The Blood Groove (Purgatory Wars Book 4) Page 13

  He walked closer to the cage, his voice dropping to a hiss. “The furnaces. For the dead. Visible from above the clouds. Has he told you about that?”

  Meg looked right into his eyes, her arms crossed over her chest.

  “The Shoah,” she said. “Or, in English...” She paused, working the word out carefully. “The Holo-caust.”

  Skyheart looked uncertain.

  “Of course Liam told me,” she said, her voice soft. “And he told me something you might not be able to see from above the clouds? The people who ran those death camps? Do you know why they did it?” She stepped up, feeling the buzz of the nullcage against her limbs and her skin. Her voice was as level as she could make it, despite the fact that, if her hands hadn’t been caught under her armpits, they would have shaken.

  Skyheart’s wings mantled.

  Meg barreled over him. “They killed people because they thought they were impure. Lesser. Sub-human. Because they were different.” She smirked. “It’s a good thing you’re blond, granddad. You’d have fit in with the SS pretty well. What was it? Landlings are barely alive? Landlings aren’t worth your time? Landlings are ugly? Stupid?” She sneered, then leaned forward. “They’ll never know the true world that we amazing and wonderful valkyrie dwell in?”

  There, she delivered the twist of the knife.

  “I never told Liam you even exist,” she hissed.

  Meg turned her back to her grandfather, closing her wings around her shoulders.

  Skyheart didn’t respond.

  He just sighed and walked away.

  “Seems we left at the right time...”

  The dazed voice drew Meg’s attention. Looking over, she saw that Athena had opened one eye.

  “Huh?” Meg asked.

  Athena groaned, lifting her head. Pain wracked across her face and she shuddered as she leaned her head against the nullcage wall. “Gods. We left that planet at the right time. Sounds like it, at least.”

  “Screw that!” Meg said. “You were banished right when things got interesting. You missed out on the internet and free porn. Give or take a millennium.”

  Athena laughed. “What’s the plan?”

  “The plan?” Meg put her palm on the cage. “Find a way to escape, challenge my grandfather to a duel, kill him, mount his head on my future home’s wall so he can be really infuriated at all the mind blowing sex Liam and I are having.”

  “How savage...”

  “Shut up,” Meg said, absently, chewing her lip. “Then win the war. Or maybe win the war before the head mounting thing, I’m improvising.”

  ***

  Liv woke in darkness, aching as she missed something. Her hands reached out – and felt nothing but warm bed next to her. She sat up, blinking. The darkness of the room shifted and the door opened. A scabbard hit the bed next to her with a thump. Her eyes shifted to adapt to the light and she saw Brax looking down at her.

  “It’s a blessed blade, made by Brigid herself,” he said, quietly. “Found it in the palace.”

  Liv took the scabbard, then yanked it slightly out. She looked down at the pale sheen of the bronze. It reminded her of the same glow that Brigid had put on Liam’s longsword. She smirked and looked up at Brax.

  “Thanks,” she said. “But I thought slaves weren’t allowed weapons.”

  “You’re escaping tonight,” Brax said. “Sysminor, in his wisdom, has lumped the wounded Tuatha defenders and our Aesir huscrals together in the same hospital. He claims it is to make the healing more efficient, in truth, I don’t think he cares if they try to kill one another. It is a situation ripe for chaos and I intend to take advantage of this. I've made a deal with one of the Aesir. She is going to 'incapacitate' Anizt, then steal a touchkey while I am trying to convince the war council to not attack Babylon. You meet with her and the pair of you escape together.”

  Liv’s fingers went to her slave collar. It hadn’t worked for months. Brax had offered her freedom but said that if she came with him, she’d get a chance to ruin her father’s plans. Thus far, she had done precious little.

  Beyond fuck his brains out, part of her muttered.

  Since thinking of that still made her cheeks burn and her body ache for round two, she squashed the thoughts in a box at the back of her brain. Brax hadn’t looked her in the eye since then, so she figured that someone as intelligent as him could be just as confused as a swordslinger like her.

  There was no time for questions or goodbyes. Liv slid from her bed and simply nodded. “Got it. Plan?”

  “Get to the Hellenic League and tell Zeus that Ares is a traitor,” Brax said. “And that my army is going to attack New Athens.” He sighed. “If Ares wasn’t behind sending Artemis on a diplomatic negotiation, then I’ll eat my tail.”

  “That’s giving my dad a lot of credit for being clever,” Liv muttered as she strapped the scabbard to her hip. “So. That was the big plan? Use me as a messenger?”

  Brax sighed. His head turned and he looked at the door, then back at her. For the first time in what felt like years but couldn’t have been more than weeks, he met her eyes. His voice was soft. “Liv, the truth is...” He grinned and for a moment, he looked like all the weight of the world had dropped from his shoulders. “Well, I don’t actually plan anything but battles. Everything else is just taking advantage of chaos and making sure useful people are on hand.” He paused. “And, I will admit, I have an eye for talent.”

  Liv nodded. Fair enough.

  “Now, I have to go and talk these people into not winning the war,” Brax said. “The gods save me from intelligent allies.”

  Liv paused, then kissed his cheek. The kiss turned into something deeper as his muzzle and her lips connected. His tongue plunged into her throat, his hand reaching down. He squeezed her ass firmly, his claws denting her skin. Liv shivered and reveled in her invulnerability. She pressed to him, and felt him rise to the occasion. She knew she should draw back before-

  Brax shoved her back, panting. “Go.”

  Liv nodded, then started out to the door. The corridor beyond was sparsely populated and dimly lit.

  She grinned.

  Elves were born for situations like this.

  ***

  Brax lounged back in his seat and watched as Skyheart pointed at a map of Babylon. Being the biggest city in Purgatory had advantages and disadvantages. The biggest being that anyone on any part of Purgatory with a high enough elevation could look outwards or upwards and see your city. Add valks to the equation, and maps were almost too easy.

  “We teleport attack teams of valks and your elite lizardfolk here, here and here,” Skyheart said. “We take the gatehouses, we take the palace, and we have Vanderbilt hanging from a gibbet before the day is out.”

  “Y-yes yes good good.” Sysminor took up half the room. The false god refused to ever be anything less than his full scale when in a group meeting. His crystalline bulk cast a pale blue glow over everything. The Aesir leaders who had bent the knee to him were clearly in awe. Even Skyheart seemed to be impressed. But Brax, through long association, felt only crushing cynicism.

  “Very good,” Brax said. “If you want to have our armies arrive in many small pieces.”

  Sysminor turned his rough hewn head to look at Brax. “Ex-Ex-Explain pain pain, explain this, Brax B-B-Braxsssss.”

  Brax sighed. “We had Tethis killed because she was the foremost expert on teleport shrines. But we obviously didn’t move quickly enough. My spies...” He snapped his fingers. Fizit stepped up behind him and gave him a scroll. He unrolled it, tapping the Latin letters that sprawled across it. “They say that there are new crystal objects being used by several of the city guard at certain points. The port, especially.” He shook his head. “They don’t seem to do anything. But we know Tethis was working on something before her assassination. It’d take a fool to forget about teleport shrines.”

  Skyheart frowned. “You think that they made a defense?”

  “I would,” Brax said.

/>   “But we have to take Babylon,” the valkyrie general said, his voice tight.

  “Yes...” Sysminor rubbed a large hand against his chin. It sounded like two boulders being ground against one another. “But how how?”

  “With those walls? We need more forces,” Brax said. “I’d hate to sacrifice our...allies.” He looked at the Aesir leaders. Strum Stormborn looked as sour as any viking ever born. His scarred face had a new marking – a mass of knitted flesh where a Minié ball had clipped his chin and blown half his jaw off. Without healers, he’d never have eaten again, let alone spoken. “To take those walls. And even my genius cannot overcome cannons with grapeshot and rifled muskets.”

  Sysminor started to glow brighter blue. He slammed his fists into the ground and surged to his feet, stooping forward to not bash his head through the ceiling. He started to screech and howl – the rising and falling pattern of his voice causing everyone but Brax to bridle. Even Skyheart looked like he was having a hard time not clapping his hands over his ears.

  “Damn damn damn dam-d-d-damnati-on-on!” Sysminor screeched. “I want Liam – Liam – dead! I want gun-gun-gun-”

  Brax held up his hand. “My Lord God,” he said, trying to sound placating. “I have an alternative route. One that will get us not only an extra ten thousand men and women, easily, but will also bolster our navy enough to force the port even with cannons.” He smiled. “The Hellenic League. Fractured. Competing. Name a time in history where Hellenes aren’t trying to kill each other.” He waved his hand. “And more, we have Ares.”

  “But that gives Vanderbilt time,” Skyheart muttered.

  “Give him time,” Brax said, his voice soft, “And it will leave him alone. And no matter how many guns he has, no man can stand alone.”

  The others looked thoughtful. Brax, though, only had eyes for Sysminor. He felt his scales tighten, his tail still. The false god looked as if he was caught between two states, his head buzzing between two nearly identical permutations. The end result was that he looked like his head was blurring into a haze. Then his head snapped to one position.

  He nodded.

  And that was that.

  Liam had his time.

  ***

  Vulkis groaned as he opened one eye. His head pounded like a drum. He felt queasy – even while laying down, he felt as if he was on the deck of a ship. That made him less hopeful than he would have hoped. He didn’t hear any waves, any calls of sea birds. No sound of crew. Instead, his ears were filled with the groans and coughs of the injured. His nose flared and he could smell the faint tingle of magic.

  A priest stepped over him. He wore the symbol of one of the Tuatha but which Vulkis could not say. He looked grim.

  “You’re lucky to be alive, Hellene,” he said.

  “Not-” Vulkis clenched his jaw, his brain screaming at him through the thick fog that threatened to consume everything. He closed his eyes and felt his consciousness starting to fade. He was drawn back by the touch of the priest on his forehead. He opened his eyes. “Not sure if I should thank the gods or curse them.”

  The priest shook his head. “You were trampled. Head cracked, ribs broken. I think you should thank Ares at least for watching over you.” He clucked his tongue. “You should be walking by the end of the month.” He trailed off, his face growing haunted. “Most of our magic is being drawn to other tasks.”

  Vulkis’ throat worked and he nodded to the priest.

  “Thanks for doing what you can,” he rasped.

  The priest stepped away and let Vulkis take a look around the hospital. The cot he was in sat in the corner of a large, dark room. Dozens of other cots were laid out near him, with dozens of injured people on them. He saw a goblin beside him. Further away, he saw someone standing upright – a lizardman. The lizardman was a giant. He was easily big enough to make two of Vulkis.

  Vulkis’ eyes widened as he saw a shadow grow behind the lizardman. In the darkness of the hospital, the figure looked as if they had come from nowhere. But Vulkis’ ears told him what his eyes couldn’t: the creak of a cot, the squeak of wood. The figure that had risen from their sick bed moved with speed, smashing a chamber pot in the back of the lizardman’s head. The lizard staggered, dropped to one knee, then smashed face first onto the ground.

  A quiet groan came from above Vulkis’ head. He craned his head back. A human was sitting up in the cot placed near Vulkis, watching the scene with a look of horror. He opened his mouth. “Help!” he rasped. “Help, guards!”

  Vulkis’ pounding head filled with confusion. Why put the injured enemy with your own wounded? He didn’t have time to figure out the reason behind that madness, or even if there was a reason. Right now, Vulkis had to act. He scrambled forward, ignoring the ache of his head, the scream of his ribs. His body felt as if it was about to fall to pieces but he still managed to fling himself up and over the other human. His arm forced against the man’s throat, choking the raspy voice out. The other human struggled but whatever had injured him had left him even weaker than Vulkis.

  His left arm slapped weakly against Vulkis’ shoulder. The impact, light as it was, sent jagged spikes of pain through Vulkis’ chest. Vulkis coughed and, despite the darkness, saw a patina of red splash across the other man’s face, flecking his beard. Vulkis tasted blood and couldn’t help but cough again.

  And again.

  He was having a hard time drawing breath.

  Then he felt an arm slide around his shoulder, pulling him back. The other human laid still, and Vulkis let himself be dragged backwards. He almost collapsed with relief as Eerika whispered in his ear.

  “Vulkis? No wonder that mad gold lizard didn’t offer the escape job to you,” she said, sounding entirely too jovial, considering the situation. “You seem half dead.”

  Vulkis closed his eyes, then coughed again. More blood dribbled from his mouth. He opened his lips as wide as he could and tried to breathe in, but he felt his chest tight and compact. He couldn’t get in air. He couldn’t breathe. Eerika seemed to have realized something was wrong by the way she shifted her grip on him.

  “Vulkis?” she asked. Everything was going dim. Vulkis heard the faint sound of hurried footsteps.

  Light flared before his eyes.

  The priest stood there, a mage light in his hand. He looked at Vulkis, Eerika, the unconscious lizardman and the slain soldier who had fought for Sysminor. Eerika paused a beat, then said: “I can explain. Your general-”

  The priest touched Vulkis’ chest. Healing energy surged through the huscral and Vulkis drew a deep, shuddering gasp. His back arched and he closed his eyes tightly. “Thank the Gods – and you, thank you so much,” he mumbled.

  “Fly,” the priest whispered. “I’ll have discovered you escaped shortly. Run. Now!”

  Vulkis and Eerika didn’t need to be told twice.

  The two of them hurried through the hospital – as fast as Vulkis could hurry, anyway. His lungs might not be filling with his own blood anymore, but every step still sent jagged pain through his lungs and his head. But Eerika held him upright with her shoulder, her arm looped around his back. She muttered under her breath.

  “I don’t know if we can trust the golden bastard, but do we have a choice?”

  “Liam mentioned this Brax,” Vulkis hissed, “When I visited him in Babylon. Yeah. I think we can.”

  Eerika nodded to herself.

  “Neb?” Vulkis asked. “She was fighting with us – is she here?”

  “I don’t know. Come on, we have to find the girl Brax wants us to help,” Eerika whispered as they emerged from the hospital onto the streets. The sun had winked out earlier, though Vulkis had no idea how long ago. Mage lights provided some illumination for Olimurias, making it clear which way to go to reach the harbor. Eerika started down the street, moving along the walk nearest to the building, keeping them to the darkest shadow. Vulkis, though…

  “We’re being followed,” he whispered.

  “I know,” Eerika whispered
back. She paused, then pushed him to the side. Vulkis’ back thumped against the side of an alleyway – forcing the air from him with a pained wheeze. Erika turned, her only weapon a makeshift club. A blade knocked it aside and then the form stepped into the light of one of the mage torches that illuminated the streets of Olimurias.

  Liviana of Sparta grinned at the two Aesir.

  “I hear you’re heading for the port,” she said.

  “Good gods, Liv, what are- wait. You’re the one Brax, ah-” Vulkis winced as something inside his chest grated. “He wants out?” he asked, gasping around the pain. Godkiller said that you were missing. I never heard quite what happened to you. How did you get here? With Brax?”

  “Long story. Come on.” She jerked her head and started forward at the mile eating lope of a trained warrior. Vulkis groaned and forced himself forward. Eerika threw her arm around his back, helping him up and hurrying forward with him.

  As they grunted along, Eerika whispered, “You know her?”

  “After a fashion,” Vulkis whispered back.

  When they arrived at the docks, Liv had been scouting from a hiding spot for at least five minutes. She didn’t glance back at Eerika and Vulkis as they hobbled over to her. Instead, her eyes were taking in the docks. “I count thirty scaled guards, ten Aesir,” she said. “Two of them are elves, but they’re drunk. They’re loading every ship with supplies – looks like it’s for a siege.” She nodded to herself. “So, he got through to them.”

  Eerika looked at Vulkis. Vulkis shook his head, mutely. Not the time for questions.

  “And there it is,” Liv said, jerking her chin.