Rise (War Witch Book 1) (75 page)

"Yeah, I'm fucking wonderful," she snorted. "Can't you tell just by looking?"

To her surprise, the Ogre laughed at that as he slid off the ankle length leather jacket he wore and draped it around her shoulders. "I can tell a few things, but I doubt you want the whole city knowing them."

"What?" she asked in confusion as the massive jacket settled about her.

He cut his gaze down with a smirk.

Following his look, Chara saw her cotton shirt was soaked completely through, leaving nothing to the imagination. Yelping, she yanked the coat closed around her, turning as red as the Ogre was orange. That sent him into another fit of laughter.

"Stupid rain," she muttered.

"Yes, it's the rain's fault," he grinned. "Come, let me buy you a drink."

"I'll pass," she told him. "No offense, but Ogre's aren't my style."

"Nor humans mine," he replied. "But you look as pitiful as a drowned rat, child, and I thought a stiff drink might do you good if you plan to roam about in this downpour some more."

Sulking, Chara muttered at him "I'm not a child."

"I'm sixty-five years old, little one," he winked. "Everyone's a child to me."

"Whatever," she grumbled, pushing her wet hair back out of her face. "I guess I can have that drink."

"Excellent," he said, waving a hand at the door to his right. "Just so happens, here's a cafe."

"You are one weird Ogre," she told him as he opened the door for her.

"Indeed I am," he admitted, following her inside.

CHARA SNEEZED
as they sat down, drawing a smug look from the Ogre. She gave him a glare before huddling deeper in his oversized coat. Just her luck she'd literally walk into a judgmental Ogre while roaming around town with her tits on display after fucking a total stranger because she was pissed at her boyfriend and the woman she wished was her girlfriend.

Stopping to wonder at the inanity of that thought, she sneezed again, holding a finger up to silence the Ogre before he could say anything. He nodded politely as he took off his hat and hung it from the back of the chair, motioning to a waitress.

"Onerian Stout, if you have it," he said when she got there. "Two glasses, and bring the bottle."

The waitress grinned and nodded. Chara eyed her curiously, from the overly short skirt to the peasant blouse that showed way more than a little. Catching herself, she felt like slamming her head on the table. Not everything can be solved or ignored by getting laid, she screamed at herself. Keep your legs together for a while, stupid!

 "Do you happen to have a name, or should I call you ‘drowned mouse’?" the Ogre asked after the waitress left.

"Chara," she replied, giving him a dirty look.

"It's very nice to meet you, Chara," he answered, giving her a little curling wave after touching his brow.

She nodded slightly. "Yeah. You too."

"I can feel the adulation," he deadpanned, getting a weak grin from her.

"I'm having a bad week," she admitted. "Sorry for being short."

He shrugged. "I hold no one’s height against them."

"Funny," she said dryly.

"I thought so," he grinned as the waitress returned, leaving a fat, squat bottle and two glasses.

"Onerian Stout," Chara said as he filled his glass. "What is that?"

"What humans call Ogre Whiskey," he told her, giving her half a glass.

She stared at it for a moment, a liquid so deep an amber it was almost black. "You aren't trying to get me drunk, are you?"

"Hardly," he snorted. "The bottle is for me. That's all you’re getting. I don't want your liver crawling out your ass."

She scowled as he downed his entire glass in one pull and moved to fill it again, waving for her to go ahead. Lifting her own, she took in her odd drinking companion for a moment. He was only about an inch taller than Ramora, but so broad at the shoulders, he'd had to turn slightly to get through the door, his arms heavily muscled to the point they seemed to almost bulge. His skin, the orange of northern Ogres, was as deep in color as a late autumn pumpkin. He had no neck to speak of, almost as if his head had been shoved down on his shoulders in defiance of the very idea. Like all Ogres, he had two tusks growing up from his lower jaw, though the left one had been broken off almost below his lip, while the other sported a wide gold band about it.

His hair, salt and pepper, was worn in a long braid that reached his waist, and had numerous ornamentations attached to it she couldn't identify, but had a faint tribal look to them. He sported a goatee as well, peppered with gray like his hair, that was nearly trimmed. It was his eyes, though, that struck her the most. Small and amber in color, set far to either side of his broad but crooked nose, they sparkled with intelligence and wit, making her feel off balance. There was something in them that seemed to look right through her.

"Stout is meant to be drank, not stared at, little mouse," he told her.

Giving him a snide look, she downed the half glass. She instantly wished she hadn't. Fire burned through her throat, making her choke and gag, as her eyes watered. It hit her stomach like a dragon had thrown up inside her, making her double over. For a moment, she couldn't breathe at all, and struggled just to stay upright in her chair, coughing violently.

The Ogre smirked and poured her another half glass. "You took that better than most of your race. Though, I strongly advise you sip this one, little mouse."

"Yeah, okay," she whimpered.

As her vision settled and her ability to breathe returned, she felt the warmth of the alcohol spread through her. Slowly, her rattled nerves settled, making her feel better than she had in a while. Still, she fingered the glass carefully, not ready for another taste of the strong, bitter whiskey.

"So, tell me what's wrong, then," the Ogre said softly.

Chara gave him a withering glare. "I appreciate the drink, and the coat, but I'm in no hurry to discuss my problems with a complete stranger."

"A pity," he shrugged. "I often find complete strangers to be the best people to share my problems with."

"Why's that?" she asked before taking a small sip of the stout, finding it burned less the second time.

He gave her a sly wink. "They aren't in the middle of the battle I wage, and can see the field far better with their unbiased eye."

She considered that for a moment before asking, "Why do you even care?"

"I'm a nice guy," he answered before downing another glass of the stout. "I see a young lady running blind as you were, I have to ask myself if there's anything I can do to help her find a road she can follow. You could say it's an old habit, one I call being a decent person."

Chara felt somewhat ashamed of herself as she mumbled, "Sorry. Like I said, I'm having a rough week."

"Anything to do with the citadel that attacked?" he inquired.

She nodded slowly, turning melancholy. "I lost a lot of friends to the Demon Seed that day."

"Tell me about them," he encouraged.

She shrugged a little, sipping at the whiskey. "Blessed, all of them. One an Ogre like you. Sabra Finiseye."

He nodded, his smile fading. "I knew her by reputation. A brave warrior, and a credit to her clan."

"She was my friend," Chara said slowly. "They all were. That bastard slaughtered them like they were sheep, too, hiding behind the King's face. I couldn't do anything to stop it. I didn't even see it coming. They were six steps ahead of me the whole damn time."

"You could not have known," he suggested with a kind smile.

"I was their tactician," she growled. "I should've guessed that they would do something to stop us. I should've been ready!"

Her glass shattered in her hand, shocking her. Jerking back, she stared at the blood flowing, mixing with the stout, making the cuts burn. She didn't cry out, just stared, as if she'd never seen anything like it before.

The Ogre pulled a scarf from his pocket and leaned across the table to wrap her hand quickly, before anyone saw and grew frightened. Chara blinked a few times, then looked at him, amazed at the gentleness he showed.

"A warrior must always control their anger, or that anger will control them," he said softly, patting her hand tenderly.

"I'm no warrior," she replied in shame. "I'm just a stupid girl from a small town who thought she could be more than a whore."

The Ogre mulled that for a moment, then settled back, asking, "And who says there's anything wrong with whores? Most honest women I've ever met. They know what they want, what they like, and are smart enough to get paid for doing it."

"I wanted to be something else," she said quietly. "I'm not, though. I ran my boyfriend off trying, and now even my best friend thinks I should run home and hide. Thing is, she's a Blessed of Ramor, so maybe she's right. Maybe that's just what I should do. Run home, marry a fat, stuttering butcher, and have his babies."

The Ogre said nothing, sliding his glass over to her and filling it full, keeping the bottle for himself. Her jaw worked in anger as she considered what he dared guess she'd never said aloud to that point.

"I thought they saw me as an equal. That they had faith in me. Now, I don't know. I'm not sure what to think."

"I'm guessing," he offered, keeping his voice low. "That the man I smell on you would not be the boyfriend you mention, then?"

She glanced up at him in surprise, then down again, her face flushing as she shook her head. "That was a mistake I made in a fit of anger."

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

"That's beside the point," she told him.

"Not really, it isn't," he replied. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah, I did," she admitted. "A lot."

"Then it wasn't a mistake," he shrugged.

Chara took a quarter of the glass, then coughed, but held her composure. "It isn't that simple, you know."

"It really is," he told her with a grin. "Are you a woman who has seen battle, or are you a little mouse?"

Chara grimaced. "I saw plenty of battle when the Demon Seed attacked. I was in the middle of it."

"Then you are a warrior," he said. "You're not a child, nor a mouse. Warriors do what they must to stay strong, in their heart, even if others do not understand, or approve."

"I wish it was that easy, but I'm not a warrior, either," she said, her voice heavy with remorse. "I was lucky to survive."

The Ogre shook his head. "Luck is for cowards. If you fought for your right to live, and for those who stood alongside you, then you're a warrior. That's all there is to it."

"You make it all sound so simple," she sighed.

"It is simple, little mouse," he smiled. "You are the one making it complicated by thinking on it too much. Tell me, was this your first battle?"

"Sort of," she shrugged. "I stabbed a couple of Orcs in the back before, and helped my friend, the Blessed of Ramor, and my boyfriend fight a Dark Blessed. This was the first time I've ever seen so many Demon Seed, though. The first time I've ever had to really fight in what felt like a war."

He nodded slowly. "It's like this for everyone the first time they taste real battle. The aftermath, what my people call the Moment of Clarity. You look back on it, and wonder how you got out alive, dismissing your own skill as luck, and feel tortured by the thought of those who didn't live. Worry not, my little mouse, for it will pass, and you'll be stronger for it when it's over."

"But," she started, only to have him wave her down.

"You lived. Others did not. This is the nature of war. Some survive to fight again, while others do not. Next time, you may fall, while another lives, grieves, wonders why, and tries to fuck away the question with no answer," he told her.

She stared at him curiously. "Question with no answer?"

"Why am I alive," he told her. "It's the question everyone who faces real battle asks themselves, often more than once. It's a haunting question, for there is no real answer. Too many factors to consider, you see. It's always about the factors of the battle, why some live, and others don't.

“Right place, wrong time, stand when you should kneel, step right instead of left. There are billions of little nuances to the art of combat that can all mean live or die."

"That sounds like luck," she told him.

"Only to you," he chuckled. "I'm a Warmaster, though. I know there's no luck. Only skill, and the ability to weigh the factors in an instant."

"I get that," she nodded. "It's like a game of Masters."

The Ogre thumped the bottle on the table a few times. "Exactly, little mouse! It's like a game of Masters. You never win with all the pieces, because some fall. That is battle."

Chara downed some more of the whiskey and was surprised when the Ogre filled her glass again. "So, what you're saying is I got through because I had some skill and ability?"

"Only reason I've ever seen anyone survive," he shrugged. "But, it was your first real fight, so you've got that unanswerable question crowding your mind, and since you can't answer it, and as you said, ran your boyfriend off, you found a fun fuck to take your mind off it. That's just being a warrior, my little mouse."

"I keep telling you, I'm not a warrior," she shot back.

He gave her another of his sly grins. "And I keep telling you that you are. Who are you going to listen to? The Ogre, or yourself?"

Chara snorted laughter at that, realizing he had a point. "I don't feel like a warrior."

"Neither do I, truth be told," he sighed. "I feel like an old man. But I'm still alive after many battles, so a warrior I must be. Life is funny that way, little mouse. It never really quite conforms to what you think it is."

"So I noticed," she said as she leaned back, toying with her glass. "That doesn't answer the real question I'm asking myself, though. What do I do now? Run home and hide, as everyone wants, or fight?"

The Ogre took a long pull from the bottle before saying, "Well, allow me to be the one to pose this query, little mouse, as no one else appears to have done so as yet. What, exactly, is it that
you
want?"