Arm Of Galemar (Book 2) Read online

  Arm of Galemar

  Book Two of

  The Chronicles of

  the Crimson Kings

  By

  Damien Lake

  ARM OF GALEMAR

  Copyright © 2014 by Damien Lake

  Written by Damien Lake

  Cover and maps created by Kryslin Franks

  First Publication 2014

  Version 1.2

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole, in part, or in any form by any electronic, mechanical or any other means now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying, recording, digital copying, scanning, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Thank you for purchasing an authorized copy of this novel and complying with copyright laws. By not distributing this novel without permission, you are giving support to all self-publishers and allowing them to continue sharing their creative spirit with readers worldwide.

  Dedication

  This novel, my second and in many ways trickier than the first, is dedicated to my mother. Her success in writing inspired me to chase the dream. Many times I might have abandoned the endeavor if she hadn’t shown me that starting something is easy, but finishing it is the hardest part.

  Table of Contents:

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 01

  Chapter 02

  Chapter 03

  Chapter 04

  Chapter 05

  Chapter 06

  Chapter 07

  Chapter 08

  Chapter 09

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Interlude

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Excerpts from “Forest for the Trees”

  Table of Maps:

  Kingdom of Galemar

  Central Galemar

  Town of Kingshome

  Southwest Galemar

  Prologue

  Hundreds of palms beat rhythmically on small drums. The pulse echoed through the cavern in a titan’s heartbeat. Torches blazed around the altar, their flickers spawning shadows that danced on the edge of vision. Wet heat turned skin sweaty and sticky beneath acid green robes.

  Secunda’s neck shivered in anticipation.

  She was not alone in that, but no one disrupted the undercurrent by slowing their steady pounding. Every man and woman in the cavern’s gloom wore ceremonial daggers swinging from chains around their necks. The sharp edge seemed to cut through robe and skin every time the instrument swept across her chest.

  Throughout the hidden underground world, acolytes clawed at their left breasts with their free hand when the ceremony peaked. Fingernails dug cruelly, the congregation scratching as if to tear out their own hearts. Secunda did likewise, and was thankful that her robe, thin as it was, protected against her long nails even as she shook with the desire to dig deeper into her flesh.

  The drumming beats twined around Cardinal Xenos as he finished anointing the Offering. Stretched taut across the stone altar lay a naked man. Though Xenos’ ritual words were soft, they drowned the Offering’s terrified shouts.

  Once the last water droplets poured over tortured flesh, Cardinal Xenos laid aside his silver pitcher. On the man’s limbs had been etched divine symbols, branded inch by inch using the razors heating in the coals of the altar’s braziers. The dark silhouettes marked his fate.

  Twin knife handles protruded from the Offering’s shoulders. Bulges under his flesh marked where the blades twisted meat away from the bone. His feet were scarlet lumps, the toes a ragged bird’s nest of ruin. Blood welled from innumerable contusions.

  The Offering screamed through broken vocal chords and struggled when the cardinal took up his stone knife. It went unnoticed by those assembled.

  Secunda was caught in religious ecstasy. She felt the raw power of god coursing through her. Her breath came in shorter hitches while she watched.

  Xenos laid his hand on the Offering’s chest. He increased the amount of priestly power infusing the prone man. Throughout the ceremony, a lesser amount had denied the man escape into unconsciousness. The cardinal’s god-power would keep the man aware during the final rituals. As a Sacred Offering, he must acknowledge the tremendous honor being bestowed upon him. To give all that he was to god, to offer every fragment of one’s self; such ultimate service must be realized before entering the eternal darkness.

  Despite her understanding of this holy truth, Secunda shivered at the thought of being the one to end up on the altar. During each ceremony she vowed to cast away her fear, to embrace god and accept the Ritual of Offering with proper gratitude if her time ever came. After every service she glowed with the pure desire to Offer her life. And yet somehow, selfish fear crept into her soul in the days between.

  Cardinal Xenos rested his obsidian knife against the man’s left breast. Specially crafted, the stone knives of the true believers could slice as precisely as the finest steel. Careful, exact, Xenos opened the chest cavity over the heart. The Offering writhed in religious fervor, everyone assembled noted, calling out to god as was proper. He’d been a heretic snooper found investigating their caverns. Now he discovered god’s truth in the end. His lost soul was being saved. Secunda’s shivering ecstasy built at witnessing this salvation.

  The cardinal’s power kept the Offering conscious while he peeled back skin and muscle, then broke away the ribs protecting the heart, the core of the body’s life energy. He paused before the congregation for the ceremony’s culmination. Xenos was magnificent before their eyes. Secunda’s own mage tallent felt his power gather when he raised his right arm.

  His hand slowly morphed. The fingers elongated. The muscles bulged. His fingernails grew to three inches, sharp as daggers, harder than steel. Veins bulged through his flesh until the digits looked like vine-wrapped tree branches. Unseen to all in the crowd except the mage-talented Red Robes, the cardinal also touched the Offering with his power, drawing the man’s awareness up past the intense pain.

  Xenos displayed his god-hand in front of the man’s terrified eyes. He reached into his yawning chest. Like a raptor’s talons, the cardinal slowly pierced the pulsing heart with five long fingernails.

  New screams erupted. They were accompanied by gurgling undertones that created a duet of salvation. Dark heart’s blood gushed up the remaining length of Xenos’ nails to coat his hand. The cardinal ignored the blood drenching his sleeve and continued his slow pace.

  Secunda’s legs trembled. She watched with her mage vision while the core of energy within the Offering fluctuated wildly. Xenos’ fingertips penetrated the flesh. Blood sprayed in a red blossom. Her euphoria was nearly uncontainable. When the cardinal suddenly squeezed his fingers and pulverized the Offering’s heart, his life energies exploded away
, freed from the heretic body that had held them prisoner.

  The ecstasy erupted in orgasmic waves. Her whole body shook. Her climactic screams were lost in the thunderous praises bellowed by her fellow believers. Participating in god’s holy work brought her to greater physical fulfillment than sex ever had. She fell to her knees, her faith and zeal renewed, ready to Offer her life without hesitation. Many around her did the same.

  When she eventually returned to her senses, the drums had ceased. Most acolytes were leaving to attend the tasks bestowed upon them as true believers. Xenos stood by the altar with his dripping hand hanging at his side. Secunda made to leave as well until Xenos pointed at her with one gore-streaked finger.

  “Archbishop Secunda. I have words for you.”

  Hesitation meant weakness. She walked to him immediately while inside she reviewed all the reasons the cardinal might demand her presence. Is it my turn then? I am ready.

  She skirted the yawning pit before the altar. Xenos casually cut the ropes binding the Offering and rolled the body off the stone top. It tumbled into the drop where the darkness quickly swallowed it whole. Where the pit emptied, how far the body fell, she neither knew nor cared. What happened to the flesh after its life force had been sent to god did not matter.

  Xenos spoke while his fingers twisted in every direction, writhing like rats in a crazed frenzy, reforming into his normal hand. “I have a task. Despite your past failings, I feel you might be best suited for it.”

  His words stung. Secunda had the spent the last eighteen months in a mixed state of determination and fear. Fear because she had failed the cardinal’s primary objective in the Rovasii Forest. Determination because she had vowed to never fail him again.

  “I have purged my soul of weakness, your eminence. I will succeed in any task you set me.”

  He flicked his wrist, sending away a blood arc. “This is not a task requiring skill or talent. Or no talents beyond your limitations. I need not misplace my faith a second time.”

  Secunda felt struck. Does he no longer think me capable?

  Instead, the cardinal suddenly reached out. He seized her left breast harshly in his bloodied hand. She started to step back, then barely stopped in time. His palm pressed against the hard pebble showing through the green fabric.

  “I believe you have the talent required for what I have in mind.” His gaze studied her face. She knew he eyed the post-climactic flush still coloring her cheeks.

  “Your eminence.” Whatever he wanted, she would deliver it with perfect results. No one would perform the job better.

  “I’ve decided our young monarch would be well served taking marriage vows. There is a chance I might need to travel in service to our ambitions, so there must remain in place a check against his misbehavior.”

  Secunda’s eyes widened in surprise. “The king?”

  “Indeed. Do you not think it time he married, my dear Marchioness? Are not the court nobles clamoring for heirs?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “Then we must keep them satiated. As long as they have a steady stream of gossip fodder, they aren’t causing trouble. And you can use your talents,” he said coldly, tightening his grip, “to keep the king in line.”

  “In service to god.” She bowed her head.

  “Never forget it. Do not allow your lust to cloud your senses.”

  Her flush deepened. “I’ll never fail you again.”

  “See that you do not.” Xenos released her. “I will begin bringing the king around to the idea tonight. Be in court every day from here on. I will direct his eye toward you, and away from other candidates.”

  The cardinal departed. She left as well, making for her apartment within the catacombs. An appearance in the court required detailed preparation. In that arena, mistakes could be as deadly as those made down here in the hidden temple.

  Xenos did still trust her. His distrust would have long since placed her on the altar. Fouling this mission would be more than an inconvenience. It could expose them all. He would never have selected anyone in whom he harbored doubts.

  She studied her reflection in the mirror, making sure she was ready for the responsibility. The bloody handprint over her heart was a promise on the price of failure.

  Book 03

  Tournament

  Chapter 01

  Though the fighting had ended several days previous, the streets were clogged with soldiers as if the battle still waged. Many carried messages while others took inventory of every useful item that had survived intact. Buildings were cleared out and warehouses gutted, only to be filled anew with different stores. Clusters of cowering natives were rooted out and tied neck-to-neck with noose ropes to prevent escape. They were herded toward an unknown fate down the streets of a city that had once been theirs. Very few possessed enough spirit to fight back.

  General Adrian Ceylon spared hardly a glance for it all. Surrounded by his covey of aides, he waded through the wash of people, heading for the estate serving as his field headquarters. Once belonging to a Tullainian lord or perhaps a king, Adrian had claimed it for his own use now that this kingdom’s aristocracy fled eastward.

  The estate’s tall walls enclosed several wings, a woodland grove and more gardens than the general cared to waste time counting. In the center rose the five-story manor in a single-minded display of obscene wealth. It was a village unto itself in the city’s heart. Adrian’s only joy with it was that the massive walls shut out most of the noise. His guards closed the heavy gates behind him and he relished the relative silence for a moment.

  Moments were all he possessed these days. A new aide hurried from the main building. The sheaf of papers in his hand spoke volumes. “Is this an emergency?” Adrian demanded when the man slowed for breath.

  The aide blinked at the suggestion there might be situations other than ‘urgent’ or ‘crisis’. “Sir, we’ve brought several captives in for questioning, as you ordered. I’ve also taken a dispatch from one of the patrols. They’ve captured a foreign lord.”

  Since I doubt the upper echelon of Arronath is wandering around this benighted land, what other type of lord would they have captured? Adrian kept the thought unspoken. His mood had been sour all day. “Who?”

  “Sir, they couldn’t make anything out. They’re bringing him in. They’ll arrive tonight.”

  “Have our damned linguists made any forward progress yet?”

  “No, sir.”

  Of course not. The mongrel barking these Tullainians thought was a language sounded like storm shutters falling off a window, and made as much sense. Hardly any natives spoke Traders Tongue, the few who did making little sense beyond those who did not. Generations of severed contact between their nations had mutated the language so badly it was hardly recognizable. These ‘communications specialists’ who spent most of their time extolling their priceless value to any who would listen were suddenly having to prove their worth, a task none of them had ever expected to perform.

  Just knowing the name of the local language was a triumph. In the centuries since contact had been lost, kingdom names and borders on this continent had shifted. Shaking an appropriated map under a merchant’s nose while shouting in Traders had eventually pried loose the kingdom’s name, Tullainia, but not much else.

  He might as well get the current round of questioning out of the way first. All his other orders were being carried out. They would bear no fruit for hours yet. “Lead on, then. Is everything prepared?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once they entered the manor, the aide shifted functions, becoming the hallway navigator. Lefts and rights, up stairs and down, Adrian soon lost all directional sense yet bothered to memorize nothing. His aides were purposed with knowing their way around this aspiring palace. They needed to work for their pay, same as every other soldier in his army. Tasks enough awaited his attention without his wasting time mapping this maze’s twists and turns.

  Eventually they came to a broad double doorway. Golden candel
abra were strewn across the hall in painted niches, illuminating expensive furniture and tapestries depicting battle scenes. Beyond the door lay a small interior courtyard. A square pond a foot deep filled the center. Forming a second square between the pond and the yard’s walls were numerous columns. Thick, gray and supporting nothing, they served no purpose other than the esthetic. Potted plants crowded the perimeter to create a semi-convincing illusion of an exterior glade.

  In one corner huddled six men and women, tied together at the neck with rope and watched over by guards. The prisoners cringed, clearly unnerved by the creature in the corner directly opposite them.

  A woman in a white robe held a chain connected to an iron collar. The collar encircled the neck of a brown Taur. It concentrated on its meal, its human-like, furry body crouched in a squat while it gnawed at the meat. A flock of sheep had been slaughtered for the Taurs that morning but the flesh being ripped from the bone by razor-sharp fangs probably looked all too human to the prisoners.

  In a third corner, a man in a black shirt and equally dark trousers picked over his table. The small table, like an upended box, held several gleaming tools. Even if the prisoners walked away with never a closer view of the menacing objects, they would, for years after, awaken from nightmares in a cold sweat with sliver flashes haunting their memories.

  Adrian’s steps echoed in the enclosed court. His footfalls underscored the wet ripping from the Taur’s meal. The guard captain who had been waiting for the general to arrive stepped from the cowed Tullainians to exchange quiet words.

  “Sir, we’ve tried to select the most likely prisoners for questioning.”

  “Good. I expect you speak Traders?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve been working with the linguists since we arrived. These prisoners all speak Traders as well. Two of the men were servants in this estate. The two women worked for a merchant. One of the other men was a different merchant, and the last was a magistrate for his king.”