Rise (War Witch Book 1) (61 page)

Having decided to take Chara's advice, Ramora and Leto had lingered for a while in bed, his gentle lovemaking filling her with happiness. The ache was less, she found, and his attentiveness stole all thoughts from her mind, as did his passion. By the time she finally pulled herself from the bed to wash up, she couldn't stop smiling.

Her Rabbit warbled about having told her so, and she admitted it had been right. Accepting that sometimes, she should listen to the little spirit more often, she cleaned herself up as Leto joined her.

Through sheer willpower alone, she managed not to fall back into his embrace right there. They still had responsibilities to attend to, and despite the misgivings she still had, a party to attend.

Reluctantly, they headed out, Chara and Esteban a good hour and a half ahead of them. Taking their time, they strolled towards the castle, Ramora with her greatsword resting over her shoulder, Leto unable to stop grinning at her. It made her a little self-conscious, but where that normally brought out her introverted side, she just smiled back.

Today was going to be a good day, she felt.

They didn't know it, but Chara and Esteban were only a few minutes ahead of them. Between Chara stopping to get dressed for the day, and Esteban taking his time at the bakery, the two had only just entered the castle, roughly ten minutes behind the rest of the group, as Leto and Ramora headed up the hill towards the main gates.

By the time they entered the courtyard, Chara and Esteban were being drawn on by Sergeant Wollis, and Bit was greeting the King.

Glancing about, Leto noted the absence of Lieutenant Rills. The young officer was always there to greet them when they arrived, and had only yesterday finally gotten his coveted autographs for his card collection. Leto had smiled politely as he scrawled his name across the bottom of the five by seven heavy paper, decorated with a skillful painting of the Blessed.

Rills had, naturally, been beside himself with joy. Because of it, Leto had been fully prepared for the Lieutenant to greet him that morning, more enthusiastic than ever. His absence gave the Blessed of Grannax pause.

"You there," he called, waving to a soldier. "Where's Lieutenant Rills?"

The solider jerked a thumb upward. "He's been reassigned to duty up on the wall."

Ramora frowned. That couldn't be right. Untar had made it clear the young officer’s top priority was to help the team of Blessed prepare for their assault on Draco's stronghold. What had changed?

"Do you know why?" Leto asked.

"Beats me," the soldier shrugged. "Probably something to do with that guest we're supposed to be getting today."

Ramora exchanged a glance with Leto before he asked, "Would you happen to know who that is?"

"Can't say," they were told. "Just know it's sudden, and we're all being pulled from our regular duties for it."

"Odd," he murmured. "Maybe we should go find Untar. See what this is all about."

Ramora nodded, following as Leto hurried for the castle entrance.

BLOOD SPLATTERED IZRA’S FACE.

Bit's head had only just struck the floor as Untar swept forward, running Tanna through. The Deep Elf could only stare at the black energy that erupted from her lover’s back, the blood sizzling on it, as the Troll gasped.

"I cloaked my aura," Untar told her as she died. "Didn't see that coming, did you?"

"Sabra!" Rick roared.

The Ogre was already moving, sliding around the King's side, her Divine gift activating as she sought a clean shot. Flick scrambled back, trying to clear her path as he brought his own Gift to bear, granting her the luck of Rialda. Izra simply stared, unable to move, everything distant as Untar jerked his corrupted weapon free, letting Tanna fall.

The Netherspear. The Dark Gift of Derril, Demon Goddess of terror and secrets. The eater of souls. A blasphemy of the Divine Gifts of Grannax and Isel both. It wasn't possible for Untar to wield that.

The King spun quickly, laying the Ogre wide open as her venom flew, missing him by so little he could feel it. Flick had time to be horrified before the Netherspear was buried in his throat, leaving the Dwarf gagging for air as Sabra toppled, her insides spilling on the floor.

"Gods help us," Rick gasped, staggering back as Untar turned towards him.

"They cannot save you, for they are false Gods," the King intoned. "Their time is coming to an end, and for your heresy, you will now die."

"Izra," Rick shouted, grabbing the Elf by the arm. "Wake up, dammit!"

Wide-eyed, Tanna's blood running down her face, the Deep Elf was frozen. Desperate, Rick shook her as Untar closed on him, but got no reaction, her garnet gaze fixed only on the Troll's motionless form.

"Forgive me, Izra," the Blessed of Terakus whispered. "I must warn the others."

Invoking his Divine Gift, Rick stepped free of his body as Untar lunged, piercing his head. Horrified, he watched himself die. Even worse, he saw the truth about Untar. Flickering away, he sought someone, anyone, he could warn.

Izra felt the warm wash of his blood strike her.

They were dead.

All of them were dead.

Tanna was dead.

Untar watched Rick's body tumble to the floor before looking at the paralyzed Elf. This had been even easier than he'd expected. Hefting his Demonic weapon, formed of pure Corruption, he drew back to finish Izra.

His blow was halted as silver fire erupted around her hands, her Divine Gift roaring to life. Gone was the expression of panic, replaced with sheer, righteous rage. Energy, both Demonic and Divine, showered off like sparks as she held back his blow, her eyes ablaze with vehemence.

"Wither and die," she snarled, shoving his vile weapon away as she swung around, her other hand sending him staggering against the wall.

Untar sagged a moment, then looked up with a malicious grin. "Ah, there's some fight in this one after all. Good."

"Fight?" she growled. "I am an Adept of the Way of Falling Leaves, trained by Master Kirinirit himself, Blessed of Hepheron, lover to Tanna Rethrick, and you have foolishly pissed me off! This isn't a fight, little human! It's your execution!"

"Come then," he said, swinging his weapon to the ready. "Show me what you have, girl."

Hurling herself at him, Izra delivered a series of powerful and fast blows, the silver fire engulfing her hands making her already devastating martial capabilities even deadlier. To her surprise, Untar dodged to the side, leaving her to pepper the walls with her assault.

Seeing her off-guard, he swung up at her, his weapon cutting the air with a hiss, forcing her to twist away as she tried to calm her mind and fall into the battle clarity her Master had taught her. Untar pressed his advantage, jabbing forward with the Demonic weapon, only to have her catch it again, the Divine fire in her hand allowing her to hold it back.

The Way of Falling Leaves, an Elven unarmed combat style as old as the world itself, had been taught to her since she was a child, her Master, Anar Kirinirit insisting she know how to defend herself, for she was a low-born orphan. In the realms of the Deep, it was almost a fate worse than death.

"I will not fall to the likes of you," she said, mastering her rage, channeling it, and finding the battle clarity. "Traitor to your own people, worshiper of a vile God, you will not be my undoing."

"Brave words," Untar grunted as he tried to thrust the Netherspear through her hand, to no avail. "Let us see."

Pushing him back, she fell into a fighting stance, ready for him. In her eyes, he saw certainty, and hesitated as he circled. She followed him with her gaze, her body perfectly still. He sneered and came at her.

Izra moved with a minimum of effort, bowing her body low as her feet spread, allowing his Demonic weapon to pass over her before twisting herself, driving both fists into his gut, throwing him back. Gasping for air, he was wide open as she braced on a single heel and spun, kicking him in the face, silver fire blazing to life a moment before contact.

Hepheron had seen fit to Bless her with Divine Fire that engulfed any weapon she used. For Izra Tallamora, that was her entire body.

Staggered, Untar tried to retreat as the whirling dervish of fire and fists came at him, each blow precise and powerful, forcing him to fall back again and again. There was no emotion in her eyes, nothing but calm conviction that he would die for what he'd done.

Finding himself outmatched by the Elf on speed and capability, Untar swung his weapon blindly, forcing her to jump back, giving himself an ounce of room. It was all he would need.

Runic words flowed from his lips, sending a wave of shock and dismay through Izra. It wasn't possible. He was a spellcaster now?

"My Mistress saw fit to awaken my Avatar," he told her as a dozen swords were conjured into being around him, hovering as they awaited his command. "You may surpass me in martial skill, but that is useless if you can't get close enough to hit me."

Izra grimaced as he waved the blades forward. Bracing, she kicked off, tucking herself as she rolled between the swords that flew at her, eye fixed on him as he came to understand how much he'd underestimated the Deep Elf. Rolling her body in the air, she landed on one foot, the other lashing out, catching him in the chest and hurling him back.

"Your Mistress is as great a fool as you, then," she snarled. "I am a
ketherin
, a master of combat against mages. Your spells will not save you."

Hitting the floor, Untar waved a hand, pulling the mystical blades back to him. Izra flowed around them, arching her back to avoid them all in a single, graceful move, lashing out with both hands to shatter two of them as they passed.

"You cannot beat me," he roared, pushing himself up, bringing the magic weapons in around him as he charged her.

Izra waited, breathing slow and steady, as he came at her. When she moved, it was with purpose, swinging low and to his left, shattering two more of his swords, and gaining his back, where she switched her balance and shoved upward, flipping backwards to bring the heel of her foot down on his head.

Forced to his knees, Untar lashed out blindly, making her dodge him. She knew well the dangers of letting the Netherspear even so much as get a scratch in. Despite her calm, she was wary, gauging each move carefully, to avoid his corrupting weapon.

Sensing a chance, Untar flung his mystic blades at her, forcing her to spiral through them, granting him a single, brief opening. Shoving up off his knees, he drove at her, only to find his weapon shoved high and over her shoulder, tearing at the wall in vain.

Izra double-fisted his stomach, stealing his ability to breathe. She saw, from the corner of her eye, his Demon spear flicker and suppressed a smile. Hepheron's fire could do more than burn. It could sear away evil, and with a few more well-placed blows, his conduit to the Divine would be blocked, canceling out his Gift.

As he sagged, gasping for air, she delivered a kick that sent him sprawling. Slowly, he gathered himself as she stalked him, looking for her best opening. She didn't wish to kill the ruler of Lansing, but she knew she was going to.

For Bit.

For Flick.

For Sabra.

For Rick.

For her beloved Tanna.

"You die here," she snarled.

Untar moved with impossible speed, driving his fist deep into her stomach, shocking her. Even as she hit the floor, she realized she should've pressed her advantage. He'd cast a speed spell on himself while he'd been down, and she'd mistaken his muttering for trying to catch his breath. She cursed herself for not having cleared her mind properly. Her anger, her sorrow, had clouded her judgment.

Rolling, she avoided his next blow, the Netherspear tearing the floor. He drug it after her as she found she couldn't stay ahead of it, and felt Demonic energy rip at her body and soul as he pulled the edge of the weapon down her back.

"Now," he gasped out. "For the real fun."

Izra felt her fire flickering, the corruption seeping into her body attempting to block her Divine Gift. She didn't have much time. Pushing herself up, she moved to kick at him, and felt searing pain as one of his mystical swords sliced through her leg, pinning her to the floor.

"Easy now," Untar grinned. "This is going to hurt, just a little."

Izra screamed.

Esteban froze as Wollis and his men drew their weapons, the smile on his face slowly fading. Struggling to grasp what was happening, he could only watch as they advanced, their eyes bright with malicious intent. Distantly, he became aware they meant to kill both Chara and he.

Wollis was engulfed in fire, his body turning to ash. Blinking, the big Cat turned to see his beloved, mystic weapons in hand. She was shocked, of that there was no doubt, but rather than hesitant, as he did, she acted, reducing all of their attackers to ash in a moment.

"What in all the Hells is going on?" she blurted.

Shaking off the daze, Esteban glanced about. "I don't know. Perhaps we should find Lieutenant Rills. Surely, he will know."

"Yeah, okay," Chara nodded, trying to still the shaking in her hands as she slid her weapons away.