Dark Gods Rising (28 page)

Swaying, Selnac’s weakened knees finally gave way, sending him to the floor. Vision blurred, senses reeling, he looked up in time to see Del release the demon’s remains. Del’s face seemed stricken, his eyes haunted. Glace appeared frightened and tired, and Mathew shook his head.

“I guess I should have made the bet after all,” Mathew said to Jolson. He nodded at Selnac. “You’re dying. You’ve got blood all over your front.”

“This is your fault,” Del accused Jolson. “If he hadn’t tried to save you—”

Chest heaving, he took a threatening step forward. Face impassive, Jolson raised his hook. “What part of your soul do you want to lose?”

“Don’t,” Selnac ordered, though his voice barely came out a whisper. He held up a shaking hand. The reaching took almost more strength than he owned. In some way, Tessla’s cirweed smoke had become so heavy, so thick, he could barely see. His thoughts seemed dense and slow. “My choice. My decision.”

Jolson knelt by his side. “Why?”

Selnac tried to smile, but a series of sudden coughs stopped him. He fought for breath and reason because he had a lesson to give. “Partners,” he finally managed. “We’re partners.” He gestured feebly toward the hook.

“I can’t help you.” Jolson’s eyes no longer swirled. Instead, they were flat, uncaring. “I have no healing in this.” Studying his hook, he frowned. “Peace. I suppose I can give you peace. This hook has drunk more than its share of it. Athos saw no need to gift his creatures with that beverage in Hell.”

“Give it to me,” Selnac begged. “Give me…your peace…”

Jolson’s frown grew deeper. “You have nothing I want in exchange.”

“You owe me,” Selnac insisted.

“Yes,” Jolson finally admitted. “I suppose I do.”

Flaring brighter, the hook’s wicked tip pressed into the center of Selnac’s forehead. Heat and pain ripped straight into Selnac’s soul, but the pain didn’t matter. Peace flowed over the pain, swamping it until the pain was too insignificant to pay much mind. Peace flowed into him, and the sensation was glorious beyond measure. It was more than the peace stolen from one man or woman. He was suffused with the peace of hundreds, of thousands. It surged and overwhelmed and became so distracting Selnac barely remembered to force parts of himself back into the hook, and through it, into Jolson.

Too soon, Jolson managed to pull his hook away. His eyes were troubled. “A trap,” he accused. “What have you done to me?”

Looking over Jolson’s shoulder, Selnac smiled. His vision’s drifting waves gave him a clarity he had never experienced before. He was dying, but never before had he felt so good. Leaning on the bar, Glace frowned sadly as he handed Tessla a fresh drink. Selnac could smell her smoky clothes. One ear cocked back, a puzzled expression in his wolf’s eyes, Mathew propped an elbow against the bar. Seeing tears on Del’s face, Selnac wished his friend wouldn’t cry. He turned his gaze back to Jolson. The spawn no longer appeared gaunt and pale. Instead, death’s pallor had been overcome by mortal hue, and for this Selnac was glad.

“I’ll carry on.” Del’s voice was a distant whisper. “Selnac, I’ll carry on. Your legacy won’t die.”

“What have you done to me?” Jolson demanded again. “What did you force into me?”

Above them all loomed the tavern’s smoke stained ceiling. Past that, far beyond the night’s wispy clouds, Trelsar’s hand reached down.

* * * *

Mother Brood woke to find the shadow of a hook-handed man standing in her open doorway. Gasping, she grabbed the club she kept by her side and looked to make sure none of her wards sleeping in this room had been harmed. Oblivious, they slept on.

She scrambled out of the broken couch, raised her club, and wished she was forty years younger. “One scream will have half the street on you,” she warned.

“You lie,” the man replied. When he reached out, she saw a leather bag dangling from his single hand. He released his hold. The bag fell, making a musical jangle as it struck the floor. His voice was filled with self-loathing and disgust. “These are for you. I kept only two rugdles.”

Lowering her club, Mother Brood looked upon the bag with stunned disbelief. Its noise had sounded like gold, and the bag was almost half full. If this was true, she would be able to feed the children for most of a year.

“Why are you doing this?” She kept her voice a whisper, too low to wake her wards. “I don’t know you.”

“Blame Selnac,” the man said bitterly. “His conscience demands it.”

He turned and was gone.

Chapter 15
—
The God’s Thief

In the distant land of Illian, South, across the Sea of Phantoms, Fox walked down the empty stone corridors of Oria, hidden beneath the mountains of Sorrow. Deep in its bowels in an intricate cave system, dwelled the thieves’s guild of Illian. Hundreds of thieves called the magically altered nooks and crannies home, making the atmosphere comfortable. It was one of the few places Fox could relax enough to get a good night’s sleep. The only trouble was she wasn’t presently getting a good night’s sleep. She hadn’t gotten a good
hour’s
sleep since arriving four days earlier.

“Damn, Dakar,” she muttered. “I can’t believe he actually wants me to repay him for the favor.” Of course, the favor in question had been saving her life. “No matter. I still have the right to ask for a boon from the bastard, even if I do owe him.”

Her mind twisted and whirled like a giant desert storm, blowing thoughts of great wealth and power through her greedy soul. The possibility of gaining a boon from a god was thrilling. Gaining this particular boon was more than thrilling.

“Money. Jewels. Fame. I want it all. I’ll demand it all. That way I’ll be sure to get something of value out of this. I’ll never have to steal again. I can be the noble I was supposed to be.”

Fox nodded sagely. A jolt of excitement ran through her veins at the boldness of her intended request. Her inner wise woman chose this moment to speak up.
Just remember he’s a god, young fox. Watch your step or you might get stepped on. ‘Tis better to be a sly, silent little fox, always out-smarting the hound, than to be caught in the whirlwind of a god and torn apart like paper.

Fox scowled. Yes, the thought she might be overstepping her bounds had occurred to her, but she had reasoned her god would appreciate her initiative. Okay, her greed. Still, Dakar’s purported philosophy claimed wealth shouldn’t stay in the hands of the wealthy. Instead, it should be taken and redistributed among the populace. Since Dakar asked his followers to live life to its fullest, how could she be asking too much when it was the creed of Illian’s every thief to carry out Dakar’s belief in redistribution? He’d understand her demands. She knew what she was doing. Was she not the most clever, sneakiest thief in all of Illian? Why, she could charm the winds from Almitira and have the goddess none the wiser til it was too late. “I’ll ask for it all. The most he’ll do is tell me no, then I can tell him to go screw himself and head back to bed.”

Silently groaning, her inner wise woman thought about finding someone else to counsel.

Fox hesitated upon arriving at the temple doors. Ten feet high and ten across, curving upward into a graceful arch, the thick, massive doors were made of an expensive hardwood covered with hundreds of designs flowing like water over their burnished surfaces. It fascinated her how the designs always looked a little different each time she came here. Reaching out, Fox traced one of the delicate silver vines with its tiny elliptical leaves. As it ran upward, partially hidden faces of beautiful women and animals, both known and strange to her, seemed to flee beneath her touch. The wood felt warm. It vibrated under her fingers. As always, Fox sensed it was somehow alive. Sometimes, she wondered if the images were real people and animals trapped inside the wood. Then again, at other times she thought maybe she was letting her imagination get the best of her. She once told Taymor of the images. Curious, he came with her one time. His only response upon touching the door was to question if her hands were warmer than his before giving her a condescending smile and a pat on the shoulder.

Fuming, Fox had nearly kicked him right then and there for his insolence.

“So, where are you today, my sly little fellow?” she murmured while running her fingers lightly over the designs, looking for the small red creature she took as her namesake. Finding the fox was a game she always played before entering the temple to give Dakar her offering. She often thought the small icon knew what she was about and tried its best to hide from her.

“I know you’re here somewhere.” A feeling touched her, stroked invisible fingers across her belly. She looked up slowly for fear a quick movement would make the creature run into hiding. She need not have bothered. There, sitting in plain sight, the little red trickster stared down at her, not even bothering to hide. Fox scrunched her face, feeling perplexed. It usually took her ten to fifteen minutes to find the sneaky little beast.

Then— much to her surprise— it blinked.

Dropping her hand to her side, Fox stepped back from the door.

A squeaky voice, no more than a whisper, came from the creature’s mouth “No games today, Fox.”

Fox took another step back, feeling amused by this change in the routine. Never before had the creature spoken to her.

“He’s been waiting just a bit too long for you so he’s not in a particularly patient mood. Maybe we can play another time.” Winking, it stood up on carved legs and disappeared in the crack between the doors.

Amused, Fox stared at the crack. After a few moments, the little fox peeked back through the thin opening and cocked its head. “What are you waiting for? I wasn’t kidding about him being in a bad mood. You don’t keep a god waiting.”

Fox scowled at the carving which might or might not be a figment of her imagination. “I don’t have to do this. In fact, maybe I don’t want to.” She shook her head. Was she really talking to a fox engraved on a door?

Clenching her hands in frustration, her body stiffened. Nobody, not even a god, could order or push her around. If Dakar didn’t treat her with respect, she might just turn around, march back the way she came and return in a day or two or three or maybe not at all.

Flattening its ears, the fox’s tear shaped eyes grew very large. “Oh, you shouldn’t play games with a god, my little namesake. Not this one anyway. He’s been waiting a long time for someone like you. I mean a
long
time.” Its ears perked up, and its head disappeared back between the cracks.

The doors slid silently open, causing Fox to step backwards. Her heart fluttered, and her stomach tied itself in knots at the thought of what she was about to do. She considered running back the way she had come, but her dream’s voice now spoke from within the temple.

Welcome, Kaima Marwin.

Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “It’s Fox,” she corrected curtly. No one, not even a god could call her by a name she detested. The sound of it filled her with loathing. Anger made her curse the day she’d been conceived by her whore of a mother.

She stood stiff-legged and stared into the empty temple, doubt tumbling about inside her head. Was this such a wise idea, to deal with a god? When was the last time she heard of anyone coming out on the good end of one of these bargains?

These questions and more swirled around within her mind. Questions, in hindsight, she should have asked herself before allowing her greed to get the better of her. The desire to be the god’s thief diminished within her, something her inner wise woman applauded. She took another step backwards.

Where are you going, Fox? Does not your ambition want you to be known as my personal thief, my shadow?

Fox hesitated when the invisible voice whispered through her mind. His shadow? Was Dakar offering something so wondrous as a reward? With that boon, she would be unstoppable. No door, no lock, no chain, would keep her from slipping into the shadows and claiming her prize, because she would literally be a shadow. But—

“I think I need more time to make my decision.” She swallowed and fidgeted. She wasn’t used to second guessing herself. Once she made a decision, she stuck by it, but there was something subtly wrong about the whole thing. Leaving to rethink the matter seemed like a good idea.

I see. Aren’t you going to come in and give me my offering
? The god’s voice was louder now, with an edge to it. His voice slithered into the corridor, cold and angry.
Was it not I to whom you prayed when you were nearly caught filching the Hildale emerald? Did you not beg me to save you? Do these words bring familiar memories? ‘Please, god of the night, hear my prayer, and I shall give this emerald to you in offering as long as I can live to thieve another day?’

This was not good. Tensing, Fox gave serious thought to the idea of running, but could she outdistance a god? Yes, she had said those words while standing in the magician’s garden on a deathly quiet moonless night. At the time, a mage was about to turn her to stone. Making promises to an absent god had not seemed untoward, and really, it wasn’t as if she had expected Dakar to answer her plea.

“Well,” Fox said, “I take it from your tone coming inside would be a good idea if not the only one.” Shivering, she waited for a reply, but none came.

No help for it. She took a deep breath, gathered up her courage, and walked into the temple. She would give Dakar the emerald, tell him what he wanted to hear, then run as fast and as far as she could.

Her inner wise woman laughed.
Fat chance, sister.

Fox scowled. Stupid voice.

The dimly lit temple was empty but for statuary, decorations, and a few offerings. Around her all sound seemed muted, surrealistic, like someone had stuffed cotton in her ears. In the middle of the cavernous room resided an altar, a dim massive shape that sent shivers to her bones. Shadows danced and slid along the floors and walls, living, breathing creatures of the dark. Fox’s stomach spasmed when her sense of unease deepened.

Firming her shoulders, she strode to the altar, stopped in front of it, and withdrew the leather pouch with the emerald in it. Dumping the emerald into her hand, she placed it carefully on the altar’s black, shiny surface, and looked cautiously about her.

The air above the altar shimmered like heat waves in the desert. Shadows flowed across the room, swirling into its epicenter, blown by a wind which spoke of the coldness of death. The darkness churned, hung suspended for a moment, and then began to take form.

Fox wrapped her arms about her slight frame. She took a step backward toward the door.

“Thank you, my little fox. I am glad to see you kept your promise.” A tall, dark, smoky image of a man formed above the altar. With slow, deliberate motions, his head bowed until his eyes gazed deep into hers. Dakar’s voice was a rich, smooth baritone. At first, she thought he was dark-skinned and naked but then realized his clothing fit him like a second skin, showing off every intimate detail of his impressive anatomy.

Cocking her head to the side, Fox studied the god with appreciative eyes. The form fitting trousers hugging his muscular calves and thighs almost guaranteed the god had a great ass to match the rest of the package. His sleeveless shirt lay open to his waist, exposing a broad expanse of ridged muscle. Fox’s senses reeled for a moment. Until now, she had only seen Dakar in century’s old tiled reliefs. Nothing in those reliefs had led her to believe he looked this exciting. Lust stirred, making her want to drop to her knees, bow her head, and beg him to use her as he willed. An odor exuded from him. Tendrils of sensuous insistence reached out and caressed her body.

Fox grit her teeth and firmed her resolve. Among other things, Dakar was the god of lust, but she was the Fox, a creature unwilling to be controlled. Feeling bold, she allowed her eyes to drift back up to his face. Strong and angular, he wore a close-cropped beard and mustache. She wasn’t sure about his hair in the dim light. It looked like it was tied back away from his face. Once again, Fox met his eyes and the fear driven away by her earlier lust returned. Twin red furnaces burned within the shadows of Dakar’s face, intense and probing.

“Like what you see, child?”

Taking a deep, steadying breathe, Fox decided to ignore his attempt to make her uncomfortable. Besides, damn-it, she was a young healthy woman with a very active libido. She wasn’t ashamed for admiring his maleness or his beauty. She just refused to be controlled by it.

“Thanks for helping me back at the old mage’s house. If you hadn’t intervened, he would have caught me.”

The gods only knew what the mage would have done to her. She remembered seeing several statues wearing terrified expressions in his courtyard, all either cowering in fear or seeming to flee in terror. If not for Dakar, her own image would have been among those.

“But as I said then, I’m not sure about doing this chore for you, whatever it may be.” She glanced nervously at the temple doors and tried to calculate how fast she could get to them.

The temple doors started to close.

Fox panicked. Jerking around, she sprinted to the doors and dove for the narrowing opening, but in mid-dive a giant hand wrapped itself around both her feet and yanked her up into the air. The doors shut quietly, and warnings screamed in her head.

Trapped.

“Damn you! Let me go!” She wriggled and flung her arms in a wild attempt to break free of the invisible grip, but failed. Instead, she floated through the air to within a foot of where her god’s image stood above the altar. He held her there, his head cocked to one side, studying her.

“Going somewhere?” he asked.

From her position of utter helplessness, she watched him give her a tight-lipped smile and arch a shadowy eyebrow.

Fury and fear lent her boldness. She cursed at Dakar, tried to strike him. Failing in the attempt, she yelled at him some more. “Put me down!”