Priestess of War (The Bowl of Souls Book 10), page 21
She was still disgusted by that fact. An ogre mage of all things. And how had such a simplistic beast been so powerful? Had the bonding wizard been teaching him? Well, it wouldn’t matter. The ogre would die and for the crime of killing so many of her pets, she would make its death especially painful.
“This must not happen again. Everything is progressing as I wish. John has been distracted, his resources spread thin. If this bonding wizard sees into your mind, sees my true plans, all may come unraveled.”
He shall not, she assured him. I have just returned from placing some very nasty surprises within the wraith should he try a third time.
“Nevertheless, you may have to destroy those ogres and deal with him directly.”
She frowned. They inhabit an area easily defended and that wizard and his friends have organized them. The simplest solution is to continue to send fodder at them and keep them busy until the Academy threat is dealt with. The dead are plentiful and easy to replace.
The Dark Prophet’s spies had already confirmed the size and makeup of the approaching Academy army. She had a ready plan to defeat it, but it would be more difficult if she had to waste resources dealing with this band of irritants. The size of their threat was a small one that could easily be ignored until she could turn her focus on them.
“I would agree if this bonding wizard was not with them. I do not like having one so close to the source. John tends to place his servants where they can be the greatest annoyance. If sending fodder is not enough you must use a bigger stick.”
If I send my more powerful troops, I could lose resources that I need for the bigger battle to come, she said, her frustration building. David, I could travel there and crush them easily myself if only I was not tied to this place. There are so many restrictions placed upon me here!
The extreme power of the wraith created by Mellinda’s magic meant that she had to stay within close proximity to maintain her control over it. Even with her this close to the shore, it constantly strained at its bonds. She had to descend into the black lake and touch the source directly from time to time in order to keep it from breaking free. If that happened, it would be extremely difficult for her to regain power over it again.
“Calm, Cassandra. This is why I sent my Priestess of War instead of some lesser witch. You have both the power to exact my plans and the brilliance to discover a way to do so.”
The Dark Voice reached through their connection to add a shiver of pleasure to pass through her body along with his approval. She embraced the sensation. This was a rarity. Her god was much more prone to using pain as a motivation than pleasure.
Master, she pleaded. Have you come closer to a way to heal our connection? Celos has grown even more difficult to manage.
“I have a way,” he assured her. “However, it must be done in person. Until I receive my new body, you must persevere as you always do. Destroy the obstacles in your path. Unleash the wraith’s power on the land. When the time is right, I will send someone to take over this job and you can return to my side.”
Yes, David, she said humbly. Your will be done.
“Contact me again when there is something to report.”
The connection closed. The power of the dagger again stabbed at her mind. It took every ounce of concentration she had to place it back in the box and close the lid.
Cassandra slumped in the throne, her body drenched in sweat. Conversations with the Dark Voice were so draining. Being in the presence of that mental power . . . oh how she longed for him to regain his body so that she could stand before him again.
“Cassandra,” said a soft voice. Vastyr was at her side, a crystal goblet in his hand. “I believe it is time. You thirst, do you not?”
A wave of eagerness came over her. “Yes! That would replenish me.”
“Then drink.” The elf lifted the goblet with his right hand and placed his left wrist over it.
Cassandra reached out with a blade of air magic, but paused at the last moment. She gave him a cautious look. “Are you certain it hasn’t been too soon?”
Vastyr was a healthy elf and knew exactly what to do to provide the sustenance she needed without overstressing himself, but sometimes he grew overzealous.
Maintaining a blood slave was a very delicate balance. Drinkers that did not get enough elf magic became ravenous vampires, feeding on the blood of any magical creature they can find, never able to slake the thirst. On the other hand, drain too much blood and the elf would weaken. Their body worked quickly to replace what was lost, but eventually, an elf drained too often would wither and age. Magic could be used to speed up the elf’s blood production, but blood produced this way was weaker.
One solution was to maintain a series of blood slaves. This was an expensive prospect. Compliant blood slaves were difficult to find and it was even more difficult to find two compliant blood slaves that could get along. For some reason, the compliant ones were very possessive.
Cassandra’s discovery of Vastyr had been a fortunate one. She had been beholden to dwarf slavers for her drink until he had come along. His desire to please her made things all the easier.
“I am perfectly healthy, Priestess,” he assured her.
She checked him with her magic all the same. As all elves did, his body glowed with the faint dark hue of earth magic. His blood levels did seem fine. She shifted to blood sight.
Blood sight was a rare gift. Most members of the blood magic races didn’t even have it. It was, however, a side effect of elf drinking. She saw the deep green of his life magic. It was healthy and strong. She could not wait any longer.
Her blade of air opened a precise cut in his wrist, spilling blood into the goblet in spurts. The smell of it overwhelmed her senses and she felt the urge to place her mouth directly over the wound, but she abstained. Drinking directly was dangerous, in part, because it was difficult to know how much you had drunk.
When the goblet had filled to the precise line, she sent her energies into the wound, stitching it closed with deft strands of earth and water until it looked as if it had never been open. Cassandra took the goblet and brought it to her lips.
The hot liquid elixir of pure life magic entered her mouth. The flavor that coated her tongue wasn’t the salty metallic tang of human blood. It was full of complex notes, almost sweet, yet slightly bitter.
Vastyr grinned as he watched her drink. Part of what made him a good slave was the fact that he enjoyed her thirst almost as much as she did.
She drained the goblet before she knew it. Warmth flooded over her. Her senses intensified. Her thought processes whirred as she thought on the problem of that bonding wizard.
Cassandra had an idea. It was a potentially expensive gamble, but the risks were slim compared to her other options. She stood and handed the goblet back to her servant. “Go. Drink. Eat. Rest. I will call for you if I need your assistance.”
He said something in response, but she did not hear it. She opened the chest next to her throne and stowed away the box containing the dagger. She then moved her trophies aside, looking for two particular magical implements. She found them at the bottom, wrapped in velvet.
Cassandra took them to the center of the room and unwrapped them, placing them on the ground. Two brass orbs filled with ancient bones and bound with powerful spirits. Obedient spirits. The perfect catalysts for something monstrous.
The Priestess of War laughed. She knew just what she’d have them do.
Chapter Fourteen
“The Priestess of War? They are certain of this?” Locksher said, his eyebrow raised with a mix of interest and concern.
The assembled members of Fist’s tribe were huddled around the fire in the middle of this uncommonly cold spring night. Maryanne had awakened them all after speaking with Mistress Sarine. This information was too important to wait for morning.
The gnome warrior sat on the log next to Fist with one leg draped over his knee. Ever since that encounter in the cave things between them had changed. No longer did the gnome bother with the pretense that their relationship was just a show to keep the ogresses away. She hung on him all the time. Even climbed into his bedroll with him to sleep at night.
Fist found he quite liked it. His nervousness about the situation had dissolved and he had come to realize that his feelings for her had been evolving ever since Puj’s death. The way he felt about Maryanne was something he had never experienced before.
It was something kind of like the way Justan felt for Jhonate, though Fist’s feelings were not as deep. Not yet. But it was also different because there wasn’t any invisible wall of propriety between them keeping them apart. Although, he had to admit to himself, she was a lot more comfortable showing her affection publicly than he was.
“Yeah. Cassandra was her regular name. At least that’s what Master Porthos said,” Maryanne replied to Locksher with a shrug.
“I am still trying to grasp how that revelation came to be,” Locksher said. Maryanne’s explanation of where Master Porthos had been and how he had given Sarine this information had been very truncated. He shook his head. “But the Priestess of War?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I don’t understand the big surprise. She fits everything you thought she would be.”
“That’s true,” said Fist. “She’s an old priestess everyone assumed was dead. Isn’t she?”
“Never heard of her,” Charz said with a yawn. The scowling rock giant had been the most difficult for them to rouse. It had taken one of Squirrel’s famous ear screeches to get his attention. The furry animal was hiding in his pouch at Fist’s side knowing that the giant had a rock in his hand. Squirrel was pretty sure that Charz was ready to throw it as soon as he showed himself.
Fist was just glad that Squirrel was back at his side. For the last several days, Squirrel had been spending much of his time in a small cave high in the cliff wall. He was quick to talk if Fist reached out to him and watched things from behind Fist’s eyes from time to time, but kept his distance. When Fist pressed him about what he was up to, the little beast would only say he was ‘remembering how to be Squirrel’.
“The question we should be askin’ is how do we kill this vampire the quickest,” said Lyramoor. The ex-blood slave had been agitated from the moment Maryanne had identified the source of the red spirit magic. The elf was squeezing the handles of his swords so hard they could hear the creak of the leather.
“Does it really matter so much who she is?” Qenzic asked. He raised a hand defensively at the elf’s responding glare. “I mean, it’s good to know who we’re up against, but as far as I can tell, our job hasn’t changed. We’ve just gotta protect this place and be ready to attack when the Academy army arrives, right?”
Maryanne glanced at Fist. That was indeed the basic plan, but Fist and Maryanne were the only ones that knew about the secret weapon being brought their way. Fist didn’t know what it was or how it worked yet, but once it arrived he was pretty sure their small group was going to play a much larger role than Qenzic knew.
“I think the real question we should be askin’ is, ‘Why am I not asleep right now?’” Charz grumbled.
“I disagree,” said Locksher. “The question you should be asking yourselves is, ‘Why aren’t we dead already?’”
Maryanne cocked her head at the wizard, “What?”
The wizard folded his arms, that concerned look still on his face. “It amazes me just how little the five of you know. The War of the Dark Prophet was just two hundred years ago. How could you not know your history?”
Charz snorted. “I was locked up in a cage when that happened.”
“I was taught my history by dwarves that kept me locked in a cage,” Lyramoor added. The giant gave him an approving nod.
I was dead! said Squirrel, peeking out of his pouch.
No, Fist replied through the bond. You weren’t born yet. That’s different.
Maryanne sighed, resting her chin on her palm. “Sarine might have mentioned something about her. Big time wizardess. Got her head cracked open.”
“Yeah,” said Qenzic, nodding as he thought about it. “The major battles of the war were taught at the Academy. This Cassandra-uh, clogged up one of the passes, right? So that the armies of Dremaldria couldn’t reach the Dark Prophet’s palace?”
The wizard shook his head sadly. “I shall make this brief, since it seems that your available memory centers are in short supply. The Wizardess Cassandra was the outstanding talent of her time. She was taught by the Mage School in Khalpany, something that our Mage School was quite jealous of by the way. She had immense talent in earth and air magic and I suspect, though there is no proof of it in the histories that were edited after the war, a great deal of bewitching magic as well.”
“You said brief, right?” Charz griped, his eyelids drooping.
Locksher didn’t acknowledge the giant’s remark. “Shortly after attaining the rank of wizardess, she disappeared. When Cassandra emerged again as one of the Dark Prophet’s priestesses the world was put in a tizzy. The Mage Schools sent dark wizard hunters and named warriors after her. She destroyed them all and kept her battle scars as trophies. The Dark Prophet was so impressed, he made her his Priestess of War and placed her in command of his armies.
“During the War of the Dark Prophet, she was the most vicious of his commanders. She never lost a battle and would often travel hundreds of miles just to destroy a wizard or wizardess she felt was a threat. In part, it was fear of her that caused the countries of the known lands to listen to the Prophet and band together.
“It finally came down to one important battlefield. The combined armies were amassed at the foot of the mountains, ready to march on the Dark Prophet’s palace. Only Cassandra’s army stood in the way. She was well-defended, having used her magic to turn the mountains themselves into fortifications. The battle that ensued lasted months.” He looked around at them. “Do you begin to understand? The collective might of three Mage Schools and the best warriors of the Academy against one wizardess and a handful of the Dark Prophets other priestesses.”
“We got it,” Maryanne said, nodding slowly, her interest piqued. “So how’d she get beat?”
He shrugged. “That is actually the least interesting part of the story. It was a fluke, really. There was an unadvised and costly attack. Nevertheless, a handful of named wizards were able to get past the defenses and attack her directly.”
Locksher raised a finger. “A lone dwarf somehow made it past all of the defenses and approached her while she was distracted in magical battle. He struck her down with one blow. Split her head and knocked her off of the highest cliff face.”
“Split her head?” said Fist. “And she survived?”
The wizard shrugged. “I can only tell you what the histories say, at least the ones I’ve read, and they seem to agree. Head split open. Actually, I believe you may know the dwarf who did it. If we survive this, you could ask him some time. Lenui Firegobbler, I believe his name is. He was at the Mage School during the recent war.”
“Lenny?” said Fist in surprise. He thought back to the dreams he was constantly having. In them, Lenny was always there to lift him out of the mud on his way to march to battle with everyone else. And according to Maryanne, he was on his way here with that secret weapon.
“Oh yeah,” said the gnome. “Bill did mention that in passing.”
Charz laughed. “No way. I kicked that braggart’s arse many times and drank him under the table just as many. He was always goin’ on and on about his accomplishments. Never once did he mention that.”
Now that Fist thought about it, he did remember the other dwarves calling Lenny a hero. Lenny had always seemed embarrassed about that. “I don’t think he likes to talk about it.”
Qenzic ignored their discussion, focusing on Locksher. “So I guess your point is, this Priestess of War is a big deal and we should take her seriously.”
“A big deal?” Locksher barked out a laugh. It was so uncharacteristic of him that everyone paused to stare. “She could kill us all in an instant!”
The five of them gave each other dubious looks.
“I think you should give us more credit,” Charz replied. “I, for one, am pretty hard to kill.”
“You think so simply. This would not be a fist fight! She wouldn’t just throw lightning bolts or fireballs that we could defend against. She is the most powerful earth wizardess of her time!” He stood and gestured all around them. “We are surround by sheer cliffs on all sides. She could collapse them on top of us! She could cause them to close together and squish us like plump ants! We could do nothing to stop her!”
His outburst had been loud enough that ogres at camp fires some distance away were staring at them. Locksher noticed this and cleared his throat before sitting down. “All she would have to do is come in person.”
There was silence around the campsite as everyone absorbed this statement.
“Whelp! Sounds like we’re screwed,” said Charz. The giant laid back onto the dirt and put his hands behind his head. “I’m gonna sleep while I can.”
“Ooh!” said Rufus, who had been silent thus far. The rogue horse was usually content just watching the others and monitoring Fist’s responses to what was said. “Why she not?”
“That’s a good question, Rufus,” Fist said and pointed a finger at Locksher. “That’s the question you asked us at the very beginning. If this priestess could destroy us so easily just by coming in person, why hasn’t she killed us already?”
Qenzic’s head perked up. “That’s right. Why keep sending countless troops for us to slaughter? Why not save them for her attack on Dremaldria? It’s a waste of resources.”
“Yeah,” said Lyramoor. “Vampires are usually more head on.”
“I doubt very much she has let herself become a full vampire,” said Locksher, his expression pensive. “But other than that, you are all correct. One could suggest that she just hasn’t seen us as a threat, but I don’t know if that matters. Threat or not, we are at the very least a thorn in her side. And if her past history has taught us anything, she is quite hands-on. That leaves only one possible answer.”
