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.