Bloodlust (36 page)

Nightmares and dreams she could not recalled ruined and haunted the few hours of sleep Ivy had the rest of the night. Ill at ease and fatigued, she stole a moment or two of stillness in the day's earliest moments to try to calm herself. Focusing on her fear only made her more agitated. Fueling her uncertainty at least energized her. Feeling her love and giving into it gave her a measure of something akin to peace.

Brandishing her longsword also helped to facilitate any lingering sense of strife, and she stood tall, welcoming the feel of her muscles tightening as she held the heavy weapon. A few quick jabs and strikes against an imaginary foe, and she was ready to face this new day as barbaroness.

She had not felt more accepting of her role.

Whether or not her people felt the same did not matter. She was their barbaroness. They would do as she bade them.

A few gestures were all they needed to fall in line behind her. By the time the violet sun had reached its apex, they had abandoned the stifling desert and entered the bleak wasteland. In the far distance lay their goal: the Blood Stones. Ivy had never seen this land before, only its name drawn on maps.

"Have any of you ever patrolled out this far?" Ivy asked, her voice not carrying far on the still, heavy air.

Katar stiffened.

Curious, she glanced over at him then Glaive on her left.

"Steel is the last barbarian to have ventured so far from home," the overly muscular barbarian said. He blew air up, billowing some of his longish blue-black hair from his face, highlighting his sorrowful eyes.

Ivy swallowed, the saliva plopping in her stomach like a rock.

"He had to be killed for what he did," Helm spoke up, sounding somewhat cheerful and unlike his normally stoic outlook.

The other barbarians snarled in agreement, and Ivy smiled, appreciating their acceptance at least on that act of her reign. Any who dared to touch her in such a manner, who strove to separate her from Lukor, would share Steel's fate.

Large bushes of various shades of gray dotted the landscape. Colorful berries punctuated the dreariness, and Ivy's mouth watered. None of them dared to even come close to the fruit. Most likely anything beautiful in this land was poisonous, if not deadly.

Her throat grew parched, each swallow grating against the tightness. One hand held up, and the barbarians halted. Dried meat from their pouches made for a welcome meal, if a bit worse for their throats. After a swig of water each, they pressed on.

No wonder the dwarves had chosen such a wretched place to relocate too. No one would willingly travel through this land.

Up ahead, one of the bushes rustled. Ivy held up her sword as an animal tumbled out. A vicious goat, chamois had the ability to make a person see their worst fears before plunging their three sword-like horns into their victim's hearts.

"'Tis only a baby." The tallest barbarian stepped forward, a javelin cocked back in his arm to throw.

Ivy lowered his hand. "Which means its mother is nearby. They travel in packs, do they not?"

The barbarian grunted, but Helm nodded. "Our barbaroness speaks the truth. But it has seen us. I am not sure what our best course is."

The chamois was watching them intently, with almost intelligent eyes. If this large size was a baby, she did not wish to see a grown one.

"Let us go. If it follows or poses a threat, we will deal with it then."

Several of the barbarians grimaced, and Ivy did not blame them. It felt too much like giving up to not put up a fight.

The animal crept along behind them, and Ivy slipped toward the back of their progression. Soon, she stood beside the animal. "Have you lost your way?" she murmured so softly that the closest barbarians did not stir.

The chamois bleeted. Its dark eyes pierced her soul with sadness before narrowing with anger. It raised onto its hind legs, and Ivy reacted, shoving her sword into its chest.

More bleeting sounded, wild and savage, and chamois from every direction bore down on them. Every barbarian moved into offensive stances and attacked.

Everything had happened too quickly when Ivy had killed the first, but with the second, as soon as her blade cut into its flesh, a mental picture of a bloodied, dead Lukor came to mind, so real she could smell him, could feel his soft hair in her hands, the curve of his neck against her cheek as she sobbed.

She withdrew her blade, and the vision ceased, only to be replaced with her mother within the whispery Spirit Realm, turning her back on Ivy and disappearing, her haunting words parting them: "You have failed your people. You have failed me."

"I will not!" Ivy screamed, her throat ravaged. She coughed up blood, almost gagging on it.

The other barbarians were faring no better against the chamois, tears streaming down their faces, too, as they hacked and slew. Ivy rejoined them in battle, trying desperately to cling to the thought of how wrong it was for fierce and powerful creatures such as themselves to be moved to tears by mental images thrust upon them by wild goats. But they were partially human, fragile despite their strengths, and everyone had weaknesses and fears.

More images came to Ivy now, and faster too: each of the other ninety-seven barbarians dying grotesque and horrific deaths, each shrieking out curses to her with their last breaths, followed by countless images of their world surviving without the barbarian race. The enormity of the loss of their race weighed so heavily on her that Ivy fell to her knees, out of breath, the tip of her longsword burrowed into the wasteland, her arm hooked around the hilt.

Out of nowhere, the swordish horns of a chamois bore down on her. Ivy watched as if in suspended time as the horn neared, aimed for her chest. Her hand shot up swiftly, and she grabbed and yanked and twisted until the horn snapped off. Blood spurted from the wound, and Ivy shoved the horn straight into its owner's chest. The chamois crumbled at her feet.

Ivy slowly climbed to her feet and straightened her skirt.
Lukor would mention how much blood is on me.
Her neck and hands were coated, a thin trail down her armored plate, but the skirt was mostly unblemished save for dirt from the wasteland ground.

The last two chamois fell, and the barbarians retrieved their weapons. Only one — the brute who had commented on the original's size — had been injured, non-fatally Ivy was pleased to see. Perhaps she should not have engaged the chamois in conversation, but she had a feeling the beast would have attacked eventually, and she had not been pleased to be followed. An enemy from behind was much more dangerous than the one, or even two, staring you down in the face.

With so many heavy bodies, it was impossible to get an accurate count of the chamois killed, especially considering some had been hacked into pieces.

Ivy tore off a branch from the nearest bush and manipulated a fire from it. She tossed the burning branch onto the fire.

Katar flashed her a rare smile, and her heart ached. The barbarian used to always have a grin for her and his sister. That she still had a reason to smile while he did not felt wrong.

"You do not wish for any animal who scavengers their bodies to undergo the torture we just experienced," he said, his voice low, his eyes rueful.

She touched his steel-covered shoulder. "We can never let out fears guide us. We are barbarians. We are strong. We preserve." The other barbarians encircled them as she added, "We survive."

One at a time, each of the barbarians reached in their right hand, one on top of the other. Ivy did last, with both hands. "We survive!" they shouted as one, their voices somehow echoing throughout the wasteland, repeating strong and forceful, than gradually softer but still just as fierce.

Ivy grinned viciously. "Let us hope nothing else is as foolish as those chamois were."

For several more hours, they traveled. Without a source of running water nearby, they had to wait until the blood and sweat from their bodies flaked off. A sudden gust of wind helped, carrying upon it specks of their dried blood. The red flecks danced eerily, a morbid display of how timeless wind was, and by extension, the world, while they were finite and one day would return to dust.

But not today.

That night, clouds covered one of the moons, and the lack of light blanketed the world in too much darkness for them to continue. Helmn pointed out a circle of bushes wide enough for them to all sleep comfortably within, but Ivy decided against it. When Glaive asked why, she simply said, "It strikes me as off."

Perhaps it was only because of enduring apprehension due to their encounter with the chamois, but Ivy wasn't about to admit that.

Following Ivy's lead, the barbarians stretched out under the stars near the circle. Ivy did not even bother to lie down but only sat, watching the others sleep, trying to ease the tension out of her aching muscles. What was the point of trying to rest when she never slept peacefully? Besides, someone had to keep watch. Might as well be her.

So she watched as her barbarians slept, envying those who slept smoothly, wishing she could help those who slumbered fitfully.

More clouds crept across the sky, blotting out more light, but she did not need her eyes to hear. A faint buzzing sound persisted, and Ivy stilled. No. It couldn't be.

It was.

Like a madwoman, Ivy raced from sleeping barbarian to sleeping barbarian, tapping their throats to wake them. Without a word, she corralled them away. The clouds shifted some, and Ivy's fears were revealed.

The destroyer dreads were chasing them. A huge haze trailed them, like a shadow. The barbarians kept Ivy's frantic pace. All through the night and into the day, the dreads pursued them, not even being deterred when they passed a few grazing chamois.

Gradually the Blood Stones crept into view. Mountains ringed around volcanoes comprised the structure, the soil red from the enormous heat.

"How are we getting inside?" Helm asked as they approached, the first time a barbarian had spoken since Ivy awoken them.

The barbaroness pointed toward the sky, and soon the barbarians were climbing as fast as they had run. Thankfully, the mountain wasn't as hot as the sand had been, but now the buzzing was even louder, the dreads closing the distance. Ivy scrambled, climbing with both her hands and her feet, and she paused to swat even though none of the dreads were quite that close.

It would have taken humans days to scale the mountain, but by nightfall, the barbarians already reached the pinnacle. Down Ivy pushed the first barbarian, and he tumbled, disappearing from view. Ivy followed next, the remaining barbarians only seconds behind. The nearest volcano was close enough that she jumped onto it and resumed climbing. The barbarians hesitated.

"Come!" she screamed, her voice drowned out by the buzzing.

Katar leapt next. Gradually, they all did and soon they stood at the ridge of the volcano, able to stare down at the molten lava within it.

The dreads stayed above the mountain for a long time, hours most likely. Between the buzzing and the heat, Ivy couldn't accurately pay attention to the passage of time, but eventually, the dreads flew off to find victims who did not have a wish to burn themselves.

Ivy slid down the volcano, trying to separate herself from the oppressive heat. So much destruction she and Lukor had wrought upon the world. Could their union truly be a good thing?

A fierce pain gripped her chest, and she gasped. "G-g-good," she managed to mutter, and the agony released.

The notion that the elf was keeping so close to her thoughts worried her. Was he only listening in when she thought of Lukor? How she hoped that was the case. Magic from across such a long distance had to be tiring. Indeed, the more she thought about it, the more her notion made sense, for if the elf knew they were seeking out the dwarves, the elves would never have allowed them to venture so close.

Helm stared at her. "I thought the dreads had not been seen for years now. How did they come to be near here?"

Ivy averted her gaze.

He coughed slightly, his face red from the heat. "How are we getting inside?"

Ivy surveyed around them. Somewhere in these mountains lay the entrance to the Blood Stones. She started to stand when a figure appeared out of nowhere above the ridge of the mountain.

Short, stout, with a scowl that would kill dreads, the dwarf glowered down at them. "Who be you and why be you here?"

The barbaroness gulped. A more ungracious welcome they could not have received.