PROLOGUE
Victory made gods of men.
So had claimed the first man who’d hired Kavik’s sword. At the end of the day, the man’s gold had filled Kavik’s purse and the blood of his enemies had stained his armor, but Kavik knew little about gods and couldn’t imagine what it must be to feel like one. After years of swinging his blade to no avail, however, he finally knew what it was to defeat rather than be defeated.
By midnight, victory tasted of too much ale and ached of the urgent need to piss.
Stomach roiling, he stumbled out of the inn and into the courtyard. The heat of this kingdom fed on a man’s sweat even at night. He wiped his brow and turned away from the noises of rutting coming from the shadows. Two other warriors celebrated their victory with more than ale, and he couldn’t stop the sour bile from rising into his mouth as the sounds resurrected memories that he’d buried again and again.
Blindly he walked until the warriors’ grunts no longer echoed in his head. The streets twisted through the city like Blackmoor’s maze of stone. He retraced his path. Nothing was familiar. The courtyard that he thought sat in front of the inn was overlooked by a tower of white marble instead. Runes marked the door.
A temple to the moon goddess, Vela. Kavik had never seen one before. All temples in Blackmoor had been destroyed before he was born. In this land, they must have been, too. This temple had been newly built. The marble still shone like polished ivory.
As he stared, dim recollections crowded his throbbing head. Whispered tales of warriors who earned the goddess’s protection and great reward. They only had to complete a dangerous task in her name.
Kavik had a task to complete. He’d dedicated half his life to it—only to know failure each time.
But today he’d finally known victory. He would soon know it again.
The temple doors were unlocked. He staggered through them and into a dark rounded chamber. No torches or candles burned. The only light shone through the temple walls, where the phases of the moon had been carved through the marble. The carvings circled the chamber, a full turn of the moon, from a thin crescent to full and then waning.
A silver offering bowl sat on a pedestal in the light of the full moon. Kavik started toward it and tripped over an unseen stair. His steel helm slipped out of his hand, dropping onto the stone floor. The loud clatter broke the reverent quiet.
“You are drunk, boy.”
A woman’s voice. A priestess. Through the darkness, he made out the shape of a chair beneath the carving of the new moon.
Boy. She couldn’t know how young he was. Though he’d only seen fifteen winters, Kavik had already grown larger than most men. He stepped into the light shining around the offering bowl so that she could see him better.
“Not a boy. A warrior.” He tossed a coin into the bowl. “With gold earned by my sword.”
His first coins. When he had enough, he would have an army. But he wouldn’t need an army with a goddess by his side.
The priestess’s voice came from the darkness again. “Have you come to pray that you will survive your next battle, then?”
“I want a quest.”
“A quest?” The woman stood, a slim shadow in long black robes. “That is a dangerous thing to ask for, young warrior. No quest comes without great pain. And if you fail, you will wear Vela’s Mark.”
Kavik already had scars. Some on his flesh, some deeper. And some wounds that weren’t scars yet, but still raw and dripping agony from his heart like blood. “The goddess must send me to Blackmoor to defeat the warlord Barin.”
The priestess’s light laughter sounded through the chamber. “You do not dictate what your task will be. Vela will determine what needs to be done and will work through you. You can ask for a reward, though it does not always take the form you expect.”
“I will do anything she requires of me. In return, I want the power to defeat him. If not strength, then the knowledge. He cannot be touched by blade or fire.”
The priestess’s head tilted, as if considering his words as she came closer. She was small, not even of height with his shoulders. A black veil concealed her hair and face.
When she spoke again, her voice was no longer as light and as amused as it had been. “Is he a demon, young warrior?”
“Only a man,” Kavik said. “Though a demon who was freed by the Destroyer also plagues our land. If the goddess has power, she will know what to do.”
“If?” the priestess echoed. He could feel her studying him through the veil. Finally she said, “Vela has no quest for you.”
No quest? How could she refuse? His fists clenched. “My people need help. Too many have died. More still suffer.”
“That is true everywhere, young warrior.”
“Why is it true? You say to me ‘if.’” He spat the word back at her. “If your goddess truly had power, she would have stopped the Destroyer. She would have stopped Barin. So many need not have died.”
“You blame her for what they do?”
“I blame her if she had enough strength to destroy them and didn’t.” Sudden desperation joined frustration. What would persuade her? Gods and priests wanted worshipers. Kavik would crawl on his knees if it would help. “You can prove she has that power. Send me on this quest. When I hold Barin’s bloodied head in my hand, I’ll believe in her.”
Her laugh was light and amused again. Turning away from him, she said, “Vela does not seek the belief of one angry boy and she does not give quests to those with no real faith. Your only task is to leave this place in peace.”
Jaw clenched, Kavik stared at her retreating back, then retrieved his coin from the offering bowl. He would need the gold for his army. Better to leave an offering suited to charlatans who promised help and sat on their asses, instead.
Swaying, he pushed down the front of his brocs and took his cock in hand. The ache intensified, then released in a liquid rush onto the silver plate.
In the center of the chamber, the priestess froze mid-step. Slowly her veiled head turned.
Kavik stared back at her defiantly. This was victory. Now he felt like a god, because he had no power to stop this even if he’d wanted to.
The black veil fluttered as her whisper floated through. “Vela. Look upon this.”
A pale glow at the woman’s side drew Kavik’s gaze. The priestess’s hand. Though her skin was as dark as his, light shone through it as if viewing the moon through finely woven cloth.
All at once, a blast of icy air tightened his flesh. His breath billowed in a steaming cloud. His balls shriveled, and the seemingly endless stream of piss reduced to drips. Pulling up the waist of his brocs, he spun toward the door.
The priestess stood in front of him. Her hand shot up and gripped his throat.
As if he weighed no more than a boy, she lifted him off his feet. The glow through the veil almost blinded him, yet he could see her clearly, the shining skin and the eyes filled with cold moonlight.
“You little beast,” the priestess said, but now her voice was as clear and as cold as the ring of steel against stone. Each word echoed in his bones. “Even a dog knows better than to do that within his mistress’s home.”
Wheezing, Kavik tried to pry her frigid fingers away from his neck. They might as well have been made of iron. Terror splintered through his racing heart.