“For a simple farmer, Stormblood, you have interesting friends and enemies. In this moment, I cannot decide which it is better to be.”
“But I am not a simple farmer, am I, my lord?” Soren used the honorific for the first time. “Nor was my grandfather before me. Marcus said he was the strongest priest ever born of the blood.”
“Old Einar. The target of Svein’s persecution.” Soren faced the nobleman and walked toward him.
“When I first encountered you, I had no idea of the magnitude of this situation,” Soren explained. “And now? Surely you have been told about the broch? And Einar’s drawings? The location of the other bloodlines,” Soren offered.
Hugh’s eyes flared at the mention of the last, turning the color of molten metal for a single moment before returning to normal. “By her father, that priest and others,” he replied.
His spies may have told him about the broch and the drawings, but the location of the other three bloodlines and the priestess’ place in the rituals to come had been kept a secret. Marcus himself had seen to copying that particular panel of the wall. And then he’d had it whitewashed so none would see them.
“I know now about the old gods and my place as their descendant. I am tired of having others decide my fate,” Soren said quietly. “I already know you need me to open the gateway, so tell me of your plans and my place in them.”
De Gifford studied him for several long moments before reacting. Then he nodded. Standing, de Gifford walked to a table in the corner of the room and filled two goblets with a rich, reddish liquid. He walked back and held one out to Soren before taking his seat again. Soren held his cup to his host and then tried it.
“A comfort I allow myself. ’Tis from the bishop’s own supply.”
It was a richer wine than anything he’d ever tasted. Smooth and full of flavor, it warmed his throat and stomach. Soren could tell it was potent, too. De Gifford probably wanted to loosen his tongue. Another sip and he complimented with a raised cup.
“If you help me in opening this gateway, the goddess will be very pleased. She was the most powerful amongst them, you know. She can give you powers and a position of great importance in her new kingdom,” de Gifford promised.
“I want the two you hold and Ran,” Soren stated calmly.
“Why the good father?”
“We have a bond since childhood. I owe him much,” Soren said, once again speaking the truth.
“I have plans for Ran,” de Gifford began. “She offers such . . .”
“I want the priest, Svein and his daughter when this is done,” Soren repeated. “I am certain I will want other . . . comforts,” he held up the cup and smiled. “Before I agree, I want your word on this.”
“We plan to breed the bloodlines and produce other powerful people to serve the goddess. Once she is freed, they will all be at our mercy,” de Gifford explained. “Even the daughter of my flesh will once more have some use.” He glanced away for a moment and then turned back with a smile, a lecherous one. “Ran Waterblood is extremely powerful, her blood is strong.” Soren could see the man becoming aroused as he spoke of Ran.
“She is mine,” he said forcefully. “She owes me three years. And sons I should have had. So first, I will breed sons on her to serve the goddess,” he said, pausing to take a mouthful of the wine. “Then, once she has paid her penance for believing her father’s lies, I am not opposed to allowing others . . .”
Soren let the words drift off and slid his hand down and touched his cock. De Gifford’s lust was apparent. The man laughed aloud and drank down a good portion of his wine.
“This all depends on you bringing her to our cause. Will she open the gateway? Will you?”
“She thinks I will save her father for her. She’s begged me to do so—and she begs so prettily when she needs to,” Soren smiled. “I told her I would find a way.” He drank the rest of the wine and put the cup down and nodded. “If you have a priest to carry out the ritual, I will open the gate.”
Hugh stood from the chair quickly and threw his cup against the wall, screaming out. Soren tried to be patient and waited on his show of fury to pass.
“The damned priests die before I can turn them to my purpose,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “They live like sheep, dragged onward by Marcus and fed nothing but his lies and his will.” He stopped and took several deep, rapid breaths, regaining his control. “The last one, with the last one, they broke the bond they had forged amongst themselves and let him die.” Hugh took one last breath and met his gaze. “The only one I have now is your priest. The one of the Christian god with no training in the old ways.”
Did he dare? Soren knew this was the dangerous part of the bargain, but it could be the only way to make this all work.
“If you can turn him to our cause, I can give him the words during the ritual.” Knowing it was a huge risk to Ander, to his soul, to sanity and his life, Soren let the words settle.
“How is that possible? You are the Stormblood, descended from Taranis the Terrible,” de Gifford said. “A priest must be trained. A priest must learn the spells and the chants—”
Soren leaned his head back and began to hum the first song Einar had taught him. When de Gifford just stared in disbelief, he added the words. After a few lines of the chant, the ground began to shake beneath them. Tremors coming from somewhere away from the water and moving through the house.
From wherever the portal to hell opened into this world.
He stopped and waited for de Gifford’s reaction. The nobleman grabbed his arm and pulled Soren’s sleeve up, searching for the mark of his bloodline. It was there, the lightning bolt surging now, sending bursts of power into his body and blood.
“How can this be?” Hugh asked, staring at the mark. “Only priests can learn the spells and rituals.”
