Bloodstone

by Karl Edward Wagner

Genres: Fantasy; Historical Fantasy; Fantasy Romance; Paranormal Romance; Historical Thrillers

Synopsis

Kane. The Mystic Swordsman becomes the living link with the awesome power of a vanished superrace. In the dark swamp where toadmen croak and cower, slumbers a secret relic of the days when creatures from the stars ruled the Earth. In the booty captured in a savage raid, Kane discovers a ring, a bloodstone, which is key to the power that lies buried, inactive but not dead, within the forest. Now Kane, whose bloody sword has slashed and killed for the glory of other rulers, can scheme to rule the Earth - himself!

Release date: May 29, 2014

Publisher: Orion Publishing Group

Print pages: 192

Sample

For miles uncounted the forest stood supreme. Giant trees reached their branches heavenward, fighting for sunlight and fresh air. Beneath their dense foliage existed another world than that of the open sky above — the twilight of the forest floor. There the cool gloom was broken only by scattered rays of sunlight that crept through the ceiling above, to melt upon the thick bed of leaf mold and pine needles which covered the floor. No undergrowth flourished, except in spots where an arboreal giant had fallen and torn a gap in the forest roof, through which yellow sunlight streamed. Then for a short time a cerement of underbrush might thrive on the rich humus beside the decaying trunk, until the branches above refilled the gulf and strangled the life-giving rays.

But the floor was far from a lifeless desert. A myriad of animal life, great and small, scrambled through the forest. Insects rustled through the carpet and up the trunks of the great trees. Serpents glided along the ground searching for rodents, whose dens were among the tangled roots. Several species of small furry animals picked their way through caves and grooves in the moss-hung debris of fallen branches and castoff leaves of many seasons. High above, birds chattered gregariously, and somewhere a squirrel cursed in rage over some unseen affront. In the distance a crow croaked nervously and was still.

The doe heard its half-hearted call of warning and froze in the shadows, her fawn pressed against her flanks, shivering on extraordinary legs. Her wide eyes swiveled in alarm, and her taut ears tensed for sounds of danger. Cautiously she drew breath through sensitive nostrils, seeking a scent of wolf or bear or other predator. For minutes she paused, searching for some evidence of danger. None appeared, and visions of meadow clover beckoned. She stepped from the shadow of the trees once again, her fawn close behind.

Packed loam of the path recorded her pointed hooves but a few steps when a hissing arrow tore through her ribs. Gasping in agony, the doe staggered, then plunged along the path in blind flight. The fawn paused only a second before instinctive terror supplanted bewilderment, and on his stilt-like legs he pounded after his mother. A chorus of crows caught the scent of blood, of fear, and raised a raucous protest.

The hunter jumped from his concealment alongside the trail, another arrow nocked and ready. Bounding onto the gametrail, his patient eyes recognized the stream of blood, and he grinned jubilantly. “Lung at least — maybe heart, too, by the blood! Run while you can, bitch — you won’t go far!” He drew a long knife and followed confidently the glistening trail.

Her hoofprints quickly left the path, but marks of the doe’s passage were obvious by the crimson blotches splashed upon the forest floor. As the hunter surmised, she had not run more than a few hundred yards before death pulled her down. She lay in a sudden depression in the ground — a cavity ripped from the floor a few years earlier when an enormous tree had been uprooted. Her breath rattled now through red foamed nostrils, and her eyes seemed already glazed.

He clambered into the depression gingerly and cut her throat. Wiping the knife across her flank, the hunter cast about for the fawn. No sign of him. Something would get him by morning, probably, so at least he would not starve. He felt some slight remorse over killing a doe with fawn, but the day had been long, and his family in Breimen came first. Besides, he was paid to bring in deer for the market, not to observe forest idylls.

He sat against the bank with a tired but satisfied grunt, wiped his face on a dirty sleeve, and looked about him. A minute’s rest — then gut her, rig up a drag, and pull the carcass into Breimen. And that would about finish it for this afternoon.

The bowl in which the huntsmen rested was several yards across, for the tree that had wrenched loose was an ancient one of immense size. Bare soil still scarred the depression, although material had begun to slide down from the edges. Something glittered upon the bottom of the hole. A lance of sunlight shone down from above to spear something bright, embedded in the humus — some object that cast back a silver reflection to the hunter’s eyes. Mildly intrigued, he rose to get a closer look. The object that lay there in the dirt made him grunt in puzzlement and squat down to make astonished examination.

A ring lay embedded in the dirt. Around it the loam was streaked with white, crumbling material that seemed to be rotted bone, and reddish splotches which might represent rusted iron intermingled. Brushing away the loose surface, he discerned a few greenish lumps, recognizable only as corroded brass or copper. The body of some ancient warrior, possibly — although how long it had moldered here beneath the forest defied his imagination. Long enough for bones and accouterments to crumble away — and the tree that had overgrown the grave was centuries old.

With unsteady hand the hunter pulled the ring free of its bed of tainted clay and brushed loose the tenacious fragments that encased it. He spat and polished it against his leather trouser leg, then raised it to his eyes for appraisal. The metal was silvery in appearance, but seemed far harder — and silver should have tarnished black with antiquity. It seemed to be set with a tremendous cabochon-cut bloodstone — rich, deep-green stone with red veins traced throughout its depths. But it was a superb example of that gem, he judged, holding it to a ray of light. For the colors were somewhat more intense, and there appeared to be a quality of translucency to the stone that made it distinct from the normally opaque gem. The stone was huge — abnormally large for a ring — and it seemed to fuse cunningly into its setting. Carefully he scraped free a last few stubborn flakes of bone-streaked clay from the inside of the ring and held it before his finger. Whoever had worn this ring lost centuries past must have been a giant, for its girth was several sizes too great for any normal finger to hold.

Uneasily the hunter recalled legends told by the Selonari of giants and demons who had stalked the forests even before they had settled here. And there were tales among his own people regarding the savage Rillyti, who supposedly never strayed far beyond the slimy shelter of their swamp.

But the hunter had a solid, practical mind. Saying a prayer to Ommem for protection, and to the spirit of the rotted skeleton for pardon, he dropped the ring into his pouch. Mechanically he began to gut his kill, all the while speculating pleasantly as to the price his find might bring him at the jewelers’ market in Breimen.

An ominous black shadow in the leaping firelight, the big man crouched enswathed in his cloak and moodily sipped wine from a crockery mug lost in his huge fist. His close-fitting shirt and trousers of dark leather were freshly stained with sweat and blood, and the right sleeve was rolled back from a scarlet-streaked bandage encircling an arm thick with corded muscle. A belt bright with silver studs crossed his massive chest, holding fast an empty sword scabbard behind his powerful right shoulder. The sword itself stood before him, its point embedded in a gnarled tree root. Absently running a knuckle over the short red beard that framed his rather brutal face, he brooded over the many nicks and red brown smears that defaced the blade and cast shadows of violent combat by the flickering light. Seemingly he was oblivious to the others as they greedily spread out the loot to divide among themselves.

The Ocalidad Mountain Range that guarded the northern coasts of the forestland now called Wollendan had been infamous for its bandits long before the blond seafarers of the coast migrated through its passes to carve out cities from the great forests of the south. The dark-haired forest-dwellers who grudgingly yielded ground to their iron-guarded advance had made free use of the countless caves and unassailable fortresses the mountains provided, before the intruders had ever landed on their shores. Never in the memory of those who held the land had it been safe for a caravan to cross the Ocalidad Mountains. Yet commerce must flow from seacoast inland and back again, and the rich trade with the fabled cities across the seas made the gamble worth the effort. So men with wealth crossed the mountains, where men with swords waited to strip them of it, and the history of their measures and countermeasures was as long and colorful as it was bloody.

Earlier today this band had attacked a somewhat modest pack train crossing from the south under a small guard of armed men. The ensuing battle had ended in little better than a draw for the bandits, who lost a good number of men before the survivors of the caravan broke through the ambush to safety. In fleeing, however, several loads of goods had been left behind by the merchants, and the brigands were content to fall upon this booty and abandon further efforts against the remainder of the caravan. Retreating to their camp as nightfall overtook them, the bandits were now engaged in the difficult and dangerous business of dividing the spoils.

“A fine lot of jewelry here in this one pack,” observed their leader, a scar-faced giant named Hechon. “Someone’s out a bundle of money here. Wonder what it was all going for. Hey… maybe all the rumors are true about Malchion hiring some more troops to attack Selonari.”

“That old tale’s been blowing around these hills in one form or another long as I can think back,” scoffed someone.

The contents of the jewel merchant’s bag were carefully poured out on a blanket, where they tossed sparkles of firelight back into the circle of greedy eyes. A dozen pairs of hands twitched in eagerness to seize the treasure, but the bandits held back while Hechon fingered through the loot calculatingly. His would be the final word as to how everything would be divided among his band.

“Damn! Here’s something interesting now!” muttered Hechon. A three-fingered hand reached down and lifted a ring into the firelight. Experienced eyes weighed the object. “Huh! Thought this looked strange! Ring’s way too big for most people, and I can’t quite call this metal. Not right for silver — too hard. Wonder if this is maybe platinum — that’s a costly metal and hard as iron. I’ve heard tell they work it up north or somewhere. Thought this gem was bloodstone at first, too, but it don’t look like any I ever seen. See how the light seems to shine into it a ways… you can almost follow the veins of red down into the gem.”

“Let me see that ring.” The big man seated apart from them spoke at last; Hechon’s discovery of the ring had aroused him from his brooding aloofness.

Eyes turned at his low voice. Hechon looked toward him in shrewd calculation, and after a pause he tossed the bloodstone ring to him. “Sure, Kane. Take a look, then. If you’re too tired to come stand around with the rest of us.”

Kane caught the object in his left hand and held it before his eyes. In silence he studied the ring, carefully turning it about in the light, as if he saw a legend inscribed on its surface. He seemed lost in thought for a long while, then announced abruptly, “I want this ring as part of my share of the booty.”

Hechon rankled at his tone. He had had second thoughts about accepting Kane into his band since the red-haired stranger had come to him two months before. He brought along a handful of others — all that survived when their old gang of outlaws had been surprised by a troop of mercenaries sent out by the coastal cities to make the mountain passes safe for commerce. Where Kane had come from before that, Hechon neither knew nor cared. However, of Kane’s deadly skill in battle the bandit leader did know, for the awesome might of the stranger’s sword arm quickly made his name feared throughout the Ocalidad Mountains. And although Hechon immediately recognized the threat Kane posed to his leadership, he had judged his position among his own men too secure for the other to challenge outright… and in a raid Kane was worth a dozen lesser rogues.

Now Kane’s confident appropriation of the bizarre ring struck resentment in Hechon’s shrewd mind. Best to assert command now, he decided, before the others began to accept Kane’s wishes as law in other matters. “I decide how the take gets split up,” he growled. “Anyway, that’s a valuable ring, and I’ve taken a liking to it myself.”

Kane frowned slightly and continued to examine the bloodstone ring speculatively. “Bloodstone is scarcely a precious gem, and this ring’s value is only that of a curiosity,” he offered reasonably. “Still, I find it somewhat intriguing, and it looks like it might not be much too large for my hand. So maybe it’s just a whim, but I want it. As to its dubious monetary worth, I’ll take a big chance and accept this ring in lieu of the rest of my share of the spoils. That’s leaving you others with an extra slice of obvious value to split up.”

“You’re not fool enough to gamble like that unless you maybe got some other ideas on that ring’s worth,” Hechon pointed out, now genuinely suspicious. “And like I say, I’m boss here, and I decide who gets what. So pass that damn ring back, Kane, and we’ll get on with business. You’ll take what I decide on, and right now I’m telling you that ring’s going to be mine.” The menace in his tone was a grating note.

Hechon glowered at Kane obstinately. Around them the other outlaws watched in nervous silence, almost imperceptibly shuffling away from the two. Abelin, Hechon’s lanky lieutenant, carefully wiped his hands on his thighs and moved them out of Kane’s sight, trying to read some signal in his leader’s face. They would back him, Hechon decided.

In the strained silence even the voices of the night creatures seemed hushed and distant. Kane’s eyes glowed with blue fire in the flickering light, cold death laughing derisively in their depths. Hechon had always felt a chill when he looked into those eyes, the eyes of a born killer. Uneasily he remembered the insane light that stirred in those eyes when Kane stood red with slaughter over those who fell before his blade in battle. Held next to his cheek in his left hand, the evil gleam of the bloodstone seemed to match Kane’s uncanny stare. Even its scarlet veins seemed phosphorescent in the shadow of the firelight.

And Hechon knew Kane was not going to return the ring. Cold realization came that there was no course left him now. If he relented, Kane would have outfaced him before his men, and his command over them would soon change fists. Kane’s challenge must be answered, now and forever.

Kane seemed immobile, but Hechon knew the deadly speed with which he could strike. His sword stood before him in easy reach, impaled in a root. Narrowly Hechon watched Kane’s left hand — his sword arm — but Kane still stroked his cheek with the ring. The bandit leader shrugged. “Well, if you want the damned ring that much, I guess you can keep it as your share.” He seemed to relax, and he grinned about him at the others.

As he did, Hechon caught Abelin’s eye for a significant moment, and his fingers spread in an evident gesture of helplessness. “After all, Kane,” he continued, “it’s worth more to me to keep you…”

Abelin’s hand suddenly flicked to his neck and flew back balancing a long bladed knife from the sheath that hung between his shoulders. The bandit lieutenant’s long arm straightened in unbroken motion to hurl the blade at Kane’s chest.

But Kane had not fallen prey to Hechon’s apparent acquiescence. Knowing the bandit chieftain’s cunning, Kane had followed the other’s eyes and caught the silent death sentence he had signed Abelin to carry out. And although Kane was left-handed, years of training had made his right arm almost as proficient as the other.

In the fraction of a second that Abelin required to send his blade flashing for Kane’s heart, Kane hurled his powerful body to one side. As he leaped from his crouched position, the right hand that had strayed toward his right boot lashed out with the knife it found hidden there. Striking like a coiled serpent, Kane hurled his dagger across the fire like an arrow of light. Abelin’s blade hissed past him as he twisted and thudded against the base of a tree. Still bending forward with his cast, the outlaw coughed in startled pain as Kane’s knife drove its point through his heart.

Kane’s lunge brought him to his feet even as he had thrown the knife. As the bandit lieutenant crumpled to his knees to realize that death had claimed him, Kane caught up his sword in his left hand, dropping the ring to the ground, and swung his boot into the fire. A blinding, searing wave of coals and burning embers exploded over the stunned bandits, driving them back in pain and confusion.

Hechon was reaching for his sword hilt the instant Abelin had drawn his knife. Throwing up his free arm to ward off the burning cloud of fire and ashes, the bandit leader whipped out the blade with frantic haste. Only barely did he raise his guard in time to turn back Kane’s thrust.

Kane leaped across the fire, sword slashing like a fiery brand. Avoiding Hechon’s return thrust, he struck again, swinging powerful blows that all but tore his opponent’s hilt from numbed fingers. Forced to the defensive, Hechon backed away from Kane and strove desperately to stave off the attack until his men could shake off their surprise and come to his aid — if they would. Kane gave them no time to decide. As Hechon retreated around the scattered coals, something turned under his boot, causing him to sway off balance for only an instant. In that fraction of a heartbeat, Kane’s sword eluded Hechon’s failing guard and pierced his shoulder. Driven back by the blow, Hechon was helpless to block Kane’s follow-through. A second later his smashed corpse flopped against the earth, spewing a torrent of crimson over the green-jeweled ring that glowed evilly in his dying vision.

Swiftly Kane scooped up the bloodstone ring from the darkened earth and straightened to face the other outlaws. Weapons drawn, they were milling about in confusion, uncertain what course was theirs to follow now that their leaders were slain.

“All right!” Kane roared, his reddened sword raised menacingly. “This ring is mine, and I’ll kill any other damn fool who disputes my claim! Split the rest of the loot up among yourselves now! I’ve got what I want, and I’m leaving! Anyone who wants a quick trip to hell can try to stop me!”

No hand was raised against him. Retrieving his dagger and a handful of gold coins, Kane mounted his horse and thundered away into the darkness. Behind him the jackals quarreled over his leavings.

The stones beneath his horse’s hooves assumed an almost reassuring familiarity now, and Kane all at once was uncertain whether fifty years or as many days had passed since last he had ridden along this ridge. Trees grew sparse and stunted from the cracked and wind-sculpted rock, throwing odd shadows against the orange-red sun in the west. The wind that whipped through his hair and flapped the wolfskin cloak about his shoulders bore with it the cold scent of the sea, which verged as a blue ribbon into the hazy eastern horizon. Faint murmur of distant waves underscored the rush of the wind, and sharp cries of soaring birds rose in broken descant. These far-off dark shapes that hung and wheeled on the wind — were they ravens, hawks, or gulls? Or were they even birds? Kane was too concerned with keeping to the unfrequented and all but obliterated trail to give them further attention.

The ruins of a low wall crept into view, more sharply demarcating the ancient roadway he followed. Tumbled heaps of gray stone suggested fallen dwellings, and an occasional roofless structure now huddled against the crest of the ridge. As Kane rode closer to the ridge’s summit, he could recognize the familiar details of her tower — a sweeping basalt spire that jutted perilously above a sheer plummet thousands of feet over the coastal plains far below. It seemed incredible that this tower had not plunged off into the abyss centuries ago, but Kane knew its fragility to be only illusion. For the city about this tower had lain in ruins long before the great ocean that once surged mightily against the mountain wall had receded, and still the tower had stood without change.

Lights began to glow within the tower’s high windows, Kane observed, as he guided his mount along the final few hundred yards of cracked roadway that led to the summit. More strongly now the familiarity of these surroundings impressed him, imbuing him with a curious sense almost of homecoming. The eerie changelessness of her world was all the more strange to Kane because of the restless state of flux in which he perceived existence. It seemed to him that in Jhaniikest’s tower there existed a focus of timelessness within the ever shifting patterns of the remainder of the universe, a refuge from time itself.

The tower gates swung open as he approached, throwing a mist of yellow light into the twilight that drifted over the ridges. Phantom guardsmen of a long-dead race clashed curious spears in stiff salute, and Kane’s horse lolled frightened eyes and nickered nervously. Tired from days of hard riding, Kane eased himself from the saddle and led his snorting mount to the shelter of a roofless building near the tower’s base. Tethering him, Kane saw that there was fodder enough growing through the cracked floor to occupy the animal until he could tend to him more fully.

Through slit-pupiled eyes the guardsmen watched impassively as Kane entered the tower portals. Behind him the doors closed with only a faint rasp, and he wondered when they had last swung open to admit a guest. Torches set along the wall afforded illumination as he crossed the entrance hall and ascended the stone stairwell that led to the levels above.

Jhaniikest stood by the head of the stairs, her half-folded wings framing the wide doorway. A smile of welcome drew thin red lips over needle-sharp white teeth as she held out her hand to him. “Kane! I saw you coming from above! All afternoon you’ve plodded along. I thought you had lost your way… maybe forgotten Jhaniikest over the years! I think it’s been a century since last I saw you!”

“Not nearly that long, I’m certain,” Kane protested, as he knelt to kiss the long-fingered, deceptively fragile hand. “Actually, I was thinking on the ride up that it had only been a few months since my last visit.”

She laughed, an uncanny, high-pitched trill. “Kane… you’re a total loss as a lover. Do you always tell your ladies that the years you’ve spent away from their presence have passed like days?” Her wide silver eyes appraised him in frank curiosity, the black vertical pupils almost circular in the darkened room. “You seem unchanged to me, Kane,” she judged. “But then you always look the same — just like my shadow servants here. Come… sit beside me and tell me what things you’ve seen. I’ve already had the wine and hors d’oeuvres set out.”

Kane accepted a flagon of wine from a slender serving girl whose bones were long drifting with the dust. Lips set in concentration as she balanced the heavy tray and its fragile contents, she seemed to him fully alive; he even thought he could discern the quick pulse of breath stirring the fine tawny fur of her breasts. Jhaniikest’s sorcery was potent, he mused as he sipped the wine — demon wine conjured out of some unguessable cellar.

“Brought you something I thought you might enjoy,” he announced, tugging out the pouch he wore beneath vest and shirt. Fumbling through its contents a moment, Kane withdrew a tiny packet wrapped in soft leather and offered it to her.

Jhaniikest caught it up with eager curiosity and ran her finger over the packet in brief speculation before she sliced through its tie with a sharp talon and spread the wrapping apart. “A ring!” She laughed in delight. “Kane… what a lovely sapphire!” Murmuring vague sounds of pleasure, she turned the splendid blue star sapphire about in the light, trying it on one finger, then another, admiring the effect.

She was an uncanny creature, Jhaniikest. Ageless offspring of a priestess of a vanished prehuman race and the winged god they had worshipped. Sorceress, priestess, demigoddess — for centuries she had lived in this tower that once had been temple for the race who had dwelt here. She had preserved this tower through her magic while the remainder of the ancient city crumbled into ruins, and she had summoned from death the shades of her people to serve her here. A goddess without a heaven. Or perhaps this was her heaven, for she had lived in this desolate tower for centuries, occupying herself with such unimaginable designs and philosophies as only the elder gods could comprehend. Kane had discovered her partly by chance a great many years before.

She knelt on her couch with her long legs drawn under her, membranous wings folded but stirring restlessly, as if buffeted by unperceived winds. Aside from her wings, Jhaniikest was not too dissimilar in form from a human. Her figure was almost that of a slender girl in mid-teens, although her limbs were disproportionately long, which raised her height to somewhat over six feet. Her chest seemed unnaturally deep from the thick bands of muscle that spread from the base of her wings down across shoulder and back and around to a keel-like breastbone. Small, firm breasts softened the sharp lines of her chest. Silver-white fur covered her entire body — fur short and fine as on a cat’s face. Across her scalp and down her neck her hair grew long and billowy, a proud mane that any court beauty would envy. Her face was narrow, with piquant features, and there was an elfish point to her ears and chin. Jeweled ornaments glittered upon the silvery fur of her person — her only attire other than a golden belt of gems and bright silk scarves.

Her wings were Jhaniikest’s most marvelous feature. Silver-furred bat’s wings that reached from shoulder to hip and spanned to twenty feet when spread. Furled, they stood from her back like an ermine cape. Extended in flight, they shimmered opalescent in the sun. The inhuman strength of her compact and hollow-boned frame easily lifted her into the air, where Jhaniikest could soar for hours through the desolate skies. A winged goddess of a vanished realm.

The sapphire pleased Jhaniikest, as Kane, aware of her love of bright jewelry, had known it would. The gem, one of the finest he had gleaned in several years of banditry, was something her sorcery could easily surpass. But the goddess rarely received offerings in these years, and Kane had understood the delight his gift would bring Jhaniikest.

“What brings you to my realm once more, Kane?” Jhaniikest asked presently. “Don’t tell me again that you rode this far just to give me jewelry and bring diversity to my days. It’s flattering, but I know you too well. Kane’s motives are never those he proclaims through a smile.”

Kane winced. “Small thanks for my gallantry. Actually, though, it was a ring that brought me to your tower. A ring that seemed familiar when I first examined it. Not that I had ever seen it before, but a ring that I seemed to have heard of, or read about at some time in the past. Perhaps I acted rashly in acquiring the bauble, but if my memory hasn’t begun to wander, this ring is the gateway to a world far beyond the dawn of mankind!

“I’ve left some things with you in the past, Jhaniikest. Priceless objects that I thought you might find interesting — that I knew I would lose myself before long. You will remember there were several old books — ancient volumes of sorcerous knowledge of the like seldom seen by others of my race. Once in studying these unhallowed manuscripts, I seem to recall I found reference to a bloodstone ring … rather, a gem that resembled bloodstone. I’ve ridden several days to trace down that memory — although I’ve been planning f. . .