Legends of Belariath
Trinka
Prologue
Part One
A large hand gripped her shoulder and frantically shook her into vigilance. Her mother’s voice followed, a demanding cry among the screams of surprise, anger and fear. “He’s come, Kaltrinka! There is no time to be wasted, you know his target.”
She was on her feet before her mind had thrown off the fog of sleep, her hand dashing out to take hold of the robe Tanel held out to her. Darkness then covered her from head to foot, only the keen jade of her eyes glittering through the mesh. With a rush born of desperation, she left the security of her mother’s tent and mounted a steed just in time to see the riders sweep by, a blur of red and black banners, glittering amour and blades.
The bastards were heading directly for the small huts containing the clan’s winter supplies, torches held high. A growl parted her lips and she followed, the staff swung wide as she passed one of them by, knocking him from his horse. The process was repeated until she reached the head of the pack, arrows flying and bladed singing through the night air. Their torches burned in her eyes like infernos. Only one left, thanks to the rest of the clan, as well as her brothers and Tanel.
Gorin… She was knocked back suddenly, her breath forced from her lungs as a foot caught her chest. The huts were already burning, their life’s blood for the cold season smoldering to nothing before their eyes. The girl found herself looking up at a stylized skull, the metal grinning down at her from the Lord’s helm. A gauntlet reached down in a flash to yank her robe from her, but through grace that could only have been from the gods, she rolled from his reach and to her feet. She heard Andrew yell for her, trying to fight his way to her side, but their numbers where more than the barbarian could defeat.
The smoke rose from the storage huts, thick and choking. It stung her eyes and burned her throat, but there was no time to think about such trivial matters. She was yanked to her feet and tossed back against a quickly burning wall. If not for the robe, the damage would have been beyond scarring. Still, she would not be put down—not now, not when she was needed. A single hut left between the burning buildings and Gorin strode towards it with the sure and callus walk of the diabolical. Trinka growled, forcing herself to her feet, charred stone and burning planks falling around her as she lunged out at the massive armored figure. Her hands found purchase at his shoulders and she yanked back with all of her anger and rage. The weight that fell with her was enough to crush if the boldness of adrenalin were not flowing freely.
Part II
Even the mightiest of men will, if given time, fall victim to their own vices. Rolan McQuistion had a very ordinary vice, sadistic sex. He liked to hurt his lovers; bruise, thrash, slash, scar and burn them. The resonance of whimpers screams and sobs nearly drove him into frenzy. More then once, his lust had led to broken toys that were mended and thrust into the game all over again.
The baron had sat through the nomad bitch’s congregation envisioning her chained to a wall by her wrists and ankles. In his fantasy, she was not talking to him as if he were an infant, like she was then. Instead, she was stripped, her body covered in welts and contusions, pleading for his mercy. He was not even paying attention to the meeting until she took him aside.
Abigail stroked his ego expertly and as is the case with most men akin to Rolan—it was as effective as stroking him elsewhere. He would permit her small band of misfits to pass through his domain in exchange for a little ‘gift’. Of course, he did not intend to keep his word. The Alcanite was only a woman after all. Someone needed to inform the whore that her place was not at the bargaining table with men. Someone was bound to take advantage of her brittle female temperament—someone like Rolan.
Though the day had been a long one, he would have his reward. His ‘gift’ had arrived, five feet and nine inches of perfectly sculpted female flesh stood at the top of the steps to his bath. A robe of pearl-colored silk swaddled her delectable body. A lace veil obscured her face and a cloud of tarnished gold flowed over her shoulders and down her back. A slick grin passed over the baron’s lips and he lounged in the large sunken pool of his private bath. His thick arms were stretched out along the sides of the low wall. “Remove your garments, slut. Let’s have a look at you.”
The sash was untied and the robe allowed to pool at his prize’s feet. Valleys and hills of velvety skin, marred only by the exquisite ivy tattoos were revealed.
“The veil as well.”
Then, dramatically serene jade eyes met his hungry leer. As if she were made of glass, he wanted nothing more than to shatter her, to bring a tempest of pain and anguish to those tranquil eyes. Why the nomad woman had been willing to part with such a divine creature was a mystery that Rolan did not bother to ponder.
He should have.
They told her time and again in chiding tones, ‘you know naught of death, girl’. She never argued. They were right, to an extent. She did not know what it was to strike down an opponent in the heat of battle. That was the sort of death for warriors and knights to dwell on. The death she knew was a silent unsuspected killer, a viper lying in wait among the ivy. The death that she dealt was as atrocious and absolute as nature itself. These were her battlegrounds, the lavish parlors, bedrooms and bathhouses of her tribes’ enemies.
Ten minutes later, a sensual figure broke the surface of the now crimson pool, rivers of blood tainted water coursed over smooth skin. The ‘prize’s’ tattooed hands carefully wrung the red liquid from her hair and gathered her robes once more.
Trinka calmly lit a kertec, the smoke idly circled and wrapped her slim fingers and she gazed over at the floating body in the scarlet bath. The baron’s dead eyes gave the ceiling a constant flat stare. An ugly slash opened his throat from ear to ear, a second leer to match the one over his lips. Her job done, Trinka donned her robes, rinsed her bloodied hands and climbed out the window.
Tanel, her mother’s servant, would meet her and return with her to the camp. There, she would bathe away the mystique of the murderer and once more become the carefree girl that was known and loved. No one, save Abigail and Tanel knew of her duality. Even Achiaus was blissfully unaware of what his baby sister was capable of when it came to the brutal art of politics. She was an opportunist. However, every once in awhile—opportunity met with a snag and that snag had to be dealt with quickly and silently.
Part III
Darkness and steam choked. It tasted like ash on her lips and burned her throat when she tried to swallow. Her fingers found dirt then leather. Where was she? A tent, like the ones Marcus said they used in Madian. Desperate for fresh air, her hands fumbled against the slick walls of the tent. No exit was forthcoming. Then the voice manifested as company, a bitter whisper… “Selfish whore.”
Trinka started, peering uselessly through into the thick black, “Excuse me?”
“Sit down and shut up.”
Before instruction could be followed, she was thrown to the floor by an unseen blast of heat. The damp earth rose to collide with her body, removing the weak breath she had managed to drag into her suffering lungs. Rather than taking the chance of another blow by standing, Trinka crawled weakly to her knees. The voice echoed with condescendence, something so familiar yet so alien about the accent…
You moan in the throes of carnal pleasure while the Alcane burn. You made a promise to the knight that you have no right to keep. How dare you seek to take that which is not yours to possess. You have lost sight of your purpose!
“I have as much right to a normal life and family as does anyone else!” Cruel laughter rang out, stinging her soul.
“Normal? You speak as if you are more than a device. You are a weapon. A creature bred to destroy and kill. Nothing less, but nothing more…”
“I do my part, but I am not a tool! I am an individual, a person.”
“You are the Viper in the Ivy. It was by no blunder that the Priestess chose the barbarian to father you. His bloodlust courses through you and will not be sated. You cannot love, you are incapable of such.” “I loved Jonathan!”
“Then why did you not remain loyal to him during his absences? Why did you not commit to him when you had the chance, if you loved him so?”
“H—He wasn’t ready…”
“Of course not. How could he have loved that which is only a means to an end? He did not. The Priestess made a drastic error when she gave you a name, a self.”
“My mother loves me…” she growled, climbing to her feet.
“She needs you to kill her enemies. It will not end there. You will slay them all, Viper. One by one they will fall at your feet, bloodied and broken by you.”
“LIES!!”
Thunder rolled overhead. Lightening struck the tent starting a blaze that cast a sanguinary glow over everything. Bodies littered the floor of the tent; the muddy ground was darker than it should have been. Her hands began to tremble at her sides while horrorstricken eyes swept over the carnage…
Melinda, her graceful neck slashed open, starred at the fiery ceiling, her young face frozen into an expression of surprise and agony. Psyn’s twisted form was cast to the side, broken bones jutting out at odd angles from ripped flesh. Blood bubbled from his soft lips. Westlake was sprawling on his stomach, her own staff impaled through his back. His snow-white hair was caked with scarlet mud. Achiaus’ body slumped in the corner, the hilt of her dagger protruding from between his warm brown eyes. Ivan, Abigail, Marcus, Ruby, Dryden, Tanel, even Tanithai lay in grisly disarray.
The Whisperer sneered at her, full soft lips drawn tight over sharp white teeth. Jade eyes seethed and smoldered at her. As the fires burned, Trinka stared in bewilderment and terror at the mirror image of herself coated in the thick blood of her friends and family. Her will was slipping, the effort to stand making her dizzy. The wraith held something in her dripping hand, a human heart, still beating impotently. Trinka felt ebbing warmth against her legs and slowly looked down…
Jonathan kneeled at her feet, clinging to her thighs with hands that were quickly loosing their warmth to some unseen wound. His pale face tilted up at her, eyes still shining with adoration, devotion, and acceptance. Weak fingers lost their grip and her love fell backwards, a hole gaping in his chest where his heart had been. “Lies? But, we do not lie… Do we, Kaltrinka?”
She awoke with a strangled scream.