Swords: Blessed Warriors Book Two
If I whet my glittering sword, and mine hand take hold on judgment; I will render vengeance to mine enemies, and will reward them that hate me.
Deuteronomy 32:41
Prologue
The body sucked in a gasping breath and spasmed. It had physical life. Mind and spirit would follow. The ancient room was carved out of stone and so laden with magic that it felt almost like honey poured over the skin. The heat was drawn from the room only to return, seconds later, as a scorching wind with no discernible source. The abyss would be opened and one of its prisoners would be freed. The dark haired woman smiled. The currently soulless body had thick, dark hair and a proper man’s beard. The tall, muscular body had been tailor made. It was perfect. It suited a king.
Her acolytes, six of them, surrounded the body and chanted the words of a spell it had taken her most of a century to compose. Soon, for a few critical seconds, the veil between her king’s prison and the physical universe would be open. But to pierce the veil was not enough to free someone in the ethereal prison. The prisoner had to be shown the way to their freedom. A beacon had to be lit.
She turned toward the seventy-two soldiers that stood, in a circle facing one another and the chamber’s center where the body lie on the table. Kneeling and bound in front of each soldier was a child, none older that the age of six. “Now,” she said.
Simultaneously, the soldiers cut the throats of the child in front of them. Their blood did not pool on the floor, it was drawn to the magical symbols etched into it and was absorbed into them. To those with Truesight the pure, clean spiritual power shone brightly as it was freed from fleshly constraint. Before the power of those pure spirits could return to the Creator, her servants intercepted it. Channeled by the spell-focused will and intention of the circle of acolytes it was redirected into the abyssal prison that held her beloved. He would see that light. He would come to her.
She passed trembling hands over her arms as the honey-thick perception of magic on her skin became almost burning hot. Her heart fluttered and her pulse sped as she waited for her lover to join her. She would draw him back to her despite the Creator’s will and they would topple him from Heaven’s throne. Anticipation made her skin tingle. She longed to again bask in the power of his presence. Her lover, her king would be at her side again.
The body spasmed again and then began to thrash. Then, as the smell of freshly shed blood filled the chamber and the droning of the spell-casting acolytes continued the body’s eyes opened. Again the room seemed suddenly devoid of heat. The first king of Babylon had risen.
If I whet my glittering sword, and mine hand take hold on judgment; I will render vengeance to mine enemies, and will reward them that hate me.
Deuteronomy 32:41
Prologue
The body sucked in a gasping breath and spasmed. It had physical life. Mind and spirit would follow. The ancient room was carved out of stone and so laden with magic that it felt almost like honey poured over the skin. The heat was drawn from the room only to return, seconds later, as a scorching wind with no discernible source. The abyss would be opened and one of its prisoners would be freed. The dark haired woman smiled. The currently soulless body had thick, dark hair and a proper man’s beard. The tall, muscular body had been tailor made. It was perfect. It suited a king.
Her acolytes, six of them, surrounded the body and chanted the words of a spell it had taken her most of a century to compose. Soon, for a few critical seconds, the veil between her king’s prison and the physical universe would be open. But to pierce the veil was not enough to free someone in the ethereal prison. The prisoner had to be shown the way to their freedom. A beacon had to be lit.
She turned toward the seventy-two soldiers that stood, in a circle facing one another and the chamber’s center where the body lie on the table. Kneeling and bound in front of each soldier was a child, none older that the age of six. “Now,” she said.
Simultaneously, the soldiers cut the throats of the child in front of them. Their blood did not pool on the floor, it was drawn to the magical symbols etched into it and was absorbed into them. To those with Truesight the pure, clean spiritual power shone brightly as it was freed from fleshly constraint. Before the power of those pure spirits could return to the Creator, her servants intercepted it. Channeled by the spell-focused will and intention of the circle of acolytes it was redirected into the abyssal prison that held her beloved. He would see that light. He would come to her.
She passed trembling hands over her arms as the honey-thick perception of magic on her skin became almost burning hot. Her heart fluttered and her pulse sped as she waited for her lover to join her. She would draw him back to her despite the Creator’s will and they would topple him from Heaven’s throne. Anticipation made her skin tingle. She longed to again bask in the power of his presence. Her lover, her king would be at her side again.
The body spasmed again and then began to thrash. Then, as the smell of freshly shed blood filled the chamber and the droning of the spell-casting acolytes continued the body’s eyes opened. Again the room seemed suddenly devoid of heat. The first king of Babylon had risen.