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CROWMON SAT ON HIS favorite chair in the house he unwillingly shared with Vella and Brycen. His eyes were closed, but he was seeing through the gazes of his minions. His High Priestess, High Priest and congregation were sharing a meal, which meant he was currently alone. He had an hour to kill before he would be expected to watch the latest group of sacrifices being slain.
His pets saw all kinds of interesting things as they lurked in the shadows. He saw deals being made, crimes being committed and murders by the dozens. Each soul that was drawn into him increased his strength a little more. His ability to shapeshift was improving as well.
Right now, one of his crows was watching a spy who was peering at his house. The wizard kept his distance and was hiding behind a tree. No one was coming towards the building, so the god opened his eyes. Crowmon stood and summoned the shifter magic Vella had infused him with. He felt no pain as his body began to transform. In seconds, his head, arms and torso changed into his crow form. Only his legs and feet still looked normal.
Flapping his wings, the carrion god let out a low caw of disappointment when he couldn’t lift himself off the ground. He still wasn’t strong enough to shift completely. He was also still tied to his shrine. Every time he’d tried to leave his territory, he became weak and disoriented. He’d given up on attempting to leave for now, but he was confident he wouldn’t remain a prisoner forever.
Changing back into his normal form, Crowmon scowled at the feathers that lay on the floor. He gathered them up and stuffed them into a pocket of his cloak. It was made of crow feathers and often shed, but he still felt the need to cover his tracks. He didn’t trust his High Priestess and Priest and was determined to hide his plans from them.
That had become harder after he’d killed Hilda. They were still searching for the witch they thought was missing. Vella had even tried to scry for her. The dead couldn’t be located through scrying and they figured someone had murdered her. “If they only knew who the culprit was,” the deity said, then chuckled as he took his seat again.
Hilda was still hiding in the woods as he’d ordered her to. The witch was a loyal, if brainless, minion. He had plans for her, but they would have to wait a little longer. Everything would fall into place eventually. He just had to be patient and bide his time.
When his crow saw the worshippers emerging from the buildings, Crowmon withdrew his consciousness from his other minions. He ambled outside to join the congregation as they made their way to his shrine. Their expressions were worshipful and awed as he smiled at them benevolently. They all wore brown robes, except for Vella and Brycen. Their robes were black on one side and green on the other, just like his suit.
Speaking of the shifter-witch and the elf, they moved to walk on either side of Crowmon. He was shorter than them both, but he particularly resented being shorter than Brycen. “Is something wrong?” he asked when he saw their tense expressions.
“We believe Hilda was murdered, my king,” Vella said in her melodious African accent. With her dark skin, she was a stark contrast to the pale elf.
“Oh, dear,” he replied. “Who do you think was responsible?”
“We suspect it could have been one of the assassins who works for the Immortal Triumvirate, my king,” his High Priest said. Crowmon almost burst out laughing, but managed to contain himself as the elf went on. “They could have kidnapped Hilda and questioned her about our plans.”
“If the Immortal Triumvirate are aware that you’re gaining a new type of power, they will have us all eliminated, my king,” Vella said.
“Have no fear,” Crowmon told them soothingly. “I strongly believe Hilda wasn’t murdered by the Immortal Triumvirate. She might have died by accident, but we’ll probably never know what really happened to her.” He was proud of his ability to obfuscate the truth when he needed to.
“I’m sure you’re right, my king,” his High Priestess said, but she didn’t sound certain at all.
“If you’re concerned about spies, you should band together with our magic users and create wards around my territory,” he suggested. He couldn’t create a strong shield like he’d once been able to raise now that his olde-worlde magic was gone. Killing the other priests and priestesses had cut down on the magic they could draw on, but creating wards should still be within their power.
“That’s a good idea, my king,” Brycen said in an indulgent tone, as if he was a clever child rather than a god. The trio took their seats on their thrones. Crowmon glanced up at the effigy that loomed over them. The crown that resided on the wooden man’s head would soon become a reality once he’d gained enough power to rule the entire city.
They had to wait for their strongest magic users to teleport back to the shrine with ten victims before they could act. Vella held her hand up before their executioners could begin the ceremony. “Our god-king has suggested we erect wards around his shrine to prevent another disappearance of one of our followers,” she said, amplifying her voice with magic so everyone could hear her.
Brycen stood as well and moved to stand at her side, deliberately blocking Crowmon’s view of the crowd. “We will work together to achieve this,” the elf said and took Vella’s hand.
“Join your magic with ours, my children!” the High Priestess intoned.
Crowmon rolled his eyes while fighting the urge to kick Brycen in his perfect butt. The magic users in his congregation obediently allowed the High Priest and Priestess to siphon off some of their power. They erected a ward that spanned the entire territory. “It is done,” Vella said in satisfaction. “If anyone who doesn’t belong here enters our land, we’ll be notified of their intrusion immediately.”
After exchanging a loving look, the pair took their seats again and the sacrifices began. Crowmon allowed his mind to wander as the fresh souls were drawn into him. None of his undead minions would set off the wards. Infused with his death magic, they belonged here more than the living worshippers did. Even now, his magic was sucking his parishioner’s energy from them. It was being drawn into the land rather than into the deity. His influence was growing and the rot was spreading at a slow, but steady pace.
The trees that surrounded their buildings were now showing signs of sickness. Before too long, they would have to move further away from the shrine, or their energy would continue to be leeched from them.
Grinning behind his hand, Crowmon pretended to enjoy the sacrifices as Vella became increasingly amorous with each beheading. The shifter-witch looked over at Brycen. That was the elf’s signal to begin fornicating with her. The god’s amusement fled at the sight of his High Priestess being bent over her chair while his High Priest inserted his manhood into her. For a few moments, Crowmon struggled to control his urge to reach over and send his death magic into Brycen. The elf looked up as if sensing his ill intent and smirked. He glanced mockingly at his god’s groin that stayed stubbornly flaccid as Vella moaned in pleasure.
Crowmon turned to face his congregation as the last sacrifice was slain and they descended into an orgy. He was gripping his armrests so hard that he was in danger of snapping them off. He felt Hilda stirring in the woods, drawn to his rage by instinct. It was enough to jolt him out of his anger. Mentally ordering his zombie to remain in hiding, he forced himself to relax. It still wasn’t the right moment for him to act, but it was drawing ever closer. This time, it was his turn to smirk.
