Gods Of Blood And Fire (Book 1) (69 page)

“How do you know so much about her, uh…? I don’t even know your name, lady.”

The woman stopped, but did not look back at Kian. “I’m called Syann, and I know because the Mistress is my mother.” Then she stepped into the shadows.

“Time to watch your friend burn, monster,” one of the knights said as they came in to fetch him. Both died before they could cry out. Kian could feel Malice almost purr with satisfaction. There was no time to sort out all these new sensations. They would have to wait.

He could smell smoke and hear Rhys’s cries. The blood flow had returned to his legs, but they still felt like thousands of needles were poking into them. He had been on his knees too long and his wounds hurt fiercely despite Syann’s rejuvenating touch. He would just have to endure the pain, there was no time for anything else. He walked out of the pavilion into flickering firelight.

No one noticed him. They were watching the flames as they began to lick up to the shins of the healer. Kian could feel the sword come alive in his hand. It pulsed with its lust for death.

Seven men died before he was seen. He was nude with only the dark sword in his bloody hand. Kian leaped into the fire that surrounded Rhys.

The holy men were stunned by his sudden appearance in the pyre. They thought a demon had appeared in the flames, many of them panicked. The Church men fell all over each other, not knowing what to do.

The flames burned him, but he quickly cut his friend free and jumped out of the blaze before the fire could do any true damage.

“Kill the devil,” he heard Milara’s voice ringing out in the night. He would find the Lord Justice and kill him, if he didn’t have Rhys to worry about.

The healer had been badly beaten and was in no condition to even stand on his own, let alone run. Kian threw Rhys over his shoulder as he spun Malice in his hand slicing through another knight’s throat.

All he could do was run, he could see in the darkness and they couldn’t, it was his only advantage. He cut two more men down as he fled the camp. The men of the Hand gave chase, the knights had been unarmored and were too busy trying to catch their frightened horse to be any help in the pursuit. It would take them some time before they would be ready to go after the half-breed.

Kian was fast, but the weight of the healer slowed him down a great deal. If he dropped the healer, he could have gotten away easily, but the thought of leaving Rhys behind never even crossed his mind.

After a couple of miles Kian felt Rhys stir. “Can you run?” he asked the healer.

“No, Kian, even if I could I could never keep pace with you, just leave me and save yourself, you have done enough just keeping me from being burned alive.”

“No, if we die, we die together,” Kian said with conviction. He stopped and looked back. He could see his pursuers. He guessed maybe thirty men were behind him, most with the symbol of the Hand on their Tabards. He knew the knights would follow as well, once they had gathered their mounts he might out distance them given his head start, but he would have to deal with the men of the Hand.

He ran to his right. There was a small hill a short distance away, it was the best place he could see to make his stand. The snow was almost gone, but the little that was left made the short climb difficult. “Time for you to rest.” He sat Rhys down on the back side of the hill.

“What the hell are you doing?” the healer asked.

Kian said nothing as he walked to the side of the hill facing his pursuers. He wished he had a pair of leggings at least. No matter, nude or clothed, he would most likely be dead soon. He wished he could have at least saved Rhys. Kian felt Malice stir in his hand, the blade still hungered.

“There he is.” They had finally seen him. Some of the men had lit torches, but it was still very dark. He waited as they came up the hill towards him. Kian took a deep breath of the cool night air and brought his blade to guard.

He blocked a spear thrown for his chest. Then split the skull of the first man that had dared to come up the hill. The dead man fell back into the men behind him. The killing had started, Kian felt the monster inside him come alive.

He struck right and a head flew left and man screamed, holding his intestines in his hands. Kian was among them naked and bloody. The flickering torch light made him seem like a demon from hell. He killed and killed. His blade was too fast for the eye to follow.

He leaped back to the top of the rise, crouching like an animal ready to spring. He looked back to see a man with a dagger on Rhys throat. The warrior must have slipped around the backside of the hill in the dark. “Move and he dies,” the Hand said. Malice whistled through the air and buried itself in the center of the man’s face.

“Damn it, Kian,” Rhys screamed.

Kian ran over and retrieved the blade from the dead man’s skull. He glanced at Rhys and shrugged.

Rhys crawled to the top of the hill. He could see what was left of the Hands backing down the hill as Kian came towards them. None wanted to face the bloody beast. “Kian, let’s get out of here while we can.”

“No.” The word was more a growl than human speech. Rhys saw a faint dark glow surround his friend as the swordsman jumped down the hill towards his enemies.

It was the early hours of the morning, before the sun had risen all the way. Rhys stood on top of the hill, he could walk now but running was out of the question.

The snow was all but gone from this side of the little hill. Now only blood and muddy foot prints covered the entire north side of the hill, along with the dead. Rhys was taken aback by the carnage. Thirty or more men lay dead in the cold morning air. Steam still rose from some of their bodies.

Like a demon from a madman’s nightmare, Kian stood naked among the corpses, dried blood covering his body from head to toe. His long black hair hung over his face. It too was slick with his enemy’s blood. The swordsman’s eyes were the most frightening. They almost looked empty, devoid of any humanity. Kian stared at the dead like a predator over a fresh kill. “He killed them all,” Rhys whispered.

He walked down the hill towards the Half Elf, grabbing a cloak off one of the dead men as he did. The healer gently wrapped it around the swordsman’s shoulders. Kian said nothing, he merely glanced down at the cloak now covering his shoulders.

Rhys gathered a pair of pants and shirt from the dead. Kian pulled on the clothing without a word. The young healer looked in the direction of the Lord Justice’s camp as he handed his quiet companion a pair of boots that looked like they might fit. “We should go, Kian, the others will come soon.”

“Let them,” the swordsman replied pulling on the boots.

“No, there are too many, we must go as soon as I take a look at your wounds.” The healer had Kian sit on the wet ground as he looked him over. Rhys did what he could for the Half Elf, which was little with no supplies and he was too weak to use his power. The healer could not understand why the Kian was still on his feet, his torture had been extensive. Rhys knew the answer, he just didn’t want to think it. His friend was not human or Elven anymore, he was something else. He would just have to come to grips with that, and so would Kian.

Kian stood up and started walking south. “Can you walk, healer, or do you need me to carry you?”

“I will walk as far as I can.” Rhys didn’t know what to say, he could not stop thinking of the bloodbath back on the hill. So much death, it almost sickened him.

“Thank you for saving me, Kian. I thought for sure I was a dead man.”

“No need for thanks, you would have done the same for me.”

Rhys had to chuckle. “I don’t think I could have.”

Kian looked at the healer sincerely. “You would have done what you could, of that I have no doubt.” It made Rhys feel good that Kian had that kind of trust in him, he just wasn’t sure his friend was right.

They walked on in silence for most of the day, never seeing anyone pursuing them. “Are you afraid of me, Rhys?” Kian asked out of the blue.

Rhys thought for a moment. “You are the most dangerous man I know, and death seems to follow you wherever you go, but no, I don’t fear you.” Kian looked out over the open Bandaran landscape. “Do you think I’m evil?”

“No. I have never thought that, you’re a good man, don’t ever think otherwise, my friend.”

Kian said nothing and walked on. Rhys had been inside Kian’s mind, he knew the warrior had a good heart, but he could not get the sight of the dead men on the hill out of his mind. Rhys glanced over at the swordsman. It was true Kian was good man, but he was a better killer.

***

The afternoon sun was warm, more of the winter’s snow would melt into the rich Bandaran soil today. Lord Justice Milara and Commander Deverall did not feel the warmth of the sun as they stared at the bodies strewn about the north side of the small hill. Commander Deverall had not let his knights pursue the devil half-breed until the sun rose. Too many things could go wrong in the dark. He thought his mounted warriors could catch the two renegades, if the Hand did not get them first. They were on foot after all, but he had never expected this. “How did he do it, Your Eminence? No man can take on thirty men and live,” Deverall said, dumbfounded.

Dracen Milara had no explanation for it. He too had never seen anything like this.

Commander Deverall could only shake his head. “Why would God allow such a man to exist, my lord?”

“That thing is no man, Commander, and it uses the magic of the Beast. It must be hunted down and killed, but God does not want us to pursue the creature at this time. We will make camp and bury our dead. Their sacrifice must be honored. God will welcome them into heaven for their service to him. They gave their lives fighting against this minion of evil and we must send them to him with all reverence.”

“As you command, Lord Justice, we will set up your pavilion and begin digging the graves.” Commander Deverall didn’t know if God wanted the dead buried or not, he was just glad they would be going after the half-breed anytime soon. The thing was not natural. Oliver Deverall was no coward, he had proven that many times over. He would make a stand against any man the Church asked him to, but Milara was right, what had come among them was no man.

While the dead were being buried, Milara relaxed in his tent, drinking a cool glass of wine. There was a shimmer in the air and a man stood before him. The man was cloaked and wore a deep hood pulled up to cover his face. “The Holy Father would like to know why you have not captured the renegade half-breed.”

Milara shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hated the sorcerers the Pope employed. The Holy Father would not even tell him of their origins. Though he didn’t like them, Milara could not deny their usefulness. “Tell the Pope we are right behind the creature, and I will have him soon, and you may mention to the Father that he possesses the blood of the Beast.”

“I will take the message, Dracen, even though it’s not quite the truth. You had the Elven dog and let him get away. I told you he was heading north from the city and going in to the Adorn. You knew he would be returning from the forest in a matter of days, all you had to do was wait. I practically gave him to you, and you let him slip through your fingers.”

“Don’t worry, wizard. I will catch the monster and deliver him to the Holy Father soon enough.”

“I don’t care what you and the Holy Father do or if you ever get the Elf. I was paid by your Church to assist you in locating the thing and I have done my part. I will take your message to the Pope and then I am finished with you.” The wizard vanished from the pavilion.

Dracen took a sip of his wine. He could understand completely why God did not like magic.

***

The walls had become chaos, there were no more orders to give. K’xarr could not see any men in Bandaran red, only the brown and green of the Abberdonians.

He and Cromwell had held them at bay for a time but the Abberdonians had gained the walls, and he felt sure he had heard the north gate shatter. He was far too pressed to get a good look, but he knew the gatehouse had been taken. There were just too many Abberdonians on the ground inside the city for it to still be held by the Bandarans. He wished Kian was with them, the half-breed might be able to cut them a path off the wall and down into the city, but Kian was dead and he and Cromwell were alone.

“K’xarr, here.” He turned, he saw Cromwell coming towards him, shearing an Abberdonian in half from shoulder to hip, then kicking another from the battlements. “It’s done, there is nothing more to do.” Cromwell shouted over the sounds of the battle.

K’xarr knew what Cromwell was saying, nothing to do but die. Well, they had made a good run at it. He would die like a man and take as many Abberdonians with him as he could. His dreams of glory would end on Turill’s north wall.

Back to back they fought on, black blood seeping from a dozen minor wounds on both men. Abberdonian after Abberdonian went down before them. They were warriors of the Harsh Coast, their deaths would come at a high price to Havalon and his men.

The battlements were slick with blood, making it hard for the Abberdonians to keep their feet. Archers tried to fire arrows at them, hoping to help their infantry with the two daunting warriors. Where the two men stood was the only place of resistance left on the wall that was still held by the Bandarans.