Song Of Fury (Gods Of Blood And Fire Book 2) Read online

  Copyright © 2016 by Panda Books Press LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For permission requests, email the author at: [email protected]

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  The Scar Mountains surrounded the Kingdom of Masaria like a ring of stone giants. The only way into the kingdom was from the north, where the country opened and the Gold Road cut through the mountain range’s formidable defenses, splitting the country in half. Its golden-colored stones forged their way through the land, not stopping till they reached the capital city of Gallio. The only other way into Masaria was by sea. The Scar Mountains were not the only defense the citizens of Masaria had. They were also protected by a mighty army as well.

  The usurper Malric Denn and his Wardogs had seized control of Masaria five years earlier. The soldiers in Malric’s army lived up to their moniker, being just as vicious and ill-tempered as their namesake. The Wardogs mauled anyone that got in their way, or in the way of the man they had spilled their blood to put on the throne. Intensely loyal, the men of the Masarian army served Malric and Malric alone.

  A former Masarian General, Malric had seized the kingdom from its rightful ruler, King Godfen Hale. After his unwarranted coup, the coldhearted general slaughtered the entire royal family in the palace’s courtyard, putting an end to the kingdom’s legitimate royal line. The pope issued his excommunication for the foul deed and refused to recognize the usurper as the rightful ruler. It was not that Malric cared what the pope thought, but the church’s disdain had slowed trade down to a crawl and cost its people and the crown a great deal coin. Times quickly became much leaner for the people of Masaria, but no one dared question the bloody king’s authority. Those who did suffered the same fate as the former royal family.

  Malric had little fear of reprisals from the Church. The cost would be high for any of the papal armies that tried to enter Masaria and end his reign. Though it was not out of the question that one day he might see the Church’s banners coming down the road to exact God’s revenge, Malric refused to let go of the crown no manner how great a threat the pope and his armies were.

  Without being legitimized by the papacy, Malric would always be the usurper. There would be no lasting legacy or hereditary title to pass on; his reign would end with him. He tried to tell himself none of that mattered, for now he had the mountains, his army, and Masaria. The Church could be damned.

  The Scar Mountain Range had always been cherished by king and commoner alike, for their ever-enduring protection and spectacular beauty. There was but one peak at the southeastern tip of the range that gave the people of Masaria pause. It was the highest point on the middle continent and legends told that it was forbidden to set foot on this mountainside.

  Its unassailable summit was so high that it was seldom seen. Always hidden in thick clouds, it was as if the sky wanted to keep the mountain’s pinnacle a secret all to itself. Tales of the dangers and perils of the mountain’s dreaded slopes had been told by bards for generations, helping to keep the land around the great tor forsaken and uninhabited. In the past, those who had been foolhardy enough to ignore the folktales and went in search of what the dark monstrosity concealed were never seen or heard from again.

  If the majestic slopes of the Scar Range were giants, this timeless and sinister mountain was a titan. It was even said to have once been home to the Old Gods, but no one knew for sure, for the mysteries of Shadow Dragon Mountain were eternal.

  ***

  The Holy Tome of the Church teaches that the Old Gods were evil beings bent on the destruction of mankind. The scriptures briefly state that the One God came down from heaven and destroyed the dark pantheon ages ago, leading the human race into an age of peace and enlightenment. Many of those who followed the lessons of the Holy Tome wanted to believe that the Old Gods were nothing but myth, never really existing at all, but the ruins of some of their ancient temples, and the pagans and barbarians that still practiced their archaic rites, kept the Church from completely discounting the bloody saga of the ancient deities.

  Humans had turned their back on their old, violent gods. Civilized Man had found a new god to worship, one that was more peaceful and less demanding. The gods who had taught man to make war and had torn the world from the elves' grasp were the stuff of legend now, creatures of a bygone moment in time. The One God had taken their place and the world was better for it. The dark gods of Saree were gone forever. That was what the majority of the human race believed.

  The elves were more wary of those who had conquered them; they had never worshiped or bent a knee to the lords of Shadow Dragon Mountain, even when it had meant the destruction of their civilization. Unlike the humans, they believed in the Gods of Blood and Fire and dreaded their return to Saree. They knew that the cruel and vain gods still lurked behind their veil, waiting to pull the world back into their dark embrace. It was a mercy that the elven people were blissfully unaware that the black day they had feared for so long had arrived. The Old Gods had come home.

  ***

  The mountain had once been a massive volcano. Its once turbulent fires had been dormant for thousands of years. The sides of the old volcano’s vent rose up, making a natural wind break inside the great mount. The vent itself was nearly full of hardened lava that had cooled over many millennia and left only a small open crater at the top of the mountain. Nature had worn down the walls and floor of the bowl-shaped basin until they were relatively flat and smooth.

  Inside the huge circular depression a great table sat. Carved from a single piece of black onyx, it had once seated over a hundred immortals. Large chairs made from the same ebony-colored stone encircled the table, each one having the name of a different god or goddess carved on its back.

  Four doors had been cut into the sides of the basin, with winding staircases that led down into the hollowed-out interior of the mountain where the gods had once feasted and took their rest when King Cem held his yearly court.

  Now the mountain stood empty. Devoid of the mighty beings who once called it their home. Devoid of its former glories, the mountain was now more like a tomb than a sanctuary. For nearl
y a millennia, fear had silenced the mountain’s immortal inhabitant’s monumental undertakings and legendary deeds.

  The gods had fled the Lord of Death, hiding from the mad god behind their great veil. For nearly a thousand years, the immortals had neglected the world they had cultivated and fought so hard to win, and the people of Saree had moved on without them.

  Mankind had its own god now, a god of peace and understanding. The world had no intention of bowing before the violent and jealous idols of old. They had become only memories all but forgotten by the people who had once worshiped them.

  In the end, the gods had faced their fear and come out of hiding. Uniting, they fought the mad god who had vanquished so many of their brethren. They managed to cage Death, but their hesitation to stand against him for so long had cost them their world. The centuries spent concealing themselves behind the veil were a bat of the eye to the immortals, but for mankind, generations upon generations had lived and died while they had hesitated to act. Now to most mortals, they were only stories; fables to be told around the fire to frighten the young and entertain the old. Hesperina swore she would change that cruel fact if it was the last thing she did. The gods could all come home now that Death no longer stalked them, and things could be set right again.

  ***

  The woman looked middle-aged, but the few fine lines on her face did not mar her beauty in the least. Her long dark hair had been elaborately pinned up, letting large curls hang on either side of her face. She wore a white, sleeveless gown of a rich design and soft leather shoes that protected her feet. The woman’s look was striking and regal. It had to be, for today Hesperina would find out if she would rule the gods of this world or if too few of her supporters remained to solidify her reign. How many of them had survived the Reaper’s murderous war? It mattered little now. Octavian was gone, locked away forever, and it was time she came back and took what belonged to her no matter how many of her brothers and sister still lived.

  She was their rightful queen, but she had cowered before the god who had murdered her husband. She had hidden herself away behind the veil in her own realm. Even while the others subdued the foul death god, she had remained in hiding. Would they still accept her as their queen? She hadn’t helped them when they imprisoned the Reaper, nor had she avenged her own husband's death. Hesperina mourned him, but she had not sought justice for Cem when she'd had the chance. Would the others hold that against her? Of course they would.

  With the Reaper finally confined, she had returned to Saree. It had quickly come to her attention that the Mistress and a few others had already returned to the world of men, trying to steal it back, no doubt. It was her fault. She had stayed behind the veil for too long fearing the Reaper’s terrible rage and grieving Cem’s death. Those brave enough to face the brutal god had the advantage and had already started to consolidate their power. The edge they thought they had was truly insignificant, though. By rights, the throne was hers. As soon as she was in power, she alone would control their return. Man would once again have to be taught to worship them, but this time they would not use brutality to get what they wanted. The gods would have to be more subtle. Mankind had grown much more clever and bold. They were not the superstitious savages the gods had found when they had first arrived in this world. This time it would take a woman’s touch. This time it had to be different.

  Hesperina’s eyes sparkled as she sat down at the head of the table. Cem had decided the fate of the world from this seat, and her heart beat faster at the thought of so much power. “Now it’s mine,” she whispered out loud.

  “Have you decided to take up the mantle of our ruler or are you just seeing how Cem’s chair feels on your delicate ass?” The veiled woman approached Hesperina with a slow, calculated step. The black gown she wore trailed behind her like a grim bridal gown.

  “Who better than me, niece? After all, my husband was our king. It is only fitting that his power falls to me now.”

  “I completely agree. Who better to rule us than you, Hesperina, the woman who showed such bravery during our darkest hour. You can count on my support if anyone dares to oppose your claim.”

  Hesperina’s eyes narrowed. She knew the Mistress was being her usual sarcastic self. The Queen of Hell's only concern was power. Hesperina was not a fool. The Mistress would never truly be anyone’s ally, but she also didn’t want the insufferable woman as an enemy, so it was best to play the hateful woman’s game for now. “Thank you, support from someone with your influence is invaluable,” she said with a forced smile.

  The veiled woman inclined her head. “Of course, Hesperina. I mean…my queen.” The two women sat in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, neither offering any further comment.

  “Mother, I have been looking all over for you.” Hesperina and the Mistress both took note of the younger woman who had just materialized. The tight, black leather armor she wore was a striking contrast to her blonde hair. The silver sword at her side banged against her leg as she walked towards them.

  “I have been here speaking with the queen, dear,” the Mistress said, gesturing to Hesperina.

  Hesperina stood and embraced the beautiful goddess, her lips brushing the newcomer’s cheek. “It is so good to see you again, Syann. I have truly missed you.”

  The blonde woman smiled, showing her perfect teeth. “It has been far too long since we have spoken, my queen.”

  “Hesperina, it must be wonderful to have someone so happy to see you. It is truly a rarity for me,” the Mistress said, more loudly than necessary.

  “Oh, don’t start. I am in no mood to listen to your intolerable rhetoric, not on this day of days, Mother.”

  “I was just pointing out how lovely it must be to have friends and family that enjoy your company.”

  Syann put her hands on her hips. “You could know that feeling if you would stop tormenting and manipulating everyone you know.”

  The Mistress sighed. “You’re quite right, dear. I just have such a hard time getting along with people. It’s a terrible flaw of mine.”

  Hesperina watched the two goddesses’ exchange, and a little of the tension in her shoulders drifted away. It would be much easier to keep the Mistress’s famed insolence in control with her daughter present, as the younger goddess had little tolerance for her mother’s reprehensible behavior. Hesperina had always liked Syann and trusted her in spite of the goddess’s wretched lineage; she was also the only one who had any chance of controlling her mother’s devilry.

  She wondered how many more were left to answer the summons she had sent out. There was little doubt any would want to miss the first court to be held since the Reaper had been imprisoned a mere century ago. Most of the gods had waited that long before crossing back into this world from the veil. Those who had not stood against him had stayed in hiding until they were sure that the murderous god’s prison would hold him. They all knew Octavian had a knack for overcoming the impossible. She still had nightmares about the mad God of Death. He was not like the rest of them. He never had been. He was a force of nature, a power all his own. He had never truly been defeated or tamed by anyone or anything. Even with all the gods arrayed against him, they could still only imprison him. The mere thought of Octavian made her tremble. She had to keep reminding herself he was gone, and could hurt them no more.

  Hesperina hid her trembling hands under the table and tried to look as comfortable as she could as one by one, the Gods of Saree made their way to the mountain.

  Her brothers Satron and Galames entered, both so strong and proud. She was pleased that they had survived. Hesperina loved both of them dearly and their arrival put her much more at ease. She knew the mighty gods of the sun and sea would both defend her with their lives.

  “Mother.” Her hand instinctively covered her heart upon instantly recognizing the voice of her handsome son. Soren looked thin but happy. The young god had such a beautiful smile and gentlest of hearts. Cem had always thought Soren weak, but he had always been
perfect to her. She rose from her chair and embraced him, her throat thick with emotion. “I can’t tell you how worried I was.” The queen looked him up and down as if assessing his wellness.

  “I was with Dendera and we are both fine. Is everything all right now? Is it all over?” he asked cautiously.

  “We have nothing to worry about now, my dear boy. We are all safe; there is no need to fear anymore. Go on and take your place. We will talk after the feast. Everything has to be established again before we can tend to personal manners.”

  Soren kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her hand before going to find his place at the table. Hesperina began to feel contentment and renewed confidence settle over her for the first time in a thousand years. She was the queen of the heavens one more. Sitting back down in her seat, she noticed that her hands had stopped shaking.

  ***

  Syann stood away from the table, engrossed in the many reunions taking place all around her. She had long desired to return home, for good or bad these were her people and she had missed their company. She felt a hand softly slide onto her shoulder. The blonde goddess looked back over her shoulder to find a familiar face. Shiavaka stepped up alongside her and put her arm around the young goddess. The powerful immortal’s hair hung loose, the white streak in it standing out in stark contrast to the rest of her black locks. The style gave her sharp features a less drastic look, and Syann greatly approved of the change. She had never been fond of Shiavaka’s hair being oiled and combed straight back. With her high forehead and narrow features, it gave the Goddess of Magic a sinister visage.

  The two women stood in silence for a moment as more of their kind emerged from their veils. “It seems your father didn’t kill many of Cem’s children. Look, there is Kamish, Soren, and Hesperina’s favorite Dendera. The little Goddess of the Harvest looks well, don’t you think?” Shiavaka said smugly.