eye of Karrina, the goliatha who would be golempress next. Her hands were visible, as was the empty belt around her waist. She hadn't brought a weapon. Lukor hadn't either. He had enough fighting with his own people.

"I stand before you as your new golock," he continued. "I am sorry I left for some time and was not here to put an end to the destructive ways that some in the line of succession has sought. What we goliaths need is stability."

The goliaths and goliathas grunted in agreement.

"But stability within our race is not enough. The tide is changing. War has come. The trolls and barbarians are meeting on the battlefield. I am certain that some among you wish for us to remain outsiders to the conflict, but I ask you, would not the world be a safer place for us and for future generations should both the barbarians and the trolls fall? I say we help the trolls wipe out the barbarians, and then when that victory is accomplished, we turn on the trolls and smite them."

He paused and glanced about to take in the crowd's reaction, turning to see those behind him. Hushed whispers broke out, punctuated by shouts, some cheers, and a few jeers. When his gaze fell on Karrina, she stepped forward and gave him a perfect bow.

"If I may?" she asked.

Lukor nodded.

"The barbarians will overrun the trolls if the trolls have no aid. However, this barbaron of theirs, Barbaron Thunhall, is vicious and cruel and has become increasingly more so over the last few months. If the trolls fall and the barbarians should look to seize dominance over the entire world, surely they would seek to oppose us first." Karrina bowed again and returned to her position in the crowd.

The murmuring grew louder, and Lukor allowed his goliaths to converse and reason for themselves. Finally, a chant started, low at first but building into a roar: "War! War! War!"

Lukor grinned, baring his tusks. "Tonight we feast. Tomorrow we march."

Still the goliaths and goliathas cried, "War! War! War!"

Twenty feet separated daughter and father. Neither moved, a wordless battle commencing.

If he thinks I'll go willingly...

Ivy bent down and retrieved her dagger and Angar's longsword.

Her father stood there, dressed in full armor but weaponless, a formidable foe. He beckoned her forward. "Come. Let us go."

"No."

Her father had half-turned to leave, but he pivoted back. "Excuse me?"

"I reject your rule. I reject your sentence. I reject your sense of righteousness and honor." She held up the longsword, so the tip covered half her vision. "But most of all, I reject you."

Her father hissed. "I do not have time for such folly. Would you rather be killed here, away from the prying eyes of the people who care not for you? If so, say the word and it shall be done."

Could she do it? Do what her mother couldn't? Attack the man standing before? Kill her father?

Ivy held out her arm so the longsword pointed at her father's chest.

"You dare to threaten—"

A low growl pierced the tension growing between them. A huge form jumped over Ivy's head. The black tiger launched itself at her father.

The barbarian-princess leapt onto the animal's back. Although the beast opened its mouth, reaching to tear out her father's throat, she pulled back on its ears. The tiger growled but responded to her swift heel kicks into its side, launching forward.

Glancing behind her, she saw her father still on the ground, on his stomach now, slamming the ground with his fists. The obscenities he screamed rang in her ears as she left him behind, her mount racing toward home. Her father's battle gear... Had the war started already? Was her father that much of a coward he would leave the field ravaged, drenched in blood, while he and his henchman attempted to assassinate her? Knowing Angar, he would have helped her father get rid of her, as she was his biggest barbarian threat. Then he would have knifed her father in the back to try to take the throne for himself.

Death and destruction. All the barbarians knew.

Her thoughts returned to those children she had seen before leaving Barbadia. They had kindness. It had not been stifled out of them. Perhaps the youngest among them knew more than the adults.

Why the tiger came back she didn't know, and she didn't question it when he dumped her at the edge of Barbadia and charged back the way they had come.

Stay away from Father, my friend. He will tear you from limb to limb.

Ivy wiped her forehead, shoving back her long hair. Too late she remembered the blood on her hand.

Returning home was heart stopping. The scene before her stole her breath away and had her reaching for the longsword.

In the middle of Barbadia, high up on a hill, sat their fortress. Surrounding it were hordes of trolls, tall and massive, dark and nasty. The sight of them fueled her inner fire. The heaviness of the longsword — she didn't feel it. The whipping wind swirling around her — she didn't feel it. The heat of the newly dawning sun — she didn't feel it. All she felt was the burning desire to smite her enemies.

With a warrior cry, Ivy charged forward. The marketplace had been abandoned, every stall empty of its wares. All barbarians, since they learned how to walk, were taught how to use weapons, how to attack, how to defend. They weren't given true weapons until they were deemed ready and only while supervised. Would Father have been so desperate he would send their future into battle? The trolls would have no qualms killing every last barbarian, even ones only days old.

Near the edge of the market, an unbridled horse wandered into her path. Ivy claimed him and raced toward the fortress. Thousands of trolls barred her path. The thunder of the horse's hooves churning the dirt had those closest turning toward her. The flash of her blade was the last sight they saw as she forced them aside, her horse trampling the slower ones.

Hundreds of trolls converged on her. Instead of attacking her, they rushed the horse. The beast's yells sounded over the cries of the trolls she assaulted. When the horse buckled, Ivy stood on the horse and jumped backward, her hands high above her. Her fingers brushed against the long branch of a tree, and she managed to grab it and pull herself up.

The branch dipped low from her weight, and she crawled along it toward the trunk. A cluster of trolls surrounded the base, attempting to uproot her tree. To distract them, she fired several arrows. Quicker than a racehare, she manipulated her nimble fingers and sparked a fire from some timber. Her fingers burned as she tied the smoldering remnants to an arrow. To prevent the fire from extinguishing, she shot the arrow straight down. Three more tries, and the tree blazed, and a few trolls as well.