“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Chara assured, the tears that had only threatened before slipping from her own eyes now.
The warrior reached up to grasp her hand, squeezing softly. She wanted to assure her it was not her doing, but couldn’t. Instead, she held her hand and despite the tears and pain, gave her a warm smile.
Chara sat on the bed next to the warrior, studying her closely. “You must miss them all terribly. Your family, I mean. I can't imagine what you've been through.”
The warrior nodded slowly, wiping the tears from her cheeks. Such pain wasn’t meant for others, for the kind and gentle, for their lives from then on were nothing but an echo of that moment.
“I’m sorry if I insulted you with the whole naming thing. I just wanted to have something to call you, for everyone to call you, that is fitting,” the younger woman said softly, holding the warrior’s hand in her own, amazed at the warmth and tenderness of her touch.
A warrior in heart, but a Cleric in spirit, the Blessed shook her head and smiled again, tucking Chara's hair behind her ears and out of her face. She nodded slowly, hoping she would understand she wasn’t offended, and had liked the name in fact. By the slow smile that spread over Chara’s tear-streaked face, the warrior saw she did understand.
Uncertain what else to say, or do, Chara slipped her arm around the warrior’s shoulders and pulled her close. Priestess or not, she was in pain and rested her head on the young woman’s shoulder. Ten years of sadness poured forth from her in a moment of mournful tears and silent, wracking sobs, as Chara held her and stroked her hair.
They stayed like that as night advanced, the young woman holding the warrior, letting her vent her sorrows on her chest. Rocking gently, Chara soothed the broken heart of the woman she revered, realizing that she was like her, a soul yearning for something she might never find.
When her tears finally eased, Chara rose, taking her by the hand. “Come. A bath will help. It always does. I'll wash your hair."
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.
Chapter Eight
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.
Battle plan, eh? Ramora thought with a grin.
"Fire!" Diem cried, dropping his arm.
Half the Orcs died in that barrage, their lives ended by hunters who had long ago perfected the art of catching a rabbit in mid-jump. The eye of an Orc was a much easier target for them than that, by far.
From the porch of the inn, Talbor sipped a cup of coffee and cheered them on.
Gota rose slowly, stunned by the unexpected turn. Looking to Ramora, he realized he faced a Priestess of Ramor, a war witch, and as his men fell around him, snarled in rage. If only he could defeat her, he felt sure the villagers’ spirits would break. Hefting his sword, he charged her, howling.
Ramora caught his clumsy attack easily against her own sword, now held with both hands, and smirked at him through the clashing steel. She didn't have enough mystic energy left to cast another spell, and fell back on her warrior training as Diem charged another of the Orcs, their swords ringing.
A second barrage from the archers left all but three of the Demon Seed dead, b
ut the battle was joined now, and with allies too close to enemies, there was little more they could do. Daniel slid back down the roof and swung into an open window, pelting into the hall as Chara emerged from Ramora's room, still buttoning her shirt.
"What's happening?" she cried.
"We're winning!" Daniel called back as he turned to throw her a smile. "Oh, and nice work! I'm telling everyone my sister bedded a Blessed!"
"We didn't..." she started, but he was already down the stairs. Shaking her head, she ran after him, cursing the long skirt her mother insisted she wear.
Out in the street, Diem countered the Orc's attacks, his training coming back to him easily. He was older, though, and slower, and found it was all he could do to keep up with the Demon Seed. Falling back on quick thinking, he blocked another swing and pushed it away, sending the Orc's sword out, high and wide, giving himself an opening to stab at the creature.
The sword caught up in the armor, failing to pierce it, his strength not enough to end the creature. Snorting in delight, the Orc backhanded him, sending him sprawling in the dirt, before pulling his sword free and tossing it away. Diem looked up to see the Demon Seed advancing on him.
A few feet away, Ramora and Gota battled furiously. Though she hated the very sight of Orcs, she had to admit, he was terribly skilled with a blade. She was better, however, and could see the slowly growing frustration on his face as he failed to land a blow against her.
Turning inward, she asked her Avatar if it had enough for a small spell, and got a warble of agreement. With a grin, she shoved the Orc back.
He stumbled over a fallen comrade, struggling to keep his balance. He was open, but not for long enough that she could close the distance. It was enough time, however, to trace runes on her blade, the song of her Avatar giving them power.
"You die here, witch," the Orc Lieutenant snarled, rushing her.
Rise (War Witch Book 1) Page 10
