Hammer of the Earth Read online

  SUSAN KRINARD

  HAMMER OF THE EARTH

  www.LUNA-Books.com

  First edition February 2006

  HAMMER OF THE EARTH

  ISBN 1-55254-411-7

  Copyright © 2006 by Susan Krinard

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Worldwide Library, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.LUNA-Books.com

  As always, for Serge.

  Contents

  Map

  Cast of Characters

  Part I Seeds

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Part II Emergence

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Part III Harvest

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Author Note

  Hammer Glossary

  Coming Next Month

  Cast of Characters

  Enemies of the Stone God

  Rhenna, a warrior of the Free People

  Cian, an Ailu shapeshifter

  Tahvo, a shaman of the Samah

  Nyx, a rebel of Karchedon

  Quintus Horatius Corvinus, citizen of Tiberia, son of Arrhidaeos

  Philokrates, also known as Talos, philosopher and inventor

  Slahtti, a spirit-beast

  Servants of the Stone God

  Baalshillek, High Priest of the Stone God

  Farkas, a simulacrum

  Orkos, commander of the Temple Guard

  Urho, a simulacrum

  Yseul, a simulacrum

  The Court of Karchedon

  Nikodemos, ruler of the Empire

  Danae, mistress of Nikodemos

  Gulbanu, a princess of Persis

  Hylas, a courtier

  Arion, a courtier

  Chares, a courtier

  Doris, a courtier

  Galatea, a courtier

  Iphikles, adviser to Nikodemos

  Kleobis, chamberlain to Nikodemos

  Mnestros, a courtier

  Kaj, a palace guard

  Philemon, a palace guard

  Vanko, commander of mercenaries

  Annis, a kitchen servant

  Ashtaph, a servant of Hylas

  Briga, a kitchen servant

  Kanmi, a servant of Hylas

  Leuke, a servant of Danae

  Thais, a kitchen servant

  Warriors and Elders of the Imaziren

  Berkan, a warrior

  Cabh’a, a warrior

  Immeghar, a warrior

  Madele, a warrior

  Mezwar, a warrior

  Tamallat, a warrior

  Zamra, an elder

  Villagers of the Ará Odò

  Abeni, a villager

  Abidemi, a hunter

  Adisa, a Mother of Clan Amòtékùn

  Bolanle, a Mother of Clan Amòtékùn

  Dayo, a Mother of Clan Amòtékùn

  Enitan, a hunter

  Monifa, a villager

  Olayinka, a villager

  The Court of New Meroe

  Akinidad, a former king of New Meroe

  Aryesbokhe, king of New Meroe

  Dakka, chief priest of the Archives

  Irike, a former prince of New Meroe

  Neitiquert, a princess

  Khaleme, a warrior

  Shorkaror, a warrior

  Talakhamani, priest and prophet of the Sacred Scrolls

  Other Characters

  Aetes, a Tiberian slave

  Arshan, a griffin-rider

  Buteo, a leader of rebels in Tiberia

  Danel, former lover of Hylas

  Geleon, a leader of rebels in Karchedon

  Keela, chief of the Alu

  Melissa, wife of Philokrates

  Deities of the Stone God (the Exalted)

  Ag

  Erichthonios

  Gong-Gong

  Huracan

  Idiptu

  Ninhursag

  Ran

  Surt

  Free Gods and Deities

  Aigyptos:

  Amun

  Apep (Aphophis)

  Asar (Osiris)

  Aset (Isis)

  Geb

  Hat-T-Her/Het-Hert (Hathor)

  Heru-sa-Aset (Horus, son of Isis)

  Inpu (Anubis)

  Nut

  Re

  Sutekh

  Tefnut

  Hellas:

  Apollon (Apollo)

  Artemis

  Dionysos

  Poseidon

  Zeus

  Ará Odò:

  Eshu

  Olorun

  Other Gods:

  Ge, one of the Free Exalted

  Tabiti, a goddess of the Skudat

  Part I

  Seeds

  Prologue

  Year Three of the Reign of King Amanibakhi of Meroe

  A s I write, the last of the scrolls have been packed and the people are prepared for their journey. The time has come to leave our home, the one we have known for over a hundred years. Meroe is no longer safe for those who guard the ancient Prophecies. The one whose birth was foretold, the one who will free the Stone, has been born across the sea.

  The land to which we travel is unknown to us, a province of barbarians and wild beasts. But already the city is being built anew. The scrolls will remain inviolate, just as when they were entrusted to our ancestors at the time of the second Godwar.

  I have but one fear as I gaze upon the years ahead. I foresee that the very beliefs that have sustained our people will become a source of discord, and that which I have learned may be deemed heresy by certain men of power who fear any interpretation of doctrine that differs from their own.

  Every child of Khemet and Kush has been taught that before the coming of men, there were more gods in the heavens than there are grains of sand in the desert. These most ancient of gods fought their first great war over the creation of life upon the earth. Gods of fire, earth, air and water quarreled over the shape that life should take, attacking each other in fury and greed. A thousand thousand deities whose names we have forgotten were destroyed, their bones scattered to the far corners of the world.

  In time, those who survived agreed
that no one god should seek dominion over the others. With one breath, the gods gave life to man and beast, and caused the Great River Iteru to flow in all its abundance.

  The first people of those ancient days lived simply, at one with the black soil, the air and water and the sun’s holy fire. There were no priests, for any man could speak with gods who trod the earth. Aset, Asar, even Lord Amun, walked among men and blessed us with their eternal wisdom.

  But not all were content with peace. Men there were who found the bones of the defeated gods and discovered that these sacred remains contained mighty magic. Desiring to rule over their fellow creatures, these men approached certain of the living gods and offered this magic in exchange for knowledge the deities had long ago agreed to withhold from mankind.

  Though most of the gods remembered their agreement, some hungered for greater power. Twelve gods met in secret to teach the greedy men the arts of sowing and reaping grain from the fields, shaping stone for walls to divide each man from his brother, raising fire to forge weapons created for the sole purpose of severing human flesh. In return, the men erected temples to the twelve gods and built a vast city, contending among themselves for the right to rule all other men.

  Thus were the first kings born, and priests to exalt the Twelve far above the gods who had not broken their promise. The faithful gods were driven into the wild places, where mankind forgot their existence. Only when the treacherous gods sent their minions to burn the wilderness and lay waste to the earth did the righteous gods take up arms to fight.

  Geb and Nut, Amun and Inpu, Aset and Asar, Het-Hert and even Sutekh, made alliance with the gods of other lands. But the Twelve had taught men the way of war, and with every death of man killed by man, they grew stronger. Weakened by the neglect of those who had loved them, the righteous gods mated with mortals to create half-divine heroes and shaped four mighty weapons only these heroes could wield: the Hammer of Sutekh, the Arrows of the Wind, the Sword of the Ice and the cauldron of Fire.

  Thus began the second Godwar. So great was its fury that the city of the Twelve was razed to the ground, its fertile plains reduced to desert. The Twelve were captured and imprisoned, but four of their number escaped, carrying with them the Weapons that had brought about their fall.

  The righteous gods withdrew to the heavens and the underworld, abandoning their mortal bodies. To the most loyal of their followers—we, the people of the Scrolls—they bequeathed the chronicles of what had gone before and prophecies of what was yet to come, that which even the gods could not alter.

  The Prophecies warn of the time when the Eight will escape their prison in the desert and heroes born of the gods must rise again to do battle. For more than a thousand years our people have believed that Sutekh’s Hammer must be carried by a son of our royal line—some future prince who will prove worthy of bearing one of the most powerful weapons ever shaped by the gods. Surely such a right belongs to those who have been so faithful in our guardianship.

  But in this we have been wrong. In my studies of the scrolls I have discovered that which many will call blasphemy: the Hammer-bearer will not come from within our city but out of the North, far beyond the borders of Khemet. He will wear the shape of the Watchers, a descendent of beings who failed in the vital purpose for which they were fashioned by the mating of gods and men.

  As I write these words, the Bearer’s father walks in ignorance among distant mountains. He will come to us as surely as Heru-sa-Aset himself will be reborn to carry the sacred fire.

  Now my servant summons me to join the other priests who walk with the wagons and chests that guard our sacred heritage. I do not know what will become of me. It is of no consequence. You who read and believe, make ready for the coming of the Watcher. Make ready for the trials that await you, for you will stand against kings and gods. May the righteous gods stand between you and harm in all the empty places where you must walk.

  —from the last scroll of Talakhamani, priest of the House of Life

  Chapter One

  Karchedon

  I t was a prison. A luxurious prison, to be sure, furnished in royal style and adorned with every comfort a king’s son might wish. Quintus had not seen its like since he was a young boy, not even in Danae’s opulent quarters.

  He thought it must be a jest, a condemned man’s last view of a life he would never have. A life he had never wanted.

  Quintus sat in an ivory-inlaid chair, exhausted from a long night’s pacing. No one had come to see him since his transfer to Nikodemos’s custody. He had expected far less pleasant accommodations, where he could remind himself with every clank of chains and breath of stale air that he was Tiberian.

  But he’d been spared a painful and inevitable death at the High Priest Baalshillek’s hands only to face a prospect as bitter as it was unthinkable.

  He was the half-brother of Nikodemos, ruler of the Arrhidaean Empire, nephew of Alexandros the Mad. How the absent gods must be laughing.

  I am Tiberian.

  He slammed his twisted left hand on the chair, relishing the pain. Why had his father not told him? Why had he been allowed to grow to manhood believing that he was a true-born son of Tiberia, of the Horatii, ancient in loyalty and honor? Why had the family of Horatius Corvinus taken the terrible risk of raising the emperor’s condemned bastard son?

  Quintus stared at his crippled hand. Philokrates had known. Had he been the emperor’s agent from the moment he had come to the Corvinus household until he had revealed himself as Talos and fled to the palace? Had he bribed Quintus’s adoptive father, or threatened him with a fate worse than mere conquest?

  No. No bribe, for Quintus’s family had not been saved. And Nikodemos hadn’t known his half-brother lived. The only man who could answer Quintus’s questions was the one he had loved most and never dared trust again—Philokrates himself.

  Quintus jumped up from the chair and resumed his fruitless pacing. It didn’t matter how he had come to be here. His future was dubious, at best. He was caught in a war between emperor and High Priest, between his two deadliest enemies. Nikodemos might exploit or discard him, depending on his usefulness—welcome him as long-lost kin or throw him into the sacrificial flames.

  But that would be the high priest’s Baalshillek’s desire. No, if Quintus was to die, it would be by more common and secretive means. And if he were permitted to live…

  I will never be a tool. Not his nor the rebels’, not even for my own people.

  No common tool could turn in the hand of its master. But Quintus bore in his own flesh a weapon that Baalshillek greatly feared. Boldness and courage would count with Nikodemos, but Quintus must be cunning, as well, if he were to survive Baalshillek’s machinations. He couldn’t afford a moment of weakness.

  His thoughts flew to Danae and the last time he’d seen her, playing the part of his hostage. She must have convinced Nikodemos of her innocence; if Quintus saw her again, it must be as if they were truly enemies.

  But she might know what had become of his friends, the companions who had earned his respect and loyalty in the fight against the Stone. Rhenna of the Free People; Tahvo, shaman and healer of the far North; Cian, the shapeshifter who was neither wholly man nor beast but something of both.

  Were they still in the city? Had they, too, been captured? Or were they dead by sword or evil Stonefire?

  No. I will not believe it….

  The door to his chambers swung open. A pair of grim young palace guards snapped to attention, spear-butts hammering the tiled floor. Two more soldiers stood behind them.

  “You are to come with us,” one of the guards said.

  “Where?”

  “To the emperor.”

  The time of judgment was here. Quintus straightened the simple chiton they had given him, adjusted the himation to cover his left arm and joined the guards. They were well disciplined, Nikodemos’s men, but they had none of the too-perfect bearing that marked the Temple Guard. They were human, unbound by the Stone. But they woul
d kill him just as swiftly if the emperor so commanded.

  The guards marched their prisoner down stone corridors decorated with frescoes of victorious battle, through several doorways and into a wide, columned anteroom. A bust of Arrhidaeos, Nikodemos’s father—and Quintus’s—stood watch at the golden double doors at the end of the antechamber.

  “The emperor holds court,” the guard captain said. “You will bow and hold your tongue until he addresses you.”

  Quintus stared straight ahead as the doors swung open. A vast space lay ahead, echoing with whispers and the shuffling of sandaled feet. War banners hung on the walls, and gold glittered on slender necks and bare arms. Braziers lit the windowless room, carrying the fragrance of rare incense. The voices of flute and lyre mingled in sensual flirtation.

  Nikodemos sat on his golden throne like the king he was, thickly muscled arms draped on the lion-faced armrests. Tumbled hair almost covered the plain circlet on his brow. He needed no elaborate headdress to proclaim his position.

  His most trusted advisers, a dozen older men and officers near his own age—commanders who had led Nikodemos’s troops to victory again and again—stood at the foot of the dais. Danae sat on a stool at his knee. She wore a sheer chiton that left her right shoulder bare, and a fall of delicate golden bells spilled from her neck into the shadow between her breasts. Her hair was arranged in delicate flaxen ringlets. Her gaze was cool, sweeping over Quintus as if he didn’t exist.

  The other courtiers—the remainder of Nikodemos’s favored Hetairoi, or Companions—followed her example. They laughed and posed as if they expected to be judged on the grace of an offhand gesture or the curve of a well-plucked brow. A few armored men stood among them, stolid warriors who bore the look of seasoned veterans. Quintus had no love of their breed, but at least they would weigh a man’s worth by the strength of his sword arm and not the cut of his tunic.