Rise (War Witch Book 1) (14 page)

Nodding, the warrior rose, letting the young woman lead her into the darkened room. As the tub filled, she lit the lanterns, keeping them low, feeling somehow that bright light wasn’t what the warrior needed. With a kind smile, she helped the warrior from her clothes and, as she eased into the water, removed her own and slid in behind her.

The warrior eased back against her, letting Chara cradle her, the heat working into her muscles and coaxing the tension from them. The grief she carried, a stabbing knife in her heart, lessened as the young woman bathed her, hands gentle, a tender caress that made her feel at peace, at least, for a time.

Chara watched her as she nestled close, seeing the warrior now as she hadn’t before. Noble, heroic, and brave, yes, but searching for something more, for a means to ease the agony she lived with every day of her life. Before that, her boredom seemed so small and petty, her own attempts to cope with a life she felt incomplete appearing bumbling and selfish.

It shamed her as nothing else could. Resting her chin on the warrior’s head, she kissed her hair compassionately, and saw herself as she was. The image was ugly, but born of desperation, fear, and loneliness, something she knew now she could change.

The warrior, Ramora, had shown her she could be a better person, and she vowed to be so, for her. One day, maybe, she might even return to the tiny village of Rheumer, and if she did, Chara wanted the warrior to find a woman she would be proud of.

She squeezed her close, weeping for the hell the warrior lived with, one she could not imagine. Despite it, she was still strong, kind, and loving. Chara felt small before that, but knew, for the first time in her life, that she could truly be more, no matter where she was.

When the water turned cool, they left the tub, drying as they stood in the dim light of the lanterns. Taking the warrior’s hand, Chara guided her to the bed, and as the warrior had held her the previous night, she now held the warrior in return.

With her breathing becoming steady as sleep claimed her, Chara continued to stroke the warrior’s hair, the feel of her warm body curled against her granting a sense of wholeness she’d never known. It filled her with joy, like she could never have imagined.

Unlike the first night she’d known her, Chara didn’t drift to sleep wondering if the warrior liked girls. Sleep took her as she accepted she was in love with her.

CHARA WOKE
to find the first rays of the sun teasing through the windows. With a sigh, she felt for Ramora, only to find the bed empty. Rousing herself enough to sit up, she spotted the Blessed already dressed, buckling down her armor, her greatsword resting nearby.

She hadn’t seen the warrior wear it since she’d arrived in Rheumer, and felt a spike of fear rise in her heart. "Ramora? What's happening?"

The warrior turned easily at the sound of the name the young woman had given her, and tried to smile. Easing onto the bed, her hands found Chara's shoulders and squeezed gently, encouraging her to lie back down.

"Why are you putting your armor on?" she asked, her sense of trepidation rising. "You aren't leaving, are you?"

Ramora shook her head no, caressing Chara’s face tenderly. She could see that defiance blooming in the young woman’s eyes, though, and knew Chara wasn't going to take anything but the truth.

She touched the Divine Mark she carried and pointed out the window, making a fearful face, hoping her young friend would understand. Slowly, realization dawned, and Chara grabbed her by the arms.

"Demon Seed? Here? How?" she cried.

Ramora shook her head. She had her suspicions, but didn’t want to share them yet. The Hob-Goblin and his allies she’d slain the day she met Chara most likely were attached to another group. Goblin kind rarely operated on their own, acting as scouts and aids to the larger, more fearsome Orcs that formed the main bulk of the Demon Gods’ forces.

It wasn't hard to figure out that their friends had found what little Ramora had left of them, and followed her trail to Rheumer. She’d been careless in not disposing of them properly. Leaving them for the carrion pickers had brought the servants of evil to the kind town that had given her so much.

"What are we going to do?" Chara whimpered, fear overwhelming her.

Ramora shook her a little, then jabbed a finger at her, followed by the bed. That done, she reached out and lifted her sword, her face dark.

"What if there are too many?" the younger woman pleaded, seeing her friend intended to fight.

Ramora shook her head and smiled. She was a Blessed of Ramor, and a Priestess besides. There wouldn’t be too many.

"Wait," Chara begged, wrapping against her and holding her tight. "Please, be careful. Come back to me."

Hugging her, Ramora placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Putting a hand between the young woman’s bare breasts, she then patted the bed again, promising. Chara nodded, letting her go reluctantly, worry etched on her face.

Strapping her sword on, the warrior started to leave, but paused at the door to give the young woman a comforting smile, though it seemed to do little good. Leaving her, Ramora stepped into the hall, not surprised to find Talbor lounging there, chewing on a piece of sugar cane. With a glare, she punched him in the stomach.

He made an
oof
, then gave her a sheepish grin. "Come, now, Little Sister. I wasn't going to disturb you while you lay in such a warm embrace with such a vision of beauty. Not for something so paltry as a handful of Demon Seed."

Shaking her head, she jabbed a finger at the wolf paw mark on her brow.

"Well, yes, I mean, this is an excellent point and all," he admitted. "Still, you looked so peaceful wrapped up against her. I just couldn't find it in my heart to wake you."

Ramora stared at him in annoyance as she realized he’d likely watched them sleep for a while. Punching him again, she stormed away, furious with the Ascended's carefree attitude.

Pounding down the steps two at a time, she came up short as she entered the common room and found half the village assembled. Diem stood in the center of the chaos, his tarnished armor strapped on, though it fit poorly, and his sword at his hip. A quick sketch of the village lay on an unfurled parchment before him as he directed the townsfolk where to go.

Wading through the pitchfork-armed people, she took him by the arm, waving a hand around them in concern.

"Ramora, good," he said, gripping her hand warmly. "With you on our side, we're sure to win."

Horrified at the very idea, she waved an arm around the room, and jabbed a finger at the floor. They were not trained soldiers, and fighting Demon Seed would only get them killed. They needed to stay, while she dealt with it.

Diem smirked slightly. "Not going to happen, friend. This is our village, and while we welcome you to join, this is our fight."

Grabbing him by the shoulder as he began to turn away, she pointed out the Divine Mark she carried. She alone had the power to fight back.

"As I said, we’re glad to have you," the old man told her. "A Blessed of Ramor fighting with us is as good as having won already. We will not hide, though."

Glancing over, Ramora saw Talbor watching the preparations with a warm smile. Glaring, she snapped her fingers at him as he paused to bless a shovel.

He waved at her, grinning ear-to-ear as she motioned him over, gesturing at Diem and the rest. The Ascended shrugged, until she jabbed him in the chest and pointed again.

"Ah, yes," he sighed. "Of course I told them. I just didn't tell you. I don't see what the two have to do with each other, though."

Ramora threw her hands up, seeing she would get no help from him. Focusing on Diem again, she pleaded with him not to do this. Behind her, Talbor smirked and waved him on. He got an elbow to his stomach for that.

"I appreciate your concern," the old man told her while resting a hand on her shoulder. "But you cannot tell us to cower while another defends our homes. None here will have it, and neither will I."

The resolve in his voice told her she would not dissuade him, so she relented, pointing to the map. Indicating herself, she jabbed a point near the bridge that led into town, then waved to the others, and pointed to a spot farther back.

"Nor will we hang back," Diem snapped. "Don't ask it. It won't happen. Besides, we've already got a battle plan in place. Just stay by my side and make sure my children don't lose their father. I'm not as good as I once was."

Ramora scowled. What battle plan?

"They're coming!" Daniel shouted as he darted into the inn. "I spotted them on the crest of the hill! They'll be here in no time!"

"Excellent work, son," Diem called. "Go take your position. The rest of you, let's move out!"

Still having no idea what his battle plan was, Ramora trailed after Diem as he headed outside, waving villagers to take up positions on both sides of the street as he stood in the middle of the road. Joining him, she couldn't help but feel that this was not a good idea.

As Daniel had said, the Demon Seed came into sight minutes later. A dozen Orcs, astride horses that had been corrupted by Demon magic, transforming them into hellish creatures that snorted fire.

Pulling her sword, Ramora made ready for battle.

The Orcs, towering creatures of powerful muscle, with piggish faces and fearsome tusks, drew up to a halt after crossing the bridge, leaving some distance between themselves and the Blessed who stood in their path. The black armor they wore seemed to almost soak up the sun, while their weapons were curved viciously, barbed, and shone brightly in the morning light.

"May I take it that you were the one who put an end to Gret and his team?" the Orc in the lead asked, nudging his mount slightly closer to Ramora.

She nodded slowly, gripping the greatsword easily in her right hand, while she flexed the fingers of her left, preparing.

"Quite the mess you made of them, but then again, I should expect that of a Blessed such as you," the Orc replied. "Though he was a loathsome creature, he was my responsibility, so I must repay his death in kind. I'm sure you understand."

Ramora hefted the weapon, bringing it in front of her and waved him forward.

The Orc chuckled at that. "You are brave. I admire that. Though, I would point out that I have a squad of well-trained soldiers at my back, while all you have are farmers. There can be no victory here for you today, Blessed."

Ramora sighed and waved him on again.

The Orc frowned slightly. "I'm in a generous mood today, Blessed. I tell you what. Lay down that sword, beg Ker Zet forgiveness for wearing that abomination on your brow, and I will let these people live. What do you say?"

"She need say nothing," Diem called out. "For there is no response to that worthy enough to even spit at."

The Orc nodded. "I figured as much. Very well, listen up, all of you! I am Lieutenant Gota, an officer in the army of the true and rightful Gods, and I claim this village in their name. Lay down your arms, submit peacefully, and I vow, you shall be given places of respect as slaves in the new world order. Resist, and we shall slaughter your men, slake our lust on your women, and take your children to be used as playthings by our Masters. I give you a moment to make the wise decision."

Not a single villager moved to drop the makeshift weapon they carried. It filled Ramora's heart with pride.

"You will find none here who will take that offer, Lieutenant," Diem answered for them all. "In this town, we hold to the teachings of the High Gods, worship them with every ounce of our heart, and stand ready to die in their name."

Gota shook his head slowly. "A pity. I had hoped to avoid bloodshed, as all we truly wish is the head of the Blessed. Now, I have no choice but to raze this pathetic place to the ground, and salt the earth as we leave."

"Provided you live, of course," Diem smirked.

"Live I shall, for we will run you down, and your screams will be lost to the trample of our hooves!" Gota bellowed, swinging his sword.

As the Lieutenant and his men charged, Ramora swung her left hand up, transcribing runes into the air, her Avatar singing power into them. With the last one drawn, she silently invoked them, feeling the spirit within channel mystic energy from the universe through her body and into the spell she’d wrought.

A simple thing, really, the spell. Small, and to many, useless. In the hands of a Priestess of Ramor, however, it could turn the tide of a battle suddenly. Bending to her will, the mystic energy reached out to the warped horses the Demon Seed rode, and gave them a command they could not refuse.

Rearing suddenly, they threw their riders and bolted back the way they came, making for the trees and nearly trampling many of the Demon Seed as they went. Ramora's Avatar gave a weak twitter of joy, the energy needed to command so many at once draining it terribly.

"Well done," Diem laughed as he raised an arm. "Archers! Stand ready!"

From the top of the inn they rose, a dozen with ease. Half that many flowed out onto the landing atop the windmill, hunting bows drawn, the morning sun catching and reflecting off the arrow heads brilliantly.