The Blood Groove (Purgatory Wars Book 4)

  The Blood Groove

  Purgatory Wars: Book Four

  Dragon Cobolt

  Uruk Press

  Uruk Press

  Great Britain

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  © Dragon Cobolt 2017

  All rights reserved.

  The right of the author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  Cover by Remy Malara.

  Also from Dragon Cobolt

  Purgatory Wars

  The Murder Stroke

  Riposte

  The Cross Guard

  The Blood Groove

  Other works

  A Fetch Job

  "The Last Mage" in Sex & Sorcery 3

  Tales Of Furicana

  Also from Dragon Cobolt

  The Blood Groove

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Epilogue

  Exclusive Sneak Preview - Cadet by Dragon Cobolt

  Introducing Uruk Press

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  Uruk Press - Fantasy

  The Blood Groove

  One

  Of all the sobriquets that Liam Vanderbilt could have been stuck with, this had to be one of the worst.

  "Lord Godkiller," Vani said as she bowed her head to him. "I'm sorry to say, but it just won't work."

  It was sitting on the floor in the center of the office of the Free Lord's manor – in Liam's manor, though two months of staying there hadn't managed to affix the idea in his head. It still felt a bit like squatting in a murdered man's house, even though the former Free Lord of the City of the Dead Gods had been in the ground for weeks.

  "Have we-ee tried bracing them with bronze?" Liam asked, his finger rubbing a circle on his temple as he looked at the shattered, blackened chunks of crystal that Vani and the rest of the bronze and crystalwights had brought to him. His voice had squeaked in the middle of the sentence, but on the whole, he was fairly proud of how in control he sounded.

  "Yes, but that just means that when the break happens, it happens in focused areas," one of the crystalwights, a burly elf named Agamemnon, said. He kicked one of the chunks of crystal with derision.

  Liam's hand dropped to his lap. Laced through blonde hair and tried gently to push back. But Megara - whose lips were currently fastened around his cock and whose tongue was currently wringing out pleasure that Liam could barely contain out of him - was strong enough to bend bronze with her bare hands. She wasn't getting pushed away if she didn't want too. And while the meeting had been planned, the would be armsmiths were there early. Not that that stopped Meg. Little stopped Meg, honestly. Her palm cradled his balls while her wings rustled gently under the desk. Fortunately, the Free Lord had believed in large, imposing furniture. But Liam was still sure at least one of his artisans would hear the slurping. Meg wasn't exactly trying to be subtle, throwing herself into giving head with gusto.

  "Well," Liam said, gritting his teeth. "Ah. Letssss keep working at it - maybe, uh, a thicker shell? Or, uh, a circular wood bracing?"

  The artisans looked less than convinced.

  Liam didn't blame them. For the past two months, the City of the Dead Gods had been struggling to find its place. A new name - Babylon - hung over its shoulders lightly. A victory over an invading army and a sudden liberation from a tyrannical would-be god had given the people hope, and Liam prayed every day to Jesus Christ and every single Saint of Christendom that he wasn't totally fucking them over. During the day, he simply thought of every tinpot dictator and corrupt politician he had ever read about - from Kim Jong Ill to Hitler to Duarte - and tried to do the exact opposite of what they would have done.

  To be fair, some things - such as organized death camps - had been easier to avoid than others.

  The artisans left, discussing more possibilities, and Meg peeked her head up from under the desk. She wiped her mouth off, hopped onto the desk, and leaned back on her palms. "So," she said, "That was fun."

  Liam made a face. And it wasn't just because she had left him as hard as his longsword.

  "Oh, come on," Meg said. "You're taking this rulership too seriously. This city almost runs itself." She twitched her thighs wider, showing the loincloth that dipped between her legs was pressed against her plump nether lips. Moisture dampened it almost see-through. He could count her pubic feathers. Like all valkyrie, Meg's body was utterly hairless other than her scalp and her eyebrows. That didn't mean she lacked for... adornment.

  Liam, leaning back in his chair, looked at her as if she had gone insane. Meg looked down at the papers that her palms were pressed against. A recent invention that had arrived in Babylon from the distant city of Olimurias, paper was easier to make and cheaper than papyrus or cloth scrolls. It may not last longer, but as on Earth, Purgatory preferred cheapness to sturdiness. Meg picked up one of the papers that was an accounting of the fishing fleets that served Babylon, her eyes squinting.

  Liam had been rooting through the logistics reports for the better part of an hour before she arrived for a welcome distraction.

  “As I said,” Meg said, tossing the paper over her shoulder. “Runs itself.”

  Liam surged to his feet, grabbing for the paper. “Meg!” he glared at her.

  She blushed. “Seriously, though, isn't this stuff Tethis and her scribes should be handling?”

  Liam rubbed his palms against his face. “She's teaching the merchants how to pay taxes.”

  Meg oofed.

  “And we need those taxes. The Cross Guard need to be paid. The smiths need to be paid. The merchants that bring us food need to be paid. The Gods!” Liam flung his hands up. “Need. To. Be. Paid. And these people are worse about paying their taxes than wealthy Republicans.”

  Meg's brow furrowed. “The elephant people?”

  “I'm being unfair,” Liam muttered, rubbing his palms against his face. “But yes, the elephant people.”

  “Funny,” Meg said. “You think they'd be the ones who remember.”

  Liam drew his hands away from his face. Meg wiggled her eyebrows at him.

  Liam couldn't help but smile.

  The door leading into the office rattled. “Liam?”

  Mary, the second most powerful person in Babylon, wanted in. When she wanted in, she usually got in. Meg's grin was demonic. Ironic, considering. She slipped underneath the desk before Liam could open his mouth. Instead, he stammered: “Come in-”

  Meg's tongue slurped from the base of his balls to the tip of his cock, her mouth closing around the tip of his cock. Her lips were warm and plush, and a faint sigh of breath blew along his member. The sensation was nearly unimaginable – Meg had literally a year and change to practice giving him a blowjob. And she had started as a genius. Her mouth slipped forward with a moist sound that was nearly as erotic as the sight of her blonde curls spreading along his thighs.

  The door to the chambers opened and Mary stepped in.

  She was a lilin – one of the races that an ancient sect of Christianity had banished from Earth - which was why Meg's devilish look had been so ironic. Her skin was a uniform shade of ruby red. Her head was graced by a pair of curled horns, horns that Liam knew from experience were smooth and easily gripped. Her hair was raven black, and framed a face as soft and beautiful as an angel. A tail, long and whip-like, coiled from above her pert, heart-shaped rear. Again, a shape that Liam could picture in his dreams.

  And he had, from time t
o time.

  She was dressed in clothes that did nothing to cut out the simmering sexual tension between them: a sleek, crisscrossing pattern of leather straps and buckles combined with shoulder length black cloth gloves, thigh high boots and a nun's habit that sat atop her head, to add an extra, fetishistic air to her sex-goddess appearance.

  The fact that, as she advanced towards the counter top, Meg was giving Liam head did not help. Her lips touched the base of his hips, her palm cradling his balls gently. Her thumb caressed the base of his scrotum, and he felt her cheeks hollow out as she sucked on him.

  Liam was pretty impressed that he kept his eyes from crossing.

  Mary stopped before the desk. “Good afternoon, Godkiller.”

  “Afternoon, uh, Hierophant!” Liam said. He managed to not squeak. Somehow. Meg was starting to hum.

  Mary smiled slightly, her fangs glinting around the corner of her lips. “Still getting used to that title.” She sighed. “Godkiller, we need to talk about the Cross Guard. I want them to begin helping to keep the peace in Babylon, not just man the walls.”

  Liam nodded. Meg's palm was squeezing and rolling his balls with just enough force to wring pleasure from him. The knowledge that she could bend bronze with her bare hands just added to the thrill. His palms spread along the top of the desk.

  “The problem is that, ah, I don't think that using an army to guard is annnghood idea!” He nodded. “I mean, different skills. Different duties.”

  Mary's nose flared.

  “So, whose giving you head? Tethis?” she asked.

  Meg giggled around his cock. The sensation almost sent Liam over the edge. His hand reached down, his fingers sliding through Meg's hair. He thrust into her mouth, balls slapping against her chin with an audible smack. He hissed quietly and closed his eyes and just let himself go. His balls clenched and the molten spurt of hot cum that filled Meg's throat touched off secondary fireworks behind Liam's eyes. He shuddered, groaned, then laid back. He let himself lay limp in the chair, his cock softening.

  When he opened his eyes, he saw Mary still looking to the side of the office, her eyes unfocused as she gazed out of the window. Her nipples also looked hard enough to cut crystal, poking through her straps. Liam was impressed – both in the suppleness of her leather and in the eagerness of her body.

  Lilin were made to fuck. Touching them could drive men and women of both genders and any species wild. They got aroused easier, they felt the need for sex deeper, and Mary was doing her best to channel that feeling into charity, good work and abstinence. That may have been part of why she had gone from being a lowly nun from the Order of Mary to newly elected Hierophant of Babylon in a few months.

  The fact that most of the other religious leaders in the city had been crucified by an insane god recently also helped.

  But it was the essential nature of Mary that had made her the first Hierophant that people in Babylon actually respected. She had opened rudimentary schools, wrangling artisans who had been growing close to retiring into teaching whole classes of orphans. She had opened hospitals where prayer for the gods could be focused and used en masse, vastly increasing the effectiveness and efficiency of the magic called down by the priests of various gods. The poor loved her.

  The rich hated her.

  Hence…

  “It's that damned-able Amund of Thor,” she said. “I'm sure that the bronzewights have paid him at least five gold rings to come to every single meeting of the faiths and throw about feces. Every consensus, every agreement that we try to come to, everything from schools to interfaith debates to new plays!” She shook her head, tail whipping back and forth in the air. Meg drew out from under the desk, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She set her rump down on the desktop, spreading one thigh to make it easier for Liam to notice just how wet she was.

  Meg looked over her shoulder at Mary. “I know that exact kind of asshole. People who show up at the forum to show off how witty they can be, not to actually help govern.”

  “How will the Cross Guard help?” Liam asked, rubbing his palms against his face as the afterglow of an intense orgasm faded, leaving the real world and its weight in its place.

  “Well, people tend to check their tongues while standing near war heroes and people armed with swords,” Mary said.

  Liam shook his head. “Mary, I get the problem. I do. Bronzewights want to keep their control on their craft. The only one who can see further than next week's profits is Vani's wife and she got voted out of leadership precisely because she is in favor of training more bronzeweights.” He rubbed his finger against his temple. “We need more bronze to make more weapons and weapons. We need more alchemists to make more gunpowder. We need more wood. We need more of everything.”

  Mary sighed. “Having the Cross Guard intimidate Amund would help the priesthoods come to decisions...”

  Liam pursed his lips. The priests of Purgatory were a strategic asset, but they were an asset that could become dangerous or useless relatively quickly. They channeled the power of their gods into themselves, and through that ability, could cure ailments and call down great curses. They were, understandably, as unclear as possible as to the exact limitations and requirements of their abilities. Considering the number of kings and emperors and would be despots who would gladly replace the lot if they could, Liam couldn’t even blame them.

  The problem, though, was he could see that using the Guard as a way to intimidate a priest – even an asshole of a priest – wouldn’t exactly comfort those who could look past their dislike of Amund.

  He shook his head. “No,” he said. “But I think I will go to the next meeting.”

  Mary blinked. “Are you sure that is a good idea?”

  “I won’t be there to direct, dictate or even debate. I’ll just be there as an observer. As the Free Lord, I do have that right.” Liam grinned. “Being a head taller than most people gives me an advantage, in that I can loom near Amund and glower at him.”

  Mary giggled. Her smile persisted as she bowed to Liam. “I would be honored.”

  As she turned to go, Liam let his eyes linger on her heart-shaped rump. Hands slid along his belly and Meg pressed her face against his shoulder blades, nuzzling him.

  “It is a very fine ass,” she said, playfully.

  “Don’t you have valkyrie to be training?” Liam asked, as stern as she was playful.

  Meg snapped her finger, stepping away as she did so. “I knew I had forgotten som-eek!” She squeaked as Liam slapped her rump, sending her on her way with the sure knowledge that while he may appreciate Mary’s butt... hers was his.

  With Meg, Mary and the armsmiths dealt with, Liam went back to his desk. He picked up some papers that had been written in a short, nervous hand – it took a few moments and the continual magic of Meg’s translation spell for him to parse the letters. Most were utterly mundane details about a merchant’s visit to the lands of Ra, beyond the Barrier Mountains. But a few letters were underlined, and piecing them together came to this: L sighted w/o BTG

  Liam shook his head. His friend, companion, and sister in arms Livianna of New Sparta had been captured by Brax - the lizardman general whose soldiers called him Brax The Golden - a few weeks before. He had met the general in person, and even that short conversation had given Liam all he needed to know.

  He was facing a Napoleon. A Rommel. A scaled, bright golden Scipio Africanus, with the backing of an insane, god-like AI and an army of savage lizardmen who had just absconded with the entire annual quota of Babylon’s bronzesmiths. So, not only was the enemy bigger, stronger and tougher than the average Purgatorian, but they were also armed with modern - well, “modern”- weaponry.

  And Liv was in his company.

  “We really need the guns,” Liam muttered.

  ***

  “Spark!”

  Laurentinus, Liam, Meg and Tethis ducked below the lip of the small mound of earth the engineers had erected a stone’s throw from Babylon’s walls. A momen
t later, Vani landed beside them. The hissing sound of burning gunpowder was the only noise that they could hear.

  Then-

  Boom.

  A chunk of crystal bounced off the side of the bunker. Liam hissed as a bit of hot sand fell onto his neck. He brushed it aside as Tethis sprang to her feet and looked out of the silt. “By Sobek’s-” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “It didn’t work.”

  Liam stuck his head out of cover. The cannon hadn’t burst like the previous models; they had merely shattered along the weakest part of the combination of crystal and bronze rings that was the closest Purgatory could come to cast iron. This one, though, had gone up like the Godkiller, leaving a large crater in the middle of the testing grounds.

  “All right,” Liam said. “Reinforcing it with magic didn’t work.”

  “I just don’t understand,” Tethis said, her palms pressing to the slit. “Why does gunpowder not channel its energy through the mystic conduit, while fire does? They’re both chemical reactions.”

  “Maybe it has something to do with the mixture?” Laurentinus suggested. The chief of Babylon’s guard was as far from Tethis as it was possible to be while remaining within the same genus. He was taller than her, broader than her, and lacked every bit of curiosity and eagerness to explore that had pushed Tethis away from merely being a scribe and into active archaeology and the study of magic. But somewhere, deep in his heart, Laurentinus had found a place for fascination and questions and wonder again.

  It had just taken a vague description of a musket to bring it out.

  Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. The mixture of the gunpowder that they used on Purgatory wasn’t the exact same mixture used on Earth. Different world, different material. Rather than saltpeter, they used ground up flakes of the same crystal material that they used to build the cannons. The downside was that the crystals did something to the gunpowder, making it stronger. More explosive.