Heart of Black Ice

CHAPTER 23

With an escort of a thousand mounted soldiers, General Utros headed north in search of his lost capital. At the front of the expedition, he rode an imposing black stallion fitted with a black saddle of embossed leather with polished brass studs.

Utros maintained a brisk pace, searching for old imperial roads, which had weathered away over time. They had crossed this terrain fifteen centuries before, but the details of the landscape were fresh in his mind.

“It seems like only months ago, beloved Utros.” Ava rode a bay mare beside him. The painted, hairless sorceress sat high in her saddle, her fingers woven into the horse’s mane. Her loose blue gown rippled in the breezes.

Ruva rode an identical bay mare on his other side. “But now the roads are overgrown, and forests cover the lands that we once dominated.”

“We will conquer them again.” Utros ran a finger under the gold mask to wipe away sweat. He nudged the stallion with his heels. “And this time, I will do it for myself, not for Iron Fang.”

Fifteen centuries ago, with the entire army behind him, he had led a slow march across the continent, subjugating town after town. Some foolish leaders resisted, and they all died. More importantly, the vanquished rulers served as a lesson. Utros made sure they were executed in the most hideous and painful ways, slowly eviscerating the upstarts, burning them alive over low fires until they were smoked like venison sausages hung for the winter. The tales of the atrocities spread swiftly, which extinguished defiance among those who might consider resisting.

It was a careful strategic calculation. Unlike Iron Fang, Utros was not a sadistic man, and he did not enjoy causing such pain, but he realized the military necessity of it. After he committed just a few horrific atrocities, the other leaders could not surrender fast enough, and thus he saved lives. When his army rolled onward and his legend grew, he easily vanquished the next city and the next with little bloodshed. Even large walled citadels threw open their gates when his army marched near.

Until he reached the most difficult target: Ildakar.

Now the hot sun shone down on the soldiers as they rode back to their lost capital. Many of these men were conscripts recruited from conquered towns, and they had never seen Orogang, while others were hardened members from the imperial army, originally trained in the great capital city. They had families, sisters, wives, and mistresses back home—all long dead now, just as the soldiers themselves should have died in the natural order of things. Those men remembered Orogang, and Utros could sense their excitement as they rode toward the familiar gray mountains, knowing they were getting closer, mile after mile.

He thought of Kurgan’s enormous palace, with its towers and banners, its crystal windows, its plazas and statues, and the sunken amphitheater from which the emperor would address throngs of his citizens. Great bronze bells would ring fanfares to celebrate Kurgan’s every announcement. Conquered cities and kingdoms would send tributes, and such new wealth would pay for all of his extravagance.

The twin sorceresses couldn’t wait to see the city with their own eyes. “My sister and I only knew our small village,” Ruva said.

“Is Orogang grander than Ildakar?” Ava asked.

“Orogang is Orogang, the capital of my empire.” Utros straightened. “Of course it is grander.”

Fixing his gaze on the line of mountains still many days’ ride away, Utros said, “I have often imagined what would happen when I returned to Orogang with the report of my triumphs. I was sure Emperor Kurgan would praise me for the victory.” His heart felt heavy, and he couldn’t speak the words. Regretful thoughts surrounded him. “I did it for him. Loyalty is greater than love.”

“You also did it for Majel,” Ava added. “Do not fool yourself, beloved Utros. We know you, and we know your heart.”

Utros stared ahead as his black stallion toiled onward. “Yes, for her,” he whispered. “Keeper and spirits…”

Though he knew their passion was forbidden, even on the bloodiest battlefield he thought of her, the soft skin, her long black tresses, her brown almond-shaped eyes. Iron Fang had been his emperor, but Majel had been his love.

He lifted his chin and spoke with a raw edge. “I also did it for him. I swore my loyalty, and I served my emperor.”

Honor had been his armor, a shield that protected him from indecision, but his honor had also blinded him to Iron Fang’s incompetence and petulant evil. No wonder the man’s own wife had sought solace in the arms of another man. Majel had truly loved him, but centuries in the underworld had changed her. Through the blood lens his sorceresses had created, he had seen Majel stripped of her skin, her face peeled off to expose her teeth and staring bloodshot eyes. Speaking to him through the veil, Majel’s spirit had spurned Utros and reaffirmed her devotion for the very man who had done those horrors to her. Utros knew that his dear Majel was not just dead, but dead to him.

Now he couldn’t shake away the thoughts. After the last battle at Ildakar, when his army had suffered such devastating losses, the sour spirit of Emperor Kurgan had taunted him from the underworld, and Utros had smashed the blood lens, forever breaking contact with Iron Fang and with Majel. Now he was on his own, and his determination had not faded, merely shifted. He still intended to conquer the land, but it would no longer be for Emperor Kurgan.

“I don’t know what we will find in Orogang,” Utros said as they rode into the hills. “I’m a soldier of the empire, whatever remains of it. Iron Fang was a terrible leader, but if the current emperor is worthy, then I will swear my loyalty to him. If he is not worthy…” Utros looked at the two women, who gazed at him with yearning expressions. “If he is not, then I will claim the throne for myself, as I should have done all those years ago.”

That night, when the army camped in a sparse birch forest, Utros tried to sleep in his command tent. As he closed his eyes, he pondered Orogang. The capital city had surely grown over the centuries, but he would recognize the towers, the looming buildings. Would anyone even remember General Utros from so many centuries past? The wizard Nathan had said that his name was legend, but what else had transpired in the empire after all that time?

Ava and Ruva remained outside by the fire, adding powders to the smoke, shaping and sending wisps among the sleeping soldiers to reinforce the preservation spell. Foraging hunters had killed deer, goats, rabbits, and squirrels, anything to feed the ravenous troops. Some of the more intensely desperate soldiers stripped leaves from trees, ate the fleshy stalks of plants, even tall grasses. Once this escort army reached Orogang, they could feast and resupply. That was what Utros held on to.

Orogang … In his mind the capital was breathtakingly beautiful, home to the lavish palace, the throne, banquet halls, meeting chambers, and high balconies from which Iron Fang had commanded his subjects. He also remembered the hidden rooms where he and sweet Majel had spent hours reveling in each other, touching, kissing, without fear of discovery.…

Now, as Utros lay on his sleeping pallet, he touched the hard scar that was the left side of his face. His gold mask rested on a nearby wooden table. His hideous face made him think of the mangled horror Majel had become, but in his memories, she was as beautiful as ever, and he was just as handsome.

He slept, but woke in the dead of night after the moon had set and the camp quieted. Outside his tent, he heard only the low rustle of sleeping soldiers and stirring horses. When he opened his eyes, he was startled to find a woman standing before him. He could see her silhouette in the dim light of low campfires that penetrated the fabric of the tent. Long dark hair fell down over her shoulders. He recognized her shapely figure, the curve of her hips, the narrow waist.

He sat up instantly. “Majel?”

She placed a finger to her lips and came closer. She raised her hands to her chest and undid the laces on the front of her filmy gown. She shrugged it off, letting the garment pool around her feet. Her naked breasts were full and rounded with caramel-colored nipples. Somehow the light grew brighter so that he could see her skin, the familiar mole just under the curve of her left breast, the implanted ruby in her navel.

“Majel?” He kept his voice to an awed whisper.

“Beloved Utros.” She leaned over him, kissing the smooth skin of his brow just above his scarred face.

He could smell her warm breath. “It can’t be you.”

“I am here if you want me to be,” she said. “You should have been dead centuries ago, like me, but the rules have changed. Accept that.” She pressed her hands against his shoulders, forced him to lie back on the pallet. She caressed his chest, stroked the fine hair.

“I saw you in the blood lens,” he said. “Your face.”

“My face is beautiful, as is yours.” She kissed him on the lips, silencing further questions. Majel climbed on top of him, and he wrapped his large hands around her waist, feeling the real solidity of this beautiful woman. A flood of memories came back, all the times they had made love, but this time he experienced only joy and relief, rather than fear of being caught. Majel was somehow back from the underworld, and she was here with him.

He twisted his fingers through her hair so he could pull her face closer to his, and he kissed her again savagely. Majel purred into his ear, then reached down to stroke his thigh. She nudged his legs so she could settle herself on top of him. He groaned as he slid inside, and her smile was filled with delicious rapture. For a moment, just a moment, Utros let himself revel in the dream, sure that it was real but unable to understand.

“This is what you need, beloved Utros,” Majel said as she began rocking back and forth. He ran his hands along her back, coaxing her.

Beloved Utros …

Majel had never called him that. Her pet name for Utros had been “my commander.” When they engaged in rough play, she would instruct him to command her. Her actions now struck him as different, her movements not the familiar interchange of bodies they had developed after pleasuring each other so many times.

Beloved Utros.

He grabbed her shoulders and looked intensely at her. “You are not Majel.”

“I can be,” she said.

He pushed her aside. “You’re not Majel!”

The woman slid off of him and retreated. When she raised her hands, her body shifted to become a form that was still slender and shapely, but pale and covered with splashes of color. The long hair vanished.

Ava stood naked before him, tracing one of the painted spell patterns along her flat stomach. “I knew what you wanted, beloved Utros. Through me or my sister, you can have Majel again any time you like.”

“I can never have her again! I do not want an imitation. My Majel was murdered by her own husband. Her spirit is locked in the underworld, and she renounced her love for me to stand by him.”

“I was just trying to give you love, love that you seem to need.” She reached out to console him, but he pushed her hand away.

“I do not need love,” Utros vowed. “I need to conquer, and I intend to do so.” He felt deep anger and disappointment, but he knew what Ava had done and why. He couldn’t hate her for it. “I need you and Ruva. You both are indispensable to me, but I don’t need … this.” He gestured to her beautiful body.

“As you wish.” Ava retreated to the tent opening and stood there in the faint light, naked and achingly beautiful. “Just remember that my sister and I will give you whatever you need.”