Bloodlust (39 page)

"Hear!"

A few goliaths and goliathas left in small groups, and Lukor slipped away before Gremma or anyone else could corner him. He needed some time alone.

His legs brought him to the Garden of Orda, and he walked amongst the various trees, feeling their smooth or jagged bark, inhaling the rich scents of soil, flowers, and life.

He needed the convergence, as did his people. With all of the recent turmoil between the goliaths and their numerous leaders in such a short period of time, they had gotten away from their roots, from their lifeline. But he couldn't. Not yet. The true reason for the delay had nothing to do with the possibility of his death in the upcoming battle.

No, a far more selfish reason.

If at all possible, he wanted Ivy to be there, to be a part of it, to share the convergence with her. It would mean his people truly accepted her into their lives, as empress or baroness, that they embraced the union of the two races.

And if the barbaroness was to be a part of the process, Ivy would be the first non-goliath to see the Garden. He knew well how much she would treasure that. How he wished she was here now. She would give him that small smile, the one that made her forehead crinkle and ease any signs of trouble from her violet eyes. Her giggle would fill the air, and he wouldn't be surprised if she skipped from tree to tree.

A skipping barbarian. His barbarian was not like most. Yes, she could be brutal and savage — a ruthless killer — but there was another side to her, almost nurturing. She cared deeply for her people, almost too much.

Again, his thoughts turned to fatherhood. After Lucia's murder, Lukor had vowed to never have offspring, so as to minimize the amount of loss in his life, but now? Now that he had love, he craved more: more life, more love, more of everything, and that included children.

Lukor pruned a short hazelvine tree before moving on to examine the goliathic statues. His steps faltered against the stone when he saw a new one. His had already been fashioned. Bold, sharp, the statue contained dusting yet, so freshly had it been carved. The nose was far too big, his eyes a tad too far apart. The statue's face was fierce, angry... an almost barbarian-like expression.

An insult? A compliment? A harbinger of the future? Whatever the case, Lukor decided he liked it. Ivy would too.

Not long after they left the Blood Stones behind, they had to stop for the night, for the lighting was too poor for them to see far, and a rolling fog did not help matters any. A tree stood tall, Ivy leaning against it as she sat, and after Katar announced he would take watch, she nodded off and slept somewhat peacefully. Hours before dawn arrived, she awoke to find Katar still guarding them.

"Go and sleep." She walked over to him, voice low so as not to disturb the others.

"I can't. Not since..."

Ivy touched his arm. "I understand, but still, you need to try."

The fog created a shroud over his face, making black circles around his eyes and giving him a corpse-like appearance. "I would rather not."

"Mares of the night? I have been plagued by them for some time now."

"No." The black circles lightened some as he moved back a half step. "I dream of Orchid, of happy times when we were children and later, when we would fight and argue, and even later still, with us practicing our training and combat skills..."

"Orchid was a dear friend." Ivy had been trying not to think of her, so as to be strong and brave and make her people proud of their barbaroness, but now, here in the night, talking to her brother, Ivy's walls crumbled, and her eyes watered. No tears shed. Grief remained an emotion that barbarians could not handle well. Not every barbarian bothered to feel it in the first place, and some that had went mad, killing everyone who ventured near. Those barbarians had to be killed for the safety of the rest.

"The troll had aimed for me. Orchid stepped in front of me. One touch of the blade and..." Katar lowered his head.

Ivy cupped his cheek. "She would not want you to be sorrowful. Be strong. She had been."

The barbarian closed his eyes. When he opened them, he seemed more peaceful, more energetic even. "You are right, O Barbaroness."

She smiled then, full and warm, her body tingling. Only a few barbarians would she allow speak to her on common terms, but that he would use her title meant a great deal to her. "O Warrior, I bid you rest. Now," she said pointedly, still smiling.

He yawned, and they laughed softly. Katar found a spot on the ground near the others and soon breathed easily, with regularity.

Over time, the fog lessened enough for Ivy to spy a falcor soaring high. Not wishing to whistle and disturb the others, Ivy waved her hand above her head. Eventually, the bird swooped toward her. It carried no message, and she quickly bent and twisted the feathers to let the barbarians back home know they would be returning shortly. The green beak nipped at her fingers gently, as if she did not wish to leave. Ivy ran her fingers over her chest, the bird's feathers bright and beautiful. "You have an important job to do," she murmured.

The falcor tilted her feathered head and blinked orange eyes at her.

"We all do. You, me, the barbarians, the goliaths... even the trolls," she added sourly. What would happen at Luna Ford?
Who will remain standing? Who will fall?

The bird wiggled out of her hands and spread her wings.

"Go on, fall back to Barbadia." She released the falcor into the air and watched it until the blue-and-red-feathered bird disappeared from sight.

The landscape appeared safe and calm. At any moment, Ivy expected to hear that blasted humming, for the destroyer dreads to make another appearance, but everything remained peaceful.

For now.

Her gaze fell to the sleeping barbarians. Only one stared back at her. Helm.

She waved him over to her, and he joined her side, both watching those who slumbered.

"You spoke of mares of the night," Helm said out of the corner of his mouth.

"Do you make it a practice to listen to another's conversation?" She did not mind that he had, but it would be good to know if certain barbarians had overactive ears.

"I cannot stop my ears from hearing," he said, as if answering her thoughts.

"Why mention it?" She regarded him with sudden interest. Far more intelligent than most, Helm had the temper of a barbarian but his mind... "Your parents were both barbarians?"

"Changing the subject. Yes, barbarians both. My mother's father, however, was an elf." He brushed his hair back to reveal perfect elven-shaped ears. Barbarians' ears were pointed, but not nearly as sharply as elves'. "The only known union between a barbarian and another race," he added.

That we know of.

Since he had shared about himself, she waved her hand. "The mares... what of them?"

"My elf-father only saw me for a day. When I turned twenty. To impart wisdom, I guess. My elder parents did not live with the barbarians, or with the elves. I was never told where exactly. Neither group fully accepted them. My elf-father had been the one who insisted my mother be raised as a barbarian here."

"Your mother's sister." She had known that much concerning Helm's life, but as the barbarian usually kept quiet, she had never even suspected his life contained such drama. "I take it your elf-father mentioned mares of the night."

"He did, among other things."

Now he reverted to his quiet self? Seriously?

Her wicked scowl was enough to get him talking again. "He said that during the dark hours, the stars try to talk to us. If we're quiet, if we're still, when we're sleeping, they whisper."

"About the future."

"Aye. Or so he said. Dreams tend to be more a conjuring of our mind, but the mares of the night..."

"The stars are able to break through and tell us more about heartbreak and ruin," she said slowly.

Helm nodded. "How long have you been having the mares?"

"For a long while." Well before she had met Lukor. Had the stars known they would meet and fall in love despite overwhelming odds against them even becoming friends and not cutting the other into pieces?

The nightmares had to be about the doom of the barbarian race. Perhaps even other races as well. Mayhap the end of the all of the races was imminent.

The notion shook Ivy to her core.

Too soon, the early rays of the violet sun burned away the last remnants of the haze, and the other barbarians woke. Their journey back through the wasteland and the desert was rather smooth, the antithesis of Ivy's thoughts. Perhaps war wasn't the answer, but the elves could not be allowed to dominate their will upon the world. What right had they to wipe out the entire barbarian race? To foster hatred between the "lesser" races?

They've fostered hatred, aye, and united enemies at the same time. Common enemies make for part-time allies.

After another night during which Ivy almost woke up from a mare screaming, they reached Barbadia. The stone fortress warmed Ivy's heart, melting away the fear that had started to form, as the skies hadn't filled with a falcor carrying a reply in its feathers.

Every defensive measure she had drawn up had been implemented. The wide moat had been filled with poisonous waters that even killed the grass on the far embankment. At every window was set up a bow and arrows, or a stronger ballista, for quick access. Even some catapults and a couillard sat on the roof, waiting to be used on enemies down below.

A barbarian stood beside the couillard. He ducked beneath the counterweight and waved to them. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he hailed the other men, and soon all of them gathered together within the mess hall. The room stank of sweat and labor, and bear-dog as barbarians carted in two large ones. Even Ivy forwent launching into a speech in favor of juicy meat.

Once she was no longer ravenous but not yet finished eating, she paused to tell those left behind, "You have worked hard and have made me well pleased."

They beamed and clapped each other on the back. The barbarians were bonding. She, herself, had tried to distance herself from the ones she was not acquainted with, but she knew each of the ninety-seven others well despite her efforts. There was Pike, the tallest barbarian, with a triangular chunk of skin torn out of the left side of his head above his ear. A vicious fighter, a man of few words, but his eyes were wise. He saw everything.

And Springald. Shorter than most barbarians, he had huge arms and could rip monstrous trees out of the ground by himself. He enjoyed ale a bit too much and sang songs even when not drunk.

Maul was sharp and all angles, both with his features and his manner. Direct to a fault, his aim was hardly ever off. His kill count probably exceeded those of everyone else gathered here.

Club had been the barbarian who thought the chamois a baby. And Sabre and...

All of them were like brothers to her. Knowing some would die, or even Lukor, almost made her call the battle off. But she couldn't. If they did not stand up and fight, they would be slaughtered. 'Twas only a matter of how many days they had left to live.

She cleared her throat. "The dwarves want no point in the conflict and deny any signs of the elves tampering in their lives. At least the elves have no ally in them."

"Could they be grinding at the stone?" Maul asked. "I know dwarves and elves have no love for each other, but two of their kind getting together certainly did not bless the world."

Blood drained from her face. Would she and Lukor not bless the world either?

Now was not the time to think of him.

"I do not think the dwarves were merely saying what we wanted to hear. BowBeard struck me as a rather... honest fellow." Ivy glanced toward the barbarians who had traveled with her, clustered in a tight group the next table over. They all nodded. "Now, as much as I appreciate your hard work in making this fortress as safe for us as it can be, I am afraid we all must leave the safety of its walls."

"To battle?" Maul asked with a wicked grin, his pale blue eyes glittering with excitement.

Saber's expression matched his, as did most of the other barbarians.