Rise (War Witch Book 1)

by Cain S. Latrani

  Ramora nodded.

  Untar waited for a moment. "Can you tell us about him?"

  "She can't talk," Chara said from the other side of the table. "I'm her interpreter."

  "Interpreter?" Untar asked, surprised.

  Ramora made a few quick signs at Chara, who nodded. "She says she’s seen him, yes, and can tell you just what he looks like. She'll never forget his face."

  "Is that so," Untar said slowly, rubbing his chin. "This is most fortunate then. To date, we've never been able to get a clear idea of his appearance. With this, we could single him out and take him down quickly."

  "There's a great deal more you should know, Sire," Leto replied.

  Untar nodded as Leena coughed loudly at his side. "Of course, yes, and more you should know as well. Lieutenant Rills, if you would be so kind as to take General Alimon and Lady Ramora to meet with the other Blessed who have answered my call."

  "Sure," Rills nodded, then caught himself. "I mean, yes, Sire! Right away, Sire!"

  "We'll go over everything this afternoon," Untar told them. "I'm afraid I can't put off this Merchants Union meeting again, or they may have me killed in my sleep."

  Leto bowed deeply. "Of course, Sire."

  "Hey, by the by," Chara cut in. "Do you play Masters?"

  Ramora threw her goblet at her. Ducking it, the young woman watched it clatter across the floor.

  "What?"

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  CHARA STOMPED DOWN the street, scowling as morning wore into noon. By her side, Esteban watched her with caution. Already, her temper had exploded twice since they'd left the castle, escorted out by a smiling young woman who had insisted Ramora would have no need of them as she and Leto met with the other Blessed who had responded to Untar's request.

  "Stupid, elitist assholes," she muttered.

  "It wasn't like that, beloved," Esteban pointed out.

  She stopped, glaring up at him. "How was it, then?"

  He sighed heavily. "Ramora and Leto were going to meet with their fellows. As much as you may not like it, they're Blessed, and we aren't. There's a very good chance we would've been bored by their conversation."

  "Well, we'll never know now, will we?" she snorted, storming down the narrow street.

  Looking to the Heavens, he followed. "You wanted to have some time to look for a sorcery shop anyway, didn't you?"

  "That's beside the point," she snapped. "They rushed us out the door like we were nobodies!"

  "We are nobodies, dear," he pointed out.

  "Speak for yourself," she shot back. "I've helped kill two Orcs, put two down on my own, and beat the crap out of a Dark Blessed. I think I count as somebody."

  He nodded patiently. "Yes, you are most heroic."

  "Damn right I am," she muttered. "But, oh, I don't have the special club mark, so out the door I go. Stupid, elitist assholes."

  Sagging, Esteban gave up. "As you say, beloved."

  "How's she supposed to put any ideas out there without me there, anyway?" Chara demanded.

  "Leto has gained a decent understanding of her sign language," Esteban reminded her. "And I'm fairly certain that if it's particularly important, she can write it down."

  "Oh, sure, throw that up in my face," she growled.

  "I'm not throwing anything anywhere," he argued. "I am, however, trying to be realistic about matters."

  Chara pouted. "Sure, of course you are. Just happens reality doesn't agree with my viewpoint."

  "That cannot be helped, dear," he said.

  "Stupid, elitist reality," she muttered.

  Esteban shook his head. "What bothers you more? That Ramora might not need you, or that you aren't being included in the planning of this mission?"

  Chara slowed, a look of misery crossing her face. "Both."

  Resting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, he smiled at her. "You know if you see a flaw in their plan, Ramora will listen to you. Relax. All we're missing is a boring meeting where a group of Blessed talk to each other about how great they are."

  "Yeah, I know," she groused. "Still, it would've been nice if I'd gotten to talk about how great I am, too."

  Esteban rolled his eyes a little. "I'm sure you'll get plenty of chances for that."

  "I'm pretty great," she muttered.

  "I think so," he admitted.

  Leaning into him, she let him drape his arm around her shoulders, as they continued walking down the street. Lost in her own thoughts, she sulked while he was just glad she'd stopped barking about it all.

  "Hey, Esteban?" she asked after a while.

  "Yes, dear?"

  "Where are we?"

  Looking around as they paused at an intersection, the big Cat realized he didn't know either. They'd wandered aimlessly after being escorted from the castle, Chara too angry to pay any heed to where they were going, he too busy dealing with her outrage.

  Looking back, a long and winding street of homes that told him nothing. In front of them, a busy avenue of people from all the Six Races moving to and fro, with shops lining each side.

  Not a single street sign anywhere.

  "I really don't know," he told her after a minute.

  "Great," she sighed. "This day is starting to suck."

  "We can ask directions," he told her.

  "I think I ate too much, too," she grumbled.

  Esteban gave her a loving smile. "You think?"

  "Shut up," she told him, giving him a playful punch.

  Glancing down the busy street, Esteban waved a hand, saying, "If it's a sorcery shop you want, then I believe we may be in the right place. Looks to be many here. We might find what you're looking for."

  With a slight shrug, she nodded. "May as well look. Doesn't cost anything to window-shop."

  "Why do you want to shop for windows?" he asked with a straight face.

  "You're not half as funny as you think you are," she told him as she gathered his hand and led him on.

  "Am so," he chuckled.

  The two wandered down the street at a leisurely pace, enjoying an opportunity to take their time for a change. For so many months, they'd felt rushed, but now, finally in Lansing, and with the King himself offering to help deal with Draco, it felt good to slow down and enjoy the sights.

  They passed Elves from both the Top and Deep, more Ogres than Chara had ever expected to see in her life, cordial Halflings, Trolls, humans and Weres alike as they paused now and then to admire what the shop windows had on display. All her life, she'd wanted to see a real city, and now that she was in one, she felt freer than she'd ever believed possible.

  Such places as this exist, she thought to herself. Where a person could just get lost in a crowd, and be a part of it all, without everyone around them knowing what they'd had for dinner, the last time they farted, and what it'd smelled like. It was joyous.

  Some ways down the street, she stopped to admire the fancy dresses in one window, long petticoats fluffing out the full skirt on one, with a corset that nipped the waist and shoved the breasts high. Esteban made a soft purr at her side as he envisioned her in it, but she laughed. She'd had enough of skirts to last her the rest of her life. While it was beautifully made, she knew it was something she'd never get caught dead in.

  Crossing the street, they nodded to a tall, dark-skinned Elf as he leaned in the doorway of his shop smoking a thin cigar, while they admired the clothing on display. Sleek leather pants of brown and green with halter tops and low-cut blouses that Chara admitted were more to her liking. Esteban chuckled, telling her he could see her in those before the elegant dresses across the way.

  The Elf had laughed heartily, introduced himself as Nerec, and let them know he often traded with barbarian clans, who the clothes had been made by. Their sense of fashion was popular with the common folk of Lansing, it seemed, and he offered to let Chara try on any outfit she liked, free of charge.

  The inside of the store was cozy and smelled of leather and cloth, inviting and rich.
Taking her time, she wandered the wide aisles, taking in the various outfits. She'd never met a barbarian, but according to the tales she'd been raised on, they reveled in life in ways the more civilized people had forgotten. Seeing how they dressed, she could believe it, too.

  Spotting a set of black pants with matching knee-boots and a long, sleeveless red shirt, she decided she would try that on and was shown to the changing rooms by Nerec, who gave her a wink as Esteban frowned at him. Chuckling as she gave the tall Deep Elf a discreet look of her own, she closed the door and stripped quickly, eager to try out the beautifully-dyed clothes.

  She found the pants a good fit, snug but not binding, and the boots a perfect size. The shirt hung past her waist, however, and left more of her cleavage exposed than she'd expected. Shrugging, she cinched the ties around her waist and stepped back out, showing off. Esteban nodded appreciatively as Nerec whistled in delight.

  Out of curiosity, she asked the price, and upon hearing it, felt her own face fall. Sixty tritters, the measure of Lansing gold currency. With a sigh, she admired herself in the mirror a moment, admitting she did look stunning, nothing like a simple farm girl from a backwoods village. Even with the kindly shopkeeper offering to knock ten tritters from the price, it was far beyond what they had.

  Then she spotted the Masters board in the corner behind the front counter, and looked at the Elf with a wide grin, offering to play him for it. If she lost, she promised to clean his entire store for him. Weighing it a bit, he finally agreed, not seeing the look of pity Esteban tossed him.

  Thirty minutes later, Chara all but skipped out of the store, wearing her new clothes, her old bundled and placed in a bag by Nerec as he swore to never make such a deal again in his life. Esteban noticed the soft grin on his face as they left though, and had to admit, the fellow had probably gotten his value for the clothes as he'd sat across the board, staring at her chest.

  He couldn't say he liked that much, but his beloved was happy, so it was all well. Mostly. If he didn't think about it too much. Or at all.

  For her part, Chara had found the Elf's attention flattering. She knew she shouldn't, especially with Esteban standing right there, but still, Nerec had been very easy on her eyes, and the casual flirtation they’d had over the board had gone right over her boyfriend’s head. She thought. Mostly.

  Near the end of the street, Chara spotted the sign that made her stop dead, Esteban nearly bowling her over. Following her gaze and her wide smirk, he saw it as well, and nodded. Just what they'd been after.

  Rayne's Shop Of Sorcery.

  After parting ways with Chara and Esteban, Ramora and Leto had followed the excited Lieutenant down several floors and through a maze of hallways, Rills chatting incessantly, as he seemed to do all the time, about how exciting it was to be hosting so many prominent Blessed at once.

  Reaching their destination, the young soldier showed them into what Ramora could only describe as a training facility. The long, wide chamber was filled on one side with different types of terrain models, and on the other with areas for sword fighting, archery, and mystical practices. Across from where they entered, a round table sat, with enough seating for two dozen people, racks of weapons lying between them and it.

  Six people had gathered round the table, talking loudly even from the distance they stood, though none of what they said carried well enough to make out. Ramora picked out a Troll quickly, a Halfling, Dwarf and Ogre as well. The other two she couldn't be sure of.

  Waving them to follow, Rills guided them past the weapon stands and to the table, where the conversation fell silent, those gathered watching the newcomers arrive. As they approached, Ramora noticed the Troll wore a blindfold, and the other two she hadn't been able to identify earlier were a human and a Deep Elf.

  This is an interesting gathering, she mused. It was rare to see this many Blessed at once, much less from such a wide assortment of the Six Races. Untar was indeed a respected man to get this many diverse people in the room and working together.

  "Please allow me to introduce General Leto Alimon," Rills said with a sharp salute.

  "We know who he is, ya daft lad," the Halfling snorted. "I'm more interested in the lady there, and if she be single."

  "Her aura would swallow yours whole," the Troll intoned, inclining her head slightly. "Best you stay with barmaids and prostitutes."

  "Those kinds of women at least won't be too harsh a judge of your shortcomings," the Dwarf laughed.

  "Oy, piss off, the lot of ya," the Halfling shot back.

  "Um," Rills stammered.

  "Dash off now, toy soldier," the Halfling grinned. "We can be makin' our own introductions from here. All Blessed and what not, after all."

  "Okay, I guess, sure," Rills fumbled about for a moment, then saluted again before marching from the room.

  The Halfling shook his head slowly. "Poor lad, doesn't know his asshole from his piehole."

  "That's enough, Bit," the human cut in.

  The Halfling snorted again and propped his feet up on the table. The Ogre knocked them off, drawing an annoyed look from him as she begged him to do something about it. Perhaps wisely, he chose not to.

  "General Alimon," the human said with a slight bow. "I believe I'm already aware of who your companion is. Perhaps you could make introductions all the same."

  Nodding, Leto rested a hand on Ramora's back, encouraging her to step forward. "May I present the adopted daughter, priestess, and Blessed of Ramor, Ramora."

  Bit whistled long and loud. "That wee slip of a girl the War Wolf carted off to the High World and been raisin' ya mean? Didn't she grow up all curvy in the right places?"

  "That would be Bit Nittick," the human told them. "Blessed of Amaron. Please forgive his raucous nature. I assure you, he's a very skilled warrior."

  "Oh, aye, that I be," the Halfling smirked, holding up his left hand to show the Horse head mark of his God on the back of it. "And my friend there with all the gray hair and frown lines be Rick Westerman, Blessed of her lady of Crocodiles, Terakus."

  Rick scowled a bit, making the Halfling laugh with glee and shout, "That's it, laddy! Show 'em those nasty mouth lines! One day, I promise ya, he'll crack a smile, though I think it'd be enough to shatter his whole face."

  Shaking his head, the seasoned veteran lifted his left hand, showing the Crocodile tail mark present on the palm, and waved for the others to introduce themselves. Ramora could've told him there was no need, as she knew them all by reputation.

  The Troll leaned forward slightly, the blindfold over her eyes revealing nothing of her expression as her pitch-black hair shifted slightly against her dark blue skin while she lifted her left hand to show the Bat-shaped mark placed there by her patron deity. "I am Tanna Rethrick, born of the line of Gellim Rethrick, he who carved the foundation of Moor Daal, Blessed of Neglis."

  Pushing himself to his feet, the bald and beardless Dwarf bowed deeply, his long rust-colored mustache nearly touching the floor, before showing the Crow head on the back of his left hand. "I am Flick Diamondheart, son of Rysthis Diamondheart, Blessed of Rialda, at your eternal service, lord and madam."

  "Izra Tallamora," the Deep Elf said, bowing gracefully, the Bull head mark on the back of her right hand showing clearly. Her bone-white hair, shot through with highlights of silver and pearl, caught up in a ponytail, bobbed as it curled down her back, stark against her dark toffee skin. Her garnet eyes, flecked with ruby and crimson, glittered in delight. "I have no grand lineage to proclaim, but I'm a faithful servant of Hepheron in all things, and Blessed of the Great Bull."

  "Leaves me, does it," the Ogre said as she pushed to her feet, her green skin brilliant against the shock of blood-red hair that fell wild and loose down her back, her small close-set brown eyes betraying her intelligence as she studied the two carefully. She lifted her right hand, showing the curling Snake mark placed upon the back by the Divine, saying, "Sabra Finiseye, Blessed of Verea, daughter of the Blackwarder Clan that roams the lands
between Savacal and the Tall Mountains."

  "And I'm, of course, Leto Alimon, of Tysol, Blessed of Grannax," Leto said, bowing in respect. "I'm honored to share a table with you all."

  "Like I told the hyper lad, we know who ya are," Bit chuckled. "I don't think there's a man, woman, or child walking the world who hasn't heard yer name at least twice, boyo."

  "He was being respectful," Tanna told him.

  The Halfling snorted a laugh. "Aye, that he was, and lookit what it got him. Made fun of, that's what!"

  "Ignore him as you like," Rick said as he stepped around the table to shake Leto's hand. "That, I've found, is the only thing that actually seems to irk him."

  "Hey now," Bit clamored.

  "Sit down and shut up, before I make you eat your teeth, tiny man," Sabra growled.

  "Make you eat something," he muttered.

  "If you mean your cock," she grinned, showing off the tusks that sprung from her lower jaw. "It isn't sturdy enough to pick my teeth with."

  "Aye, and I be thankful for it, too," Bit retorted. "That gaping maw be the last place in the Middle World I'd want to stick it. Now, our fair-haired lady friend, over there, she be another matter."

  Ramora pulled her sword and held it to his throat in a single blinding motion.

  "Or not," Bit whimpered.

  Sabra laughed uproariously at that. "I suspect I'd have an easier time finding myself in her bed than you!"

  "You’re both welcome to each other," the Halfling grumbled as Ramora sheathed her blade.

  "Pity you couldn't see that, Tanna," Izra snickered. "She was all, like, whoosh, bam, right in his face!"

  "The sound of it was pleasant enough," the Troll replied.

  "It was all kinds of hot," the Deep Elf said, eying Ramora appreciatively.

  Ramora threw her a wink and a smile, sending the Elf into a fit of giggles as Tanna shook her head slowly.

  "Bloody Hells," Bit murmured. "The lovely dreams I be having tonight."

  "Pity all they will be is dreams," Flick laughed, giving the Halfling a sharp slap that nearly tossed him from his chair.

  "Perhaps I will tell him of the reality in detail," Tanna said with a serious tone. "Or perhaps not."