Rise (War Witch Book 1) (18 page)

It drifted away as the door creaked open.

PUTTING CHARA BEHIND HER,
Ramora faced the heavy door as it eased part way open. Diem had warned that the sorcerer who dwelled here had a Werebeast as a guard, and Ramora knew how dangerous those creatures were. She could never forget the horrible fate that had befallen her sister at the hands of the Hell Hounds.

Swinging inward, the door only opened a foot, releasing a gush of warmth as a towering figure moved to peer out at them. Looking up, Ramora found herself staring into the slitted green eyes of a pitch black Werejaguar. Ears already flatted, the inhuman beast did not look pleased to find them at the door.

"We have no desire for visitors," it said, voice a deep baritone. "Please, be on your way."

"Excuse me," Chara called around Ramora before the creature could close the door. "We've traveled here from the kingdom of Fival, in search of the master of this tower. Our business is most urgent."

The Cat hesitated a moment. "I am sorry, but the master of this place already has pressing matters to attend. You will find no aid here. Be on your way."

"It's a matter of life and death," Chara offered.

"Yes," the Were growled. "Isn't it always? Good evening."

Sliding around Ramora, Chara tugged her hood and scarf back, offering the towering creature a soft smile. "Please, kind sir, we come on a mission granted by the very Gods themselves. Can't the master give us but a moment?"

Ramora rolled her eyes behind Chara's back, doubting the sweet and innocent routine ever worked.

To her surprise, the Cat hesitated, giving her a smile. "Dear lady, I assure you that if this is the case, the Gods will not have long to wait before they ask my master for his aid in person, for his pressing business is with Terakus herself. Now leave."

Nope
, Ramora sighed.
Never works.

Practically flinging herself into the opening, Chara refused to let the Cat close the door. "Okay, so, here it is. The storm is getting bad, we've lost much of our gear, and we will surely freeze to death before the night is done. We beg of you, a warm fire and a meal, and then we will be on our way as soon as the storm abates."

Eyes narrowing, the Werejaguar all but hissed out, "We have no time, or care for that matter, for roaming vagabonds or thieves. Leave this place, before you stir me to anger, woman!"

Ramora rested a hand on Chara's shoulder, pulling her back. A battle with a Were was one she doubted she could win with the shape she was in, and Chara would most certainly come out of it dead.

"You once saved my father’s life," the young woman yelled as the Cat swung the door shut. "Diem, a soldier from Fival!"

The Cat stopped and then swung the door open again, stepping out to study her face intently. "You lie."

Indignant, Chara squeaked in outrage. "I do not! It was he who told us of this place!"

Eyes narrowing, the Cat sniffed at her carefully and then growled as he pulled himself up to his full seven feet of height. "No, you do not lie. Very well, daughter of Diem. You and your companion may shelter from the storm here."

Spinning, Chara gave Ramora a triumphant smile as the Werecat stepped back, pushing the door wide for them. Relieved to be out of the deepening cold, she pushed her friend on through the opening, and into the well-lit warmth of the sorcerer’s keep.

Beyond the door, Ramora silently gasped at what she found. Easily taking up half the base of the tower, the half circle chamber was as lovely as it was massive. Against the left wall, stone steps rose up, wide enough for two humans abreast to walk, circling until it vanished above the ten-foot ceiling. A wall swept out from it, hiding the other half of the main floor, a single heavy door the only way through.

Lining the walls on both sides stood ornate candelabras, each sporting a dozen candles, filling the room with light. Overhead, an equally stunning chandelier held two dozen more. Beneath that, in the center of the room, was a sprawling pit that held a roaring fire, circled by four curving couches. The cushions looked to be of satin and the pillows that dotted them looked heavy.

Everywhere she gazed her Avatar whistled to her that it sensed magic. The candles threw out twice the light they should, and showed no signs of burning down, while the fire radiated more heat than possible, yet seemed to feed on nothing. From above them, it hummed of an even greater amount of magic, and in particular, one massive collection of mystic energy that radiated in golds and silvers.

Ramora assumed that to be the master of the keep, though from what the Werejaguar had said, he was nearing death. She hoped they could gain at least a brief audience with him before he left this world.

As she took in the keep’s main room, she felt the warmth seeping past the chill that clung to her furs and realized she was gawking. Reminding herself where she’d grown up, she turned back to the Cat as he closed the door, eying them warily.

"You may hang your furs there," the Cat said, indicating a large wardrobe a few feet from the doors. "It will clean and dry them for you."

"Really?" Chara gasped, staring at it in awe.

"Yes," the Cat intoned dryly. "Really."

Ramora tapped Chara's shoulder, reminding her of the horses they’d left in the storm. The young woman nodded and turned back to their strange host.

"Forgive me again, good sir, but we left our mounts and gear in the storm."

The Cat heaved a sigh that spoke of his annoyance. "Where?"

"Um," Chara replied hesitantly. "I'm not sure. It's getting kind of rough out there. I think it was on the road, but I can't be sure. We had three horses and a fair bit of gear."

Shaking his head, the Cat moved to open the wardrobe. "I will retrieve the horses and what I can of your equipment. What is lost is likely lost, though I will see to it that you are well prepared for your return journey." He paused, looking at her in slightly mollified irritation. "In the morning."

"Thank you," Chara said with a bow. "Be careful, though. The storm really is getting bad."

"Yes, I can guess," the Cat replied as he pulled a thick cloak the color of amber from the wardrobe, fastening it about his shoulders with a clasp fitted with a multifaceted ice blue gem. "The Frost Giants that call this area home usually call up fierce storms in an effort to repel intruders. Likely they spotted you and were attempting to force you away."

Chara was taken aback by that. "So, that's a magic storm? Wow."

"Possibly," the Were shrugged. "This time of year, it may be just a storm. Either way, I doubt strongly you would’ve survived the night. Be thankful."

Tossing Ramora a smug look that spoke to her pride on having gained them entrance as the other woman tugged her hood and scarf free, she nodded to the big Cat. "We’re in your debt, friend."

The massive Jaguar’s eyes went wide as he beheld Ramora and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Blessed of Ramor! Had I known who stood at my door, I would not have been so curt!"

Chara's face fell as Ramora stared at him in confusion.

"Under orders of Imicot, Master of Sorcery, and Lord of this keep, no Blessed of the High Gods will ever be turned away," the Cat continued. "Whatever you wish, it shall be given, Mistress."

Ramora offered him an uncertain smile and a thumbs up.

He didn't seem to know what to do with that.

"She's mute," Chara intoned, voice heavy with stolen pride. "I'm Chara, of Rheumer, and I speak for the Blessed, Ramora."

Ramora cuffed her on the shoulder, drawing an irritated look from the young woman, who none the less corrected herself. "Interpret for her."

"I see," the Cat said slowly. "I am Esteban, manservant to Lord Imicot. Please, make yourselves at home. I will retrieve your mounts and stable them, and then inform my master of your arrival."

"Of course," Chara bowed. "But, are you sure you're going to be okay out there?"

"This will protect me," he said, touching the gem.

The massive Cat opened the door and exited, leaving the two women alone.

"Just once, I'd like to not be upstaged by that mark on your head," Chara snapped, punching Ramora in the arm.

She shrugged, smirking, as she waved a hand towards the Heavens.

"Whatever," the young woman muttered.

As Chara started wrestling herself free of her heavy clothing, Ramora took another look around the room. Her Avatar had been studying the magic that permeated the place, but found much of it alien. Shrugging it off as sorcery, she told it to never mind the energies flowing through the tower, but it sang to her that it was more than strange; much of it was new, a channeling of mystic energies it had never seen before.

She smiled as the Rabbit gave a tinkling sneeze. Hopefully, they wouldn't be there long enough to find out if it was dangerous or not.

Chara's thick coat hit the floor, drawing her back. With a grin at the way the young woman looked after her struggle to get free of the burdensome article, Ramora pulled her own over her head and sent it to join Chara's. Wool boots joined the coats a moment later as the two tried to divest themselves of the multiple layers of clothing the foothills of the Ice Mountains demanded.

Pants made from the hides of the massive dire bears that roamed the mountains, shirts of wool, another layer of leggings fashioned from the thick hide of goats, and vests knitted out of the fur of the same all followed the coats. When at last they were free of the winter wear, the two stood barefoot in thin cotton tops and light leather pants designed to hug the skin.

Chara stared at the pile of clothes on the floor, water beginning to pool as the frost on them melted, and then at the wardrobe. "No way is all that going to fit," she sighed before she started gathering them.

Ramora gave it all a tired shrug. Shaking out a pair of the wool pants, Chara glanced over at her as she stretched, her body weary from weeks of the heavy clothing, and tried to hide the smile of appreciation she felt slipping over her lips.

At six foot, the Blessed cut an impressive figure on any occasion, but the tight leggings and almost sheer camisole accentuated her powerfully built body in ways the young woman found appealing. Especially with the last of the chill clinging to her, making her nipples stand out prominently.

Chara shut that thought down quickly as she felt her face flush and turned to the wardrobe, hanging the pants on a hook in the back. A look down at her own chest showed she was no different, driving the heat she felt rising in her cheeks to furious heights as it brought back memories of curling naked against the woman in her bed back at the inn in Rheumer.

Trying to catch her breath, she glanced back over her shoulder and found her companion standing, hands on her hips, looking around the room curiously. Even her posture made Chara want to drool in delight. Her head high, shoulders back, she was so certain of herself, but in such an unconscious way that it made her all the more attractive; it wasn’t forced or purposeful. It was her natural state, to be strong, and as she turned, Chara's eye traveled down her frame, admiring every inch of her.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it," she whispered to herself, snagging a shirt off the floor and hanging it up.

During their journey north, Chara had found the Blessed easy to be near, the other woman typically holding her at night as they slept, but never anything more. Her ease with nudity had at first stoked the young woman’s desire, as well, until she realized it was like her posture; something she thought nothing of, a natural state the warrior didn't even consider. It had been a bit of a disappointment, but the baths they’d taken in the warmer streams to the south had been enjoyable enough she had just savored the moments.

It hadn't dawned on her until they were nearing Riskine, the cooler nights forcing the two to snuggle under the blankets her mother had provided for their trip, that Ramora didn’t even consider her own beauty. Once that thought crossed her mind, Chara quickly realized the warrior likely had no idea anyone found her attractive at all, especially her companion.

A month out from Rheumer, as they’d made camp by a large pond for the night, where they had bathed, the two had stood waist deep in the water trying to snatch at the fish that swam by. It had been a fun game Ramora had started with a wicked smile, proving her warrior skill by seizing dinner with her own hands. Chara had fared far from well, failing to capture anything but a slow moving turtle that tried to bite her.

As they had prepared to step out, she’d unconsciously reached out to the scars that marred the warrior’s body, tracing them with her fingers, traveling from just above her stomach, over the full and firm curve of her breast, to just below her shoulder. Ramora hadn't shied from her touch, but a look of sadness and vulnerability had crossed her face, as if she were ashamed.

Fumbling for a coat, Chara wondered now if the Blessed had no idea of how lovely she was, or actually thought herself unappealing. Looking over at her, and the way the fire in the center of the room reduced the camisole to almost transparent as she stood in profile, the young woman considered the possibility her friend simply didn't know.

Ramora was thinking of the weird mystic energy her Avatar had noticed emanating from beneath them, completely missing the look Chara gave her that flowed from appreciative, to almost lustful, to sad.

Dismissing the thoughts from her mind, Chara tried to still herself and focus on the task at hand. After two and half months, if the Blessed had made no indication of interest, it was doubtful she would. Still, her body was humming with desire as she stacked the furs into the wardrobe, and she wondered if perhaps her friend was just waiting to see if Chara herself was interested before letting their relationship develop any further.

"Oh, for..." she sighed. "Shut up, brain."

Grabbing the last of the winter clothes, she saw Ramora giving her a curious look and smiled. "Talking to myself."

Ramora nodded slowly, still watching her with a slightly humorous expression. Okay, Chara thought as she felt her face flush again, maybe it wasn't her brain that needed to shut up.