Shade of Honor: From the Federal Witch Series (Standard of Honor Series Book 1)
Page 17
When being within a few feet of him made her skin crawl and small hairs to stand up, marriage would be horrible torture. She would find a different way to take care of her grandmother. A way that would leave her with honor and pride, not a shameful sacrifice, a pozornaya zhertva.
Her thoughts had interrupted her movement and distracted her at a dangerous point. Krava’s close-handed blow knocked her off her feet and slammed her into the table. Shaking her head in an attempt to clear it, Zhanna tried to scramble to her feet. She was too focused to feel fear, too intent for indecision.
Drawing a deep breath as she stood up, the young witch started to pull in her energy for a defensive shield. She knew she had a few seconds before Krava would attempt to hurt her again since she knew that he liked to “play” with his victims. Centering herself, Zhanna prepared to fight.
The mercenary witch advanced closer to her with a cruel smile on his face, the light of anticipation in his eyes. That look changed to complete shock when he was rudely interrupted. It wasn’t just Zhanna that had been lost in the moment. Krava had also lost situational awareness. Or perhaps he had just discounted the small black cat.
The familiar.
Bad mistake.
VERY bad mistake.
The large mage was slammed to the side by a paw the size of a serving platter. The claws of the black sabertooth cat caught his mercenary uniform and flipped him around to crash full force into the side of the wall. Scrambling back onto his feet, it was obvious that he was an experienced mercenary. His training showed in the way that he immediately looked for cover and searched for weapons.
Inspired by her grandmother, Zhanna chanted firmly and loudly at him, “Get thee hence, get thee hence, get thee hence.” Hoping against hope that it would hinder him, the result came as a complete surprise when the attacking mage was tossed through the air repeatedly. It was as if a strong wind had picked him up and blown him out of their home.
Slammed through the doorway, his body was used by the wind as a battering ram to blast the door out of its frame. Irrespective of the structure of the house, the banishment was an uncontrolled aversion spell. One that kept as its imperative the rejection of a person or thing by the shortest and fastest trajectory. So Krava was blasted through the doorway and dumped outside the gate.
The confines of the home grounds were enough domain for the spell. He was free to wreck havoc outside of that. Or the mage could have if he had been thinking clearly. Luckily for Zhanna and Bolormaa, Krava was long past thinking clearly. He was berserk, totally unhinged.
When attacks against the simple-looking cottage failed, the enraged mercenary looked around wildly for another way of punishing Zhanna. Seeing nothing ready to hand, he turned and began to run toward the village.
<< Dascha! He’s going to try to hurt Baba. We have to do something! >>
Performing a fair imitation of the training DI, Dascha’s voice snapped inside of Zhanna’s head. << Breathe, center, channel, strike! >>
Dragged out of the miasma and confusion of the emotional attack, Zhanna took a deep breath, centered her power and raised her hands to the sky. Throwing her head back she cried out, ripping the sound through her throat with the raw-edged emotion of her need. “Perun, father of lightnings, Mazza, mother of spells! Your daughter cries out to you. Succor me in my hour of need!”
Zhanna’s call was answered. Sheet lightning swept down and surrounded the cottage. With such protection, Zhanna could leave. A large hand of wind picked the witch and her familiar up and rushed them toward the village. The young witch could feel her power being replenished, even augmented, as the wind rush them forward.
It was as even her hair was charged. She could feel the tips of her hair, the edges of her toenails. Every single atom in her body was charged with energy, the power for her spells. Krava would not win this battle. Not while there was a single breath in Zhanna’s body.
It was just a moment later that Zhanna was set gently down in the village square. She could feel it in her bones, measured by the itching of her skin, that Krava was approaching. His headlong charge was no match for the young witch’s allies in speed, but he would be there soon.
There were a few people in the square still at this time of night. Waving her arms, Zhanna screamed at them, “Run, go hide!” Most of them ran, a few didn’t. Maybe they thought she was alarmist, perhaps they thought it would be interesting to watch. But the reality was far worse than any of them had expected.
Krava entered the village square as a far different being than the one who had proposed to Zhanna just a little while before. It was a beast, a monster who charged into the open space by the fountain. Grabbing a woman who sat there, he ripped her throat out with his hands, sending her blood spraying in an arc around him. Dropping her at his feet he charged after the next one, killing her just as quickly. The people in the square came alive to the danger, and some of them fled screaming. But not all the people in Zhanna’s village were sheep. Some of them were fighters. Picking up stones and other loose items some of them pelted the man who up till now have been a respected member of the village.
Frustrated with their resistance, Krava readied a spell only be stopped by one of the mercenaries who slammed his hand and yelled his name.
“Krava, what are you doing? Have you gone insane.”
It was the last words that the man ever uttered.” The beast that had been Krava grabbed the man’s head in one hand, shoulder in the other end and ripped the skull off the body. Tossing both pieces behind him, he ran toward Zhanna.
Thinking to draw his fire, she yelled at him, “You are a disgusting excuse for a human being. You are no better than a rabid beast. How dare you think that you could fool everyone into thinking you were handsome, or desirable?”
What was left of humanity in Krava’s body dissolved into a deep pool of black rage. Snarling in a guttural voice, Krava ripped threats out of his chest to hurl them one by one at Zhanna. “I will torture your grandmother in front of you, Rape her to death while you’re tied up and forced to watch. I will eat children piece by piece and let their blood drip on your face. You will beg for my attentions before I kill you myself.”
Zhanna stopped moving. In contrast to the bestial response of the maddened mage, her voice was calm and cool. “In the words of a very good friend, not sucking likely.”
Krava’s distraction had been complete. He had once more forgotten that he was fighting a team, not a single person. One of his great weaknesses as a human being had been his inability to see people as team members. To him, they had always been things and tools, so when he was slammed to the ground and shaken by 450 pounds of enraged familiar the only thing that he had left was to use all of his effort to jerk free and run.
Ripping his body from Dascha, leaving skin, blood, and flesh behind, he ran. Powered by spells that even the familiar could not counter, he managed to escape, screaming his rage. The blackness of his retreating form was difficult to see, but the threat in his voice hung in the air long after he was out of sight. “The blood will run like rivers, and there will be lamentations everywhere. You sealed your own fate, and it will be paid for in great torment.”
Chapter 20
Krava had fled, cursing them in his combined terror and fury. He left death and fright in his wake. Zhanna had been so tense with survival mode that coming down from the adrenaline state of the battle was difficult. Her arms shook, her stomach was tense, and she had an overwhelming feeling of nausea.
Bolormaa came running out of the church. Wrapping her arms around her granddaughter, Zhanna could feel her grandmother shake. “Are you all right? Did you get hurt?” When the older woman still had not responded, Zhanna grabbed her by the upper arm, demanding, “Baba, are you all right?”
“How can you ask me if I’m all right when you were the one who was in danger?”
Zhanna realized that her grandmother was furious and concerned, not frightened. Apologizing profusely, the young witch started to check on the i
njured. Unfortunately, those that Krava had attacked were dead. Messily so. Some of the mercenaries volunteered to take care of the cleanup. The chorus of mourning voices seemed to saturate the air with grief. The two women that had been killed had young children, with husbands that were away on contracts. This would be another burden on a village that was already reeling from the shocks of a predator and the betrayal by one of their own.
Stefan had proved to be a rock of support. Accomplished in leading a mercenary team, he soon had groups organized to take care of the injured and dead, as well as search parties to look for those that were still missing. It was a good thing that he was there because most of the village elders were in shock.
Trying to get one of the older women to sit down, Zhanna found out that abruptly in the middle of the meeting Bolormaa had stood up and insisted that everybody leave the town hall and go quickly to the church. She refused to explain, insisting there was no time. Zhanna shuddered to think of how bad it could have been if Krava had gotten hold of the elders.
Zhanna hoped that the worst of the encounter was over. Perhaps Krava will leave the area and take his evil someplace else. She knew that probably was a forlorn hope but in the trembling aftermath of the confrontation with him, all that she could think of was a fervent wish for the whole thing to be over.
<<<>>>
It has been a forlorn hope. Krava’s damage to the village had been extensive. He had not fled in fear and desperation, but had instead withdrawn strategically. Bolormaa had shared with remaining mercenaries the story of her encounter as well of her vision of him as a blood mage. Zhanna was incensed. No one had told her what Krava had tried to do to her grandmother. If she would’ve known, things would have been a lot different.
Her grandmother looked at her with a very serious expression on her face. That is exactly why I refused to tell you and why I made Stephan and Mikhail promise that they would not tell you. Your actions need to be formed in calmness, not out of a sense of retribution.”
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Knowing that there was just no winning an argument with her familiar, Zhanna let it go. However, she made a vow to herself that should the opportunity arise, Krava would no longer be able to threaten anyone.
Her introspection was interrupted by one of the older mercenaries. She had known him for years as a calm and rational person. Never upset, always having time to explain things to children, and seemingly possessed of endless patience. The man that ran gasping up to the outside table where the elders and her mercenaries had congregated looked nothing like that man. The bones, skin, nose, and eyes were the same, but he was pale of face and shaking like a leaf.
Zhanna jumped up and had him sit down in her place. Kneeling in the dust in front of him she grabbed his hands to still their frantic flailing. “Peter, what is wrong?” she asked. The man could not form a coherent sentence.
Stefan came running over, alerted by some of the others in the village. Sliding to a stop by his old friend, The older merc placed both hands on the man’s heaving shoulders. Holding his gaze on the man’s eyes, he tried to get a report. It was impossible.
Finally, Peter managed to gasp out, “Like Liravev – one still breathing. Need priest!” Stefan and all the other mercs in the area straightened as if they had been shot. Every one of them had that withdrawn look of seeing bad memories. Zhanna asked, “Stefan, what is it?”
In a remote voice, sounding like he was speaking from thousands of miles away, Stefan responded. He said, “The battle at Liravev involved a demon cult. They had blood mages, three of them. We lost 90% of our group in that battle. The blood mages had raised their power by torturing and sacrificing their family members.”
Raising a tortured gaze to stare at Zhanna through memories of horror and pain, Stefan said, “We had hoped you were wrong. That he might be a blood mage was so wrong, so evil, that we didn’t want to think it of one of us. But only a blood mage would do that to his family.” Dropping his head down Stefan cried.
Mikhail had come up during Stefan’s anguished speech, and he chose that moment to touch Zhanna on the forearm. He said, “We need to get the priests there to give the bodies last rites. It may help their souls, and it may deny Krava some of the power that he hoped to raise.”
When Zhanna stood up to go with him, her normally cheerful friend shook his head. He said, “I will just take those that were in Liravev. This will be one more memory to keep those other memories of horror company on the dark nights of our souls. There is no need to taint anyone else with pictures of what we will find.”
Zhanna bowed her head in agreement, but the fire of retribution went from an ember to a roaring flame inside of her heart. This must not continue.
<<<>>>
It had been just as bad as Stefan had thought. The mercenaries that came back from the outlying farms reported torture scenes and death. The two priests in the local church were kept busy with last rites and attempts to comfort the survivors. One of Krava’s parents had been tortured to death while the other had been tortured to the point that she would die a lingering, miserable death. Frantic with the pain and suffering, she had asked to be put out of her misery. The priest had refused, horrified at what she was wanted.
Bolormaa had gone to visit the woman, speaking the words of comfort she could. She told Zhanna when she came back that Krava’s mother was worried that he would continue to drain power from her if she stayed alive. She also worried that an unbroken connection meant that he would own her soul after she was dead. Horrified, the young witch asked, “Baba, is that possible?”
Her grandmother’s nod of sad confirmation gave Zhanna the chills and filled her with foreboding. Trying to find a solution kept the young woman’s sleep restless that night. She resolved to go and visit the woman the next day, but when she told Stefan of her plans, he informed her that the woman had died during the evening. Somehow, she had found something that allowed her to die relatively painlessly.
Glancing sideways at her grandmother’s face, Zhanna simply commented, “I am sorry for her pain and for everything that she endured, I hope she’s at peace now.”
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For once, all the mercenary troops in the village were united in their approach. Stefan had taken over as the commander of the village watch. He had the mercenaries deployed and had sent communications out to those in the field warning them about Krava. Although everyone was on alert, there was no sighting, no word, and no whisper of where the blood mage had gone.
Some of the people in the village thought that perhaps he had gone away and they were feeling relieved. Zhanna and her grandmother did not think that was likely. Most of the mercenaries agreed with them. They kept watch and tried to make plans.
They were in reaction mode. Never a good place to be.
Something had to give, and it probably was not going to be pleasant when it went.
Four days after the battle the square Zhanna woke to a feeling of impending doom. It stained the air with the smell of death, teasing the edges of her vision with sharp-edged particles and partially seen shadows.
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The familiar had no response for her witch. They both knew that things were coming to a head. They did not know where
or when, but the feel in the air, the pricking of their thumbs, told them that something was coming.
<<<>>>
Zhanna decided to go and work off some of her energy at the practice grounds. She needed to keep up her practice if she is going to be any good in the battle and it seemed like the village was well covered for that day. She wanted some alone time, but that was not to be. Stefan insisted that anyone going out of the village would be in a party of at least four people. Instead of a nice quiet workout time by herself, Zhanna had an escort of Mikhail and two other mercenaries that she didn’t know very well. And of course, she had her familiar.
It was a party, just not a very happy party. Mikhail and Zhanna had spent a rather satisfying couple of hours blowing things up and targeting things. They had run through the basic training spells to activate opponents and situations. They both were feeling better with the release of tension.