Destiny's Queen 1

 

Chapter 1

 

Clodax Dren smiled grimly as he watched the two drunkards stumble into the alley. He had them now; the alley was a dead-end.

One of the drunks was blond; one dark. Both wore the short, well-trimmed facial hair permitted only to the nobility, and often effected by those only nominally noble to make a point about their rank. Their hair was long, showing them to be out of the military structure, and, he sneered, they seemed to show a great deal of affection towards each other. Clodax despised such men, and was looking forward to taking down the pair who were known as Fadabius and Aquilix, and find out what they were up to.

He strode into the alleyway with his two bodyguards, looking for the drunkards; and discovered that his bodyguards had already found them, and were lying on the ground unconscious or dead, struck down from ambush by the two men, somewhat less drunk now, who had lurked in the shadows of the the archway leading into the alley.

“Hello, sweetness,” said the blond. “Fadabius and I want to talk to you.”

“Hey! You’re Fadabius this week! It’s my turn to be Aquilix,” said the dark one.

Clodax looked from one to the other, puzzled.

“You’re under arrest,” he tried.

“Listen to him, Fadabius, isn’t he just the most precious little funny?” said the blond.

“Oh, just hit him so we can take him away,” said the dark one.

Clodax never even saw it coming.

Ralthor Kron, and Harkon, who were playing the parts of the outrageous Fadabius and Aquilix, picked up Clodax, and sprang into the air with a loud crack! noise, and the smell of ozone. They needed to question Clodax about the organisation of the secret police so they could fit in, claiming to be from a different city if questioned. Kaz had devised a way to use her famous powdered mushroom with wine in precise doses to make the victim garrulous; far preferable to either torture or some brute force invasion of the mind, which could be damaged by resistance.

It was perhaps a job which could be done by lesser men than a Hero of the cult of Alethos like Harkon, and his friend, hero-questing Glyph lord and priest, apostate from Selen’s mockery of Alethos in his one-time hero, Thanos, but Ralthur had suggested it to divert Harkon’s mind from the discovery that the enemy’s Heroine was none other than his long-lost sister. Sjurgi, now known as Thea Drex, who had won herself an exalted surname by defending the empress from a traitor. Ralthur had confessed to Harkon that he had always found Thea more attractive than the political match of his one-time betrothed, Vaudia Cass.

 

On the god plane, more specifically, the sky dome of Solos, god of the sun and ruler of the heavens, two of his minor daughters were squabbling. This was a sufficiently common occurrence that nobody took any notice or listened in; which was fortunate for one of them.

“You made a real mess of that, Zeandine,” taunted Secalia. “Trying to make her lust after her own brother.”

“At that, if I’d known, it would have been an even more delicious punishment for Harkon, for making me look silly,” sulked Zeandine. “Now she’s sulking in her tent, and he’s lost to women by turning to Ralthur Kron for his gratification.”

“For a goddess of lust, you’re particularly dim,” said Secalia. “Now, I may only be a grain goddess, but I do understand seed, and they don’t exchange it.”

Zeandine flounced.

“Well, what can I do to him?” she demanded.

“If you’ll take my advice, you’ll let it go and live it down, as I have been,” said Secalia. “Harkon is as beloved of our father, the sun, as any who is not one of his, for restoring Mycota to his court.”

Zeandine stamped a foot.

“And with a trog lover!” she said, outraged.

“And Zog, lord of rock and sand, asked to be of the shadows, not of dark, as dominion over rock and sand is in daylight as well as below ground,” said Secalia. “And then there is all the business of the Daykaz, which I do not perfectly understand, who is Death’s beloved, and really, do you want to be on the wrong side of Alethos? And by the way, Harkon is a favourite of his, too.”

“He is sexy, though,” said Zeandine. “I’m prettier than any damned trogling.”

“She insists it’s ‘trógling,’” said Secalia. “And you know fine well, Alethos’s sisters are Latrika, goddess of healing, and Phrodine, goddess of love. And lust never trumps true love.”

Zeandine hunched her shoulders and scowled. She knew Secalia was right, and the humiliation still stung, having been told off by someone then still a mortal when she, Secalia, and Thyella, goddess of lightning, had been duped into competing for a golden egg. And it was a further humiliation that it actually held a god of discord, wrought by The Trickster, brother to Selen, the blood moon.

“Thyella’s looking sleek these days too,” complained Zeandine. “I heard she’s caring for her brother’s child.”

“Taken from Selen, who was hurting the child to force out her powers for her own ends,” said Secalia. “Be careful, Zeandine, that you do not become like Selen, power-hungry and filled only with hatred. If the real powers obliterate you, any number of us could assume your role.”

Zeandine  shuddered in real fear; it was true enough. Her true remit as goddess of spring and lust was to make sure the animals were ready to mate, though she did interfere occasionally in the lives of mortals, which was an encroachment on Phrodine. And Phrodine’s stern brother might be attractive, but he also frightened Zeandine.

Even Solos jumped if Alethos got demanding.

Even gods could die and be subject to the god of death.

 

 

Erlax Sorn hated Orgeron Cass.

The feeling was mutual; he had no illusions regarding that.  But Orgeron was in nominal command now Thea Drex had left, because he was Erlax’s social superior. Because that was the way it worked.

And the overdressed ninny had no clue how to cope with rats in the grain barges that toiled upriver whilst the army marched. Nor the lack of grain to be requisitioned from the plainsmen, who shrugged and spoke of bad storms. They displayed empty granaries, but managed to look sleek enough that Erlax just knew they were lying. But their stories could not be broken, and no amount of searching could uncover granaries. Erlax had suggested a few hostages might break the spirit of the plainsman; and Orgeron Cass had seized every female in a village over the age of ten and threatened to turn them over to the troops if grain was not forthcoming.  And how well that had gone. The women had been carrying knives, and killed the men they were given to, and vanished in the night; and then the damned whole horde of plainsmen had attacked, and carried off what good food they still had.  There was an old adage, that the plains bred men who were real men, and women who were real men too. Erlax was glad he had not had anything to do with that fiasco.

In fact, he was now writing reports in which he made it plain he was obeying orders and that the orders which caused the problems originated from Orgeron Cass.

The army was already weakened and depleted by sickness from eating contaminated grain. The priests had been working overtime to contain the diseases, not entirely successfully. Then the horde had attacked, appearing out of nowhere, firing arrows and throwing javelins into the straggle of men, and then wheeling and disappearing back onto the endless steppe. The light cavalry had chased them, whooping and hollering, vanished over the conveniently rolling land.... and disappeared.  Heavy cavalry were sent to look for them the next morning, but there was no sign of them. Not even blood stains.

Erlax admitted freely to himself that this spooked him more than a little.  He had no way of knowing that trógling had worked tirelessly overnight erasing all signs of the ambush and battle whilst the tribesmen removed the horses and the bodies for looting, and any live ones for ransom... later. Or as slaves, if unlikely to be ransomed. And the plainsfolk knew how to plait and knot slave bracelets in complex rope-sigils that would keep them compliant and drain their kormajaia so they could not cast spells.

There was plenty to be looted on the rich caparisons of the aristocratic young men. And traders would purchase slaves for those places which had not declared slavery outlaw. Which was everywhere but Mesolimnos and Sideropolis.

Erlax struggled on to the rim of the Great Lake, ready to requisition shipping from the numberless fishing villages and the traders of Aktekome, one of two major trading towns on the southern rim of the great lake.

There were no ships. And the town was deserted. And the marsh at the southeastern corner did not help their health.

Erlax sent out his healthiest troops, who struggled on along the side of the lake, and returned to report.

No ships. No fishing boats. The fishing villages had emptied. It was as if they knew the army was coming, and wanted nothing to do with them.

Meanwhile, the soldiery were overcome by the urges of soldiery everywhere, and started looting.

And deserting.

The army was a travesty, and even Orgeron Cass realised it. But Erlax let Orgeron give the order to return to Selenopolis.

 

oOoOo

 

 

Kaz was irritable.

She was with child, perpetually hungry, and tired. This was because she was developing very fast in her pregnancy, which, according to her sister-in-law, Latrika, goddess of healing, was quite normal for divine pregnancies.

“It’s one reason there are not many demigods running about,” said Latrika, in her no-nonsense manner. “Without realising this, many mortal mothers do not understand the need to care for themselves, and they, or the foetus, die for a lack of sustenance, and more important, the sacrifice of power to sustain their kormajaia, their magical centre.  You, my dear, are already receiving sacrifice of power from your followers, those trógling you have rescued, and Alethos and I are ready to add to what is needed. You need to eat more often because of the speed of the development, as much meat as possible. You should continue to exercise as much as possible, and it should all be fine.”

“Thank you, Latrika,” said Kaz. “Am  I allowed to be irritable?”

“As much as you like,” said Latrika. “Blame Alethos; it’s his divine little soldiers who got you into this.”

“I was an enthusiastic participant,” said Kaz, a purple flush on her blue cheeks.

“Phrodine thinks it all wildly romantic,” said Latrika. “But as something between a heroine and a demi-goddess, romantic does not hack it when you are still more corporeal than divine.”

Kaz sniggered.

“Alethos was pretty corporeal,” she said.

“Good, you haven’t lost your sense of humour,” said Latrika. “Eat meat as rare as you can bear.”

“I’m a trógling; I can eat raw meat,” said Kaz.

“Even better! You’re so tiny, I’m going to worry about you, but if you can eat raw meat, I’ll worry less. You can absorb its goodness directly.”

“I feel a need to sort things out without having the energy to do so, and that makes me both irritable and weepy,” said Kaz.

“Well, I’m going to try giving you some ambrosia,” said Latrika. “It’s a bit too much for most mortals, but a drop or two medicinally should help.”

Kaz obediently opened her mouth for three drops to be squeezed in. She made a face.

“You know, the fuss that’s made about this in legends suggests it should be delicious,” she said.

“I find it delicious; you don’t?”

“It’s sickly,” said Kaz. “But it seems to be working; I am suddenly struck with an urge to springclean the temple, and as there are more important ways to divert my energies, I shall go organise my spy tróglings.”

“Enjoy yourself, dear sister,” said Latrika. “I’ll leave you enough for a week, three drops a day.”

“Thank you,” said Kaz.

 

oOoOo

 

Thea Drex had shut herself in her tent, with layers of spells to make it into a fortress, and impenetrable. Sobus Aren, commander of the replacement garrison, and Ariella Garth, high priestess of Selen for the army had both tried.

“She’s just a stupid little girl using her noble family to call herself ‘heroine’” opined Sobus Aren.

“Be careful; you come close to heresy,” said Ariella Garth. “Our goddess herself named her ‘heroine,’ and she has achieved Glyph rank to have even been eligible to become one.”

Sobus scoffed.

“I could break her in two, in a fight,” he said. “She doesn’t even bother with proper armour.”

“Because she has spells which make it unnecessary, and I’ve heard stories. You aren’t even good enough to touch her with a sword,” said Ariella.

“Well, I suppose you women would stick together,” sneered Sobus. “It’s a mistake to bring women to war, if you ask me. War is men’s business.”

Ariella said nothing, but she reported his attitude in her prayers.

Svargia, in a slave tunic and fake magic-suppressing bracelets reported gleefully.

Kaz frowned.

“I wonder if she has accidentally made her tent impervious to air as well?” she said.

“Good riddance,” said Svargia.

“No,” said Kaz. “It’s our duty to save her, and help her understand who she really is, for Harkon’s sake. Knowing that the only Selenite hero-rank is his sister almost broke him.”

“I suppose so,” said Svargia. “He’s a good man. I suppose she was very young and they brainwashed her.”

“And much depends on whether we can unbrainwash her,” said Kaz.

“It’s been bothering me; there’s a whole bunch of us reaching for herodom,” said Svargia. “But she’s the only Selenite I’ve heard of.”

Kaz gave a wry smile.

“Selen is jealous,” she said. “She does not rejoice in those who reach for greatness, she destroys them in case they become a threat to her.”

Svargia stared.

“Alethos does not see any of us as threats,” she said.

“No, but then, he’s so secure, he does not need to even consider it,” said Kaz. “Even having had Thanos go apostate, he’d welcome him back.”

“The difference between a real god and an interloper goddess,” said Svargia.

“Yes; and I have to get moving, I’ve a heroine to rescue. And I need to brush up on that spell we used when rescuing Kurihor, the breathe-easy spell.”

“You aren’t going, are you?”

“I’m the best choice,” said Kaz.