Chains of a Dark Goddess (11 page)

There came a knock upon the door to the antechamber. 

“My lord!” called a muffled voice from the hallway.

Magnos ignored it, lifted his toga, tightened his grip on Deltenya’s throat. Her breathing grew shallow. Her face turned pale. She began to mutter the words of a spell. Harmulkot’s qavra began to vibrate in the box. Magnos didn’t notice either of these things. The ghost of Harmulkot streamed out.

The knock came again, this time with more force. 

“My lord, I’m sorry to disturb you! It’s most urgent!”

Magnos snarled and relaxed his grip.

“The news hails from the Matriarch herself!”

Magnos let go of Deltenya and stood up. Deltenya ceased her desperate spell. The ghost of Harmulkot faded back into the box.

“A moment!” he called back. His eyes glittered with malice. “Don’t forget what I said, Deltenya. I’m not done with you.”

Magnos walked through the antechamber and out into the hallway. Deltenya locked the door. She rubbed her fingers along her bruised throat.

The ghost of Harmulkot returned.

“Are you all right, my child?”

Deltenya, shaken, nodded.

“Be more careful around him. Keep your stiletto with you. It takes a lot of power to invoke the qavra from across the room. More power than you have, which means it comes from me and I need everything I have left.”

“
He betrayed Breskaro
. Did you know?”

“I did not.”

“I never suspected. I’d heard rumors, but he and Breskaro had been close for years. Up until that last year they had been like brothers.”

Deltenya dressed and picked up her stiletto. “Magnos, I’d have killed you in your sleep if I had known. I might yet…” 

“It is too risky,” Harmulkot told her. “Let Breskaro handle him.”

Deltenya let slip a wicked smile. “Breskaro will come to me.” She laughed. “Oh, Magnos, what
vengeance
he will exact upon you.”

Chapter 16

A servant opened the door and Captain Kedimius Threnna of the First Lancers limped in. He was dirty, scraped, and bruised. A blood-stained bandage was wrapped around his left forearm. 

His commander, General Magnos Togisi, sat in a throne at the end of the hall. His eyes were red, swollen. His face creased with a deep frown. Deltenya hovered off to his left. She exchanged a brief, familiar smile with Kedimius. He bowed before General Togisi.

“My apologies for not arriving sooner, General,” said Kedimius. “I was waylaid by bandits along the way. While fighting them off, my horse was injured and I lost a day of travel time.”

“It’s not condolences you bring tonight, Kedimius old friend. I see grave worries on your face.”

“I do offer my condolences, sir. I had no idea about Albiria until the Matriarch sent me here. I am deeply sorry.”

“I left as soon as I had word of it. So tell me, what has happened in Issaly that is so urgent the Matriarch sent you? I was only gone for a day. And why not a courier from the White Guard?”

“My lord, I bring strange and terrible news. On a day of tremendous grief for you, no less. I don’t know how to tell you, for I know you were close to him as well.”

“Sir Fortrenzi? Has he—”

“No, my lord. As far as I know, Sir Fortrenzi is fine. It’s … well, it’s Master Breskaro.”

“Breskaro Varenni?” 

“Yes, my lord. His body … his body has gone missing from his tomb.”

Stunned, Magnos collapsed back into his chair. 

Lady Deltenya gasped and touched a hand to her throat. “Who would steal the body of a man seven years deceased?”

“We don’t yet know what happened,” Kedimius told them. “All we know for certain is that a woman stole into the cemetery. Well, the guards described her as more demon than woman. She brought with her two horses. There may have been a man with her.”

“So these … people …
stole
his body?” Magnos said.

“The body was missing, sir. But it’s worse than that. Dark magics were employed. A seer, Priestess Maedara, confirmed it later that day. We don’t know who has done this or why. No ransoms have been demanded. No enemies have made a move.”

“Who discovered this?” Magnos asked.

“I did, General. That’s why the Matriarch sent me to inform you. I was helping with the search after the strange woman had knocked out the cemetery guards. I went by Breskaro’s tomb, and that’s when I saw that the door was ajar.”

“I am sorry for you, Kedimius,” Deltenya said. “I know this must be a terrible burden. I know how much you loved Breskaro.”

“He was … he dominated my world, my lady. In a good way. I wish still that I had been by his side on the Plains of Brekka, I should have died along with him.”

“It is good that you were not there that day, Kedimius,” she said slowly, deliberately. “I would rather you were alive. He would no doubt say the same.”

“He wanted me to protect Orisala all my days. I failed him there, too.”

“We
all
failed dear Orisala. Not just you. I miss her and think of her all the time. I raised her, remember, after my sister Adelenia died, before Breskaro remarried. And she lived with me again after Metra passed away. I used to love those days you and Breskaro would return from your campaigns and quests, to see her face light up.”

“She loved you dearly, Lady Deltenya.”

“All the love and youth is gone from within these walls now.”

Magnos roused from the stupor he’d fallen into and sent Kedimius off to get food and a bath, to have his wounds doctored. 

“I must return at once to take care of this,” Magnos said to Deltenya. “It’s an ill omen.”

“It was
ill
to name your villainy against him this night,” Deltenya sniped.

Magnos shot her a dark glance. He paused as he left the room and ground his teeth together. “I will
never
forgive your treachery, woman. You would do well to remember that, and you should thank the Goddess you’re so lucky to have me.”

When he was far out of earshot, Deltenya laughed and whispered a prayer of thanks to her goddess. Not Seshalla, of course, but Harmulkot.

~~~

An hour later, Magnos met with Kedimius again. Both men were mounted. Soldiers waited to escort them. Magnos wasn’t willing to wait until morning to head back to Issaly.

“Captain Threnna, I’m sorry I can’t let you rest this night. I know how much you need it, wounded as you are.”

“I’m happy to serve as you see fit, General.”

“Then go home at once.”

“My house in Issaly or to Uncle Fortrenzi’s estate?”

“Fortrenzi. Guard him well. I’m sending four of my men to escort you there. They will remain with you.”

“You think he’s in danger?”

“I don’t know, Kedimius. I don’t have a clue what’s going on, but he was Breskaro’s mentor and friend. This news will rattle him deeply if it reaches him.”

“With all due respect, my lord. I would rather return to Issaly and help solve this. Breskaro—”

“I know he was like a father to you. I understand how much you want to help. But I need you to go to Sir Fortrenzi. You are the best man for it. As Breskaro’s friend and yours, I vow that I will not rest until I figure out what’s going on and return his body to its rest. Keep this news from Sir Fortrenzi as best as you can.”

“I will, sir. Could you do me a favor and send word to Ilsimia of where I am?”

“If the Matriarch will allow it, I will send her to aid you.”

Chapter 17

As night fell onto the temple of Saint Resban the Avenger, there was a rapping upon the compound’s only entrance, a reinforced gate of oak. Two warrior-acolytes, Daricus and Tirrus were standing guard on the other side of the gate. Daricus pulled back the viewing slot and stared out into the darkness.

“Well, who is it?” asked Tirrus.

“I see a man standing beneath the shadows of that old elm,” Daricus whispered. “He’s not moving and I don’t see anyone else.”

“He’s a good thirty paces out. How the hell did he tap on the gate and ride away that fast without us hearing him?”

Daricus readied his broad-tipped spear. “Must have others with him. Maybe lurking to the side of the gate.”

“Maybe the Keshomaeans are out for revenge,” Tirrus said.

“Those weaklings? Bandits more like.”

“Who goes?” yelled Tirrus through the viewing slot.

A coarse, hollow voice replied: “Is this the Temple of Saint Resban the Avenger?”

Tirrus tried to chuckle but failed. “Yes, of course it is.”

The stranger’s voice was now filled with the warm, ale-soaked tones one expected from a friend over drinks at a tavern. “Ah, very good then. Excellent indeed. Would the two of you kindly open the gate for me? I have come from far away. I am weary and I would like to worship at your altar.”

At first both warrior-acolytes furrowed their brows. But then, with eyes brightening, Daricus shrugged and said, “He’s only one man, and he seems friendly.”

Nodding vigorously, Tirrus agreed. “Yeah, why not?”

Daricus pulled up the iron stakes while Tirrus raised the locking beam. Together they opened the twin doors of the gate from the center. The stranger rode in on a black charger with crimson eyes. 

Breskaro drew his sword and attacked before the warrior-acolytes could react. He swung to the right, slicing Daricus across the throat. He reversed his momentum and stabbed Tirrus through his left eye. Both men fell without a sound.

Breskaro rode into the temple grounds unchallenged. The
spell of silence
muffled the clatter of Nightsoul’s hooves. Chants, songs, and prayers from the evening worship service echoed across the fortified temple compound. All except these two acolytes were gathered in the temple.

Behind him, his Rrakan Knights of the Dark rushed in. Two of them drug the bodies of dead guards away and closed the gates. They switched clothes with the men and assumed their positions. The other ten followed Breskaro. Esha waited in frustration on a hill outside, sling in hand, keeping watch should any Seshallan escape. If they did, she was to brain them from a distance at once.

“Eglax, Inirus,” Breskaro whispered, naming two of his knights. “Get the horses out of the stable. Quickly. Make no sound. Quorus, get their tack. Larekal, you and the others gather the horses at the entrance and take them into the olive orchard. Be gentle but fast, my silencing spell won’t cover you and the Seshallans won’t worship all evening.”

While Breskaro kept watch on the temple, the two Rrakans hurried in, opened stalls, and led the horses to the entrance. From there, Larekal and the rest took them out into the olive orchard which lay at the back corner of the compound, as far away from the temple as possible. Breskaro seethed every time the worship songs hit a high note.

Quorus brought out the last of the tack. “That’s all of it, master. We left no horses.”

Breskaro released the
spell of silence
, rode into the stable, and chanted the words for the
spell of flickering flames
. A spark appeared in his palm. Once it grew to the size of an apple, he cast it into a stack of hay bales.

Breskaro rode into the orchard where his knights were securing the horses to the trees in case they panicked. 

The flames spread and grew. Timbers cracked and groaned. Smoke billowed into the air.

A song of praise to Seshalla stopped in mid-chorus. 

“Ready yourselves,” Breskaro commanded.

Clergy, acolytes, and volunteer warriors who had gathered there to await the upcoming crusade rushed out of the chapel. Some stood in shock while others screamed in dismay. For the warriors, many of them the youngest sons of nobles looking to make their fortunes in war, most of their wealth lay within those stables.

An older priest stepped out and began shouting orders. “Get the horses out if you can! Go to the well, form a bucket brigade! Get that fire out before it spreads!”

Several warriors tried to get in to the horses, but the flames had spread too far for them to enter. As the Seshallans formed their bucket brigade, Breskaro lowered his lance and thumped his heels into Nightsoul’s flanks.

Nightsoul thundered forward. Breskaro skewered his first victim, an unarmed, baby-faced warrior. Nightsoul knocked over and trampled a second victim. Breskaro released his lance and drew his blade. His eyes gleaming, he rode down the shocked fire brigade, chopping and slashing. Acolytes, priestesses, servants — Breskaro’s blade met them all.

“To arms! To arms!” the Resbani faithful cried. But it was no use. As soon as the people abandoned the fire and rushed to arm themselves, Breskaro’s Knights of the Dark charged into their midst, carving through them savagely.

Vengeance, flame, and steel devoured the Seshallans, until none were left breathing save for a few who had escaped to the chapel and locked themselves inside.

Breskaro rode up the chapel doors. “Knock them down, Nightsoul. Knock them down.”

Nightsoul reared back and with his own hellish strength stamped with his hooves. The solid oak doors creaked on their hinges but held. Nightsoul stamped again and they flung open.