destiny's queen 7 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 7

 

The big gladiator sneered, and sheathed his knife, taking a coiled whip from his belt.

“You know the penalty for disobedience,” he said. He cracked the whip once, then let it lash out to wrap around the child, and jerking it free; much of her tunic came with it, and a line of blood lay on her arms and chest.

“I can’t take this any more,” growled Harkon.

A flash of lightning tore through the spring air of the stadium, striking the big gladiator dead. A smoking pit marked the last position of the child, as Harkon whisked her away to deposit in his own mother temple.

“Here, someone take care of her,” he said. “Sjurgi! Same situation as yours.” And then he was striding through the temple to use hero-travel to find Ralthur and return more quietly than he had left.

“You smell of ozone,” said Ralthur.

“I left her with my sister,” said Harkon.

“Of course you did,” said Ralthur. “Sit down before anyone notices you disappeared.”

“Half of them have jumped up in shock at lightning from a clear sky anyway,” said Harkon, in satisfaction. “It’s put the frighteners on the Empress, too,” he added.

There was a susurration of fear passing through the crowd. It hissed in the suppressed murmurings of awe at a second miraculous occurrence... this one not able to be explained away. In the Selenite mythos, storm and wind gods were described as evil and destructive foreign gods, jealous of the calm of Selenite life.

The Empress and her chief priestess were hastily conferring.

“It has been determined that the bolt of lightning was but a natural phenomenon, and nothing to do with any gods,” said the empress, firmly. “On with the games; there is no reason to suppose there will be any more lightning, and if there is, it will be attracted to the metal of arms and armour in the arena.”

“Keep believing that,” growled Harkon.

“Oh, hush, we aren’t ready for assassinations yet,” said Ralthur.

 

oOoOo

 

Sjurgi bathed the little girl, dressed her old welts, and put her in a soft gown.

“I was your age when they took me,” she said. “I learned to fight, meaning to rebel, but I learned the things they said to avoid whippings, and there were hidden riddles. But I am free again now, and you can learn to fight them.”

“I want that,” said the child. “My name is Firri, not Tassia.”

“And my name is Sjurgi,” said Sjurgi. “It was my brother who brought you to me,” she added.

 

oOoOo

 

Harkon managed to contain himself for the rest of the games.

He and Ralthur, as Patricians, readily managed to gain access to the gladiator barracks. Harkon sneered at the women fawning over the muscular human gladiators; Dróg, though celebrated for his skill, did not garner the same attentions. Harkon quickly made the signs of Alethos, and, wide-eyed, Dróg replied in kind.

“Are you ready, yet, to be bought out to join the fight more openly?” asked Harkon.

“No, I can still do good here,” said Dróg. “Though there are fewer trógling turning up in the arena.”

“Fewer being taken in the north,” said Harkon. “Honestly, I could do with someone with darksense here, and an understanding of things like mining cantrips to build tunnels.”

Dróg frowned.

“I would want a prestigious position as bodyguard,” he said.

“I am happy with that,” said Harkon. “You’ve kept your nose clean?”

“Yes, they haven’t tried to make me worship their gods, they think I worship Tor.”

“So, nobody would blink twice at you being captain of the private guard of a secret policeman?”

Dróg stared, then chuckled.

“Well, either I’m dead, or you’re closer to winning than anyone realised.”

“We’re here to disrupt society to keep official eyes off the vehicles of prophecy.”

“I’m your man. But I won’t let you buy me for fewer than a thousand Moons.”

“That’s a hundred years wages for an artisan!” said Harkon.

“And I get a quarter as my share to put towards my retirement,” said Dróg. “I plan to live well when the war is over. My novelty value has worn off, but I still make them money, so I should get a good price for my contract; take it or leave it, no self-respecting gladiator would settle for less than the best price.”

“Fair enough,” said Harkon. To do anything else would be to attract undue attention.

Harkon asked the Lanista about buying the contract of the trógling.

Dróg came forward to haggle; they settled on fifteen hundred moons. Harkon had not been too concerned about haggling, as Dróg got some of it.

“And you can take my slave bracelets off,” he said. “I won’t run; you’ll be paying me well. Going rate is forty-eight moons a year.”

Harkon laughed.

“Well played,” he said. “Your value to me is well worth it.”

 

oOoOo

 

Thyella was missing her husband, even with the care for Chionea. She regarded the enemy camp, and her dimples popped in and out. She went to see Chrysandion.

“What can I do for you, Divine One?” asked Chrysandion, nervously.

“Oh, never mind the formalities, Sandy,” said Thyella. “I just need people to pray to my mother to ensure rain, lots of rain, in the regions around the city but not on the city itself.”

“You mean, on the Selenites,” said Chrysandion, deciding not to take offence over his name being mangled by the whimsical little goddess.

“Chrysandion! You know you can’t invoke a weather goddess in matters of war and politics!” said Thyella. “But to prepare for the planting of market gardens in the city surrounds, but not the city itself, that’s a valid reason for heavy rain.”

“Oh!” said Chrysandion. “Yes, right I see.”

 

Later, Thyella looked out, and smiled in grim satisfaction. There was a definite line around the city walls where the rain stopped, so that it was bright and sunny within, a lovely spring day, whilst outside the walls, and to the extent of the camp, it rained solidly. Her mother had needed the casuistry of spring planting. 

“You are very clever,” said Sjurgi, who had brought Firri to see, having chosen to worship Thyella as well as Alethos.

“Gods and goddesses need to be adaptable or we will die,” said Thyella. “We can’t break the rules but we can bend them. Rain for market gardens is credible, and when these idiots go away we shall be able to institute them. And make it no lie.”

“And if they retire a little?”

“The fields need rain as well,” said Thyella.

“You’re adorable,” said Sjurgi, hugging her goddess. “And I could not even imagine embracing Selen, though Harkon embraces Alethos often.”

“We like affection too.”

 

oOoOo

 

Selen turned to her brother for affection; or at least, for sex. Her plan of endless winter had been thwarted, and the wolves had all disappeared. Things were going badly and she did not know why!

“Why aren’t we winning?” she asked, petulantly.

“We are, it’s just a few setbacks,” said Daze. “We’ll send Aima’s people in; that will defeat the stinking trogs and their night sight.”

 

oOoOo

 

Every Alethosi who could sense undead fell out of bed with a yell as Selen’s daughter brought in her own people.

Pythas grabbed Dron and Rynn.

“Get doors across the storm drains; I’ll send you sun worshippers to set up daylight spells behind them to handle bloodsuckers and nekrosti.”

“We’ve got it,” said Dron, grimly, well aware that he was unlikely to be able to manage undead by himself.

“I will go with you, friend Dron,” said Phaedros. “I can discourage any who harass you until someone able to anchor a sunlight spell in glyphs can arrive.”

“If I carve the glyphs for you, will your magic set it off?” asked Dron.

“I don’t see why not,” said Phaedros.

“I know the lesser rune-sets as well to anchor it,” said Rynn.

“I should have taken more seriously my education,” said Phaedros.

“You were sabotaged by Daze; we’ll get you up to speed,” said Rynn.

 

Phaedros hated the dark tunnels but he had learned to glow just enough to see where he was going, and not to hamper the trógling who were carrying planks to make doors to fill the passages. Pythas had nodded gratitude to him for going to guard the tróglings with his own abilities.

The trógling work gang had added doors and a sunlight spell behind them to three exits, reassuring those trógling in watch posts in tunnels off the drains, and were working on the fourth when Rynn signalled that someone had entered the tunnels, and shortly after that signalled, ‘Undead’ as Rynn had taken as a gift the ability to sense them.

“Shut eyes, all, Phaedros, glow!” she snapped.

Phaedros clenched his teeth and let his innate ability turn him into a small patch of sunlight. There was a cry from behind what was now visible as a group of nekrosti and skeletons. Dron ushered their group of helping tróglings back as Rynn and Phaedros advanced on the bloodsucker who had some level of protection against Phaedros, though he was plainly hurt.

“Don’t let him get away!” said Rynn, kicking decaying parts of disintegrated nekrosti to one side.  Phaedros found himself attacked by a powerful spirit bound to the bloodsucker.

“Rynn! Escape and warn Kaz!” he managed, as he used what he had learned from the Alethosi in handling spirits.

“Not likely, Dron can do that,” said Rynn, her sword ready.

Dron heard, and ushered his work-gang back up the tunnels, and reflected that this was why he might reach glyph-rank but was unlikely to be a hero. And this was why Rynn was known as the ‘Shadow of the Light Lord.’

Rynn was wearing the ring of flameblade, and activated it to bear down on the bloodsucker.

“What, a trogling dares face me?” he sneered. “You cannot know what I am, foolish one.”

“Trógling,” said Rynn. “You Selenites are so ignorant. And I know fine well what you are.” She folded his cloak, wondering what conceit made bloodsuckers wear extravagant cloaks; not that she was complaining. The cantrip, so fast and easy to cast, caused significant difficulty to anyone wearing the garment being folded. And it gave her a free blow with her flaming sword.

The bloodsucker managed to get a free hand to draw his own sword.

Rynn aimed a household preserving cantrip at the wet floor.

“Freeze,” she said. The floor froze; only in an area of a hand’s span, but as the bloodsucker was advancing and put his foot on that area, the idea she had had worked well, and the undead skidded, off balance, and then hit the unfrozen water and stumbled. Rynn hit him again, and with a judicious strike at where she expected him to fall, she caught the back of his neck and sheered through his head. She prepared to fight his vengeful spirit with her still flaming blade; the magic of it enhanced her will in any attacks, though she had to be careful not to hit herself with it. She had no compunction in ripping and tearing the spirit of the undead to assume any power she could, and any knowledge, too; a worshipper of Aima was anathema to any Alethosi.

 

 

Kaz, Sjurgi, and Thyella stood on the walls as various bloodsuckers chanted spells to raise those who had died in the siege. A Selenite priestess was also chanting.

“Oh, this is not good,” said Sjurgi. “They mean to soften us up with moonrock from the sky; I can protect us three but not the city.”

“Show us how you would protect, and let us share,” said Kaz. “Three of us together might be able to do so.”

They joined thoughts and Sjurgi was amazed that anyone should be so trusting.

“You are our sister,” said Kaz, as if that explained it, looking at the glyph-magic which allowed a cloak to protect from skystones. And how to call them. That magic would fail since Sjurgi’s apostasy, but the knowledge was there.

Kaz sniggered and outlined her thoughts.

“Really, twisting a hospitality cantrip and laying a tablecloth?”  laughed Thyella.

“Let’s do it,” said Kaz, out loud.

A ridiculous confection of lace appeared above them and spread almost transparently thin in a dome over the entire city, the glyph spell powered by two goddesses and a heroine, not by its originator; and as the fearsome bombardment of rocks from the sky commenced, which would have rained down causing terror in the city, the power of the three protected all, and used the dome to bounce rocks onto the Selenite army, and more particularly onto the skeletons and nekrosti which were emerging from the ground.

A bloodsucker dove for shelter, shouting, “You dolts! You are missing the city and hitting us!”

Kaz sniggered.

“It’s a bit like the game some of the men play in the street and where they use one boul striking another to change direction,” she said. “Let’s see what we can do.”

“She’s very young, still,” said Thyella. “Hey! That does look fun,” as Kaz ricocheted one rock off another to hit a bloodsucker full in the chest. “He won’t be getting up any time soon.”

“Play for points?” said Kaz. “Score three for a bloodsucker, one for a live one and half for other undead.”

“Let’s just keep it simple,” said Thyella, “One each.”

“I’m up two, then,” said Sjorgi, once she had picked up how Kaz did it.

 

They were still bickering over their respective scores over breakfast, when the bombardment was over; now it was up to the glyph-rank Alethosi to use undead-abjuration on the nekrosti and skeletons, as the dust from the sky stones blocked the sun.

“Of course, that’s one reason they used the sky stones,” said Kaz. “And there would have been more dust if they had been striking stone city buildings. And they might have hoped for a breach in the walls for the undead to come through. Lovely people to loose such terror on civilians and children.”

Sjurgi went red.

“I never thought of it like that when I was Thea Drex,” she said.

“You weren’t encouraged to think,” said Thyella. “We won’t let them get their hooks into you again.”

 

destiny's queen 6

 

Chapter 6

 

The full moon brought the howls of wolves outside the besieged city of Mesolimnos, and many citizens shuddered, locked up more firmly than usual, and went to bed early, with their heads under their blankets. The war committee met.

“They’ve brought in Lycoids to spread disease,” said Chrysandion. “On the other side of the lakes, too, between us and Sideropolis, menacing anyone not behind the walls.”

“My job,” said Vulk. “Either to turn them and bring them in to have the taint removed, or kill them.”

The Selenite army did not notice a few more wolves; or rather, they stayed at a prudent distance from all wolves, and could not tell the difference between lycoids and wolfingas. Vulk and his companions took the opportunity to turn back into human form on the full moon to show off their control to the feral lycoids.

“We got about a third of them,” Polia reported, laconically. “Vulk did a lot of snarling, but basically it boiled down to, ‘How dare you scuzzy feral nobodies think you’re anything but stray mutts, when you could be worshipping me and living a better life than you mangy losers can imagine.’ He had to tear out the throats of a few of them who challenged, and some came along and are now free of diseases and chaos taint, no longer forced to obey the changing of the Red Moon to become monsters at full moon, and we have some enthusiastic recruits, happy to be accepted by others. We butchered the others, and hid the bodies.”

“That should freak out the Selenite higher command,” said Kaz, with satisfaction.

     “One of our own lost an arm, but he’s at the Halls of Healing, and his blood taken to study the diseases in case we have anyone infected if we haven’t wiped them all out,” said Vulk. “I don’t know how it’s done, but the healers can isolate disease by magic, and make a serum against it.”

“Useful,” said Kaz.

 

 

It was the next day that Kaz stood on a tower, looking over the enemy camp, when a child started screaming outside the walls. She was being held by a soldier, but it did not look as if he was holding her roughly.

“Come here!” said Kaz. She felt a rushing in her ears, and a chime, and the man and child appeared in front of her. The man fell to his knees, and collapsed in apparent exhaustion. The child whimpered.

“Your first piece of godly magic without it being a glyph-based spell, my love,” said Alethos.

“I need Latrika; the child has wolf bites,” said Kaz.

“I will show you how, sister,” said Latrika’s mind voice. “You are looking in on the animalcules that cause disease... no, not those ones, those ones are essential to maintain life.  Here, here, and here; now just obliterate them in her blood. It will help, but she is riddled with plagues, not just from the bite.”

“Healing disease is not as straightforward as wounds,” said Kaz.

“Disease is caused by tiny invaders. You healed disease on my brother very well by knowing the specifics to cleanse the cursed wound.  I can show you how to deal with the diseases carried by Lycoids because of all those whose chaos taint Alethos has removed, and let me study them. This child has been deliberately infected by diseases to harm babies and children! You should not be with her, Kaz!”

“Toróg are immune to most human diseases. The race is older than disease, and trógling seem to have the same immunity; and Tor invented diseased wounds after he kidnapped Mycota. Their daughters are Ekzynn, or Fthysia, goddess of decay, and Zhargul, or Toxia,, goddess of poisons. Hence poison fungi and the long decay of the body from infected wounds.”

“Ah! Knowing the reason is helpful; and as it was his invention, that is why there had to be a counter to it. But I cannot have you nurse the child. I will ask Merkedes and Rogaz to lend me Hraazaz Wealthbringer, as part of her hero-path to save the city and be with this little girl until she is recovered, and I will aid her.”

“Who would deliberately infect a child?”

“One who believes your child is the Daykaz, my dear Daykaz,” said Latrika, grimly. “Use the stretcher spell and take the man to the Halls of Healing; I will manifest here. Iphianira could be a vehicle to make disease cross from human to toróg, though I doubt that was their design. But Rogaz will listen to me if I point that out.  Ask to have a hot bath and clean clothes at the Halls of Healing and the same for the man, who has infected wounds and is exhausted.”

 

 

Kaz visited the man when the healers sent word that he was awake. He was guarded, being one of the enemy.

“What is your name?” she asked.

“Gastus of Polinhalas,” he replied.

“You carried the child tenderly,” said Kaz. “Tell me about her.”

The man blinked. He did not see her as a trógling but as a stately lady who radiated confidence and power.

“My lady, I was under sentence of death; they told me if I carried her, and made her scream enough for your people to sortie and seize her, if I survived any wounds, I would be permitted to live,” he said. “They meant me to hurt her; but she was a good kid, and screamed to order.”

“And why were you under sentence of death?” asked Kaz.

He looked ashamed.

“I fell asleep on guard duty.”

“And how did that come about?” asked Kaz.

“I was so tired,” he said.

“Oh? Why was that?” asked Kaz.

“I... I was on punishment, after a flogging, I was on guard duty eight hours on, four off,” said Gastus. “I could not sleep at first for the pain, and finally, I collapsed.”

“That’s a pretty inhuman sort of punishment,” said Kaz. “What offence had led to this?”

“I spoke against the heroine and the goddess, and said we could not win this stupid war,” said Gastus. “And we can’t; I don’t even know why we are invading and besieging your city.”

“It’s called greed,” said Kaz.  “When an individual takes the possessions of another by force, it is called theft, but when it is a nation state, it is called war.”

“They do not call it a war, lady; it is a special military operation,” said Gastus.

“I suppose that makes the tax burden on the citizens easier to bear,” sneered Kaz.

“Lady, I don’t know what to think any more, I am not even sure of my faith in Thanus.”

“You should not be; he is a thief who took power from his patron, Alethos, all for lusting after the Red Moon,” said Kaz. “You can trust in Alethos; ah, I see your faith breaking, I will handle the spirits of retribution for you,” she added, as he was assailed. It was a weak assault, and Kaz soon ripped the spirits apart.

“Thank you!” gasped Gastus.

“Take a gift and a geas from Alethos and transfer your allegiance,” said Kaz.

“I have family in Polinhalas...” said Gastus.

“I will have someone see them brought to safety,” said Kaz. “Rest, and heal.”

 

Hraazaz had a turret room in isolation with the diseased child.

“Who would harm a child?” she wondered. “We feel the need to protect and rear even our trógling children until they are sufficiently developed to be obviously trógling not toróg. Goddess of Healing, I was born anew, and I think the only way this child will survive is if she undergoes a similar ritual. I need you to work with my goddess to place us both in a crystal womb and I will suckle her, for she is young enough to be able to gain from it, and make her... whatever she becomes.”

“I agree,” said Latrika. “I will leave you, physically but aid you spiritually.”

 

oOoOo

 

Latrika called on Zog as well as on Rogaz, and the turret became blue and shone with a soft light, which the soldiers on watch reported as comforting rather than frightening. Kaz hovered, feeding her own growing daughter, who was neither trógling nor human. She had human features, but the shadows on her skin were blue, as if her veins were close to the surface, and her hair was luxuriant, curly, and blue-black. Her eyes were also dark blue, not the amber of her mother. She had grown rapidly, if not as rapidly as Chionea in her first incarnation, and was starting to prattle in her own baby fashion.

 

oOoOo

 

Kaz was there at the opening of the crystal egg, of course, after the day round had passed. Zog was also in attendance, and the turret flowed back into being stone, with a door. Hraazaz emerged with the little girl in her arms; still human in appearance but with skin similar to Iphianira’s, and hair the same achingly pure silver-white as Hraazaz in her new incarnation.

“’Ousin,” said Iphianira, clearly.

“Does that make us sisters, Daykaz?” asked Hraazaz.

“I think we can manage that,” said Kaz. “We aid each other.”

“My daughter, whose birth-name is Alcmene, which means in the old human tongue ‘might of the moon;’ she was the child of some Selenite camp-follower.  I say her name means the might of the Blue Moon, who has healed her and made her mine. She can keep the name, but is also named Arrogaz, beloved of Rogaz.”

There was a chime.

 

oOoOo

 

The trógling gladiator, Dróg, was well known in Selenopolis, having fought his way to fame on skill alone, not merely as a spirited comic turn. A fight featuring him was widely advertised.

“Dróg is the leader of an underground railway getting slaves out of Selenopolis,” said Harkon. “He also has contacts amongst the plainsfolk. We will go and admire his gladiator body whilst making contact.”

Ralthur nodded.

“And if he can send us trógling as well, so much the better,” he said.

“I can’t say I’m looking forward to it,” said Harkon, with distaste. “The idea of fighting and death as an entertainment turns my stomach. It is anathema to me as a worshiper of Alethos.”

“The games are dedicated to Thanos.... of course, Thanos misunderstands and cannot understand why such things anger Alethos,” Ralthur said. “He thinks all fighting and death is sacred to him.”

“Excellence at arms is his province, and war,” said Harkon. “And he takes death very seriously; it should not be for entertainment. If they want to enjoy fighting and death, they should be the ones volunteering for the arena, not casting in slaves.”

 

The pair bought tickets to the stadium. The ‘entertainments’ opened with an execution by wild animals of a group of thieves.

“I suppose that’s partly our fault,”, muttered Harkon. “Alethos having sunk all execution grounds misusing the death glyph.”

“I wish I’d seen it,” said Ralthur. “I never attended executions if I could avoid it; not something I find easy to stomach. But some have always been done this way to warm the crowd up. I’m glad you don’t think less of me for disliking it.”

“I think more of you,” said Harkon. “Brigands need to be stamped out but there’s no reason not to just take them down when arresting them, unless you need to question them about a leader, or hostages. We usually settle for a swift decapitation, or if they have only robbed without causing harm, sentence them as work gangs for a number of years. Those who behave are paid a nominal sum, saved for them, after serving half their sentence, to give them something to start out on, without needing to go back to brigandage, and they learn skills.”

“Sounds a good idea,” said Ralthur.

The brigands were a rabble of men, ill-kempt and half-starved.  They bunched together as the wolves were let in, also half-starved, their coats died crimson as a mark of their judicial use, being sacred animals.

“Am I the only person to see a paradox in mistreating a sacred totem?” asked Harkon.

“Probably,” said Ralthur. “Their leader is doing the right thing, keeping them bunched. Wolves don’t like fighting prey in a group. They prefer to separate off a weaker member.”

“They’ve put the two who are barely more than boys in the middle,” said Harkon. “If they don’t break and run, they have a chance... Alethos! I want to do something, but we can’t blow our cover.”

Suddenly, a sword appeared in the hand of the leader of the group. He gasped, but grasped it, and advanced. Harkon watched his technique critically; the man had had some training at some point but had plainly eschewed the stylised fighting forms. He advanced on the wolves, which growled and retreated.  The pack leader stood forward, and there was a flurry of the swordplay of the leader, and though he sustained some bites, he swiftly brought the pack leader down.

The other wolves were starving; they fell on the carcass of their alpha and devoured it. The leader raised his sword to the royal box.

“The god of death has spoken, your majesty!” he cried. “We are shown favour, and it is his will that we are to be pardoned, to offer our lives and service to the Heroine of the Empire!”

The Empress rose.

“Truly has Thanus shown his favour! Let it be so,” she said. “And let offerings be given to Thanus for showing us a miracle!”

Harkon frowned.

“Oh, hush!” said Alethos. “I merely told him to say ‘the god of death,’ and if they choose to interpret that as their own travesty, I can’t help that, can I? And they can be Sjurgi’s bodyguard when you have trained them.”

“I love you, Alethos,” said Harkon, under his breath, sacrificing magical power to his god.

“This nonsense will stop, soon,” promised Alethos.

The next three bouts were ordinary, gladiatorial bouts.  And the gladiators might be slaves, but they also had status, and pride in their performance. One of them was Dróg, pitted against a gigantic northerner, who appeared to be fighting on anger. The trógling put him down fast and hard; and the empress signified death for the loser. Dróg went to despatch his victim, who rose, bleeding, from his prone position with a roar of berserk rage, reaching out to grab the trógling. Dróg twisted in towards his opponent to thrust his sword all the way through the man’s belly, slashing until the human fell away from him, blood frothing from his mouth.

Dróg raised his sword in salute.

“Thanus accepts the sacrifice,” intoned a priest in the empress’s box.

“No, he doesn’t; the man is under my aegis in the halls of the dead to be sorted,” said Alethos. “He belongs to his own people’s version of Ombros; pay attention, one day he will be yours, if Ombros cannot change.”

Harkon felt his god sniggering at his wordlessly snippy response to this.

He stopped sniggering at the next bout, a comedy turn, where a little girl of about eight was tricked out in armour too big for her, and a sword she could scarcely hold, against a big gladiator with armour too small, and patched on in places, armed with a small knife. The gladiator was laughing along with the crowd, and the child was almost sobbing with humiliation and fear. Ralthur put a hand on Harkon’s arm to force him back down into his seat as he started to get up.

“This is what they did to my sister!” Harkon hissed.

“Yes, and it is not intended as a bout to the death, but to break uppity new slaves,” said Ralthur. “Don’t make waves. We can buy her later, maybe.”

Harkon frowned.

He knew from Kaz that Alethos had taken over her body when the unpleasant Evalla had tried to kill Kaz in a ‘training accident.’

“Because Kaz placed herself entirely in my hands, dear friend,” Alethos told him.

“You could ask if she will give her life into your hands?” Harkon pleaded.

“I cannot. She has to ask,” said Alethos.

The child meanwhile slammed her sword into the sand, and struggled to undo the buckles of her hampering armour and helmet. Her hair was a cascade of red-gold.

“Go on, then, kill me!” she said.

 

destiny's queen 5

 

Chapter 5

 

“We need a base of operations,” said Harkon, to Ralthur.

“That’s one reason we brought a lot of money,” said Ralthur.

“But if we buy a place, someone will know, and it won’t be secret,” said Harkon. “I think we should take in one of the loyal people as suspect, and use their house.”

“We don’t need to,” said Ralthur. “I just thought. We can use the house of Thea Drex.”

“So we can,” said Harkon. “What’s the chance of She of the Bleeding Moon telling anyone she’s lost her one and only heroine?”

Ralthur sniggered.

“Next to none,” he said. “So nobody is likely to come poking in.”

 

The Drex mansion was a three-storey building, with a wide entrance into the first courtyard, where a pool and fountain might be seen. The main building was white marble with insets of blood red porphyry. The portico over the door showed Selen graciously welcoming all races to serve her, the moon inset behind her in porphyry. Harkon reached out to Zog, and made a few subtle changes; each figure now carried a weapon, to menace the red moon.

“Everyone’s a critic,” laughed Ralthur, at Harkon’s efforts.

The two men marched into the entrance as if expected. Harkon knew by the general layout, slightly different to the way things were done in the city states of Limnesthos, that to their left would be an office where the house’s master or his steward would receive creditors to pay bills and debtors to pay their bills, freed slaves who owed duty and service, and any business partners. On the right was a room for the doorkeeper, typically a freed man, often an ex-gladiator, who acted as greeter and bouncer. His job was to be on the lookout at all times, and to answer the door if it was knocked on during the hours of the night.

The man who came out had a slight limp; he was a grizzled veteran with muscles in the right places for a warrior, and a few scars showing white on his weatherbeaten skin.

“Sirs, may I help you? I am Crondion, doorkeeper to Thea Drex; the mistress is away from home,” he said.

“Crondion, look at me,” said Harkon. “I think you can tell by my features that I am your mistress’s brother. I and my friend will be staying here.”

“Oh! I see; if you will come into the first courtyard and recline in the shade, I will fetch Gordius Larth, my lady’s steward,” said Crondion.

“Crondion,” said Harkon, “Are you personally loyal to my sister?”

“Aye, my lord. She bought me out of the arena when she first had position; I trained her when she was sent there, just a little girl. Meant her as a comic turn they did, but I taught her enough to survive and then they was laughing on the other sides of their faces,” he added in grim satisfaction.

“Do you remember her real name?” asked Harkon.

“Aye; she asked me to help her recall that she was Sjurgi, but in later years, she hasn’t cared to ask to be reminded...”

“Crondion; do you worship Thanus?”

“I sacrifice power to him. I worship Alethos.”

“Friend Crondion, so do we; and Sjurgi is free, and if you will join us, we will tear down this filthy empire.”

“My lord, I am your man.”

“I will not tell you my true name yet, but I am going by Aquilix Drex,” said Harkon. “You will have to tell us who may be trusted.”

“Not Gordius Larth,” said Crondion. “He is ambitious”

“Thank you,” said Harkon. “Show us in, anyway, and have him assign us rooms. On the ground floor as is proper for the mistress’s family, her brother and friend.”

“Yes, my lords,” said Crondion. “Now I understand the prophecy of that blind man in the market place, ‘Bide your time, the harrowing will begin with the brother of the broken child and his companion.’”

“It is, indeed, an age of prophecy,” said Harkon.

“I... I could find people who want to overthrow the empire,” said Crondion.

“Good; that will help,” said Harkon. “We will need more room than we have here.”

“Leave it to me,” said Crondion. “I will need some time off, but there are mansions belonging to those who have gone to war, and whilst they are away, we can make use of their mansions.”

“Appoint someone you trust to take your place whilst you are busy. Clodus and Thorus Mils are dead,” said Harkon. “We can also use the house of Ralthur Kron; Lasur Kron and Clodax Dren are not going anywhere.”

“Well, now, that’s a bit fortunate,” said Crondion. “The Kron complex is across the street; but my lord knew that, didn’t he?” he looked at Ralthur.

“I won’t confirm or deny,” said Ralthur.

“You went out of your way to help me, once, when you were hardly more than a boy, when others jostled me,” said Crondion. “Aye, and your own class, too.”

“All Krons look much alike,” said Ralthur.

“But not all have a minute scar by the left eye,” said Crondion. “Though I wager few people have noticed it. But I can mention that all Krons look alike if anyone asks.”

“I had no face furniture when I left,” said Ralthur.

“It hides who you were very well, my lord,” said Crondion.

“That’s the idea,” said Ralthur.

“We need trógling,” said Harkon, scratching his own beard. “Though reasons for buying trógling might raise suspicions.”

“Put a pair of male trógling in the sort of tunic worn by little boys, and most people will draw their own disgusting conclusions about our predilections,” said Ralthur. “They don’t, after all, know about how we have disconcerted the army; because do you think the commanders are going to actually confess that trógling caused them trouble?”

“An honest commander tells it like it is,” said Harkon.

“This is why I was shuffled into being regional governor, not supreme commander of the armed forces,” said Ralthur. “Too honest. It embarrassed my family, but they could not fail to give me some position. And put a spy on me; Quirinus Lex.”

“A mean family, by all accounts,” said Crondion. “And what, my lord, of Vaudia Cass?”

Ralthur shuddered.

“I’d as soon drink great toróg urine as be married to her,” he said. “I don’t admire women who are soft and well-curved, and more to the point, I don’t admire women who are bone idle. If she was unwell, she could not help it, but there’s nothing wrong with her, and she lies around all day reading novels, eating sweetmeats, and declaring that she’s bored. She whines and complains, and sometimes I long to have her in a troop of recruits to make her run about until she gets a glow of health to her face rather than too much make-up, and learns to use her legs. She says she adores dancing, but that’s only when watching others do it.”

Harkon shuddered; he had been offered the dubious charms of Vaudia Cass by the goddess Zeandine, as a bribe. Presumably some men admired her lush, overblown looks.

“You’ve always fancied my sister, haven’t you?” said Harkon.

“Since she saved the Empress and acceded to the name ‘Drex,’ and moved in next door,” said Ralthur. “I think she had had a series of less than stellar lovers to escape the arena and move up; she was not looking for anyone once she had a name, and the patronage of the empress.”

“She was bought out of the arena by a fat old man,” said Crondion. “I believe it was the last time she wept.”

“I will avenge my sister,” growled Harkon.

“Rumour has it that she kills any man she has slept with; but I don’t think she does,” said Crondion.

“Don’t worry, dear ones, she had a chaos taint as a ‘gift’ which made those close to her suffer bad luck. I removed it when I accepted her, and she knows this, so she knows she does not have to be aloof any more,” the voice of Alethos filled the minds of Harkon, Ralthur, and, it seemed, Crondion, who fell to his knees, eyes streaming with emotion.

“It... it was him...” he said.

“You get used to it,” said Harkon. “But I truly give him thanks for aiding Sjurgi.”

A fussy-looking man erupted from a door under the shading cloister around the pool.

“Who are these and what is going on, Crondion?” he demanded. He took in the fine clothes the pair were wearing, and sneered at the long hair, and excess jewellery that they wore.

“Aquilix Drex, taking up residence in my sister’s house, and my friend, Fadabius Kron,” said Harkon, sneering back. “Did you want to take it up with Julus Helio? I’m working directly under him, and Fadabius is, as you might say, working directly under me....” He leered at Ralthur, who batted his eyebrows. Gordius Larth, the steward, paled and looked sick. He was significantly outranked socially by both of them.

“Don’t overdo it,” said Alethos. “Those of my worshippers that way inclined rarely show it, and certainly not so blatantly.”

“That’s the idea,” said Harkon. “To be so blatant that it’s all people think about. Whilst they concentrate on socially unacceptable behaviour, they are not looking for us stirring up trouble and fomenting war; they think they have understood us.”

“Risky; but I can see how it may work,” said Alethos. “You will offend others who are so inclined.”

“I can’t help that, but at least if we can bring down the blood moon, they will be then free to love as they wish, instead of only being recruited as secret police and vilified in yet another way,” said Harkon. “I asked for pointers from Evgon and Kuros who finally admitted their feelings and are together.”

 

 

Gordius Larth summoned the slaves to make them known to the – to him – unwelcome guests, and carry their belongings to a pair of adjoining bedrooms. He shouted a lot and gave orders, whilst smiling ingratiatingly at Harkon.

“Just go about your duties as usual,” rumbled Harkon. “I’ll get around to speaking to each of you, but we’re simple soldiers and we eat what is put before us.”

Gordius glared, sulkily. He was a good-looking young man, in a sulky sort of way. He had just had his authority completely undermined.

“I am the steward of this house, and I give the orders here!” he protested, shrilly.

Harkon regarded him.

“You were the steward of this house; you are plainly incompetent and moreover I don’t like your face,” he said. “You’re fired. You have the rest of the day to pack your things and get out. If you don’t irritate me further, I won’t write to your father about you.”

Gordius Larth packed and left in a hurry.

He was only glad that Aquilix Drex had not found the creative accounting he had been censured for by Thea Drex just before she left.

He hoped to attach himself to Erlax Sorn, a second-class noble like himself, and currently in good odour, in a manner of speaking, for saving such of the army as he could from the bumbling of Orgeron Cass.

 

Orgeron Cass had not remained in prison long; the family was powerful, and whilst it was only incompetence which drove him to lose half the army, not disloyalty, he could be permitted to pick up his life again.  The empire survived by keeping the nobles divided and in factional quarrels. He had moved back into the family complex with his sister, Vaudia. He would have to make another betrothal arrangement for her now that Ralthur Kron had defected to the enemy; and he was damned if he would offer her to any lesser family. There had been Lazar Kron, until he was captured. Now? Well, he would militate against offering her to Erlax Sorn, favourite of Thea Drex, low ranking noble and disturbingly efficient, who had hauled his own irons out of the fire with quiet suggestions.

But the whole army was disgraced in its failure; and even Erlax did not come out of it smelling of roses. Orgeron was almost tempted to hand her over to Sanger, chief priest of Aima, goddess of the bloodsuckers. Sanger was a bloodsucker, of course, and he would likely insist any wife work her way up the cult to join him, if he was sufficiently fond of her; but having them as allies was advantageous.  

He did not have to decide immediately.

 

oOoOo

 

“Oh, shit,” said Kaz. “I... I think things are happening.”

Latrika and Phrodine took over, and Lelyn, Rynn, Svargia, and Arana as women who were close to her, as well as glyph-priest Varon, associate priest of Latrika and brother to Arana. Having helped with the healing of the cursed wound of Alethos, Varon was much in favour.

Kaz’s baby was delivered with remarkably little fuss and bother, and she held her daughter.

“Iphianira,” she said. There had been a brief look of recognition in the baby blue eyes before the memory of the dead child Iphianira was dulled in the new baby, at least until she was older.

Alethos gently placed his sword hilt into the baby’s fist, and she grasped it.

“Born to be a warrior,” he said, happily.

“You are aware, are you not, brother,” said Latrika, tartly, “That a baby will grasp anything put in its hand?”

“For sure; but her first feeling is of a sword,” said Alethos. “So, it will be familiar to her.”

“You men and your superstitions,” said Latrika.

“She will be what she wants to be,” said Kaz. “She will learn the martial arts even if she only uses them in self-defence.”

“Quite right,” said Alethos. “Grow up happy, little Iphianira.” He kissed his daughter.

Kaz left the women cleaning up afterbirth as she fed her daughter, and then new mother and daughter both slept deeply.

 

“Death has a daughter,” said Daze. “She must die before she grows up to be the Daykaz; send your people to deal with it.”

“My people are making a mess of a simple siege,” said Selen. “I will tell my priests and priestesses. Surely one of them will be able to kill a baby.”

“How hard can it be?” said Daze. “They must find out who the mother is; or kill all babies in the city.”

“That might be easier,” said Selen. “A disease which kills newborns. I will see to it.”