Bloodlust (33 page)

Walter's throat muscles worked. "As am I. We had to transport my father and used two decoy vehicles. One contained my brother."

"And Mason allowed you to leave when your kingdom is in such turmoil?"

"Despite what my father thinks, I am still my own person. Besides, I told him of my plan and he agreed I should go. The elves have no right concerning themselves with our lives. If they wish for the barbarians to die out, we humans are not sure that is what we also want."

A rush of hope seized Ivy's heart and squeezed out a ragged breath. If the humans were on their side, perhaps not all was lost concerning the barbarian race after all. True, the blood would be heavier on the human side than split between elven and human, but, after all, that might be the case in the blood running through her own veins.

"What are the humans' plans now?"

"Luckily, allies and enemies alike witnessed the imposter duke, and the two sides are now healing. Obviously it will take a long time before everything is sorted and even remotely peaceful, but it is amazing how much a common enemy can bond a people. We plan on seeking out the elves. From that meeting, who can say what will happen?"

Go after the elves and have them be the race that is extinguished.
A large part of Ivy embraced that notion. A smaller sliver sympathized with the elves. Even with the trolls, she had a feeling some were not evil. A race as a whole could not be... correct? After all, she had fallen for a goliath. And she did not consider herself evil despite the various atrocities she had committed over the years. Not even the trolls deserved to be massacred.

Why had she not realized this before Lukor and his goliaths left?

Because you do want the trolls destroyed.

For many years previously, Ivy had assumed her mother's death was the reason why the barbaron had become so obsessed with fighting and battles. More recently, she had begun to suspect the trolls. Now, she questioned if the elves had tampered with his mind to the point that Bloodlust controlled his actions and guided his weapon arm, tipping the scale and forcing for the fatal showdown.

Again, she thought of the barbarian children.

Even trolls have babes. Innocents.

Ivy shook her head to clear her thoughts. "What would you have us barbarians do?"

"We need all the allies we can against such a foe as the powerful elves."

"The dwarves," she murmured.

"Yes. Seek them out and see if they cannot be persuaded to help our cause."

"Because splitting up is the best way to keep the barbarian race alive." Ivy rubbed her temple. A headache worse than some of her battle wounds nagged her.

"Please consider it, Ivy. Your people will one day thank you."

She had a feeling that would never be the case.

"What of the goliaths?" she asked.

Prince Walter had started to turn away. "What of them?"

"Are you going to share with them this news?"

He shook his head. "I see no reason to."

"Why?" she asked slowly, suddenly suspicious. Did he know more than he was letting on?
Does he know about me and Lukor?

"I am not friends with any. Good day, Ivy." Walter saluted her before pivoting about on his heel. Near the edge of her vision, he stood before a tree for a moment before pulling on reins and climbing on a horse. He soon left her field of sight.

'Twas time for another talk with the barbarians. Whether they all left or only some of them, who would go and who would stay, would not rest solely on her shoulders. She had to earn their trust and what better way than to incorporate their opinion as much as she could?

Not that barbarians were the most reasonable of people.

As most of the goliaths and goliathas now slept, Lukor made his way back to his tent. Inside, beside his grassy bed laid the weapons they'd scavenged from the field. Long ago, when the goliaths had first realized that touching trollish weapons meant sickness or death, those among them with healing arts laid enchantments upon each goliaths' and goliathas' hand days after their birth so that no harm would come to them. 'Twas a pity no healer had enough power to ensure protection over the entirety of one's body, and so they still had to wear armor.

Each hilt Lukor held in his hand, but he felt nothing besides ordinary blades, nothing to suggest they were magicked.

"Perhaps they need to take flesh to enact their destruction," he muttered.

Leaving the weapons behind save for his personal dagger, Lukor ventured away from the camp, allowing starlight to guide him. The farther he walked away, the more he could see and hear the creatures of the night: rustling in the tree branches, crinkling in the underbrush, munching.

A bush to his right rattled. Holding his breath, Lukor waited and soon was rewarded when a baby bear-dog darted toward him. Lukor lunged and wrestled the cub into submission. Carrying it by its paws, Lukor returned to his tent. He shoved a large piece of fruit into its mouth to silence its grunts and squeals. Still holding the beast down, he secured a piece of rope and brought the animal back outside where he tied it to a nearby tree.

One by one, he touched the tip of each weapon to the bear-dog. The animal struggled against its bindings, but none of the blades instantly killed it, not even the few elvish ones from the pile.

With a sigh, he freed the bear-dog. The animal snorted at him before darting off, as if annoyed it had been detained.

Had the elves magicked the blades so they only worked against people? Or only against goliaths and barbarians? Somehow, he doubted that was the case, but perhaps all of the "lesser" races could be smited by them.

The countless trips back and forth from his camp to the tree after the long hours of marching made his legs feel like jelly, and he stumbled back to his tent. Slumber greeted him immediately.

As soon as his eyelid closed, he saw her. Ivy. She looked different, and it took him a moment to recognize the expression on her face — one of hope and peace. 'Twas a look he had never seen etched across her features before, and he would do anything he could to make it happen when next he saw her.

Something knocked into his boots, and Lukor sat up, dagger in his hand, arm raised, ready to strike.

"Easy." Golic shook his head and backed out of Lukor's tent.

Sunlight eased into the tent, and he groaned. He hadn't slept long enough. His dreams of Ivy were far better than his actuality.

More than half of the makeshift tents were already down and attached to their owners' backs. Only they were lining up more toward Ordisium than in the direction of the Land of the Skulls. And, no surprise, Karrina stood at the front.

Unwilling to give into her games yet wishing to put an end to all the negativity against him, Lukor stalked to the middle of the goliathic encampment and clapped his hands three times. Once he was certain every goliath and goliatha was looking at him, he said, "I know I am asking a great deal of you to come with me to fight yet another battle. I am asking for your trust. A trust I do not yet have. So I ask you all, what can I do to earn your trust and your respect?"

No one stirred. A wind rustled through the clearing, and Lukor wished it could pick him up and fly him far away from here. Not that he didn't want to be with his people. He did. But only if they wanted him as their golock.

A goliatha stepped forward. Slightly older, both shades of green on the lighter side, her skin worn, Gremma was a goliatha Lukor trusted and one whose voice he had listened to many a time when he was younger. Her wisdom had made her an advisor to many golocks and golempresses. He could not have asked for a better goliatha to speak, considering Golic and Darcia both were too close to him for the others to listen to.

Gremma cleared her throat, a rough grunting sound. "Golock, I do have a suggestion for you."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Lukor noticed Karrina narrow her eyes and tap her foot, a slight grimace to her lips. Whatever Gremma planned on saying, either Karrina did not agree, or the goliatha knew not.

Lukor nodded to Gremma. "I am always willing to listen to one as wise as you."

The older goliatha did not smile but looked older, sadder even. "Such division I have never seen among us goliaths. With all the recent deaths, goliaths killing goliaths..." She shook her lowered head. "We need to find our strength again. We need to be united."

Uh oh. Lukor did not think he wanted to hear more.

Gremma continued, "The easiest way to solve that would be a marriage."

Most goliaths shifted their gaze from Gremma to Karrina.

Damn.

The wind picked up, hot, almost stifling. Lukor refused to wipe his brow and clasped his hands behind his back to hide their trembling.

Varo stood beside Karrina, a smirk on his face.

The urge to rearrange the goliath's features made Lukor's palm itch. Violence wasn't the answer, he knew. Perhaps words could help. To mention now that he was engaged to a barbarian would lead to his death. Most of the goliaths had their hands near their weapons, and he did not blame them.

"I have yet to name a goliath or goliatha to the line of succession." Lukor's heart raced. Could he and Ivy have children? Was it possible for their species to breed? If so, he would regret until his dying breath denying his son or daughter the chance to rule the goliaths, but he saw no other choice right now. "If I were to allow you all to pick the goliath or goliatha for me, would that be sufficient in securing your trust and respect?"

Gremma pursed her lips, increasing the folds around her mouth. She was displeased, but most of the goliaths and goliathas were already making suggestions, eager to nominate their friends or even themselves.

The din they created was too much for Lukor to be able to hear even a third of the names being shouted out, and he lifted his arms. "How about I suggest names and we go from there?" From the chorus of "ayes" and nods, Lukor added in a rush, "Varo."

A hush fell over the crowd for a long moment, and Lukor feared he had made a mistake. Shock clearly registered on the named goliath's face. Karrina, beside him, looked pleased, her features softening. Were those tears in her eyes? No, it must have been the reflection of the sun. But she did look happy.

Good. Perhaps this would mollify both her and the rest of his people.

Not that he could ever trust her.

"Do any among you think Varo would one day make a good golock should those in the line before him all die?" Lukor asked again.

"Aye," Karrina said loudly, stepping forward. "And you have my trust, Golock."

But not her respect.
Duly noted.

The rest of the goliaths and goliathas murmured their consent, growing louder over time, until a wave of approval rushed over them in shouts and screams. Varo was pushed forward to stand beside Lukor.

The golock grabbed the future golock's wrist and raised their arms into the air. "I hereby decree that Varo War Nye is now Varo War Nye Uzul. May his reign, should it ever come to pass, be prosperous and peaceful for both him and the goliath race. Huzzah!"

"Huzzah!" the goliaths and goliathas cheered.

Only Gremma did not join in.

"And now, what shall we do?" Lukor held out his arms to encompass all of his people. Giving them the power to choose where they would go was dangerous. They could well choose to return home, to safety, to help bury their many dead.

In fact, that might truly be their best course of action. So many of their lives' had been forfeited already. Should they go on and fight against a foe who had superior weapons on their side, as well as an ally capable of magic?

Perhaps their focus should not be on the trolls after all, but the elves.

"Shall we march on to engage the trolls once more to avenge those already fallen? Shall we return home to bury our dead? Or shall we seek out the elves and determine why they are helping a race that is reckless and dangerous enough without their aid?"

The murmurings between the goliaths and goliathas grew into bitter arguments, and Lukor stood there, waiting, just as unsure as the rest of his people which course was the best choice.