Rage to Adore (27 page)

Liberty

Xaphan could not help staring at the sleeping woman he had
liberated from the temple. When Belial’s men arrived at the city gates, panic
had spread quickly. The majority of sanguini, although vicious in many ways,
were unprepared to fight a battle against so large a force that was threatening
to overwhelm the city. They stood aloof from the general population at the best
of times and felt no need to intervene in what was sure to become a mass
slaughter. Belial’s reputation for savagery was almost as bad if not worse than
Phenex’s.

The eldars of the Vita Cruor had evacuated the temple as a
precaution, leaving only a handful of the most powerful sanguini warloki in
residence to guard their treasures. Belial was known to be respectful of
sanguini practices but they were not foolish enough to leave their sacred place
totally undefended. Ophiuchi warlords were notoriously unpredictable.

Xaphan had been one of the last to leave and as the prime holder
of their sacred texts, he had swept through the temple, ensuring the most
precious artifacts were stored safely in the deepest recesses of the
labyrinthine tunnels that lay beneath.

In the process he had stumbled across Morana D’Ath, one of
the few remaining prisoners. The fact that Sitri had taken an interest in her
was enough to spark his curiosity, so instead of leaving her chained as she had
been, like an animal, he had brought her to his mansion, one of the most
fortified in Serpens. This woman was more trouble than she was worth and Xaphan
was confused by his own behavior. He didn’t understand why he had taken her
from the temple, only that he was compelled to do so.

Morana D’Ath was a beautiful woman. Unusually exotic. He had
always found himself drawn to her aura of mystery. It was whispered that she
had many lovers, kept her bloodslaves chained and engaged with them in sexual
acts of the most licentious nature. If she did, then as far as he was
concerned, she hid it well. Xaphan had never seen evidence of such behavior and
although his contact with her was limited he thought he was able to recognize
those sanguini whose proclivities were of an extreme nature.

His eyes remained fixed on her voluptuous curves as he
weighed his options with regard to her presence in his home. Currently, her
unconscious body lay across the bed in his guest room, her pose that of a
fairytale princess awaiting a lover’s kiss.

“Who is she?” The young man beside him spoke in reverent
tones that Xaphan had no trouble interpreting. His son was as intrigued by this
woman as he was. Xaphan turned to Zahir. His boy was almost a man now, which in
sanguini terms meant he was approaching his two hundredth birthday.

“She is not your concern, Zahir.” He spoke roughly, wanting
to make it clear that she was off-limits.

Zahir’s green eyes blinked in confusion at the stark warning
in his father’s voice. “I’m just wondering why you bought her here, Father. The
eldars were holding her for punishment and now the Eunomi are asking about her.
They must think she’s dangerous.”

Xaphan could not disagree. He had watched Morana for years,
knew of the proclivities people whispered when they spoke her name. Morana had
a reputation that linked her with the most debauched individuals on the planet.
And she was feared. Why, he did not know. But even the sanguini eldars had
treated her with respect. A respect not normally shown to one who was known for
licentiousness.

The woman on the bed stirred. She had been blood starved and
unconscious when he carried her from the temple. He had managed to quench her
thirst by intravenously feeding her with stored blood but that was only a quick
fix. She needed fresh, warm blood to heal or the wounds left by the punishments
inflicted on her would scar.

Her eyes fluttered open. Xaphan watched as Morana slowly
came to her senses and became aware she was no longer in the dark, dank cell.
Morana’s wrists were still tied and she tugged angrily at the restraints, her
eyes finding his, a look of wry bemusement on her face.

“Xaphan?” she croaked, her throat dry. “Where…” Her face
froze and the question remained unasked. Morana was staring at his son with an
expression of predatory need. It was unsurprising. His son was an exceptionally
handsome boy. Xaphan looked from Morana back to his son, a spark of fear in his
chest. Before he could speak, Zahir had moved toward her, answering her
unspoken question. “Lady Morana, you are safe here. This is my father Xaphan’s
house. Are you thirsty? Do you require sustenance? We have bloodslaves who will
serve you.”

Morana’s eyes never wavered from Zahir. Her tongue flicked
across her lips and she nodded. “That would be most welcome.” Her husky voice,
dry from lack of blood, cracked and Xaphan was surprised that Morana’s
expression showed signs of nervousness in the presence of his son. Before he
could delve deeper to gauge her interest in Zahir, a servant entered the room
and announced the arrival of guests who could not be turned away.

Reluctantly, Xaphan left Zahir to see to Morana’s needs and
strode down the stairs to greet the unwelcome arrivals. He had dealt with the
Eunomi many times but preferred to keep his association with them quiet. Too
many of his sanguini kin were intimately tied to the Discordant cause, which
made the Eunomi’s visible presence in his house extremely dangerous for himself
and his family.

Cassiopeia Shedir watched with interest as Xaphan Al-Harqa
descended the grand staircase, approaching with what could only be described as
extreme trepidation. Immediately on high alert, Cassi let her mind probe freely,
hoping that she would pick up on the reason for the unusual vibes that had
assaulted her the moment she stepped over Xaphan’s threshold. She had never
felt anything like it. As an experienced Eunomi warrior, protector of Esseni
and possessor of wiccani magick, Cassi was intimately attuned to gauging the
emotions of others. But the vibrations buzzing chaotically around her were not
just emanating from Xaphan.

“What can I do for you, Antares?” Xaphan greeted the warrior
at her side. “Can I offer you some refreshment?” He clicked his fingers and
began ushering them into the small salon on the left. Antares stood his ground
as did Cassi, reluctant to lose the threads that were tangling in the air as
her mind pushed again in an effort to unravel them.

“No time for that, Xaphan,” said Antares. “We need your
help.” Xaphan’s eyes flashed with annoyance and Cassi felt his heart rate speed
up. She could tell he was frustrated by their appearance but that didn’t
explain his fear.

“I have helped you many times,” he said in a low voice, his
eyes darting to nearby servants and he gestured for them to leave. When they
were alone he continued. “I prefer that our dealings are private, you know
that.”

“I do,” said Antares, “but we have no time. I was told your
son has in the past helped the EES and has the power of revelation.” Xaphan’s
expression was wary as he nodded that this was correct.

“We need him to read a location in order to find a lost
comrade of ours,” Antares explained. “We believe he is being held in this
city.” Before he could explain more a voice broke into their conversation. “I
have that power. What can I do to help?”

Cassi looked up to see a young man walking down the stairs,
his face wearing an expression of concern. She raised her eyebrows at his
appearance. The young man was beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful man she had
ever seen.

Long dark hair fell loose to his shoulders in glossy waves
that any girl would die to stroke. His eyes were an unusual shade of green and
so clear and bright that looking into them was almost like staring at sparkling
emerald stones intriguingly set in almond-shaped eyes enclosed by long dark
lashes that any girl would kill for. An aristocratic nose and full lips that
could have seemed feminine if not for the masculine cut of his jaw completed
the gorgeous picture he made and Cassi couldn’t help but appreciate the
portrait. The warm honey tone of his skin glowed with health and vitality. He
was tall and lean and moved with fluid grace rather like a cat on the prowl.
But that wasn’t why she was mesmerized. It was more that he was familiar in a
way she couldn’t quite explain. She had never met him before—she was sure of
that. So why did she feel as if she knew him?

Turning back to Xaphan, who was scowling at his son’s
appearance, Cassi focused on the task in hand. Pretty boys weren’t her thing
and no matter how beautiful he was, it was his skill they needed—not his looks.
“It won’t take long. We just need a reading from Morana D’Ath’s house. It’s
close by and your son will be back in no time.”

Xaphan jerked at her words and looked flustered.

“The Lady Morana? She’s—” his son began to speak. “Zahir!”
Xaphan bellowed, suddenly angry and shocking his son into silence.

“She is here.” A female voice floated down from the upstairs
landing. “I wish to thank you, Zahir, for loosening my restraints.” Four pairs
of eyes looked up in surprise. Morana D’Ath floated down the staircase. At
least it seemed to Cassi that she did. She was as exotic and elegant as Cassi
remembered from their previous encounter. “Cassiopeia Shedir,” Morana was
saying, “how interesting to see you again.” Cassi had no time for games. Their
last encounter involved a discussion about Ziad. This woman had to know his
whereabouts. Her anxiety took over and she shoved past Xaphan to meet Morana on
the bottom stair. She grabbed her by the shoulders, pushing her back against
the wall until they were eye to eye. “Where is he?” Cassi shouted. Two hands
pulled her back.

“Leave her alone!” Zahir demanded as Cassi struggled to
escape his grip. Suddenly everyone was surrounding Morana. Xaphan trying to
tear Zahir away and Antares invading her space, as eager as Cassi to find his
friend.

Morana seemed unfazed by the commotion. She stood still, one
step above them staring down, a delicate eyebrow shooting up in amusement.
Tilting her head to one side, she didn’t pretend to misunderstand Cassi’s
question. “He’s safe,” she said with a half-smile that Cassi swore held almost
a hint of bitterness. “And somewhere no one can find him.”

War

Jaro, with Tyr and the squadron of thirty Eunomi warriors,
arrived at the city gates just as Belial’s hordes began pouring through a small
breach they had made in the city wall. The beleaguered shedu defenders were
valiantly trying to hold them off while keeping the gates closed to another
onslaught. A sudden pounding reverberated around the open square that led to
the gates and a large crack appeared down its middle. The assailants were using
a battering ram. A second hit split the gate in two. Now the enemy could
advance from two sides.

The shedu had no option but to fall back and use their
shields to form a barrier. Jaro heard Bellor barking orders, directing his men
to where they were most needed. His strategy was good and Belial’s advance
stuttered in its tracks. The defenders were still hard pressed and Jaro noted a
number of his fellow slave-gladiators among them, desperately working with the
nobles who owned them to save the city. The irony wasn’t lost on him. These
nobles needed these fighters like never before. And for the gladiators it was a
chance to perhaps win their freedom, either by the release of a glorious death
or through deeds of valor.

Jaro fought his way through the melee to the frontline and
joined his brethren. Grunts of acknowledgement greeted his presence as Jaro
turned to face the enemy. It wasn’t long before his sword was bathed in blood.

In the melee, Jaro spotted Bellor spearheading a
counterattack by a small group of defenders to close the breach in the wall. It
was a risky move but one that would be effective if they could pull it off.
Once the breach was plugged, the full force of the defense could focus on the
main gate. In his peripheral vision, Jaro noted a problem. A pack of erymanthi
saevici, large boar-like creatures with curling tusks and vicious teeth, were
bearing down on them unseen. Bellor was too busy directing his men, who by now
had forced the assailants back and were barricading the gap with whatever
detritus they could find.

Jaro grabbed a discarded spear. Too far away to be heard by
Bellor, he needed to get his attention. He threw the spear, putting all his
weight behind it and breathed a sigh of relief as it slammed with deadly force
into the head of the leading erymanthi. The creature’s howling shrieks of pain
distracted Tyr and his men from their task. They immediately focused on the
remaining beasts and as the last one crumpled and fell beneath Tyr’s sword, his
eyes met Jaro’s across the storm of battle and he nodded in acknowledgement of
Jaro’s help. A bond was formed at that moment between the two men and Jaro knew
that whatever happened after this, if they both survived, his relationship with
Tyr Bellor had changed.

He turned back to the main gate, his brows creasing in
confusion when he realized the invaders were suddenly falling back. Their
retreat made no sense until Jaro registered the sparks of fear that were
igniting through the Serpens’s defense. In the distance, outside the gates, a
fuse had been lit by the newest arrival to the slaughter. Belial the Bloody.
Jaro heard his name falling from the lips of those near him. Their words laced
with more than just terror. A dark malevolence slid toward them, its grip
paralyzing even the bravest warriors, turning their determination to uncertainty.

At the same time another, different sensation exploded in
his chest. A sudden lifting of a heavy weight, a lock breaking, a cage
shattering. Pressure he hadn’t realized was weighing him down suddenly lifted
and Jaro felt…free. If gravity didn’t exist on this planet he would have been
floating. His bewilderment was shared by others in the crowd and as he scanned
expressions similar to his own he realized something that shifted his whole
world onto a different axis. The faces he recognized were all his fellow
slave-gladiators.

Griman, standing next to him, stared back wide-eyed. “Did
you feel it too?” he whispered. Jaro nodded as Griman smiled and the full
import washed over him. For a split second he was free. Free from Phenex. That
sensation could only mean one thing—Phenex was dead. His joy, a fleeting thing
that took flight momentarily, flapping its wings with awe suddenly dipped to be
replaced by anger. Anger that
he
hadn’t vanquished Phenex, that he would
never get his revenge and the depressing realization that he was now tied to
someone else. Another warlord who would oppress the people as Phenex had
before. His anger quickly morphed to rage and he roared. If he couldn’t have
Phenex then he would take out his frustration on the closest equivalent. And
lucky for him, the next best thing had just arrived. Belial!

Jaro ran to the gate, his eyes registering but not dwelling
on the horrific evidence of the slaughter that had taken place. So many dead
and injured! He knew that others would see to them. His place was on the
frontline. Bellor and his Eunomi squad were already there, watching with
concern as Belial’s men fell back and regrouped around a contingent of soldiers
dressed in only black pants, their bare chests emblazoned with their master’s sigil,
a red palm print. They were armed to the teeth, their bare heads and flashing
yellow eyes proclaiming them as shedu. These were his elite warriors and as
with Phenex’s shedu were first and foremost mercenaries. They differed though
from the Serpens’ shedu in that they had sworn bloodoaths to Belial the Bloody.
They fought for him not just for coin but also out of loyalty to a warlord who
allowed their most base instincts to run riot in battle. And in their midst
stood Belial himself.

Jaro had seen him many times in the pits at gladiatorial
events but never dressed in full warrior mode. He was taller than Jaro
remembered, over six and a half feet of pure muscle and testosterone. His black
hair hung free around his face and his expression of pure malevolence sent
ripples of fear through the ordinary citizens who had been brave enough to
remain at the gate and try to defend their city.

Bellor was barking out orders to his saevici warriors who
had been brought up from the rear, when Belial spoke. Or rather he roared so
loudly that even some of his own men were covering their ears. “I am Belial the
Bloody! Phenex, you bastard! Show yourself!” The defenders shuffled uneasily.
Phenex’s absence was a gaping hole that they had not failed to notice. Tyr
Bellor stepped into the breach as only the man who carried the essence of War
could. “You cannot win this fight, Belial. Leave now and we will let you take
your dead.”

Belial’s rabid howls of laughter filled the air. “And who
are you to make such demands?”

Bellor stepped forward. “I am Tyr Bellor, warrior of the
Eunomi and this city is under our protection.” Belial’s heavy brows snapped
together in confusion. “Last I heard Phenex ruled this city,” he said. “Where
is the coward?”

“You will have to go through us if you are that desperate to
see him,” warned Bellor. “This is your last chance.”

“I make no deals with the Eunomi!” Belial raised his hand.
His men immediately moved into formation and magick crackled through the air,
sizzling with dark power. Jaro, knowing what was about to be unleashed, shouted
at Tyr to instruct his saevici to turn before any warloki in Belial’s ranks
could unleash suppression spells to hinder their shift. His warning was
unnecessary. Bellor was already giving orders but acknowledged Jaro’s warning
with a nod of thanks.

Jaro turned back to gauge Belial’s strategy just as a
bloodcurdling roar shook the ground beneath his feet and he realized that the
warlord was shifting. Ripples of panic began to spread amongst the defenders at
the gate but were soon quelled by the steadfast calm radiated by Bellor and his
Eunomi squadron. Being in perfect balance with the Esseni of Peace had its
advantages.

Belial’s shift continued and Jaro decided it was time. He
needed this. Belial was his. All his hate, anger and rage at fate, injustice
and circumstance fueled the embers deep down inside, sparking his shift with a
force that tore through his cells at lightning speed. Jaro transformed mere
seconds after Belial and his men, the wide expanse of ground outside the gate
now a sea of saevici beasts poised to rampage. All held back, awaiting Belial’s
command.

The warlord’s saevici form was truly terrifying. He had
transformed into a huge black catlike creature, its massive head supporting a
lethal horn at the center and from its mouth sprouted two even more
dangerous-looking fangs, similar to those on a saber-toothed tiger. The beast’s
black coat gleamed when the light of the three suns hit it and reflected back a
multicolored rainbow that blazed with a ferocious glare that nearly blinded his
adversaries.

“Pantera!”

“Chaos be damned!”

Jaro heard the cries that spread along the frontline as they
realized what Belial was—a pantera—the mythical cat that could rip a man in two
with just one bite, its horn and claws vicious and practically unbeatable.
Panteras were even rarer than Jaro’s own barghesti form and nearly twice as
deadly. Although the waves of calm washing over the Serpens’s defenders had
held them steady, Jaro heard murmurs of shock and sensed a rising tide of fear
wash through the line. He decided to give his men something to cheer for.
His
men? Jaro didn’t understand how or why but he could feel a deep connection to
these men and this city and he knew with a certainty that he would do
everything in his power to defend them.

He answered the pantera’s roars with the bloodcurdling howl
of a barghesti, the sound of it immediately heartening to the men around him.
The pantera’s ears pricked. His attention caught, the large cat turned in
Jaro’s direction, emerald eyes flashing with anger. The battle raged around
them. Saevici pitted against saevici, claws, teeth and tusks ripping through
fur and thick hides in a savage fight for survival. Men fought for their lives
with weapons of all kinds, swords outweighing guns as warloki and wiccani
magick made technology nearly useless on this planet. Arrows rained down on the
attackers from the high stone wall, the sound of battle, brutal and chilling
reverberating across the city and striking fear into the hearts of the civilians
sheltering in their homes.

The two large beasts only had eyes for each other. The
pantera homed in on Jaro’s barghesti and charged at him, not caring that he was
causing more havoc within his own ranks than the defenders. Belial did not
care. His men were expendable. All that mattered to him was winning the fight.
Jaro could see it in his eyes. But as the pantera charged and Jaro braced for
impact, he knew without a doubt that he wanted it more. He needed to win.

The huge cat and ferocious dog crashed together, rolling in
the dust, jaws snapping as each tried to gain the advantage. Jaro barely missed
being skewered by the pantera’s horn as the beast aimed for his throat. He
managed to deflect the assault by writhing to the side, his claws slashing at
the pantera’s chest. He drew blood and used his hind feet to kick the pantera
backward, sending him crashing back into the attackers’ ranks. The pantera
howled in anger as he righted himself, shaking his head in a daze. In an effort
to gain the advantage, Jaro leapt toward him, jaws snapping as he tried to rip
out the pantera’s heart. The pantera was too quick, jerking his body sideways
so that Jaro’s teeth tore at his shoulder instead. At the same time the
pantera’s horn slid across Jaro’s thick fur, grazing the underside of his belly
and drawing blood. Blood for blood.

Both Jaro and Belial drew back, taking a breath, blood
flowing from their wounds. The crash of battle had died down as they circled
each other and the men around them realized that the outcome of this battle
hinged on the duel between the two saevici beasts. The air was thick with
tension as the pantera sprang into action. Jaro held his ground as the large
cat crashed into him again and then all hell broke loose as a savage spitting
whirlwind of black fur, claws, teeth spun out of control barreling into the
surrounding warriors scattering bodies like ninepins. Dueling ferociously, the
two beasts tore at each other. The men watching cringed at the sound of ripping
flesh and howls of agony. Crimson blood splattered the cobbled courtyard in
front of the gate, the smell of coppery blood, sweat and fear clogged their
throats making their eyes water. No one doubted that this was a fight to the
death.

Suddenly the whirling tornado stilled. A ball of black fur
suddenly visible. One form limp, torn and bloodied beyond recognition. The
other, chest still moving, evidence that its heart continued to hold a steady
beat. The breathing form raised its head and used its large jaws to rip the
defeated beast’s head from its body.