Savage Messiah Read online

  It was late in the season to be planting. This year money had been short, and only now had they had gathered enough kisa to buy the last of their seed. Still, with a little bit of luck and a great deal of hard work, they might reap enough to see them through the coming winter—especially if this year’s Season of Harvest proved to be a long one.

  The ox nearest Aaron rubbed his face against the young man’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over. Smiling, Aaron reached out and petted one of the great animal’s ears. Darius dropped the leather reins and stretched his cramped muscles. Walking up to his son, he produced a rag from his trousers for what seemed the hundredth time that day and wiped the dripping sweat from his face.

  Aaron’s mother, Mary, and his sister Tatiana were still bent over in the field, sowing the seeds in the freshly overturned dirt. They wore broad, straw sunbonnets on their heads, and each carried a heavy bag of seed slung over one shoulder. Sowing the seed was backbreaking work, and by now their hands and nails would be black with soil.

  Leaving the oxen with his father, Aaron walked over to the edge of the field, where he could see Brook Hollow, their small village, lying in the valley below. From up here it looked like a giant patchwork quilt spread out on the ground—a quilt with the Sippora River running through it. He could see their modest farmhouse at the eastern edge of town, and their small, river-powered gristmill with which his father ground their wheat. His mother’s heavy bread was the best in the world. He imagined that he could smell a warm loaf cooling on the kitchen windowsill right now.

  When Aaron returned to his father, his mother and Tatiana had arrived, and his father was busy unfastening the large oilskin bags of water that the oxen always carried over their backs when laboring in the fields. With the bags came two large buckets.

  Dutifully, Aaron uncorked one of the bags, filled the two buckets with water, and placed them before the oxen. The massive animals drank greedily, and Aaron smiled as he watched them.

  “Sometimes I think you take better care of those animals than you do yourself,” Tatiana chided him. There was a definite hint of mischief in her eyes as she peered out from beneath her sunbonnet. She was tall, pretty, and possessed endless amounts of curly red hair. Her hands and shoes were far beyond filthy. Two years her senior, Aaron loved to tease her about being his little sister. But Tatiana was quickly growing into womanhood, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to get away with that sort of thing much longer.

  He gave her a mock-condescending look and pointed at her hands.

  “And just how many boys will want to come and call on you with paws like that, Miss Filthy?” he shot back. “You look like you live in a pig pen! If the boys at school could see you now, you’d end up an old maid forever!” He watched Tatiana’s mouth pucker up.

  “That’s enough, you two,” their mother began. Then she stopped. At the expression on her face, they all turned back toward the field—and that was when they saw the huge shadow.

  Dark and ominous, the shadow grew until it covered all of the ground around them. Then came an earsplitting noise—a great screech combined with an intensely deep howl that chilled them. Aaron put his hands over his ears, but it did little to help to muffle the noise. Looking up, he saw the source of the shadow: an enormous ball of golden light. His jaw dropped in wonder. Then, to his horror, it veered in midair and headed straight at his family.

  Aaron’s first instinct was to save the oxen, and he turned to unbuckle their harnesses so they could run without the awkward mass of the plow behind them. The golden orb was so close that Aaron could feel its blazing heat at his back.

  As he unfastened the first of the buckles, Darius’ strong hands came down on his own. Bewildered and frightened, he looked up into his father’s eyes.

  “Stop!” Darius screamed. “It’s too late for them now! Run!”

  Grabbing Aaron by the collar, Darius pulled him away from the oxen. They ran across the field as fast as they could. Aaron ran and ran until he thought his lungs might burst. Only when Darius thought his family was out of danger did they slow. They all turned to look.

  The two terrified oxen desperately tried to run from the noise and the searing heat, but they were hindered by the plow, which had buried itself in the ground behind them as they ran. Aaron felt his heart shatter and steeled himself for the worst.

  When the burning sphere closed on them, the two terrified animals vaporized instantly. As the fireball continued on its way, burning a deep swath of destruction down the field, all that remained of the oxen was a charred hole in the ground. Gray smoke rose into the late afternoon sky almost as an afterthought.

  Running back to the crest of the hill, Aaron watched the sphere go. It was heading directly for Brook Hollow.

  The rest of his stunned family came to stand beside him. They cried and held on to one another as they watched their world collapse.

  Focused on the unfolding catastrophe, none of them saw the approaching litter with its phalanx of Minion warriors that flew guard alongside.

  CHAPTER V

  _____

  “HOLD HIM!” SHE ORDERED THE TWO MINION WARRIORS standing obediently by her side. Her voice could barely be heard amid the clamor all around her. “This must be done now, lest he die!”

  Duvessa looked hard at the warriors and they grudgingly nodded back. She was well aware that they both outranked her, but as the leader of the Minion healers, she meant to have her way.

  With both Traax and the Jin’Sai away, she had decided that the only two persons she would take orders from would be Faegan and Shailiha. Duvessa now knew them personally, and counted both as friends. If Traax wanted to punish her for her insolence to her Minion superiors when he returned, then so be it. But she doubted that would happen, because for the last several weeks she had been Traax’s lover.

  The man lying on the table writhed and screamed and struggled against the leather straps that held him down. Duvessa wished that either Faegan or one of the Acolytes of the Redoubt was available to employ the craft. That way, the man could be rendered unconscious before she began her work. But they were all busy elsewhere, dealing with other victims.

  Had the casualty lying before her been Minion, there would be no need for the straps, and the surgery would be over by now. Minion warriors were far stronger and more stoic than most humans. Their harsh martial philosophy dictated that the use of luxuries such as sleep-herbs or painkillers was a mark of personal weakness. But the victim suffering before her was human, and Duvessa knew that according to human culture what she was about to do was savage, albeit absolutely necessary.

  She looked grimly to a third warrior standing nearby. With an understanding nod, he grasped one of the torches from a nearby stand and held it toward her. Duvessa took up one of her serrated bone saws and placed its edge into the flame.

  The fellow’s right hand was gone at the wrist and bled still, despite the leather strap she had so tightly twisted around his upper arm. The ragged, throbbing wound had to be cleanly severed a bit higher, and that meant sawing through the bones. Then the wound’s naked end would have to be cauterized. She wished she could spare the time to ply her craft upon the injuries to his face, but there were many others in even worse straits and they would have to come first.

  As her saw began to glow, the man continued to bleed. Several more irretrievable seconds passed.

  Seeing the hot blade above him, the terrified man screamed again. At a nod from Duvessa, the warriors tightened their grip on the patient and she began her work.

  LATER, AS SHE WALKED THROUGH THE PALACE, THE SAD SCENE before her seemed like something out of a living nightmare. Night had fallen, and makeshift healing tables had sprung up in nearly every room. Some held living victims who lay waiting to be tended. Others were still occupied by the dead who had yet to be carried away. Blood was everywhere. She thought about the man she had just worked on, the one with the sever
ed hand. He would live, but like the other poor souls who had come seeking succor, he would never be the same.

  As she walked, the nauseating stench of death permeated the palace halls. In every room, torches burned brightly, pointing up macabre shadows that mimicked the necessary horrors still going on.

  She lowered her head and walked on, trying to avoid stepping in blood as she searched for Shailiha and Faegan.

  Born in one of the Coven’s birthing houses in Parthalon, Duvessa had been raised in one of the many Minion compounds that still dotted the nation across the sea. When she grew older, she was ordered to choose a traditional Minion occupation. Many of the boys chose to become warriors. To this day, that path was forbidden to the girls, despite Tristan’s new orders insisting on equality for Minion females.

  Showing a natural talent for healing, she entered the healer cadres, took her training, and rose quickly through the ranks. Recently she had been promoted to the rank of premier healer. Not only was she now in charge of all the Minion healers—both male and female—but she was the first female to have ever held so lofty a station. Many males in the warrior ranks still outranked her, but given her great talent, coupled with her frequent inclination to speak her mind, they genuinely respected her.

  Thousands of Minion healers served under her now, and it was quite impossible for her to know them all. Most she recognized only by the sign of their craft—a pure white feather emblazoned upon the chest of their black leather body armor. But they all knew her.

  As the new premier healer, she had accompanied her fellow troops to Eutracia from Parthalon, when Tristan led the Minion forces into battle against Nicholas’ hatchlings. Brin fought in that battle. Duvessa had first noticed him when his wounded wing had caught her attention. Already a fighter of some note, he was several years her junior, but he looked older. After seeing each other for a time, they married in accordance with the new freedoms granted by the prince. But their happiness was not to last.

  Brin had been killed while helping his troops fight off Wulfgar’s demonslaver fleet. His body had been lost at sea and was never returned to Duvessa for the traditional immolation. There had been no offspring.

  Her grief at the loss of her husband was immense—at first far more than she thought she could bear. But as premier healer she had an important job to do, and there was no time for self-pity.

  There had been many wounded to tend to as a result of Tristan’s struggles with his half brother, and she had thrown herself into her work with abandon. By the nature of her position in the Minion hierarchy, she soon came to know Tristan, Shailiha, Celeste, Wigg, and Faegan. She had also met Adrian and Abbey, and she thought very highly of them. It was when she had joined this inner circle that she had first come to Traax’s attention.

  She was taken with him immediately, and he was equally interested. After the traditionally brief Minion mourning period, they began to see each other, and then finally took to sharing a bed. She knew that Traax had departed with Wigg and Tristan, and she worried about him. Although it was not uncommon for a Minion female to lose several mates during the course of her lifetime, she had no desire to experience this herself.

  As she walked through the shadowy palace, she saw many red-robed Acolytes of the Redoubt. As she passed, they exchanged courteous bows with her.

  During the course of the night she had seen many of the acolytes deftly employ the craft to help relieve the suffering. She still knew little about them, but she had to admit that their abilities were impressive. Sometimes she had witnessed her healers and the endowed acolytes standing shoulder to shoulder at the tables, working together. Seeing this had made her proud. Together they had finally been able to stem the massive tide of suffering. But none of them knew what terrible, unseen enemy had caused all of this, or what the future might bring.

  Turning a corner and starting down another hall, she heard Faegan’s voice. A door stood slightly ajar, and a soft shaft of light poured from its opening. She walked over and knocked softly. The wizard bid her enter; she swung the door wider and walked in.

  Faegan was addressing a roomful of people. His black robe was stained with blood, and he looked beyond exhaustion. The Paragon hung from a gold chain around his neck. As always, he sat in his wooden chair on wheels. Nicodemus, a dark blue cat with a silver collar, lay patiently in his master’s lap. On a nearby table sat the ancient violin that Faegan often played.

  A fire danced merrily in the hearth, its inviting warmth belying the horrors of the grisly world that lay just outside the door. A small table at the back of the room was laden with wine, bread, and cheese—no doubt supplied by the ever-industrious gnomes, Duvessa thought.

  Princess Shailiha, Celeste, and Abbey sat on a sofa along one wall. Still clad in their bloodstained dresses, they all looked exhausted. Duvessa could see that though they had tried to wash the blood from their hands, it still showed beneath their nails and in the folds of their skin. Caprice—Shailiha’s giant butterfly—sat perched upon a bookcase, slowly opening and closing her yellow and violet wings. Adrian, Ox, and Geldon sat at a table nearby.

  As Duvessa entered and crossed the room to pour herself a welcome goblet of wine, Faegan stopped speaking and looked at her, obviously eager to hear her report.

  A dense stillness crept over the chamber as the Minion premier healer went to a chair and sat down heavily, goblet in hand. It was only after taking the weight off her feet that she fully realized just how exhausted she was. She took a long draft of the rich red wine, then removed her bloody smock and dropped it to the floor.

  “How goes it outside?” Faegan asked.

  “It has slowed,” Duvessa answered. “Most of the major cutting has been done, and the acolytes are enacting spells of accelerated healing and pain relief over as many of the victims as they can. The Minion healers are doing all they can to help. Just the same, the loss of life has been great.”

  Leaning forward on her elbows, she looked straight at the wizard. She wanted answers—just as everyone else here did.

  Taking a deep breath, Faegan returned her gaze. She was one of the most handsome Minion women he had ever seen. Like Traax, she had green eyes. Her thick, dark hair was tied into a pair of braids that fell down behind her. The single, stark white feather stood out proudly on the chest of her black body armor. Her strong, sensual face stared back at him with candor, and for the hundredth time he wondered whether there was anything in the world that truly frightened her. A fitting mate for Traax, he thought.

  Duvessa turned to Adrian. “Thank you for all that you and your sisters did,” she said with genuine admiration. “Before we came to Eutracia, all we Minions ever saw of the craft was what the Coven allowed us to see. I used to distrust all magic, as most of my people do. Tonight I saw it used for good, and it was a welcome change.”

  “Thank you,” Adrian said. “We did all that we could.”

  The acolyte had gentle brown eyes and curly, sand-colored hair. Her dark red robe, tied around the middle with a black tasseled cord, looked worn and stained. Several times that evening she and Duvessa had stood side by side, using all their gifts to try to save the same victim. Sometimes they had succeeded; sometimes they had not. Whatever had been the individual outcome, a mutual sense of respect had grown up between the two healers. Though Adrian’s healing gifts were enhanced by her facility with the craft, she and her sisters still wrestled with their new lives in Tammerland, the palace, and the Redoubt. This uncertainty put her on an even footing with Duvessa.

  Across the room, Shailiha looked over at Celeste, who nodded back at her. Both Wigg’s daughter and the princess were eager to know where Tristan and Wigg had gone.

  Her gaze hardening with determination, Shailiha folded her arms and stared at Faegan. “We all want some answers, and we want them now,” she demanded. “In the space of a single night, not only have hundreds of severely burned and maimed victims come crashing t
hrough the palace gates, but both Tristan and Wigg have disappeared along with Traax and an entire phalanx of warriors!

  “Where did you send them? What is it that has so suddenly attacked us?” She sat back, a look of determined expectation on her face.

  Faegan knew that there would be no use in putting off the inevitable. Taking a breath, he looked down at his hands. Shailiha wasn’t sure she had ever seen the old wizard so upset.

  “First things first,” Faegan said. He turned to face Ox.

  The giant Minion shot to his feet. “I live to serve,” he said quickly.

  “If I know the prince at all, the first thing he will do when he arrives home will be to call an emergency meeting of the Conclave of the Vigors,” the wizard said. “To have all ten members present, we must call Tyranny home. I want you to take a squadron of warriors and fly directly to the Minion outpost nearest the coast. Find out Tyranny’s last position and heading, and then go after her. Tell her what has happened, and bring her here at once. Leave Scars in charge of the fleet, pending further orders. Do you understand?”

  “Ox understand,” the warrior said. “Everything be as wizard Faegan say.”

  “Good,” Faegan answered. “Go now, and may the Afterlife watch over you.”

  After a quick click of his heels, Ox left.

  “A good man…” Faegan said, his voice fading away as he became lost in his thoughts.

  “Faegan!” Celeste called. “We’re waiting!”

  “Uh, er, yes—yes, of course,” the wizard said. He turned his chair back to face the room. His grim look returned.

  “Very well,” he began. “I will start by telling you what I have already expressed to Wigg, just before he and Tristan left.” He paused for a moment, as if not really knowing where to begin.

  “If what Wigg and I believe is true, then we are facing a calamity of epic proportions,” he said. “What we witnessed tonight may be just the beginning…”