All three stepped toward her, Benedictus taking the point, his two brothers falling to his flank. From the top of the short wall appeared human heads holding improvised bows, the stone tips of arrows aimed at Avila and her archers. It was a truly pathetic sight, and Avila couldn’t help but laugh.
“Avila, turn around and go back home,” said Benedictus. He stood before her, tall and proud, the porcelain sheen of his flesh so much like hers.
“You have heard my words, Warden,” she replied. “Your people shall kneel, or they shall die.”
The Warden shook his head, an action copied by the other two. “You have no place here, my dear,” he said. “I have known you since birth, and while I realize your heart is cold, you must see that these people have no way to defend themselves save the shanty wall raised by their creator.”
Ah, so it was Ashhur who raised the wall, she mused.
“It shall be as I said,” she replied. “They kneel or they perish.”
Benedictus took a step forward, and Avila’s archers tensed.
“These people are innocent,” he said in an angry whisper, leaning close to her. “You would kill them without cause?”
“There are no such things as innocents,” replied Malcolm. “The only virtue that exists lies in the glory of Karak.”
It was Gabriel who came forward this time, waggling his spear at Malcolm. “This is not Karak’s land,” the Warden growled, not attempting to hush his voice as Benedictus had. “You have no right to be here, let alone threaten the lives of seventy innocents!”
There are only seventy. This should be simple.
“We are well within our rights,” said Avila. “Our authority was given by Karak himself, who claimed this land after your beloved Ashhur broke his oath.” She trotted her mare before them, pulling out Integrity and wielding it above her head. “All three of you know me, so you know how I love my creator.…And you know that I am a woman of my word. If I promise them death should they not kneel, then nothing less will suffice.”
The Wardens glanced at one another, then huddled together. Avila waited patiently, letting the heat from the sun prickle her flesh while a light breeze played her hair. She felt preternaturally calm, just as she always did before an attack.
Benedictus separated from his brothers. “If we kneel, we live?” he asked her. “Is that a promise?”
Avila chuckled. “If they kneel, they live. That is what Karak decreed, that is what shall be done.”
“They?” said Azrial, blinking. “What of us?”
“The Wardens have no place in the Dezrel to come,” she replied. “Your time is passed, and you will now rejoin your brothers and sisters who perished so long ago.”
She turned her head slightly, lips locked tight, and nodded to Malcolm.
“Now!” shouted Malcolm.
Benedictus, Azrial, and Gabriel had no time to do anything but turn back toward the walled village, screams on their tongues, before sixty archers released at once, peppering them with arrows. The Wardens fell to the earth, wooden shafts still assaulting them, and their blood saturated the ground.
Avila sat tall in her saddle once their bodies had stilled. She lifted her chin high.
“People of Nor,” she called out, “I will say this only once more. You are no longer the slaves of your Wardens and Ashhur. Step out from behind your wall, kneel before your liberators, and dedicate your lives to the true god of Dezrel. Do this, and none will perish!”
There was no surrender. From inside the wall people shouted, and the archers of Nor loosed their own arrows from their crude bows. Most fluttered harmlessly to the ground, and only one flew true over the heads of Avila and her men. It clanked off Malcolm’s pauldron, barely missing his ear.
“They wish to fight!” Avila shouted, scooting her mare backward and summoning the horsemen from the flank. “Batter the walls, flood the gate, and kill them all!”
The horsemen sped past her, all galloping hooves and frenzied shrieks. Malcolm summoned the vanguard, which ran screaming toward the walls, those in front lugging a heavy oaken log with a curved tip. The villagers desperately tried to close the swinging gate, but it had been hung at an angle and the corner was wedged in the clay soil.
The men of Nor retreated inside, followed by those at the front of the vanguard, who’d tossed aside their ram once they realized the gate needed no cracking. Avila leapt from her mare when she reached the gate, arcing and slashing with Integrity as she ducked inside, finding purchase with each swing. Through her veins pulsed a sudden terror and excitement-with her words, her soldiers, the war against Paradise had begun. As her armored force streamed through the narrow gap in the wall surrounding the puny village, swords were drawn and pikes were thrust, her soldiers killing all they came across. The blood of Ashhur’s children leaked in streams from the wedged-open gate, ash sprinkling atop it from the burning fields.
It was a glorious moment, but through the deafening clamor of it all, Avila could swear she heard young Willa’s screams.
CHAPTER 10
Her name was Kaya Highrose, and she was the most splendid being Roland Norsman had met in all his life.
The girl nuzzled into him underneath a pile of fur blankets, the stars twinkling in the sky overhead. They were reclining against the hard and unforgiving roof of the inn, but he felt no discomfort. All he did feel was the smooth contour of Kaya’s bare flesh, and all he could smell was her curly black hair, teased with lemon. The only other sensation he was aware of was the stickiness that covered his rapidly retreating manhood.
He had a hard time catching his breath, and when Kaya flipped toward him, her breasts pressing into his chest while her lips lightly brushed his neck, he felt his insides begin to stir once more. It was the most wondrous sensation in the world, even if the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart frightened him. He hadn’t experienced such a feeling for months, and the last time his heart had beat this way it had not been pleasurable.…It had happened as he’d watched Jacob Eveningstar, the man he’d admired his entire life, turn traitor on the battlefield of Haven.
Those memories caused his excitement to wane, only to be stoked once more when Kaya’s lips met his, her breath sweet with nectarines and cherry wine, her tongue gently caressing the inside of his mouth.
She pulled back from him then, smiling as she grasped for his manhood. Her fingers found it, danced across it, and played it back into stiffness.
Roland moaned. Feeling suddenly sore, he gently moved her hand away.
“I don’t think I can again,” he said, hissing between his teeth at the rawness he felt down there. “I’m sorry.”
“You sure?” she asked playfully. “Why not?”
“It’s just…it hurts a bit,” he replied.
“It does?” She sucked on her lip. “Well, Mantrel Burgess once said I have a gift for healing. Let me see if I can heal you.”
“What are you-”
Kaya disappeared beneath the blankets before he could finish his question. Her healing kisses began and chased away all other thoughts.
They made love again after that. Roland lasted more than a few short thrusts this time, immersing himself in the feel of their lower halves colliding while he squeezed the girl’s ample breasts. And when he finished, it was so intense that he bit down on her shoulder a little too fiercely, hard enough to make her yelp.
When the act was done, Roland collapsed on his back, the soreness returning. The rest of him felt numb, euphoric, as if he weighed less than nothing and could soar into the sky, floating all the way up until he reached Celestia’s star. Kaya rolled over, resting her head on his chest while she caressed the fine hairs below his bellybutton.